Work Text:
Despite his many reservations about the man, living with the Captain… is not as unbearable as he’d come to expect.
The man still allows Hitoshi’s presence on deck, though he had made it clear that any crew member to trouble him again would be thrown to the sharks with little hesitation, and that was quite an interesting revelation. Hitoshi had assumed, in every sense of the word, that Captain merely wanted him as a sort of servant, and while the boy had been more than prepared to make that sacrifice, no master would toss a man overboard for disrespecting the likes of a servant.
Hitoshi has come to realize, in fact, that Captain treats his servants quite well. One of the Captain’s first orders of business had been new clothes for Hitoshi, and though he largely appreciated the effort, considering his own clothes were much too large and had been reduced to mere patchwork, it was unsettling to be measured and referred to as ‘young sir’. Hitoshi is not meant to be served as such, but the Captain was not harsh with the tailor that stitched him a new shirt and breeches from old cloth.
Rather, he thanked the man for his services. Before the incident, Hitoshi had never heard a master thank a servant before, and though he hadn’t appreciated the hand on his nape that urged him to do the same, it was… rather refreshing, he dare admit.
In many ways, Hitoshi has found the Captain a kind man. It is merely his second week under the man’s tutelage, and he has yet to order Hitoshi’s services aside from assuring clean plateware and the occasional sweep of their cabin. He’s even allowed Hitoshi to bathe twice, once per week, and for the vast majority of his life, the thought of having more than two or three baths a year was a dreadful, dangerous falsehood.
Even through his time on land when he hadn’t a need to catch precious rainwater for a bath, he was without soap or time to cleanse himself, and never with warm water. It wasn’t any use when he would be just as dirtied the next day.
But, Lord almighty, Captain had even gone as far as to provide him with shoes. Genuine, brown leather boots with a belt to match, properly refitted from a pair of the Captain’s own. Hitoshi had to poke regretful holes in the smooth, rich leather of his belt in order to fit it properly, but he refuses to breathe a word of it to the Captain, partially in fear that he may be seen as ungrateful. Selfish as he is, it was more so his fear of the Captain taking it away.
Nevertheless, Hitoshi has found himself quite contented as of late, more often with a full stomach and fresh clothes than without. The constant aching of his hands has faded to callouses alongside his cuts and burns and bruises, and Hitoshi oftentimes catches himself peeling back the scabs in spite of the Captain’s reprimands. It is rather curious to see the Captain’s frequent vexation over the issue, because the scars Hitoshi acquires from this habit should matter not, especially to the likes of a renowned commander.
His admonishments are no bother, however, as Hitoshi is more than equipped to deal with such rebukes. Captain Aizawa is not a harsh master, and from the looks of things, he is hardly a master at all. Though, that begs the question of his actual role with Hitoshi, and Hitoshi has no desire for those thoughts. He has already heard the whispers amongst the crew, murmurs of Hitoshi’s illegitimacy and the Captain’s mysterious past. Inquiries of a possible mistress in the man’s adolescence, despite Hitoshi’s insistence that his father was nowhere near as good a man as Captain Aizawa.
It only deepens their suspicions, and perhaps, Hitoshi should let them ponder. Existing as the bastard son of an esteemed captain is far more desirable than existing as a typical bastard, the son of a deadbeat and a victimized woman. Captain Aizawa has proved himself a good, if not odd, man thus far, and Hitoshi needn’t wish to change such delicate circumstances. He’s been shown more kindness in these past weeks than he can ever remember being directed toward him, however gruff it may be.
Though, there are still certain aspects of the Captain that Hitoshi would greatly prefer he not enforce unto him.
“Have you completed your schoolwork, boy?”
Completely unbidden and with only a small flare of annoyance, Hitoshi sets his book aside and straightens in his cot, a tad bit resentful over this interruption during a rather thrilling part of the story. He looks to the Captain, perched at his desk and marking up his map, and finds dark eyes tinted by reading glasses staring back at him, illuminated by the lamplight.
Hitoshi swallows tersely, returning his focus to his unclothed feet, and he flexes his ankles, perhaps overly fascinated by how his toes have stopped looking quite so pointed now that his shoes are of reasonable size. “I... I am almost finished, sir.”
