Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Would ya lend a hand to me if I needed help?
Would ya keep me company when I'm by myself?
And if heaven doesn't want us
Would you go with me to hell?

Hope you know I don't want nobody else.

L.

~1723~

Tucked along the southern coast of Joseon, the village of Haemil clung to the rocks like a secret place.

From a distance, it looked like any modest fishing village—stone-walled homes with thatched roofs, smoke curling from chimneys, and boats bobbing gently in the port.

But beneath its surface, Haemil thrived as a lesser-known pirate haven.

Hidden coves sheltered smuggled goods,

and the locals—fishers, traders, and tavernkeepers alike—knew when to ask questions and when to look away.

The Royal Navy rarely ventured this far south, and even when they did, Haemil knew how to disappear.

"I'm telling ya," Wooyoung declared, arms swinging with flair, "The Rusty Gull isn’t just a place to drink as it might seem to be—it’s a haven for the lawless, a sanctuary for anyone who lives by the sea and the sword. You want a crew? A job? Trouble? This is where you find it. But be warned—what happens in there rarely stays in there. The walls have ears, the floors have teeth, and the wrong move might earn you a one-way toss into the harbor.”

"Gods," Yeosang rolled his eyes. "He’s so dramatic."

"You should’ve been an entertainer, not a pirate," Hongjoong muttered, walking ahead down the cobblestone alley San had pointed them toward.

"I am both,” Wooyoung pouted. “And this is my hometown, remember? I know what I’m talking about!”

The tavern loomed at the end of the lane, its sign gently swinging in the sea breeze. A one-eyed seagull, painted with deliberate strokes, stared down from above. The tavern’s name—The Rusty Gull—was etched beneath in weathered but careful script. The building itself looked humble but solid, its salt-worn wood polished by time and care. It had the bones of an old sailor, weathered but dignified. Neat. Well-kept.

Inside, the scent of sea air mingled with lemon oil, spiced rum, and a faint trace of old smoke. Lanternlight flickered warmly, casting a soft glow across the room. A wrought-iron chandelier hung above—unpretentious, but elegant in its simplicity.The floors, though old, gleamed faintly under the light. The tables were heavy oak, rounded at the edges, polished smooth with age and use. Not broken or bloodied—marked by time, not violence. Chairs matched, each one sturdy, no limp legs or mismatched pieces.

A trio of musicians played in the corner—not quite a sea shanty, but something close, something familiar. Their instruments were scuffed but lovingly repaired, their tune light enough to sway the crowd without drowning conversation.

Of course Wooyoung was being dramatic, but that was simply how he told the truth. Because the place didn’t look like a pirate tavern. Not on the surface. But it felt like one, if one knew what to look for—the way the back booths had perfect views of both doors, the way conversations quieted when strangers stepped in, the subtle posture of regulars who always sat with their backs to the wall.

The Rusty Gull wore its disguise well. And that was exactly the point.

The bar stretched across the far wall—long, polished mahogany. Spotless. Behind it, bottles gleamed in neat rows: aged rum, spiced brandy, and liquors from across the sea. Labels written with care. Glasses lined the shelves upside down, waiting.

Hongjoong’s steps slowed. His gaze fixed.

The barkeep.

The lanternlight caught his face—sharp cheekbones, a clean jawline. His black hair, tied back in a loose leather strip, gleamed as he moved, with a few strands falling defiantly across his forehead. He wore a fitted white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a deep brown leather vest embroidered with subtle detail. Worn but dignified—like everything else in the place.

The man moved with the ease of someone who had worked both behind a bar and through a battlefield. There was something about him.

"Captain?"

Hongjoong blinked. Yunho stood beside him, looking concerned. Apparently it wasn't the first time he’d said his name.

“You look like you came across a siren,” he teased.

Hongjoong glanced back toward the bar. The barkeep was handling two drunken sailors with a barely there smile, a flick of his wrist, and a look that sent one stumbling away with an apologetic grunt.

Maybe he had.

Dark eyes met his. And held. Hongjoong exhaled slowly. Τhese eyes. They–

“Captain Kim?”

Another voice. Hongjoong turned again annoyed. A tall man with sharp eyes, inked skin, and silver glinting in each ear stepped forward from the shadows. “And you are?”

“Ian,” the man said, offering a hand with a half-grin. “Keeper of the inn.”

So this was the one they were meant to meet. The contact. The one they were selling the loot to.

“Let’s talk outside then,” Hongjoong said with a wink.

“You haven’t even had a drink yet,” Ian asked with a pointed glance toward the bar.

“We’ll settle that later.” Hongjoong smirked, then tossed a coin pouch toward Yunho. “Order whatever you want—for all of them.”

Yunho caught it with a nod, already turning to the others.

Hongjoong followed Ian outside, but his eyes drifted one last time toward the bar and the man behind it.

The barkeep wasn’t looking anymore.

But somehow… the hum of the tavern felt softer, warmer, as if the place itself had asked Hongjoong not to go.

*

The storm broke, the wind howled like a beast, and the waves crashed fiercely against the rocks by the time Hongjoong returned to the tavern.

His coat was soaked at the edges, boots leaving small puddles on the wooden floor. He didn’t stop at his crew’s table, only gave Yunho a nod — a silent sign that the deal was done, that the gold was where it should be. The rest could wait.

His steps took him straight to the bar, to the stool directly across from the barkeep with the round eyes.

The man gave him a nod, the barest curve of a smile playing at his lips. The lanternlight caught in his dark hair, in the glint of his rings swaying gently as he moved.

“Rum,” Hongjoong said, his voice low and edged from the cold and salt air. His tone carried that quiet command that clung to him like a second skin. “The strongest you have.”

The barkeep raised a brow, the smirk ghosting wider. “Aye, I’ve got plenty of rum,” he said, his voice warm but teasing, a playful edge hidden beneath the smooth timber. “But can you handle it, sailor?”

Sailor?

Hongjoong smiled — that slow, dangerous kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His copper hair clung damply to his brow.

“Don’t you know who I am?”

The barkeep tilted his head, and smirked back as he reached for a dark, aged bottle. His movements were precise. His nails were clean and well-kept, his fingers long, steady as he poured.

“Hm…” His dark eyes sparkled like wet stone beneath the tavern lights. “The one who thinks their name alone is enough to act like they own every place they step foot into?” He slid the glass in front of Hongjoong, “What happened to hello?”

Cocky. Was it what Hongjoong expected? Not at all. Did he like it — despite the sting of his pride? Damn him, he liked it. However, he knew how to play this game. And he’d make this man blush as fleet as a whispered secret.

“My bad — hello, fine treasure. In my defense, I was too busy being captivated by you to remember basic manners.”

The barkeep’s fingers brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and for a fleeting breath his gaze flickered downward — the barest crack. When he lifted his eyes again, they were sharp as a blade drawn in the dark.

“I can’t blame you then, can I?” His voice softened just a touch, but the glint in his gaze stayed. “So, what’s your name?”

Hongjoong held his gaze, let it linger, slow and deliberate, as he downed the rum in one long swallow that burned its way to his chest.

“The one who can handle strong rum, apparently.” He sighed, letting the warmth of it settle, and smirked. “Another, if you’re feeling generous.”

The barkeep’s smile turned sly, the gold of his earring catching the low light as he reached again for the bottle. “Improving with the manners, are we?” His voice was smooth as aged rum, touched with that knowing edge of a man who’d heard every excuse, every boast, every drunken confession. But beneath the calm, there was a spark—like a storm waiting just offshore.

His dark eyes glimmered like the sea under moonlight, sharp, always watching.
“Here you go,” he said, sliding the glass to Hongjoong, “I’m Seonghwa, by the way. Nice to meet you, sailor.” he added hiding a small cough behind a polite, practiced smile.

“Beautiful name,” Hongjoong replied, the words a careful balance of jest and sincerity. “It suits you.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” Seonghwa said, biting his lip to chase back a grin.

Not bad? Hongjoong gave a theatrical sigh, shaking his head as though genuinely wounded. “First time anyone’s called me that, you know. ‘Not bad.’ I’ll be losing sleep over it.”

Seonghwa snorted softly, his gaze steady. “You don’t strike me as the type who needs strangers’ praise to prop up his ego.”

Hongjoong’s grin deepened, that dangerous kind of grin that promised trouble or pleasure—sometimes both. “You’re not a stranger though… are you?”

Seonghwa leaned in, close enough for Hongjoong to catch the faintest trace of lavender soap and sea air, his voice dropping low with amusement. “Do you flirt like this with every barkeep you meet?”

“Jealous already?” Hongjoong teased, arching a brow.

“But of course.” Seonghwa clutched his chest dramatically, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed his act, “You’re implying I’m not the one? I’m heartbroken,'' he muttered, as if Hongjoong had shattered his world.

Hongjoong’s smirk turned slow, assured—like he already knew how this night would end. Like the game had only just beg–

“Seonghwa-ya? Why are you still here?”

Hongjoong took a slow sip of his rum as Ian emerged from the shadows behind the bar. One of his large hands slipped easily around Seonghwa’s waist—casual. Hard to miss.

“It’s fine,” Seonghwa said quietly, his voice softer than before. “I still have to carry a few bottles up from the cellar, and then—”

“I’ll do it,” Ian cut in gently. His tone left no room for argument. “Go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

Something flickered across Seonghwa’s face—heat rising in his cheeks, his fingers curling ever so slightly on the rag he’d been gripping against the bar.

So.The innkeeper and the barkeep.
Classic.
Annoying too.

Ian gave Hongjoong a polite nod, already stepping away toward two fishermen settling at the far end of the counter, leaving no room for further comment.

And then—Seonghwa’s gaze found Hongjoong’s again.
For all their teasing banter, Hongjoong's sharp tongue, and Seonghwa's playful smirks, there was something so unguarded in him at that moment—so soft, it tugged at something deep in Hongjoong’s chest.

Seonghwa lingered there a breath longer, lips parting like he might speak. Instead, he offered a gentle smile—tender, fleeting.

“Goodnight, sailor,” he said at last, the words warm but heavy with something unsaid.

And he turned, slipping into the quiet of the back door of the tavern without looking back.

Hongjoong downed his drink, leaving an extra few silver coins on the wooden counter and went back to the table of his crew where everyone seemed to be in particularly high spirits.

''So, how did it go, captain?'' Yunho winked while petting Mingi's head that was casually resting on his lap.

''What?''

''Did you get the siren? any plans for tonight?''

''He isn't avail–'' Hongjoong paused sensing the blood pound in his ears, ''What the fuck are you talking about?''

''Oh no, the captain is smitten?'' Wooyoung giggled and immediately earned himself a kick under the table.

Ridiculous.

Sure, Hongjoong noticed the other—but not in a special way. Just the way one notices when a song they enjoy is playing on a fair. It’s not like he was memorizing the way the barkeep smiled, or the color of his eyes. That would be… weird. He just wanted to have some fun tonight. Which– in Hongjoong's case– wasn't weird at all.

"He's annoying," Hongjoong finally muttered to Yunho and Wooyoung, trying—failing—to wipe the grin off their faces. "Well—annoying is a strong for a stranger. It’s just... the way he exists. All dumb jokes, and that smile for no reason. It’s frustrating."

"Pot calling the kettle black much?" Wooyoung snorted, only after shifting his legs safely out of striking distance.

"I’m your senior.'' Hongjoong hissed, narrowing his eyes. ''And your captain."

"And yet I have a man and you don’t," Wooyoung sung sweetly, throwing an arm over San’s shoulder. "Clearly, you’re doing something wrong."

"I’m not looking for a man, Wooyoung."

"Right. Captain Kim Hongjoong—untameable, like the sea itself," Wooyoung declared, head tilted dramatically, mimicking Hongjoong’s usual tone—until he cracked himself up, high-pitched laughter echoing between the tables.

Good gods.

"I’m going for a drink. Alone. We’re leaving in the morning. See you back at the Aurora."

"I thought we were sleeping at the inn tonight?" Wooyoung called after Hongjoong, frowning.

"Try not to be a pain in my ass next time, and I might consider it," Hongjoong shot back with a sardonic smirk, pushing to his feet.