He curses himself for the stutter, though the Captain has never seemed bothered by his nerves. His eyes do narrow, however, and Hitoshi is forced to rub his suddenly dampened hands along his breeches. “It is well after dusk - in fact, it is nearing eight o’clock, boy. How on earth have you not finished?” His voice is less neutral than Hitoshi would like, and he must swallow down the burning in his chest before he utters something especially unwise.
“I’m… unsure, sir,” he answers slowly, rubbing the tingling out of the base of his neck with his hand. “I was… distracted, you see, with my… book…”
The Captain does not, in fact, look particularly impressed by his explanation.
“Let’s see, then,” Captain Aizawa sighs, lowering his reading glasses to his nose and gesturing for Hitoshi to come closer. Hitoshi does not, in fact, want to come closer. “You said you are nearly done, and it wouldn’t do for you to have found your numbers inaccurately, correct? I will check them before you resume your work.”
As sinful as it may be, Hitoshi entertains a brief desire to defend himself for the sake of pride, if anything. Despite his lack of schooling, he is quite good with figures, and if he had actually completed his arithmetic, he knows it would have been correct. The Captain’s doubt in his abilities is not only completely unfounded, but irritating in its right.
Though, there are much more pressing matters, at the moment. “That’s… I suppose that is correct, sir,” he says stiffly, flicking his gaze briefly toward the tall man, then toward his shamefully blank chalkboard. The apprehension burns his throat as he swallows.
“Well?” the Captain prompts, snapping his fingers. “Bring it here, boy. A few incorrect solutions are to be expected, and I assure you that I will not be angry. There will be no more dawdling, understood?” Hitoshi does understand, but he wishes he could feign oblivion a little while longer.
His lips are dry and rough beneath his tongue, burning in consequence after he licks them, and Hitoshi drags himself up from his safe cot with great hesitance, hands damn near trembling as he pulls his slate from the small crate beside his bed. The floor is cold beneath his feet, and goosebumps erupt along the exposed skin beneath his knees as he approaches Captain Aizawa’s seated form.
“S-Sir,” he says quietly as he dares, attempting to keep his shoulders wide and straight despite the heavy gaze burning into his skull and the expectant hand held out before him. The hand could easily slap him for his insolence, or perhaps drag him above deck by his new shirt and toss him overboard. “I, I apologize deeply, sir, I just…”
“Lad,” the Captain interrupts, and as per the unspoken order, Hitoshi’s mouth snaps closed. His eyes are too knowing, given the circumstances, and the boy prays to any deity that the man is still ignorant of his serious error. “Give it to me, Hitoshi. Now.”
His eyes burn like that of a little girl, and his breath rattles his chest as he sets his blank chalkboard into the Captain’s waiting palm. He hears the metallic clink of Captain Aizawa adjusting his reading glasses, the chain moving with a soft sound, but Hitoshi cannot pry his gaze from the large hands that turn the slate over, revealing his wrongdoing for the whole world to see.
The cabin is silent, just for a moment, and Hitoshi cannot help but tense when the Captain’s hands flex around the board.
“I… I erased it,” Hitoshi feels the need to defend, his intention to sound tranquil likely failing in the way his voice trembles. “It… I completed them, sir, I swear it! I- I was simply unaware that you would require its correction.” The hands around the slate squeeze tightly, nearly squeezing Hitoshi’s windpipe shut with it, before it is pulled back, strong hands folded neatly atop the wood.
Unfortunately, he hasn’t enough time to suppress his flinch when Captain clears his throat pointedly, but Hitoshi looks up all the same.
“I must say,” Captain Aizawa drawls with piercing, narrowed eyes - not in the voice of a captain, but something else. It makes Hitoshi shift in a sudden apprehension. “It is quite impressive that you were able to complete your studies so quickly, because if I am not mistaken, you were merely present in the cabin at first light and returned at dusk. You must have quite an inkling for arithmetic, if you could finish your studies during the brief moments my head was turned.”
His eyes almost appear to flash in the lamplight, and Hitoshi realizes, with complete certainty, that he has been discovered. He prays with bated breath, bravado faltering under the firmness of Captain’s frown, that this man is not as strict and heavy-handed as his last master.
“You will quickly find,” Captain Aizawa utters, and though Hitoshi’s heart nearly beats out of his chest, the man sets the slate aside and rises to his full, terrifying height, “that I do not appreciate liars on my ship, boy.”