He strode off, mindlessly at first, boots striking the cobblestones in a rhythm that soothed him more than his crew ever could tonight. The road behind the Rusty Gull was quiet, the kind of quiet that came after a storm. Rain had left the stone slick, reflecting the moonlight in broken silver patches. From the port came the soft hush of water against wood, fishing boats bobbing like tired animals at rest. A shutter creaked open somewhere; chimney smoke unfurled, curling into the dark.

Hongjoong lit his cigar, inhaling deep, letting the smoke warm him from the inside out.

" Come, come, don’t be afraid! The storm’s over now, hasn’t it?"

And he froze. The soft voice cutting through the night like a lullaby.

His heart kicked once, hard against his ribs.

Was it real? Or too much rum?

But no—there it was. A mewling chorus answered the voice, persistent, near. He took a cautious step toward the sound, boots silent now on the damp stone, slipping behind a stack of firewood piled high beside the inn.

And he saw him.

Seonghwa knelt in the moonlight, a wooden bowl cradled in one hand. Around him, a motley parade of cats—striped, black, calico—crept closer on cautious paws. His voice was low, coaxing, a melody meant only for them. And somehow, they listened. Maybe they understood. Maybe that gentleness needed no translation.

Hongjoong stayed hidden, heart beating far too fast for a simple scene. The glow of that quiet kindness—he hadn’t expected... And gods help him, he wanted to see it again.

One bold kitten butted against his knee, and Seonghwa smiled, scattering a bit more food as if it was a treasure shared between old friends. Then Seonghwa's fingers brushed the ground as he let a black one sniff his hand– his touch impossibly soft when he scratched her head, and a quiet chuckle when one of the kittens batted at his bootlace.

The other kept talking to the cats, calling them by what sounded like their very own names. Each name soft on his lips, each cat responding with a flick of its tail or a tentative step closer.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the softest thing Hongjoong had ever seen. The kind of softness that disarmed him in ways a cannonball never could.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling, not until—

"Hwa." The back door of the tavern creaked open, and a familiar voice broke the quiet. "I knew I’d find you here."

Hongjoong’s smile faded into something closer to a scowl. Hwa. Hwa and Ian. Of course. Ridiculous.

"So… did you, uh, go?"

Seonghwa kept his eyes on the cats, fingers scratching gently behind the ear of the black one that refused to stray from his side. "I did."

"And?"

A pause. Seonghwa nodded faintly, still not looking up. "Same old. Nothing major."

"Nothing major?" Ian’s voice tightened, concern lacing the words.

Seonghwa finally glanced up, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Not yet."

"But he said—"

"It’s fine," Seonghwa cut him off, sharper this time. A forced calm in his tone. "Just keeping an eye on things."

Ian exhaled heavily, crouching beside him, fingers running absently through the calico’s fur. "That’s good," he said quietly.

Seonghwa met his gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. "Shouldn’t you be at the tavern?"

"I left the boy on it for a second. I just wanted to check if there was any...progress."

So. The barkeep tangled in some of Ian’s business too? Hongjoong scoffed under his breath, hidden behind the firewood. The rebellious couple, weren’t they?

"Take tomorrow off," Ian went on gently. "I’ll handle the tavern with Jungwon."

Seonghwa didn’t answer right away. When he did rise from the ground, Hongjoong noticed the faintest hesitation, the way he steadied himself against the wall for just a breath before brushing imaginary dust from his vest. "Do you...happen to know that man who sat at the bar earlier?"

"Gonna need more than that," Ian chuckled.

"The one with the daring eyes and the smooth voice? I spoke to him right before you arrived."

Ian blinked, then shook his head.

"The one with the red scarf."

Ah. That made Hongjoong smirk. The grin sliding across his face like a cat who had cornered its prey.

"Oh, Kim Hongjoong?!" Ian said at last. "He's the captain of the Aurora."

Seonghwa’s breath hitched. "The Aurora?"

Hongjoong could practically taste the victory on his tongue. Of course Seonghwa knew his ship—the Aurora, whose name carried whispers across the seas like a storm about to break. The ship that haunted naval dreams, whose flag sent crews to their knees before a shot was fired. The ship that outran the law, the navy, bounty hunters—and left nothing but legend in its wake. He crossed his arms, chin lifting just slightly, satisfied.

"Did he make you uncomfortable?" Ian asked, cautious.

And Hongjoong’s grin froze once again.

But Seonghwa shook his head, and there was something almost wistful in his voice. "No. Not at all. He… he was sweet."

Sweet?

The anger in Hongjoong’s features dissolved, now replaced by stunned disbelief.

Sweet? Had the barkeep gone blind? Or daft? Captain Kim Hongjoong of the Aurora, sweet?

Enough of this.

Without another glance, Hongjoong dived into the shadows and slipped away from the scene. His boots found the cobblestones as if of their own accord, carrying him through the village streets, toward any tavern that would drown the irritation sizzling inside him.

Sweet.

The word echoed like mockery in his head.

And yet… why did it cling to him? Why did it warm him, even as it vexed him? Why did it make him want to prove Seonghwa right—and wrong—all at once?

He stepped into the first tavern he came across, striding straight for the bar. A man with no time to waste. The place was dimly lit, the glow of lanterns barely enough to cut through the haze of pipe smoke. The low hum of conversation mingled with the clink of tankards and the occasional burst of rough laughter.

"Rum," he growled, not sparing the barkeep a glance. His mind wasn’t here. Not really.

It was still back at the Rusty Gull. The yard. The cats. The way those two leaned in close when they spoke—shoulders brushing in a way that was casual enough to pass, but deliberate enough to set Hongjoong’s teeth on edge. Yeah. Something was going on.

It wasn’t handholding or stolen kisses.And yet, this was the kind of bond you couldn’t fake. The kind that needed no performance. Obvious. Pointless. Stupid thoughts.

Maybe Seonghwa was right. Maybe Hongjoong had grown too used to people looking at him with awe, eager to please, quick to fall in line, or into his bed. But how could someone he’d just met—someone who should’ve been flustered or impressed as well—see through him so easily?

Hongjoong took a slow sip of his rum, the burn down his throat grounding him. Only then did he notice them—a boy and a girl flanking him, trading amused glances over the rim of their mugs.

"Ahoy, Captain," the boy said with a crooked grin, tipping his hat. "Word is, you steal hearts faster than treasure." The wink was bold enough to almost earn Hongjoong’s laugh.

On his other side, the girl twirled a lock of golden hair between her fingers, her eyes glittering with mischief. "I’m curious, Captain," she purred, leaning in close enough that Hongjoong caught the scent of rosewater and rum. "Does your charm work as well on land as it does at sea?"

Hongjoong smirked, slow and dangerous. His gaze flicked between the two of them, the sharp edge of his grin making clear they were playing with fire.

"Depends who’s asking," he drawled, finishing his glass in one go. "And how much trouble they’re willing to risk."

The boy raised a mocking eyebrow at her, "Careful now, lass. There’s no telling what a pirate captain might do with this kind of attention."

"Oh, I think the captain’s well accustomed to handling...dangerous situations the boy chuckled, glancing at Hongjoong with a playful challenge, ''Even–keep both plates spinning,''

Hongjoong’s smirk deepened. He leaned back on his stool, stretching his legs out a little, letting the rum settle warm in his chest. That’s more like it. The night, at least, still knew how to pay its respects.

His gaze flicked between them, dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Let’s go then," he said smoothly, voice low, like a dare.

Both the boy and girl exchanged an excited glance, before they led the way outside and in to the inn next-door. The air inside the place thick with the scent of cheap perfume, candle wax, and spiced wine, mingling with the ever-present haze of smoke from flickering lanterns and tallow candles.

"What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen out at sea, Captain?"

''Captain, do you trust your compass or your instincts?"

"Captain, have you ever met someone who made you want to drop anchor?"

"Do the stars look different when you have no shore to return to, Captain?"

All these questions while entering a room with velvet curtains and heavy tapestries, and yet Hongjoong's mind kept pulling him back to a stranger who called him sailor.

***

Captain's Journal

02.01.1723

The Rusty Gull smelled faintly of oysters and wet stone.

He leaned on the bar like he owned me.

I hate the way I couldn’t look away.

***

The next week, the Aurora approached the same familiar port, its outline rising through the morning mist.

Hongjoong gripped the wheel, jaw tight, his sigh lost to the wind.

Behind him, Wooyoung leaned against the railing, grinning like the devil himself. “Come on, Captain. You had so much fun last time we were here. Keeper of both plates spinning—what’s a man to do?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Hongjoong growled, shooting him a sharp glance as he raised a hand to signal Jongho at the anchor.

He made a mental note—once again—not to share anything with Wooyoung. Ever.

“You know our old port isn’t an option anymore,” Wooyoung added, half serious now. “The Royal Navy’s practically camped on the docks, waiting for us to waltz in.”

San, ever the practical one, stepped beside him. “We still need to offload the goods, Captain. The Rusty Gull paid well last time. And the market’s ripe—we might find buyers for those private letters we snatched off on Tuesday. Best to be rid of them soon.”

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, fighting the urge to snap. They were right. The Aurora creaked beneath him, the familiar groan of the sea against the hull. “I know,” he muttered.

“Then let’s make the best of it.'' San gave him a steady look. ''The day’s still young.” 

Hongjoong said nothing more, just spun the wheel with a flick of his wrist, guiding the Aurora toward the dock—toward the tavern he hadn’t wanted to see again so soon.

The market was alive with noise—merchants shouting their prices, the scent of spiced meat and fish scales thick in the air. Wooden stalls crowded with silk traders, fishermen, and gamblers looking for their next pocket to pick.

The rest of the crew had already gone ahead to the Rusty Gull, while San and Wooyoung lingered a few steps away from him, carefully inspecting a stall overflowing with nets and hooks.

Hongjoong didn't like places like this— too many eyes, too many ears lurking. His usual swagger was a little less pronounced, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, and then– they started following a man as he moved through the market.

The way the sunlight kissed his hair. His meticulous eyes as he reached for the fresh fruit. The poised way he handed the money to the stall keepers. There was something reserved and quiet in every movement, like he was unaware of the way the world seemed to pause when he walked.

Hongjoong hadn’t even meant to watch for so long, but just the sight of the man, so focused on his shopping, felt like a spell.It wasn't until the other's gaze lifted from the baskets he was arranging his shopping into and landed on Hongjoong. His expression softened at once as he recognized him. Hongjoong’s grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, a look both teasing and quietly triumphant. And that was all the invitation the other seemed to need.

With far more confidence in his step, Seonghwa wove through the bustling market, the crowd parting around him. Hongjoong’s gaze stayed fixed on him, sharp and amused, as he closed the distance between them.

“Ahoy, sailor!”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, though the spark in them gave him away. “Ahoy, uhm… Seongho, was it?”

But instead of offense, an easy laugh escaped the barkeep—warm, unbothered, like the words had been a dare he had expected and welcomed. The sound carried something light, something alive. “You’re back!”

Hongjoong let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly, the playful glint in his eyes brightening. “Did you miss me?”

“I wouldn’t say miss… but it's hard to ignore the chaos you seem to bring with you.”

The tension between them eased, replaced by that easy charm that always seemed to creep into Seonghwa’s voice. It drew a true grin from Hongjoong—wider, warmer than the usual sharp edge he wore.“You’re welcome, for adding a little thrill to your day.”

“I suppose, in small doses, I can tolerate it.”

“Small doses, huh?” Hongjoong’s grin deepened, mischief filling in his gaze. “I’m here for a visit. Though, you might regret not having me stick around longer.”

“Hm, I doubt it,” Seonghwa teased, his voice light, the glint in his eyes making the words anything but serious. “So, how long are you staying? Will you drop by th—”

A sudden lurch—a shadow moving too fast.

A dagger glinting, lunged from the side, aiming for the pouch at Seonghwa's hip. Before the blade even got close, Hongjoong darted forward. With a sharp clink, his sword was halfway out of its sheath. His arm found its way around Seonghwa's waist–tugging him out of reach, his body slipping between him and the thief without hesitation.

"You really think that’s a good idea, lad?" Hongjoong's voice was low, smooth, but carried the danger of a man who had seen more fights than he could count– and won every one of them.