“S-Sir, I’m not-” a liar, he wishes to say, though he knows it would be for naught. He is a liar, down to his very core, and he has uttered more than a lifetime of lies in his twelve years. It is often to save his own hide, should the situation call for it, but he lies through his facades and through his words, and he mustn’t deny it. He can only stumble back and crouch lower, bowing his head in hopes of cooling the man’s inevitable anger. “I apologize, sir, please pardon my-”
“You are in obvious need of discipline,” the Captain interrupts, waistcoat pulling against his muscles as he stands sternly, arms crossed in what is undoubtedly vexation. Hitoshi swallows at those words, though it is a small relief, knowing that ‘discipline’ would likely lack any sort of fatal execution. He wants not to walk the plank, that much is certain. “It is my understanding that you have received little by way of schooling, and in consequence, you are likely lacking in certain areas of study.”
Hitoshi can only swallow futilely, blinking under the sudden burning behind his eyes. The words stuck to his throat are quite a nuisance, in part because he wouldn’t have even considered defending himself a mere two weeks ago.
His mother was right, perhaps, when she said money spoils a boy.
“I apologize, sir,” he utters again, forcing the words down and ducking his head in a show of proper chastisement. It ought to be degrading, but by some odd way of rationality, Hitoshi feels a sharp inkling of guilt in his chest. He fears the plank less, at this moment, as he’s stared down by the powerful captain who still has the compassion of a kind man. “I… did not mean to lie. Necessarily…”.
Aizawa’s brow perches high on his forehead ominously. “Necessarily? Did you, or did you not, tell me a lie while in your conscious mind? An abundance of lies, in fact? Believe me when I tell you, boy, that I will be rather unpleasant to deal with, shall you attempt to deceive me once more.”
Hitoshi needn’t know what ‘unpleasant’ means in such a context. The dreadful feeling in his belly is enough warning.
“I… I am sorry, sir,” he says, voice soft and near girlish in its weakness, cracking petulantly despite his internal urging for it not to do so. His gaze falls to his feet, a chill that is certainly not to do with the air around him settling deep in his bones, close to unbearable in its extremity.
Perhaps, it relates to Captain Aizawa’s displeased expression boring into his skull.
“I appreciate the apology, lad,” the Captain utters, slightly softer now, and in spite of himself, Hitoshi feels the rapid beating of his heart settle, “but that does not entirely excuse your actions as of late. Come here, please.”
Hitoshi, although well-trained in obedience and discipline, finds that his feet will not heed to the Captain’s orders. He finds that, rather, there is a significantly-sized lump in his throat, and his hands tremble subtly at his sides, despite the shame of it.
And, mortifyingly, he finds that his head shakes back and forth. An absurd, childish gesture that is very much not the action Hitoshi should be committing, at the moment.
But all the same. He doesn’t want to be whipped, or humiliated, or sufficiently kicked. He does not want to bear witness to the Captain’s cross face, and he certainly does not want to be hung by the flagpole. The crewmates had told him that the Captain does so to young miscreants like himself, so he had better watch himself.
Evidently, he had not watched himself thoroughly enough. His throat burns terribly.
“Pardon me?” the man intones, his voice the deep bark of an esteemed Captain, and Hitoshi twitches against his will, body moving backward of its own accord. The Captain’s boot rises and falls, one step after another, and Hitoshi’s heart is like that of a jackrabbit in his chest, pulsing and releasing much more quickly than the movement of his boots. Hitoshi stumbles back, briefly, the bones in his body quite avidly forcing him to run away while every ounce of his wit forces him to keep still.
The movement that his conflicted body makes is, in a word, rather pathetic. It presumably looks like something of a small child needing the loo.
He needn’t mull over it for long, however.
His upper arm is gripped, rather tightly, by the Captain, and Hitoshi’s body twitches dramatically. He should not flinch, should not try to escape from whatever punishment the Captain deems fit – not after everything the man has done for him.
Money truly has spoiled him, though, for he nearly screeches in misguided protest when the Captain uses his grip to bend Hitoshi forward, right over the Captain’s arm, and oh. He truly is a terrible, terrible boy, just as his master had accused him, to be able to push the Captain this far.
He prepares for his face to collide with the deck, but his midsection remains caught, pressing him quite snugly against Captain Aizawa’s side region. Perhaps the Captain is planning to flip him on his arse – or worse, his head – to make a point of his disobedience.
But he needn’t make a point, for Hitoshi surely understands. Truly, he does.
The Captain’s hand makes a loud and imposing sound as it whips through the air, but as opposed to striking his back or face as he had anticipated, he feels the thump against his backside.
And, oh. Oh, this is not how servants are to be punished. This is very, very incorrect, because this is not even how teachers are to discipline their pupils, nor mentors their mentees.
Whatever relationship he possesses with the Captain, it is certainly not one so… familial. This is incorrect, and Hitoshi thrashes slightly to emphasize that point.
He never thought the Captain to be slow, but the man does not seem to understand. He merely allows his hand to fall sharply, and Hitoshi is no stranger to the pain of a tanning, but this is absurd! This hardly even constitutes discipline, considering his own age and class!
But, however reluctant he is to make such an admittance, it does smart. “Sir, what–?!”
“If we were on land,” the Captain intones with his interruption, and while his voice is deep and low as the sea, it sounds quite audibly over the horrid, horrid noise of his palm and Hitoshi’s teeth clacking shut, “you would have been caned for truancy. Education is a boy’s most important endurance, and you will respect that.”
His hand falls once more, and Hitoshi’s breath rushes out sharply. “You will respect yourself and me enough to respect that.”
Horribly, humiliatingly, Hitoshi’s throat burns as though he’d downed a shot of whiskey.
“I do respect you, sir,” he chokes out, clinging like a small child to the arm around his midsection, but he needn’t care at the moment. He does respect the Captain – he never meant to imply otherwise. “I- I respect you so much, sir.”
He doubts it’s feasible for the Captain to comprehend just how much, even with the man’s wit. Lord forgive him, he may respect the Captain more than the king himself.
“Then you mustn’t let this occur again,” the Captain tells him, and Hitoshi agrees, he certainly agrees. He’d never intended to commit such an error. “And you mustn’t be disobedient when I ask something of you.” His hand comes down thrice more, and Hitoshi feels his shoulders tremble despite his best wishes. “Is that understood?”
The Captain’s hand settles on his back, and Hitoshi instinctively cringes before relaxing far more than he rightfully should. “Yes, sir,” he answers quickly, “understood.”
And, although they cannot be finished, although he deserves much more than that, the Captain… assists him in standing. The tops of Hitoshi’s legs sting, ever so slightly, as he shifts.
The Captain’s hand remains firm and gentle on his back, and for whatever reason, he makes no move to discipline him otherwise. He does not even appear maddened by Hitoshi’s insubordination.
How laughable. When had he become so presumptuous?
“You took that admirably, lad,” the Captain tells him, and Hitoshi quickly rubs his wrist along his eyes, hands clenched tightly into fists. He undoubtedly fails to make the movement subtle, but the Captain has most definitely seen his tears by now. If he wishes to taunt him, then so be it.
“Thank you, sir,” he whispers, eyes downcast. Somehow, though Hitoshi had previously doubted the possibility of such a thing, his hair is even more untamed than usual. He allows it to obscure his vision — it wouldn’t do to have the Captain see another display of weakness from him.
He sniffs softly when the Captain inhales, witlessly hoping that he not notice. “Hm. Well, typically, you would be completing your arithmetic with a mouthful of soap to discourage any future untruths, but I believe we can save that for a different time, yes? You confessed to your fib in due course.”
No. No, there would be no future times to speak of. Hitoshi would ensure it.
“Yes, sir. That is unnecessary,” he answers quickly, not feeling as much shame as he rightfully should at the Captain’s resulting chuckle.
“Are you certain?” the man inquires, though perhaps not in an overly serious manner. Behind his voice is mirth. “How would your previous keeper have handled this misbehavior?”
He halts any movement, any thoughts. He had foolishly hoped they were finished, but he should have been aware enough to deduce otherwise. That couldn’t have been the entire punishment for such a grave error.
But. He was asked a direct question, and he had just assured the Captain that he would not tell untruths.
“...I’d probably have very few teeth left to lie through, sir,” he manages in eventuality, voice shaking beneath a sort of… perplexing feeling in his chest. He hopes that, if the Captain accepts advice from his previous master, Hitoshi will needn’t a doctor – he sincerely doubts that there are any available on the sea.