The thief hesitated.

A mistake.

In the next second, Hongjoong's dagger was pressing at his throat, his grip steady, his expression cold."You can leave with your fingers," he murmured, "Or; I can take a souvenir instead. Your choice."

The thief stumbled back, disappearing into the crowd, and only then did Hongjoong turn his full attention back to Seonghwa.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, the edge of adrenaline softening into something gentler. His hand still rested at Seonghwa’s waist, fingers warm against him. Hongjoong told himself it was instinct—just instinct.

Seonghwa’s breath came too quick. His chest rose and fell, the flush on his cheeks too deep. Hongjoong wasn’t sure if it was the danger that left him shaken. Seonghwa's gaze, sharp as ever softened now, lingered on him a beat too long. He was still gripping the grocery baskets, his knuckles white with the effort. “I—had it, under control,” he muttered, his tone aiming for confidence, but the slight tremor in his voice gave him away.

Hongjoong let out a quiet laugh, tilting his head just enough that his copper hair caught the light. “Yeah, I know,” he said, amused but not unkind. Without waiting for permission, he eased the baskets from Seonghwa’s hands. ''Shit, these are heavy,'' he said under his breath, adjusting his grip on them.

Seonghwa pushed back a stray lock of hair from his damp brow, his fingers trembling faintly. His lips parted like he wanted to protest, but only managed a shy, “What are you doing?”

Hongjoong shifted the baskets to one arm, his grin deepening as he glanced at him. “Saving you from the obvious, clearly,” he said, light yet unable to fully mask the glint of concern in it. “You’re out here trying to haul all this like it’s nothing. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

“I’m not—” Seonghwa began, but his breath hitched.

“Captain!” San and Wooyoung came barreling toward them, breathless with urgency. “We found the guy we were after, and—”

Both of them paused mid-sentence, their gazes dropping to the baskets weighed down in Hongjoong’s hands, then flicking to the figure at his side.

“Uhm… this is Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said before he could stop himself, cursing internally the second his mouth ran ahead of his mind.

Fuck. Why did I use his name?

His jaw clenched, but it was too late to take it back. “The barkeep from the Rusty Gull.” he added.

Wooyoung’s grin widened, his eyes bright with mischief, but to his credit, his voice stayed kind. “Oh! Pleasure. Holding steady Seonghwa-ssi? You look a wee pale.”

And Wooyoung wasn’t wrong. Seonghwa’s color had drained, the flush from the market gone, leaving his face drawn and his eyes dulled.

The barkeep offered a small, polite smile, one that tried for reassurance but didn’t quite make it past his lips. “I’m fine,” he said evenly—too evenly—“Nothing to worry about.”

Hongjoong didn’t buy it for a second, but he wasn't going to drag it further. Not with San and Wooyoung watching.

“Take care of the deal. Meet me at the Rusty Gull after,” he said, sharp enough to cut short any of Wooyoung’s possible teasing, and the two men snapped to with a quick “Aye, Captain!” before hurrying off.

Hongjoong sighed.

At least they hadn’t embarrassed him. And tonight? Tonight, they'd sleep at the inn.

He turned to check on Seonghwa—only to find him still rooted to the spot, as if his legs had forgotten how to move.

“Shall we?” Hongjoong called back to the other, his voice a little gruffer than intended, pointing with his chin towards the road.

Seonghwa hesitated, gaze dropping to the ground like he was searching for steady footing. A breath left him—soft, weary—before he lifted his head, meeting Hongjoong’s eyes at last.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. There was something in his voice—gratitude?  but something else too. Something that send a pang to Hongjoong’s chest once again.

The pirate's brow arched, his usual smirk fading into a more tempered expression. “Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice dipping low, almost warm. A flicker of a grin touched his lips. “I don’t leave anyone behind. Not my watch.”

Seonghwa fell into step beside him, his smile small but genuine, the kind that reached his eyes at last. “Still,” he murmured as they crossed a quiet street, where the market noise melted into the sea breeze. “I’m glad you showed up.”

And Hongjoong, caught off guard by the softness in those words, gave a slow nod.

Their eyes met again—just for a breath, but it was enough—and Hongjoong let a true smile break through, brief but real, before he faced forward and kept walking.

~

Seonghwa was polishing the wooden counter of the bar, his fingers trailing along the smooth grain as he watched the room with quiet vigilance.

The Gull was alive tonight—laughter, dice games, tankards clinking—but he barely registered it.His mind was stuck hours ago.

At the market.

Hongjoong had all but launched between him and the thief. No hesitation—just a sudden, almost reckless pprecision.Then he yanked the baskets off Seonghwa's hands. Turned and walked with his ever present smirk, as if nothing had happened.

A flash of irritation had sparked in Seonghwa’s chest. He hadn’t ask for help. But the feeling didn’t linger long. Because beneath the impulse there was something else. Seonghwa had wanted to be annoyed. Wanted to keep a distance. But that quiet warmth, the unspoken protectiveness, made it hard.

He smiled to himself, a barely-there twitch of his lips as he tossed ice into a tankard.

He knows how to get under my skin.But—damn—it feels good.

Two visits...That’s all it had been.Two encounters, a handful of conversations–basically banters and teasing. And yet Hongjoong had carved out space in his mind like he belonged there.

After they returned from the market, Seonghwa had insisted on food and drinks for the crew—his treat. Of course Hongjoong brushed it off with a mutter and a roll of his eyes, but in the end he turned to the others and said, “Save something for Wooyoung and San.”

As if he always had that unbothered way. And always proved otherwise.

He had disappeared for a few hours after that—doing business with Ian—but now, there he was again. Back in the same stool he had sat the first time they met.

That same long, embroidered black coat draped dramatically over his shoulders, gold thread catching the lamplight. Chains, buckles, and edges slightly tattered by sea wind. Rings stacked on his fingers, necklaces layered at his collarbone. His copper hair was tousled, the front shorter, loose braids tucked behind one ear, wild at the crown. A faint scar curved just over his cheekbone, framing the eye rather than marring it. He wore kohl smudged around his sharp eyes—half-pirate, half-warrior.

And yet, for all that presence, he sat quietly.

No greeting. No request for a drink. Just watching the room, gaze unreadable.

Seonghwa’s hands stilled.

There was something about this man—that didn’t make sense. Seonghwa shouldn’t have been drawn to him. Not this much. Not so soon. But there was gravity in him. As if the tide itself shifted just to pull him closer.

Seonghwa tried to ignore him, until–he couldn't.

''You were going to ask if I added the spice, weren’t you?” he teased as he slid a plate across the bar.
Hongjoong blinked. “I was.”
“I saw your eyes drift to the jar behind me,”
“Or maybe you read my mind.” the pirate teased.

Seonghwa laughed under his breath, but it left a strange flutter in his chest—because just for a second, it didn’t feel like the first time they’d had such a conversation. "You look like you’ve been through a storm."

"A storm would’ve been kinder," Hongjoong muttered, shaking off his coat, sea spray and tension clinging to him like a second skin. "A trade I was dealing for went south."

Seonghwa nodded, already reaching for the bottle. Without a word, he poured the heavy rum, sliding it across the polished wood with an ease that made it look like second nature. “Then you need this more than I need the coin,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eye as he added a wink for good measure.

Hongjoong arched a brow at that but accepted the drink, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Are you always this generous to strangers?”

“Only to the ones that find my lines smart enough to steal them,” Seonghwa teased, biting down on his lip to stifle a laugh.

And for a moment—just a moment—he saw the weight lift from Hongjoong’s gaze. The storm clouds that lingered behind his eyes scattered, chased back by the simplest thing: a shared joke, a fleeting connection that felt like light breaking through.

Seonghwa tilted his head, leaning one hip against the counter, the curve of a smile tugging at his lips. His voice was playful, touched with warmth. “Need another, sailor?”

Hongjoong paused mid-sip, eyes meeting his over the rim of the glass—watching, weighing, something flickering there, that hadn’t been visible a minute ago. Then he drained it in one smooth pull and set the glass down with a soft thud, lips curling.“Sailor?”

Seonghwa’s heart gave a traitorous little jolt at the llook Hongjoong gave him—sharp, curious, playful. “You look like one,” he replied, letting the tease slip out, his voice lighter than he felt.

Hongjoong’s grin turned crooked, feigning offense. “I think you know by now that I’m a captain.”

"Oh? And what makes you so sure?"

"The ship I command, the crew that follows my orders, and the rather expensive red scarf I was wearing the last time I was here. Regrettably I couldn't find it this morning."

Seonghwa felt the blood boiling in his cheeks before he chuckled, pouring another drink, "Sounds tragic. Must be a fine scarf."

"The finest....'' Hongjoong bragged looking at him as if he knew something Seonghwa didn't, ''I'd even say it's my trademark,''

"And yet, without it, you’re just another sailor at my bar."

Hongjoong let out a crooked grin shaking his head, "You enjoy this, don’t you?"Seonghwa pursed his lips inside his mouth, pouring some ice in a small barrel.

"So, what will it take for you to call me ‘Captain’?"

Seonghwa leaned in, smirking, "A ship. A crew. And finding that silly scarf,"

Hongjoong nodded while lifting his glass, "Then I suppose I have some work to do."

For a few quiet moments he had been glancing over at Seonghwa before he started again,  his tone teasing yet curious, "So. . .at the market this morning. You froze up, lost all color. Why were you so afraid?"

Seonghwa's eyes widened briefly, caught off guard by the question, but quickly looked away  
and forced a smile, shrugging, "It wasn’t fear, just… I wasn’t expecting it, that's all."

Hongjoong frowned slightly, his brows knitting together as he watched him closely
"Come on, don't lie to me. It was like... you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t even move."
he paused, then added with a playful smirk: "Just admit it, you were scared! I won’t make fun of you."
Seonghwa's breath stumbled slightly at the memory, the reason bubbling up but not quite breaking free, "Really, it was nothing." he coughed lightly, "I carried quite a lot of coin.I keep the gold of the inn on me and we can't afford to waste it. Nothing more to it."

"I get it, I get it.'' Hongjoong chuckled softly, clearly not buying it, ''But you look tougher than that," he tilted his head playfully, eyes still studying him, "So what kept you from doing anything?"

Seonghwa paused, internally wrestling, but instead, he forced another smile, "Fine, I was scared! I wasn’t in the right state of mind for a fight, alright?" he shifted again, taking a deeper breath. Better off that way.

He tried to laugh it off, with a hollow sound, and his gaze drifted away from Hongjoong.

Just on time.

Because in the far corner of the bar a group of rough-looking pirates had encircled Jungwon."Oops. My hand slipped.'' One of them snatched a cup from the tray, ''Guess you’ll have to clean that up."

"C’mon now, pup, just a little closer. We ain’t gonna bite... unless ye ask real nice."

The boy gripped his tray tight.

"That’s enough!"

The tavern quieted. The pirates glanced over, chuckling, but Seonghwa was already moving– stepping out from behind the bar, rushing towards them.

"Ye got somethin' to say, scurvy barkeep?"

He ignored the insult, shielding Jungwon with an arm. Their eyes meet briefly, "Go to the back. Take a breath." The younger hesitated, then nodded and slipped away, the tension in his shoulders easing.

Seonghwa turned back to the pirates, cracking his knuckles, his voice like steel: "I’ve seen men like you before. Loud in a pack, but nothing but cowards when standing alone."

A heavy silence fell among tthem.The one who seemed to be their captain sneered, trying to laugh it off, but there was an edge to his moves—uncertainty creeping in while Seonghwa towered over him. "We was just havin' some fun—"

"You were trying how far you could go.'' Seonghwa interrupted him, slow and deliberate, ''And you’ve already gone too far. Now... you can finish your pints and leave quietly. Or, we can see how well you hold your liquor while lying on the floor."

The pirates exchanged glances. Then, one by one, they muttered curses and scraped back their chairs, tossing coins onto the table before slinking out the door.

Seonghwa watched until they disappeared into the night, then exhaled before collecting the plates and pints and going back behind the bar.

Behind him, Jungwon peeked out from the kitchen. Seonghwa clapped him on the shoulder, then headed back to pouring the next drink as if nothing happened.

The tavern returned to its usual hum, the air still thick with tension but lighter now.

Hongjoong remained at his seat, his sharp gaze lingering on the door for a beat longer—like he expected the world outside to throw another storm his way. Then his eyes flicked back to Seonghwa, that same insufferable smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, that was a show, wasn’t it?” he said, leaning back in his stool.

Seonghwa exhaled, setting a bottle back on the shelf a little harder than he meant to. His heart was still trying to settle from the rush of it all, but his voice came out steady. “It might not seem like it, but I would protect anyone.” Anyone who needs it. Even him, damn him.

Hongjoong’s grin deepened. “Hmmm, I see. Not leaving anyone behind on your watch either, eh?” There was that glint in his eye—teasing, but thoughtful too. “Quite the way you handled things... for someone who claims to be scared of a thief at the market.”

Seonghwa swallowed down the flutter of irritation.His gaze met Hongjoong’s, steady this time. “I never said I wasn’t capable,” he replied, his voice dropping lower, more intimate than he intended—like a truth slipping past his guard. “Just that I don’t enjoy getting involved with the likes of them.”

And for a moment, neither of them spoke.

The hum of the tavern seemed far away.

Hongjoong's eyes were glinting when he spoke again, "Looks like there’s a lot more to you than just a barkeep with a sharp tongue?" he leaned against the bar. Seonghwa was pouring another drink with a grin that caught the light. There was a sparkle in Hongjoong's eyes—something playful and sharp all at once.

“You might be surprised with what I’ve seen—and done—over the years,” he said, sliding another glass of rum towards him with a flick.

Hongjoong arched an eyebrow, “Care to tell me more? Or do I have to keep guessing?”

Seonghwa’s grin widened, mischief dancing at the corners of his lips.

Slowly, he pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a small but bold tattoo on the inside of his forearm: a stylized heart with a dagger piercing through it, on a single wave, inked in shades of deep blue and red.

Mist.

Hongjoong's lips unwillingly formed a surprised, little 'o'

That symbol didn’t belong to just any pirate crew—it belonged to the Crew of Mist, a legend on the high seas. Known for their raids and even more for their defiance of the empire’s greed. They had made it their business to outwit the navy and help those no one else would. Smuggling food to starving villages, ferrying refugees across dangerous waters. The Crew of Mist were respected, a crew that relied on wit as much as steel.

Hongjoong met Seonghwa’s eyes, and for a moment, he saw past the Seonghwa’s easy charm. A life of salt, blood, heroism.“You were Crew of Mist?” he asked voice low with awe.

Seonghwa’s eyes formed half moons, amused by the pirate's reaction. “Aye,” he said, rolling his sleeve back down. “Learned a lot with them—how to fight, how to talk my way out of trouble, and how to help the right people. The sea’s not always about gold, you know.”

Hongjoong let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’d always heard the Crew of Mist were a ghost story...”

Seonghwa laughed softly, his dark eyes sparkling. “Ghosts leave shadows behind, sailor. Even on the sea.”

“So what happened?'' Hongjoong crossed his legs, intrigued. ''Why did you leave?”

The question seemed to hit harder than Hongjoong intended.

Seonghwa’s grin faltered, his gaze slipping to the worn wood of the bar. His fingers drummed once, twice—small, nervous. “Ah—just got tired of the running,” he muttered, his voice tight. “Wanted something steadier. A place I could call home.”

Hongjoong knew a deflection when he saw one. Something  behind Seonghwa’s eyes—raw and broken. As if the reason was something more forced on him rather than his choice. He took a long sip from his glass and let the silence stretch between them. “You ever change your mind,” he said then, his tone seemingly unbothered yet sincere, “my ship always has a place for you.”

Seonghwa’s grin returned, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A sudden thought hit Hongjoong like a stray wave.

He tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. “Isn’t your man gonna be mad if I steal you with Aurora though?”

Seonghwa blinked. “My who?”

Hongjoong scoffed, trying to ignore the annoying knot in his stomach. “You’re dying to hear me say it, eh?”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “How many bottles have you had today?”

“Not enough,” Hongjoong shot back, though his grin felt too wide.

“Who is my man?” Seonghwa asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered away, heat creeping up his nape. “Aren’t you and Ian... a thing?”

Seonghwa’s laugh rang out—low and warm. “Me and Ian?” he repeated shaking his head.

“He’s like a brother to me. No romance here!”

Relief washed through Hongjoong, stronger than he’d like to admit. His chest loosened, and he found himself smiling—really smiling. “Well,” he teased, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, “Good to know. I wouldn’t want to pick a fight with your brother.”

Seonghwa leaned in, eyes dancing. “You wouldn’t last a minute, sailor,” he said, and they laughed together.

For a moment, the sea outside felt quiet—almost kind.

And though the shadows in Seonghwa’s eyes never quite left, they were still sparkling.

***

Newspaper page, circa 1720

Inn and Tavern: The Rusty Gull — Where fortune and fun meet.
Step lively, or be swept under the tide.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

The Rusty Gull, the best tavern of the harbor, beckons all weary sailors, daring rogues, and bold adventurers!

Step inside this famed establishment where the ale flows as freely as the salty breeze, and the fire warms even the coldest of souls.
Feast on hearty fare and drink from casks of the finest rum before taking the stairs up, for a good night sleep.

Share tales of high seas and hidden treasures with a motley crew of pirates, smugglers, and mercenaries.

Beware, good traveler, for The Rusty Gull is no place for the faint of heart! Brawls and bargains alike fill the smoky air.

Open ‘til the moon fades and dawn breaks the horizon.

Find us by the crooked pier, where the gulls sing and the sea whispers her secrets!

***

The next week, Hongjoong stumbled once again into the Rusty Gull, the rich smell of sizzling tavern food—grease, spice, and something faintly sweet—greeting him like an old friend.

His shirt clung to his side, a dark stain spreading through the fabric. His steps were uneven, one of his hands pressed tightly against his ribs.

He waved off the concerned glances from his crew with a lopsided grin, as he walked towards the bar for a well deserved cup of rum.

Yet, someone else wouldn't be so easily dismissed. Seonghwa's eyes scanned him, then narrowed, his jaw tightening as he stepped out from behind the bar with a purposeful stride. Hongjoong nearly stumbled, caught off-guard by the strength in his slender grip.

The barkeep dragged him—quite literally—around the end of the bar to a small stool tucked behind the counter. The scent of herbs and sea air hung in the air, mingling with the smell of spilled rum.

“Sit,” Seonghwa ordered, voice firmer than Hongjoong had ever heard it. His lips parted to retort—he wasn’t taking commands, not from anyone but the sea itself—but before he could speak, Seonghwa’s hands were pressing down on his shoulders and Hongjoong found himself–sat.

“You’re dripping blood on my floor,” Seonghwa muttered.

Hongjoong smirked, his lips twitching despite the pain chewing on in his side. “Sentimental about wood, are you?”

Seonghwa ignored him, as he grabbed a clean cloth from a nearby shelf, then fetched a bottle of strong rum—no doubt to pour over the wounds.“Take off your shirt,”

Hongjoong’s grin widened, his tone turning teasing. “If you wanted me undressed, you could’ve just asked—”

The sting of the cloth pressing against the cut on Hongjoong's cheek made him hiss through his teeth, cutting off the joke. “Off,” Seonghwa repeated, more gently this time, but with a firmness that left no room for jokes.

For once, Hongjoong listened.

He shrugged out of his shirt, wincing as the fabric stuck to the cut along his ribs. He’d fought his share of skirmishes—on deck, in alleyways, on godforsaken docks—but something about this wound felt different. Or maybe it was Seonghwa. Who leaned towards it—gentle, sure, not flinching at the blood and the sight of torn muscle.

The barkeep worked silently, pouring rum over the gash and dabbing carefully with the cloth. Hongjoong found himself watching him more than he watched the wound. The dimmed light painting shadows along Seonghwa’s cheeks, catching the curve of his lips, the care in his eyes.

Hongjoong had stitched up his own wounds before—taken a knife to his own skin without flinching—but this was different.

The way Seonghwa’s fingers moved over his skin, the way he didn’t even blink at the sight of countless, ugly, scars that marred Hongjoong's chest— It made something inside him— tighten.

“Does this happen often?” Seonghwa finally asked, his voice softer, quieter.

Hongjoong let out a slow breath, eyes drifting to the worn planks of the bar. “More often than I can count,” he admitted, the words tasting like brine on his tongue.

Seonghwa’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second—and then he resumed, tying the bandage carefully. When he leaned back, Hongjoong noticed the tension in his jaw had eased, though his eyes still carried that quiet worry. “Then maybe you should stop throwing yourself into knives,” Seonghwa muttered, almost too soft to hear.

Hongjoong chuckled, the sound low and tired. “Wouldn’t be much of a pirate if I did.”

Seonghwa shook his head, rinsing his hands in a basin behind the bar.There was something different in his eyes now.“Try not to die before next week,” he said, voice warmer, teasing. “I’d rather not have to find a new favorite patron.”

Hongjoong’s grin was slow but genuine. “Didn’t know I was your favorite.”

Seonghwa turned just enough for Hongjoong to catch the small quirk of their lips. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

They shared a lingering look—one that seemed to say more than either of them decided to voice.

Hongjoong rose from the stool, smirking even though his side ached with every move. He let his gaze linger one last time on Seonghwa’s hands—steady, familiar, strong—before turning toward the staircase.

The night felt heavy as he climbed to his small room above the tavern.

He let himself fall forward on the creaking bed, the smell of green soap and old wood filling his nose, and closed his eyes — the ache on his side a dull reminder that the sea took as much as it gave.

Sleep came in ragged fits.

.

.

.

The sea stretches forever, moonlight catching on the waves like scattered silver.

He’s there—eyes dark as night, calling my name in a voice older than the tide.

 I reach for him, but water pulls him under before my hand finds his.

I wake with salt on my lips,

and the ache in my chest won’t leave.

Hongjoong's eyes snapped open, his breath shuddering.

And Seonghwa’s name was still caught in his throat.

Chapter Text

Days turned to weeks, and Hongjoong’s boots kept finding familiar paths across the Rusty Gull’s planks.

Ian was more than keen on bartering with him and his crew. Every few days, there was a new shipment of rum to haggle over, or a stack of crates bound for the next port. It made sense, Hongjoong told himself—he had to make sure the deals were fair, that Ian woudn’t cheat them blind.

But who was he kidding?

He could send Yunho, or any one from the crew, and visit every two weeks instead. But he never did. He always found himself drawn back after a few days only—always sitting at that bar.

Somehwere in between the haze of spiced rum and candlelight, his cockiness pulled under, like shells in a riptide. He once came to Haemil for business—but now he came for the way Seonghwa’s laughter echoed in the corners of the tavern like an old song he had always known. Staying longer each time—risking his reputation, his freedom.

Wooyoung teased him mercilessly—“Captain, what be going on? You haven’t had a man or a woman in five weeks now. Since you befriended–you know who,” he had crowed, grinning like a demon. But Hongjoong couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

Because slipping off to some stranger’s bed now felt like wasting time. Time he didn’t have. Time he didn’t want to spend on anyone that wasn’t him.

And with Seonghwa, it never felt like just a craving for the bed anyway. It felt like something quieter. Hungrier. Like his soul leaned forward every time the other spoke. Not lust. Not even infatuation. Just wanting—slow and endless, every time he caught these gentle eyes across the bar.

The tavern’s lamps flickered low a little before closing that night, casting soft shadows across the worn floorboards. Outside, the wind moved gently through the village, carrying with it the scent of salt-wet nets and the faint smoke of a bonfire burning somewhere along the shore.

Hongjoong watched Seonghwa wipe down the same patch of counter for the third time that night. The barkeep's hands moved with their usual quiet rhythm, but there was something distant in his gaze.

“Sooo long night?” Hongjoong asked, casually leaning forward on his elbows. “Or are you just trying to clean a hole straight through the wood?”

Seonghwa didn’t look up, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re particularly noisy tonight.”

“I’ve been worse.” Hongjoong winked, his eyes following every movement with unhidden ease. “But I figure if I don’t make noise, you’ll forget I’m here.”