That portion of his punishment, however, would have been enacted in a fit of rage. The true punishment would have come thereafter – likely in the form of a whipping, and that was always a dreadful experience. He could hardly work in the weeks thereafter, which typically incited more of the man’s wrath.
But, dare he admit, it aggrieved him. Working was so very difficult when he could hardly rotate his torso or move his shoulders.
“You needn’t worry about that with me,” the Captain tells him with a strange look in his eye, but Hitoshi doesn’t dwell on it. It reminds him of the day he first met the man – the day he was knocked to the floor and sufficiently kicked and mocked. Captain Aizawa had seemed… vexed, at the time, just as he does now. How peculiar. “No one should treat a child in such a manner.”
The man shakes his head without looking at Hitoshi, and Hitoshi moves the brunt of his weight from his left foot to his right. However insolent, a part of Hitoshi wishes to sleep soon despite his misbehavior.
Spoiled. Truly, selfishly spoiled. “No, you will never need to fret in my care. I may bare and smack your bottom if you attempt such foolishness again, but you will not be beaten with such malice.”
Hitoshi’s head snaps up at the same time there’s a small, nervous swish in his stomach. Despite himself, despite everything, Hitoshi can’t help but respond with indignance. “But sir! I am not a mere schoolboy–”
“At your age, you ought to be,” the Captain interrupts firmly, brows furrowed with great intimidation, and Hitoshi decides that he also ought to bite his tongue. “Your place here is an exception, because to speak candidly, I am quite fond of you.” Hitoshi blinks, probably appearing rather mentally slow, in the moment.
Because Hitoshi. Hitoshi is unsure of how to respond to such a ridiculous notion, but he feels the breath leave him nonetheless. He’s never heard of a Captain bearing such feelings toward a… toward a servant.
Or… whatever Hitoshi’s true place here may be.
It doesn’t… It isn’t proper. None of this is proper. Hitoshi ought to be groveling!
A hand settles firmly on his shoulder, and Hitoshi inhales so sharply that the air whistles of its own accord. The Captain bends just so, his head now hovering only slightly above Hitoshi’s own, and the boy feels his lip wobble, however humiliating. The medals above Captain Aizawa’s breast clang together softly.
Why must the man look at him with such… such…
Perhaps. Perhaps it reminds Hitoshi far too much of his late mother, and that is a dangerous thought to have. A truly reckless, unbidden, absurd thought. His mother would have cuffed him for it, surely.
“But you have many years to be grown, and I will not excuse any misbehavior on the basis of your position on my ship. Am I understood?”
Hitoshi’s breath catches once more, and a mild, distant part of his muddled mind wishes the Captain had merely knocked him to the ground and sufficiently kicked him for his dreadful disobedience. Breathing is not intended to be an unachievable task.
Captain Aizawa sighs, the sound deep and haggard, and Hitoshi’s shoulders rise to his ears in spite of his best attempts to quell it.
But quickly enough, there is a hand on the nape of his neck, and Hitoshi will certainly not be admitting to any such squeak being torn from his throat. He is not a damsel.
Nevertheless, Captain Aizawa’s chest vibrates with something of a… a chortle, and oh. Hitoshi’s forehead is pressed against the Captain’s left breast, his body held close to the man’s side, and the Captain smells of sweat and the sea and faintly of rum. And. And…
Oh, Lord. His eyes sting once more.
Perhaps he is a damsel.
“You will certainly be a handful, lad,” he informs quietly, soft breath ruffling his hair, and the hand on the back of his head moves just so…
Oh, no. The wetness slides down his cheek. He feels himself shiver despite the Captain’s quarters bearing its own fireplace. Oh, no.
His eyes fall closed, and it goes without saying that it’s merely to prevent the escapade of any more tears. Any other reason would be dreadfully presumptuous – disrespectful of the Captain and his time, and a terrible miscalculation of the Captain’s true intentions.
However… However, even with the now-obscure sting beneath his trousers, even with the threat of foul-tasting soap… the Captain’s embrace feels warm.
In his embrace, for the briefest time, he can almost hear his mother’s distant voice, humming softly.
Perhaps, though he dare not entertain the notion aloud, the Captain is correct.
He needn’t fret, now. Not while he’s in Captain Aizawa’s care.