“Forget you? ” Seonghwa finally met his eyes. “That’s unlikely.”

Hongjoong grinned. “Then what’s your excuse for never saying yes?”

Seonghwa paused with his hand stilling over the counter.

“To what?” he asked, even though they both knew.

“A drink that isn’t behind this bar.”  Hongjoong shrugged, feigning innocence. “A walk down the docks. One night without a tray in your hand.”

Seonghwa didn’t answer right away. He kept polishing the same glass, but his shoulders had stilled just slightly.

The tavern’s warmth buzzed around them, the low chatter and clinking of pewter mugs melting into background noise.

“You never stop, do you?” Seonghwa finally let out a tired giggle, glancing up from beneath his lashes.

Hongjoong leaned in on the bar, his grin slow and crooked. “No. Not when I want something.”

“And what is it you want?”

“A little of your time.” Hongjoong didn’t flinch. “Somewhere quieter.”

Seonghwa scoffed lightly, but it lacked conviction. “I’ve got casks to check. Ledgers to update.”

“Excuses,” Hongjoong murmured. “I’m not asking you to abandon the tavern! Just… come see the place where I spend my nights when I’m not pestering you.”

Seonghwa's gaze flicked to the side, avoiding his again. His fingers toyed with the knot of his apron as if it was suddenly too tight.

“You’ve never seen my ship. That’s a crime,” Hongjoong insisted once again, voice low and coaxing, the teasing lilt doing little to hide how much he wanted Seonghwa to say yes.

But something in Seonghwa softened, like the tide giving way.

“Fine. I’ll come,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear, wiping his hands on his apron. He still wouldn’t meet Hongjoong’s eyes, but his voice was clear.

From behind the bar, Ian looked up from a tray of tankards and raised a brow, while Jungwon turned away with a grin he barely concealed behind the crook of his arm.

“You’ll regret it,” Hongjoong teased at once, lips twitching with something achingly close to affection. “I’ll show you the most stubborn vessel on this coast. She listens to no man but me.”

“Sounds familiar,” Seonghwa muttered, loosening the apron strings with a quiet smirk. “Lead the way, sailor.”

And there went Seonghwa, cheeks flushed with a telltale pink, trailing behind Hongjoong as they slipped out into the night. Out through the back door of the Rusty Gull, past the stacked crates and sleepy cats, into the salt-crisp night. 

Down to the docks.
To Aurora.
To whatever this was between them, finally stepping out of harbor.

They climbed the gangplank in the moonlight, the sea lapping at the hull like a heartbeat. Seonghwa’s eyes widened as he took in the deck of the ship, the polished wood gleaming under the lanterns, ropes coiled with military precision.

“She’s impressive,” he murmured, fingers brushing the railing. “You keep her tight as a drum.”

Hongjoong felt a flicker of pride. “Aye.No ship’s gonna last long if her crew treats her like a brothel floor, right?”

He caught the quiet smile Seonghwa tried to hide.

He showed him the hold—rows of barrels stacked with care, crates marked with smuggler’s runes and trade codes. Seonghwa ran his hand over one, smiling faintly. “I’ve seen some of these marks before—on crates Mist liberated.”

Hongjoong’s grin widened. “No surprise there. Your old crew knew how to make an honest living by dishonest means.”

They moved below deck, and just as Hongjoong reached for his cabin door, a voice called from the shadows, “I knew I heard Hwa-hyung’s voice!” Hongjoong turned to see Wooyoung grinning like a fox. He and Seonghwa had grown close in the past weeks—Wooyoung was the kind who charmed everyone, but with Seonghwa, he had found a willing partner-in-crime for teasing Hongjoong.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he grumbled. “Where’s San?”

“Just making sure our guest is safe,” Wooyoung teased. “And making sure you won’t poison him with any of your cooking.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and pulled Seonghwa inside his cabin, ignoring Wooyoung’s parting threat: “He better be here for breakfast in the morning!”

Inside, Hongjoong’s cabin smelled faintly of wet sand and old books. Maps lined the walls, inked in blues and blacks—some marked with dangerous reefs, others with safe harbors known only to him. The oil lamp burned low, casting gold over wooden beams and salt-weathered journals. He watched Seonghwa’s eyes being drawn to a battered volume on a narrow shelf. “You have read The Riddle of the Winds?” he asked, surprised, like he didn’t expect someone like Hongjoong to know it—let alone keep it.

Hongjoong tilted his head, pride curling at the corner of his lips. “Of course. Learned half my navigation tricks from that book. The rest from near-death experiences.”

Seonghwa laughed and the sound filled the room. It didn’t break the tension somehow—it wrapped around it. Made it intimate. They stood so close now. Hongjoong could make out the dark flecks in Seonghwa's eyes, the way his lashes curled slightly at the ends, how his breath caught just a fraction on the inhale.

Neither of them moved, but the world narrowed to the space between them. The air felt different—charged. Like the pause before lightning strikes. A moment suspended.

For a second, the only sound was the distant hush of waves and the echo of held breath.

Seonghwa’s lips parted ever so slightly and Hongjoong’s gaze dropped to them, then back up. His own heart pounded, unsure if it was the rum, the sea, or something else altogether.  Then he took a breath that wasn’t steady, stepped back just an inch—not retreating, but grounding himself. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he'd like. “Let’s get some air.”

They climbed the rigging—Seonghwa moved with ease, but Hongjoong cursed every step softly under his breath. At the top, the crow’s nest swayed gently in the breeze, the sea stretching black and endless beneath them.

“Didn’t ever imagine you were afraid of heights, sailor,” Seonghwa teased, grinning under the stars.

“Only when I’ve got something worth losing,” Hongjoong shot back, clinging to the rail with mock drama.

When they finally settled, Hongjoong pulled a small bottle of rum from his coat, offering it first. Seonghwa took a light sip, handing it back at once, with his eyebrows raised.

“Not thirsty?” Hongjoong asked.

''It's fine,'' Seonghwa shrugged. “One of us has to stay sober to help you back down.”

Hongjoong barked a laugh too loud for the quiet sky. “What a nobleman.”

They talked long into the night, shoulders brushing with the ship’s creak. Hongjoong spoke first—about his crew, his makeshift family built from storms and mistakes. About how Yunho nearly threw a punch at him during his first week aboard, and earned his loyalty ever since. About Wooyoung’s sharp mouth and softer heart.

“They’re all a bit mad,” Hongjoong laughed. “But they’re mine.”

Seonghwa watched him quietly. “They’re lucky to have you.”

Hongjoong glanced over, surprised. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

After a moment of silence, Seonghwa shifted, pulling his knees a little closer to his chest. “I didn’t grow up with much. After I left Mist, Ian and I... we were tossed between docks and bad coin deals for years. One night, we ended up here. Half-starved. Soaked through. The Gull wasn’t even a tavern yet—it was a half-burnt storehouse.” he chuckled faintly, voice thinner with memory. “But we made it work.”

“You built something,” Hongjoong muttered. “That’s more than most.”

Seonghwa looked away, out toward the horizon, where the sea met the last line of fading gold. “I found good people there. I didn’t expect to find…” His voice faltered. The words caught in his throat, lingering unspoken between them. He didn’t finish the sentence.

But Hongjoong didn’t ask him to.

Seonghwa’s fingers tapped lightly against the wooden edge of the crow’s nest, like he was weighing something. Then, without looking at Hongjoong, he asked quietly, “Do you ever think you were meant for something else?”

“Something other than stealing from the corrupt and swearing at the sea?” Hongjoong tilted his head. 

Seonghwa huffed a soft laugh, but it was thin, almost hollow. “I mean… something quieter. Something that doesn’t have to be fought for.”

There was silence. Only the wind answered for a while, brushing past them like a ghost.

“I used to,” Hongjoong said finally, with a low voice. “Back when I thought ‘meant for’ was a real thing. Before I learned that most of us just end up where we are needed. Or where we’re strong enough to stay.” he glanced sideways. “And you? Still think about it?”

“I used to dream of running a little shop,” Seonghwa admitted, almost sheepish. “Books. Remedies. Maybe pastries. Something no one would burn down just for the fun of it.”

Hongjoong smiled faintly. “I’d come in every morning. Pretend I don’t know you, just to flirt outrageously with the ‘mysterious shopkeeper.’”

Seonghwa’s shoulder brushed his as he laughed—quiet, real this time.

“Maybe in another life,” he said softly.

Hongjoong nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Or maybe this one, if we are stubborn enough.”

Their eyes met. Just for a moment. And the look there wasn’t fleeting.

Eventually, the cold crept in and the breeze turned sharper.  “Come on.” Hongjoong gave a soft sigh.“Let’s climb down before we freeze.”

Seonghwa helped him as promised, teasing with every grip. “It’s not the height I’m afraid of,” Hongjoong grumbled. “It’s the falling.”

When they hit the deck again, Hongjoong glanced toward the dock where the tavern’s lanterns still burned golden and warm.

“I’ll walk you back,” he offered quietly.

But Seonghwa hesitated, hands curled lightly at his sides. His voice, when it came, was low.“You said you weren’t asking for much,” he said. “Just a little of my time.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly.

''Well,” Seonghwa continued, looking up at him. “Now that I’ve given it, I want it to count.''

Hongjoong’s heart tripped in his chest. Not just from the words—but from Seonghwa's tone. The certainty. The softness.

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

They lingered in the dark, watching each other like the tide might turn between heartbeats.

“And Wooyoung would kill me if I don’t let him make breakfast,” Seonghwa added, finally breaking the silence.

Wooyoung’s voice rang from below. “Oi, don’t let the Captain near the stove or you’ll die before lunch!”

Seonghwa’s laugh this time was warm, like the first light over seafoam.

Hongjoong led them toward the washroom near the crew's quarters. It was dimly lit and smelled faintly of soap and salt. They took turns, rinsing off the brine and chill of the sea wind, trading quiet looks through steam-fogged glass.

When Seonghwa came out—toweling his hair lazily, cheeks flushed from the heat—he stretched with a yawn, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“Hmm,” he murmured, rubbing at his neck, “It’s way past my bedtime.”

He turned to Hongjoong with a small, crooked smile, voice light, teasing but edged with sincerity.

“So… your bed?”

The words made Hongjoong’s breath catch.

“You sure?” he asked again. Not teasing. Not pushing. Just… careful, like a man holding something fragile in his hands for the first time.

Seonghwa nodded once, brushing a damp lock of hair from his eyes, then looked at him—steady, and tired, and open, with a half-smile, the kind that didn’t need explaining. Hongjoong blinked, once, twice—and then let out a breathless laugh, leading them on.

His heart beat harder with each step, but not from want. From weight. From wonder.

When they reached his cabin again, Seonghwa stepped inside first this time. Hongjoong lingered at the threshold for a second—just looking at him. At the way he moved like he already belonged there, brushing his fingers lightly over a rolled chart near the desk. Calm. Unafraid.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he blurted out, tugging at the back of his coat like a nervous boy. “If—if that’s better for you, I mean. I don’t want you to think—”

Seonghwa turned, eyebrow raised.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said simply, and then he sat right on the bed, taking his boots off with a grace that made Hongjoong’s mouth dry.

Hongjoong toed his own off, trying not to trip over himself. And when Seonghwa shifted under the covers, turning toward the wall to make space, it hit him like a wave: This was real. Them curled up in his bed—two bodies drawn together like magnets. The air felt quiter than ever in this room. Like the world beyond the hull had vanished and left them adrift in the dark.

Hongjoong lay stiff at first, eyes open, the candlelight casting gentle shadows over the beams above. He could feel the heat of Seonghwa’s body next to him, not quite touching, but close enough to steal his breath.

Then Seonghwa turned.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he whispered, his voice soft but pointed.

Hongjoong huffed a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

“Always.”

Another silence stretched—and this time, Seonghwa was the one who moved first, shifting close enough that their arms brushed.

Hongjoong felt Seonghwa’s breath on the pillow next to his. Steady. Warm.

It felt… right. Like they’d always been meant to fit like this, in this bed, below the deck, under the stars.

His eyes traced the slope of Seonghwa’s face in the flickering glow. The sharp line of his jaw. The softness around his eyes. The way his long hair fanned across the pillow like black silk. A lock had fallen over his brow, and Hongjoong couldn’t resist the urge to reach out—slowly, carefully—and smooth it back.

Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered open, just barely. He didn’t pull away. “Don’t overthink it.” he just whispered, half-asleep. 

Hongjoong’s hand lingered, thumb brushing against his temple.The tip of Seonghwa’s nose twitched slightly with each breath and Hongjoong’s chest tightened.

“I’m trying not to,” he murmured.

Gods, it was impossible not to think when every part of Hongjoong already knew: this was where he wanted to stay. He’d lain with plenty of people before—shared a bed, shared heat—but this was different. This was the first time he found himself staring instead of plotting his next move. The first time he wasn’t thinking what he could take but about what he could keep. Slowly, he reached for the blanket’s edge and pulled it up, tucking it around Seonghwa’s shoulders. The other murmured something—a half-sigh—and shifted a little closer to him with a faint smile, barely conscious.

Hongjoong stayed awake long after the Seonghwa's breathing had evened out.

He watched every rise and fall of his chest. The little creases between his brows that didn’t quite smooth, even in sleep. It felt sacred—like if he looked away for even a moment, the whole world might vanish.

He reached out once more and brushed a knuckle across Seonghwa’s temple, as light as sea-foam. “Sleep easy,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

Sleep crept in slowly. Hongjoong fought it, blinking his heavy lids, dragging his thoughts back whenever they drifted too far. But the ship swayed gently. The warmth beside him was there.

And eventually, his eyes closed.

It wasn’t long after when the air shifted.

At first, he wasn’t sure what woke him. A twitch. A sound. Before he heard it.

“No… no, wait—don’t l—”

The voice was thin, raw. It clawed its way through the quiet like a jagged wave. Hongjoong’s eyes flew open. His body jolted upright, heart already racing.

Seonghwa thrashed beside him, his face twisted in panic. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps. Fingers clenched the blanket in a white-knuckled grip, knotted in the fabric like he was holding onto the edge of a cliff.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said quickly, voice low but urgent. He reached for him—hesitating for half a second before cupping his shoulder. “Hey. Hey, wake up.”

Seonghwa jerked at the touch, his breath stuttering. His eyes snapped open, wide and unfocused, wild with panic. There was sweat on his brow, and his chest was heaving like he had been underwater too long. For a second, he didn’t speak—just stared at Hongjoong as if unsure whether he was real.

Then, he whispered in a voice that barely held shape: “You… you were gone.”

Hongjoong dragged his palm slowly up and down Seonghwa’s arm. “I’m right here,” he said gently. “You were dreaming.”

Seonghwa sat up halfway, then faltered, one hand gripping his chest like it hurt and tears started clinging to his lashes. “I was on a rocky shore,” he uttered, as if the words themselves burned. “The waves were—so cold—and I was calling for you. But every time I reached out, the tide pulled me back.”

Hongjoong’s throat closed. The image lodged in his heart like a harpoon.

“It was just a dream,” he said again, softer now. Though it didn’t feel like just anything. Not with the way this dream reminded him of his own dream the other night. Not with the way Seonghwa was shaking, his breath catching like a child left out in the rain.

Hongjoong did the only thing that made sense.

He reached for him.

His arms opened instinctively, and Seonghwa fell into them like a man coming home. Hongjoong held him tight, hands spreading across his back, feeling the tremble in his muscles slowly beginning to ease under the weight of their touch.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” he teased in an effort to lighten the mood, ''Don't worry, I'm not easy to get rid of.''

The corner of Seonghwa's lips lifted upwards and he gave a broken huff. Not quite a laugh, but close. His eyes fell on Hongjoong's arms, still wrapped tightly around him, with no intention to let go.

“It’s been a while since I slept on a ship,” he muttered, trying to sound light, but it didn’t quite land.

“Maybe the sea got in your head,” Hongjoong offered, thumb brushing beneath Seonghwa's eye. “It does that, sometimes.”

The other didn’t answer. He just stared down at the blanket, jaw working like he was swallowing something bitter—something between exhaustion and fragility. He blinked once. Then again. And finally, he exhaled. His gaze flickered up to meet Hongjoong’s, and it stayed there now.

“I’ve always been the one taking care of others,” he whispered after a while. “And now … I can’t even remember the last time someone… held me like this.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, a pain blooming sharp in his chest. Because he knew this wasn’t about fear. It was years of burdens. And silences swallowed instead of soothed.

“You’ll never have to wonder again,” he promised, voice raw but steady. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Seonghwa didn’t reply. But his hand found the front of Hongjoong’s shirt, fisted the fabric, and held on.

And that was enough.

Hongjoong lay back down, curling around the other protectively. The sea whispered outside the hull and gradually Seonghwa’s breath began to slow again.

And though Hongjoong didn’t understand it—didn’t have the words for why it felt like he had done this a thousand times—he knew he would never let Seonghwa slip away.

*

The morning sunlight filtered through the cabin’s small window, painting the wooden floor in pale gold. 

Seonghwa’s head rested against Hongjoong's shoulder, his breath slow and even now, and the sight made his heart tighten once again.

He had never known a night like that. What it felt like to just hold someone, to be held in return.

He slipped from the bed as quietly as he could, with a soft stroke on Seonghwa’s hair before slipping out to the deck. The sea breeze was cool against his face. He ducked into the small washroom to splash water on his cheeks, trying to steady himself, to convince his heart it hadn’t all been a dream.

When he pushed the cabin door open again, he stopped dead.

There, on the edge of the bed, Seonghwa sat with his hair still tousled from the sleep—and perched on his shoulder, like it had claimed him for its own, was Hongjoong’s parrot, Halazia. The bright-feathered bird tilted her head, cooing softly as Seonghwa stroked her head with careful fingers. Hongjoong’s mouth fell open. Halazia had always been a stubborn creature—she only allowed Hongjoong and, occasionally, Mingi to get close enough to scratch her feathers. Even Wooyoung had given up after one too many wild pecks. But here she was, nuzzling Seonghwa’s cheek like a lovesick sailor.

Seonghwa’s eyes sparkled as he looked up, a small, sheepish grin on his lips. “She’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low with wonder. “I can’t believe she came to me.”

Hongjoong found his voice, though it came out in a half-laugh. “She’s never taken to anyone else. Ever. You must be magic.”

Seonghwa’s grin turned a little shy, his hand brushing Halazia’s head again. “Maybe she just knows a kindred spirit,” 

Something warm bloomed in Hongjoong’s chest—an inexplicable sense of rightness, as if even his trusted non human companion could sense what Hongjoong kept thinking: Seonghwa belonged on this ship, by his side.

“Will she follow me to the washroom too?” Seonghwa giggled and moved to stand up from the bed. Something small tumbled from his pocket and rolled across the floor—a tiny glass vial catching the morning light. Hongjoong’s bent to pick it up, turning it in his fingers before looking at Seonghwa questioningly.

“Drunkenness cure,” Seonghwa said too quickly. ''I carry it with me.''

Hongjoong’s gut twisted, but he didn't insist. He handed the vial back, their fingers brushing in a moment that felt too tight.

“Come on,”  Seonghwa laughed, but it was just a fraction too slow, like his mind had to catch up, his voice shaking slightly. “Let’s get to breakfast. I want to see if Wooyoung will poison me, or if he was accusing you falsely.”

Hongjoong forced a grin, but his mind wouldn’t let go of the way Seonghwa’s eyes had darkened.

***

Captain's journal,

20 .02 .1723

He calls me “sailor” like a challenge.

Every time he says it, I want to prove him wrong.

Every time he smiles, I want to prove him right.

***

Running a tavern was grueling, even for someone sound in wind and limb.

For Seonghwa, it had been like a battle, every single day, for a while now. He had always shouldered the main weight of the Rusty Gull, from the boisterous tavern below to the handful of cramped rooms above, where travelers sought shelter for some nights.

Jungwon was still young—eager and willing, but green as spring grass. He tried his best, but every spilled pint and misplaced key it reminded Seonghwa the boy wasn’t ready to shoulder the place alone. Ian, meanwhile, had a hundred other burdens: trading with pirates, dealing with the dockmasters, smoothing ruffled feathers when the navy sniffed too close.

Seonghwa had been there from the start, when the Gull had been little more than a leaky roof and an empty till. Together, he and Ian had fought to build it into something more than just another roadside tavern, with a dirty inn upstairs. They’d scraped coins together to buy decent barrels of rum, argued over every chair and lantern, fought tooth and nail to make it more than just another stop on a sailor’s long road.

Now, they were finally comfortable. Profits steady, rooms usually full, the scent of good food drawing hungry men from the docks and the village.

Ian kept pushing. “Let me take more shifts,” he would say, with a low voice and eyes full of worry eventhough he tried to hide it, “You shouldn’t be working yourself to the bone anymore.”

Ian knew—almost every detail. Enough to know that Seonghwa’s strength came in waves now. That some mornings felt like climbing a mast in a gale. Still, the thought of letting the days slip past like water through his fingers—that felt like it would be Seonghwa's end far quicker than anything else. And yet, the long hours left his muscles weak. The constant standing made his knees shake by the end of the night and his chest burned when the air turned thick with smoke. More than once, he found himself gripping the edge of the bar, willing his vision to clear, his breath to steady.

Seonghwa straightened his shoulders and poured a glass of rum for a merchant.

He hated when it happened in front of others. Hated it even more when Hongjoong was there. And Seonghwa knew he shouldn’t let that matter. He shouldn’t let the captain’s steady presence at the bar, or the quiet way his eyes always searched for him first, mean anything. He shouldn’t let it feel like hope for them. But the image of Hongjoong's arms from the night before, lingered inside his chest, soft and sweet like the aftertaste of rum. How was he supposed to resist when this fierce, impossible man looked at him like he was worth stealing the stars for?

So Seonghwa hid it. As best he could — because Hongjoong was almost always there lately. And that day in the market—Seonghwa almost slipped. The way Hongjoong noticed how pale he was, something he tried to cover up as fear. And two nights ago—Hongjoong came dangerously close to noticing once again. The tavern had emptied out, quiet and still, and Seonghwa had been struggling with a crate of rum. He had barely taken three steps before his arms threatened to give out.

And then Hongjoong was right next to him. Silent. His glass forgotten on the bar, his coat still slung over the stool. He took the crate from him setting it down as if it weighed nothing.

Seonghwa scowled. “I can handle it.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

Seonghwa’s pride flared at that. Like it always did. But Ian and Jungwon were on a trip and his bones had already betrayed him. He didn’t argue when Hongjoong took the rest of the crates,  nor when he started clearing the tables without being asked.

“A pirate, wiping tables?” Seonghwa teased, collecting the mugs with one hand and handing him a fresh, damp cloth.

“Don’t get used to it,” Hongjoong teased, but he took it anyway.

In the end, there was always something that appeased Seonghwa when Hongjoong took charge, casually, too casually—an unspoken understanding, a quiet companionship that both found themselves needing. In the hush between drinks and the quiet hours before dawn, Seonghwa soon found himself leaning on Hongjoong's easy grin—the way he would listen without judgment when he needed to vent about rowdy patrons or the ever-growing tangle of debts. Hongjoong’s protective side started coming out too– in small but undeniable ways—a rough shove to another sailor who attempted to get too handsy with Jungwon, a watchful eye at the door whenever Ian was away on trade.

The kind of man who could turn a tavern into a fortress with nothing but a glare and a hand on his sword. And Gods, Seonghwa liked him—more than he’d ever meant to, more than he’d thought possible.

But every time he caught himself imagining Hongjoong’s hands in his, he remembered how all of this would end. He knew the shape of his own shadow too well. What right did he have to drag someone like Hongjoong—so bright and full of life—into darkness?

But still, Hongjoong made him forget. With every easy laugh and every challenge thrown across the bar, the pain dulled.

They both saw the world the same way: crooked and cruel in places, full of hypocrisy and greedy men who had never worked an honest day in their lives. When Hongjoong ranted about the rich—how they would rather drown a man than pay him fairly—Seonghwa’s laughter rang out like a bell— not mocking, but relieved. As if someone had finally said aloud what he had been thinking his whole life. They both noticed the way the sea gave nothing freely, and—still—they loved it. They both believed in loyalty before law, in kindness before rank. Seonghwa understood the way Hongjoong’s hands clenched when he passed a chained man, the way his eyes flickered when a child went hungry. And Hongjoong recognized the quiet anger in Seonghwa’s voice when he would stitch up a sailor no one else bothered to treat.

Their hearts beat for justice, not order. For choice, not comfort.

They didn’t always say it. But when they looked at each other, they didn’t need to.

And over the weeks that followed, that unspoken understanding wove itself into the quiet spaces between them too. Someone might catch them feeding the stray cats behind the tavern, sparring lazily in the sand for fun, wiping down tables shoulder to shoulder, or mending sails on the dockside while arguing about knots. Seonghwa grumbling while teaching Hongjoong how to cook a remotely edible meal. Hongjoong, pretending not to care when Seonghwa tucked citrus slices into his hand to keep the scurvy off. Evenings spent polishing loot pistols by lanternlight, stealing glances when the other wasn’t looking.

And some nights, when the world quieted and the sea softened to a lullaby, Seonghwa would find Hongjoong sitting alone on the dock with a bottle of rum, staring at the waves like they held an answer. He wouldn’t speak. He would just sit beside him and rest his head on his shoulder—because that rare stillness, that brief surrender, was something they had learned to share, too.

Hongjoong had even started bringing Halazia to the tavern sometimes, just to see Seonghwa’s eyes light up he said. The parrot would immediately fly to Seonghwa’s shoulder, clacking her beak in triumph, wings half-spread as if claiming him as her own.

“She’s a traitor you know,” Hongjoong grumbled one night, as Halazia preened and squawked at Jungwon to keep his distance. “I feed her, and she shits on my shoulder every time.”

Seonghwa laughed, pressing a tiny kiss in Halazia’s head, “She’s got good taste sailor, that’s all.”

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Hongjoong warned, but his eyes were warm.

Seonghwa caught himself studying Hongjoong in such small moments. The way his jaw tensed when he was deep in thought, the tiny scar by his left eyebrow, the charm in his smile. Hongjoong- he was beautiful, not just in the way the candlelight caught the gold in his hair, but in the way he moved through the world—unbowed, unbroken.

Every time the pirate would hug him from the back to surprise him, or when as simple as his hand brushing Seonghwa's—just a casual, fleeting touch—he felt like he was teetering on the edge of something too deep.

And sometimes when Hongjoong talked, it felt like Seonghwa had  heard it before—like a song from a place he couldn’t name. He didn't know why it felt like that, but it was there—woven into the marrow of his bones. And it terrified him how easily he was falling for him, until one day his heart would be reduced to tatters.

And yet, as Hongjoong crossed the tavern's door tonight, Seonghwa exhaled in relief.

The pirate started grumbling under his breath to Seonghwa about a spat with Yunho—something about outdated sea charts and being challenged on route planning. Apparently, Yunho had insisted his own sketched maps were more accurate, and Hongjoong, prideful as ever, had stormed off muttering about steering the ship into a reef just to prove a point.

It was ridiculous. And so achingly him.

And a surge of joy spread in Seonghwa's chest. Because of what it meant Hongjoong sharing these things with him. Letting Seonghwa in. Trusting him with everyday burdens of a man who always stood tall. And in that moment, Seonghwa found himself smiling—not because of the argument, but because he was the one Hongjoong came to with it.

Maybe he would allow himself fall. Just a little longer.

***

Captain’s journal,

20.03.1723

I think he doesn’t know what he looks like when he thinks no one’s watching.
Not just handsome. That’s too simple a word.
Carved from strength and stitched with softness.Mismatched in this crooked world—
and too gentle to be heard by the men who deserve to be deaf.

There’s something in the way he stands still when everyone else is moving.
Like he’s learned the art of stillness to keep from shattering.

***

The day had been long once again.

Seonghwa’s shoulders ached from carrying crates up and down the cellar steps, and his fingers were still sticky from spilled ale. The tavern was finally thinning out—last call had been rung, the drunkards shuffled out or slumped half-asleep over their cups.

He moved on instinct now, wiping down the last tables with practiced strokes, stacking the chairs by the windows, making sure the embers in the hearth were safe to die out on their own.

Earlier, a tax collector, smug and overdressed, had slurred something about Seonghwa’s place behind the bar. About the kind of people who served pirates their ale. Seonghwa had gritted his teeth, polishing a glass just a little too hard, saying nothing. He couldn’t afford to say anything—not to a man with that kind of seal on his coat and that kind of power in his coin purse.

He had thought he could let the moment go. He even laughed it off when Jungwon asked if he was alright. But it sat in his throat like spoiled wine, stewing there as the man laughed and left, the door clattering behind him.  The reminder that no matter how hard he worked, how many candles he lit or floors he scrubbed, there were still those who would always see him as less.
And the worst part: he had to keep his head down. To nod. To smile through it.

Now, with the lamps blown out and the keys in his pocket, he was leaning against the outer wall of the Gull. Just a moment alone, to try and breathe without feeling like he was drowning. 

He didn’t notice Hongjoong at first.

One moment, it was just the alley and the echo of his own heartbeat. The next, a shadow dropped down beside him onto one of the wooden crates.
No words. No questions. Just quiet. Shoulder to shoulder, their knees touched—barely—but it grounded Seonghwa in a way he couldn’t explain. Not pity. Not intrusion. Just... presence. And that meant more than most people’s best intentions ever had.

Then, without a word, Hongjoong shifted slightly and pulled something from the pocket of his coat. He took Seonghwa’s hand—gently, like it might break—and opened it with his callused fingers. His palm was cold. Seonghwa let him.
He placed a smooth, dark stone in it. Oval-shaped. Worn down like something the sea had kissed for decades.

“It’s from the first island I ever set foot on as a captain,” Hongjoong explained, low and casual, but his voice didn’t quite match the weight in his eyes. “Thought you might like it.”

Seonghwa stared at the stone.
He didn’t speak. Not right away.
He just turned it over with careful fingers. Ran his thumb along the subtle ridges, the gentle dips. It wasn’t carved. It wasn’t polished.
But it had... history. Meaning.

He felt his throat tighten. A strange ache bloomed there—grief and gratitude tangled together.
Then a laugh tried to escape, like an agonized effort to lighten the air. But it came out closer to a breath. “You just carry rocks around in your pockets?”

Hongjoong smiled—not his usual wicked smirk, “Just the pretty ones,” he winked. “And the ones that remind me of something.”

Seonghwa held it and smiled back. His ache didn’t vanish. But it loosened its grip. The world, for just a moment, felt less like it was closing in.

He didn’t say thank you and he didn’t hand the stone back.

Later that night, he slipped it into the drawer beside his bed—nestled beside a broken compass and a single, pale seashell. Like it had always belonged there. Like he belonged there.

He hadn’t asked what the stone reminded Hongjoong of. He hadn’t needed to.

Some keepsakes aren’t about a place or a moment.
They are about a feeling you thought you would never find again.
A shape in your palm that feels like calm after chaos.
Like the first time you believed you might stop running.

And Seonghwa knew that whatever lingered between them wasn’t just friendship.And it wasn’t just passing time.
It was unbend. Much like this little rock.

Seonghwa wouldn’t allow himself to perish—not while he still had a job to do, not while there was still warmth to share, love to live. 

Chapter Text

A lighthouse on a crumbling cliff.

A song on the wind—sweet, but sad.

I climb the stairs two at a time, desperate, but the light’s gone out.

His voice echoes from the darkness:“Don’t let me go again.”

I can’t find him.

''I can't, find, I–''

.

.

.

''Ahoy! Captain! ''

Hongjoong blinked, dragging his eyes open.

His cheek was pressed against the rough grain of the galley’s table, a small puddle of cold tea soaking into his sleeve.

Across from him, Wooyoung stood with a ladle in hand like a weapon, scowling as if he’d just caught him trying to steal from the pantry.

“You look about ready to feed the fish instead of eating them,” he grumbled, pointing the ladle at his face. “Just go to your quarters and sleep! Dream about finding your treasures there—not in my damn kitchen!” Beside Hongjoong, Yeosang made a strangled hehet, before quickly masking it with a noisy sip of his steaming fish soup.

The sun, hanging low outside the porthole, betrayed the time—late afternoon, already—yet Hongjoong hadn't closed his eyes for what seemed to be days.The Royal Navy had been circling like sharks, their ships casting long shadows over the harbors. Every whisper at the docks was a warning, every glance over the shoulder a reminder that even their safest ports could be razed in fire and cannon. But it wasn’t the Navy that had left Hongjoong this hollowed.

It was the dream.

That voice—Seonghwa’s—carried by the waves in his sleep, calling his name like a spirit tangled in seaweed. Whispering from beneath black water. Cold, aching and drowned.

Hongjoong pressed the heel of his palm to his brow as he climbed to the deck, the salty wind steadying him back into his body. The sky was open and heavy with clouds while his steps turned instinctively toward the village.

Toward him.

He didn’t know what the dream meant. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Sea-devils playing with his head, maybe. Or just the toll of days without proper sleep. Either way, the dread wouldn’t leave Hongjoong. He just needed to see him. To reach for Seonghwa’s hand and remember he was still here.

The Rusty Gull was crowded, and Hongjoong had to push his way through the door.

The smell of brine and sweat hit him instantly but his eyes were already roaming the room—searching for the face he was there for.

His gaze landed on him behind the bar.

Only—Seonghwa looked worse than Hongjoong had ever seen him. His sweat-damp hair fell limply over his ashen face, lips pressed together as if holding back something much bigger than him. His hands clutched the bar like it was the only thing holding him upright–his knuckles white from the strain.

And yet, he wasn’t alone.

A merchant—his hair a tangled mess, his grin too sweet to be real—leaned in too close. His laughter was sharp, the kind that hid a knife. His hand ghosted over Seonghwa’s, fingers lingering. Seonghwa flinched, his shoulders tense, his breath uneven. He looked like he might collapse right there, but the merchant didn’t notice—or didn’t care as he took a step closer to him.

Hongjoong had never considered himself a possessive man before. The sea belonged to no one, and neither did he. But seeing that man’s hands on Seonghwa, seeing the way he crowded him, made something inside him burn hotter than any wildfire. He all but jolted behind the merchant, fury rolling off him like thunder.

Seonghwa’s eyes went wide, lips parting in a silent plea—“Don’t,” he whispered. Too late. The merchant never saw the punch coming. One second he was reaching for Seonghwa's waist, the next he was on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. The tavern fell deathly silent, all eyes snapping to Hongjoong as he loomed over the man like a gathering storm.

He grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up slightly from the floor so their faces were inches apart. The man choked on a breath, hands scrambling at Hongjoong’s wrist, but the pirate didn’t flinch.“You touch what’s mine again,” Hongjoong growled, voice low and harsh, “and you’ll be breathing through broken ribs.”

His pulse was pounding, jaw clenched tight. But then—
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seonghwa. He hadn’t moved during the punch, frozen in place, but now his lips were parted, eyes wide with shock—not just at the violence, but at him. He looked like the air had been knocked from his lungs. Like he might faint.

A ripple of panic broke through the adrenaline in Hongjoong’s chest. He turned his head, the merchant's collar still fisted in his hand.

“Are you alright?”

Seonghwa's lips trembled around words he hadn’t found yet, but his hand suddenly latched onto Hongjoong’s wrist. “Come on,” he muttered.

Hongjoong let go of the man without another word. Seonghwa didn’t wait—he tugged him hard, pulling him through the silent tavern and out the creaking door into the sunlight. The brightness hit like a slap. Hongjoong squinted, his knuckles throbbing with every heartbeat.

“You can’t just beat up everyone who annoys me!” Seonghwa said the moment they were outside, his voice tight—shaky, but not angry. Not really.

 “I can try.” Hongjoong hissed, his fists still shaking with the need to break something, someone—anything that dared to touch the man before him.

Seonghwa looked like he was unraveling now. His eyes were glassy, darting everywhere but Hongjoong. There was something hollow in the way he stood—like his body was there, but the rest of him was folding inward. He reached up to cup Hongjoong’s face, his thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. “I’m not yours to lose,” he whispered, but his voice cracked. As if the words burned his throat as they left it. Like he wished they weren’t true.

Hongjoong's throat tightened, ''Aren’t you?'' the question broke from him—rough, quiet, painfully raw.

Seonghwa’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but only a shaking breath escaped.

But Seonghwa was right. Wasn't he? Friends. That’s what they were.
Friends who flirted too often. Who stood too close.
Who watched each other like they were afraid to miss a breath.
That’s what this was supposed to be. Casual. Light. Just passing time.

But Hongjoong had never passed time like this before—
Not with someone who moved through a room like he belonged in every flicker of light. Not with someone who listened, not just to words, but to silences too, answering things Hongjoong didn’t even say.

And Hongjoong was ready to confess everything. He would do anything for Seonghwa. Because whatever excuse the other had for keeping him at arm’s length—it was starting to look a lot like fear. And fear meant there was something wrong.

His gaze searched Seonghwa’s face. The shadows under his eyes. The slow, dragging way he moved lately—like each hour on his feet was another stone on his back. Like the tavern was draining him dry and he didn’t even know how to stop it. When he wiped at his face with the inside of his wrist, like he didn’t want Hongjoong to see the tears there, something in him snapped. “I don’t want you to live like this,” Hongjoong tried to say softly, but it came out sharp-edged. Angry. “I don’t want to see you like this ever again. You’re pushing yourself too damn hard in this fucking place—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to yell.

Seonghwa only scoffed in defense with an ironic smile forming at his lips, dragging himself a step away from Hongjoong. “That’s life, sailor.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

He could see the way Seonghwa caught his suggestive tone. It was a simple line. But it meant everything. It was a proposal. And a promise.

Seonghwa’s jaw tensed. He looked away. His hands clenched at his sides—like they were holding back more than just words. ''It doesn’t?'' he cried out in the end, ''Then what do you propose? Abandon the only home I’ve built and run away with you?''

The words hit like a cannonball, leaving Hongjoong's eyes moving in desperate circles.

''Would that- be so bad?''

''Hongjoong!You don’t get it! I can’t just leave everything behind because you—because you think we’re invincible! We’re not.'' Seonghwa paused and something flickered in his expression, ''I’m not.''

Hongjoong’s breath caught—he hadn’t expected that. Not the crack in Seonghwa’s voice, not the way he looked now. And before he could think better of it, the words tumbled out, low and urgent: “Then let me carry some of that weight, damn it. You don’t have to do it alone.”

''But I do.'' Seonghwa uttered, and took more steps back, towards the entrance of the Gull, ''Because it won’t always be this way. And I can’t… I can’t ask you to carry what’s already sinking.''

''What are you–''

Seonghwa didn't spare another word or a glance. He rushed towards the Gull and banged the door of the tavern behind him.

Hongjoong didn’t follow him. He stood there with his heart rattling inside his ribs like something unmoored. The bitterness in his throat too much to swallow– too bitter to spit out.

The wind had picked up again, harsh and salt-laced, tugging at the hem of his coat as he started walking towards Aurora—but he didn’t feel it. Not really. Because all he could think about was the way Seonghwa had looked at him just now—like there was a war behind his eyes.

Hongjoong blamed his damp eyes on the glare of the daylight and the insomnia clawing at his bones.

As he barged into Aurora Halazia swooped down, squawking, but he snapped, “Not now!” and instantly regretted it as the parrot fluttered back with an annoyed scold.

He slammed the door of his cabin behind him. Before he started pacing left and right.

He saw it all—the way Seonghwa leaned against the counter a second too long lately. How he masked a wince when reaching for bottles on the highest shelves.The way he had mastered the art of deflection—smiling just right, joking just enough to steer the conversation away from himself. But sometimes, when he thought no one saw, he’d close his eyes and just breathe, like the act itself was a fight.

Hongjoong never pushed for answers, but everytime it tore at his insides worse than the last. Because never in his life had he felt such a raw, primal need to protect something. Someone. Not even his ship. Not even himself. It terrified him—this feeling that he could lay down his own life without hesitation, just to keep Seonghwa safe. Because it hadn’t come like a storm. It had crept in like the tide—quiet, inevitable.

And it was the little things, really.

The way Seonghwa always tucked the corners of the maps that hung on the wall in Hongjoong’s cabin, smoothing the curls when the sea air made them roll.
How he would gently correct Hongjoong’s sword grip when they were sparring—not with arrogance, but with patient precision, like it mattered to him that Hongjoong never got hurt.
How, when the storms came, he wasn’t the one to panic—he was the one to anchor others. Even if he seemed exhausted, he held steady. And he never asked for anything. Not help, not pity, not attention. Just gave. Quietly.

And Hongjoong loved him for that.

He loved how Seonghwa tilted his head when he was curious. How he always smelled faintly of lavender, woodsmoke, and citrus oil, no matter how late the hour. How he walked with grace but slammed drawers like a pirate. How he always watched the horizon like he was waiting for something, but never said what. He loved how Seonghwa made space for him—the kind no one else had ever made. Like he didn’t need Hongjoong to be anything but what he already was. No glory. No badges and metals. Just himself.

But Hongjoong wasn't allowed any closer as proven today. Seonghwa wouldn’t have it.

His nails dug into his crossed arms.

Was that it, then? A wall slammed down between them, no matter how many cracks he thought he saw in it before.

The words still stung—“I’m not yours to lose”... “Abandon the only home I’ve built and run away with you?”—not just because they rejected him, but because they tried to rewrite the truth. He wasn’t crazy. He knew Seonghwa wanted him back. You don’t hold someone’s gaze that long unless you’re asking them to stay. You don’t laugh at someone’s dumb jokes like it’s the first joy you’ve felt all day unless you’re aching for them. And you don’t flinch at the idea of losing something unless deep down, you believe it’s yours too.

So why push him away?

Hongjoong was ready today—heart in his hands. But Seonghwa had met him with a wound stitched shut with half-words. There was a reason. He just wouldn’t say it.

So much for confessions. So much for Hongjoong thinking today would may be the day things changed.

All he could do now was swallow it down.

Instead of going to sleep he opened a bottle of black rum, ignoring the persistent knocks on his door and Wooyoung asking 'what the bloody hell happened'.

He took a long, bitter swallow, his heart a storm of regret and anger—and underneath it all, a helpless, gnawing pain he didn’t know how to name.

***

The Evil Spirits of the Sea — A Village Tale

In the villages by the roaring sea, the nights have grown restless.

Fishermen speak in hushed tones of the cursed waters where dark spirits dwell, their eyes glinting beneath the waves.

These malevolent sea spirits, born from storms and lost souls, are said to hunt the dreams of sailors, pirates and villagers alike. Those who dare to sleep near the shore find themselves trapped in a waking nightmare—visions of drowning ships, ghostly hands reaching from the depths, and howling winds that chill the soul.

Old Marla, the village seer, warns all to keep fires burning bright and talismans close by, for the spirits hunger for fear and feed on despair.

“They walk beneath the waves, but their shadows creep into our dreams,” she says. “Break the curse or be forever lost to the sea’s dark embrace.”

The Rusty Gull, dark and foreboding on the harbor’s edge, is whispered to be a place where the veil between worlds thins, and where the spirits’ wails echo long into the night…

***

The night was warm, thick with the scent of whale oil and distant charcoal fires.

The streets echoed with drunken laughter and clattering footsteps as Seonghwa made his way back from the market now. A half-empty sack of lemons and and a bundle of mint tucked under his arm—last-minute supplies the tavern had run out. They hadn’t even been necessary, but he had volunteered anyway. Just to get some air.

It was the first time that night he had seen Hongjoong in two weeks—since their fight.

Seonghwa spotted him the moment the pirate stepped inside the Rusty Gull, but Hongjoong didn’t spare the bar a glance. His eyes found Ian, and without a word, the two of them disappeared into the cellar—just like they usually did when it was business.

“Hyung, are you all right?”

Seonghwa blinked, startled.

Two sailors stood before him, visibly annoyed, waving their empty mugs at him. Seonghwa looked down and realized his fingers were curled tightly against his chest, rubbing absently at there—as if the pressure could silence his pain.“Yes, Jungwonie,” he murmured, turning toward the tapped barrels. “Just... my mind drifted.”

Jungwon stayed quiet for a beat, then spoke more tenderly, “Hongjoong-Hyung came alone tonight. No crew. Not even Aurora is anchored in the harbor.”

Seonghwa froze for half a breath, then nodded like it didn’t matter. But it did.

He knew what that meant. All the teasing Hongjoong used to get from his crew—how they would joke about their captain being at the Gull every other day, about how he was “probably in love with someone-someone.” It was harmless ribbing, the kind that came from a trust bond. They would’ve followed him into the sea if Hongjoong asked.

But now Hongjoong came alone. Without his ship, without his men. Quick. Indifferent. Just for business. And Seonghwa understood. It was consideration. Hongjoong wasn’t dragging his crew around the village anymore, wasn’t anchoring the Aurora at the harbor just to sit at the Gull every other night.  He was choosing to keep their mess away from the people who depended on him. It was Hongjoong’s way of saying: I still have to be here, but for business. I'm also choosing what I've built.

And that somehow hurt even more.

Because Hongjoong had always chosen Seonghwa loudly—publicly. Despite the jokes from his men, teasing about “feeding stray cats” or “sulking in the corner booth like a jilted poet.”

And this quiet, deliberate separation? The absence? It was hard to bear. And Seonghwa didn’t know if he was just getting what he deserved after pushing Hongjoong away—or if it was the beginning of being really forgotten.

That day when Hongjoong whispered, “Aren’t you mine?”—something in Seonghwa cracked open.
He wanted to say yes. Gods, he wanted to say it. But what good would it do? Seonghwa had spent weeks holding back every word that trembled on the tip of his tongue. The ugly truth. Every impulse to reach for Hongjoong, every time he wanted to collapse into his arms after a hard night.

So he had been quiet. He had watched Hongjoong move through the tavern and the inn like fire dressed in velvet—sharp when needed, soft when no one expected it. And that duality undid Seonghwa. It still did.

He had always been cautious. Always the one who stayed a step back, who kept people safe by keeping them distant. But with Hongjoong, it never quite worked. Because Hongjoong didn’t ask for space. He gave it, but he never abandoned it. He listened—not with silence, but with presence. He didn’t just speak, he understood.

It started with the way he looked at Seonghwa—like he was the sea and the sky all at once. Not just a barkeep. Not just someone to be pitied. But someone… whole.

He treasured the way Hongjoong’s fingers danced when he spoke—always creating shapes in the air, as if his words weren’t enough and his hands needed to help. The way he hummed to himself when reading maps, low and tuneless but oddly comforting. The way he got this stubborn crease in his brow when he was thinking hard, and the way it smoothed the moment Seonghwa touched him. He loved how Hongjoong spoke to his crew—with fierce care, not dominance. They weren’t followers. They were brothers. Hongjoong made sure of it. He loved how he gave away bits of himself without realizing it. A compass to Yunho. A poem to San. A carved wooden token to Jongho.

And to Seonghwa? He gave his time. That kind of unflinching attention that asked for nothing and offered everything. Seonghwa never had to be anyone else around him. Not strong. Not charming. Not cheerful. Just himself. Silly, flawed, tired—and still wanted.

And there were moments. So many moments. That night on the Aurora, when they shared the crow’s nest and Hongjoong admitted his fear of heights but climbed anyway, smiling when Seonghwa had said it was beautiful up there. The time he stormed into the tavern, dripping with rain, and before he even said 'hello' he asked Seonghwa if he had eaten. The way Hongjoong would pause at doorways Seonghwa had just passed through, as if the air still held something of him. The way Hongjoong said his name.

Seonghwa had lived with so many aches. But nothing ached like this—this love he could barely voice. This life that felt too short. And all he could think was—Why now? But even as that grief crept closer, wrapped around ribs that barely let him breathe—he couldn’t help but love Hongjoong anyway. He loved him. And maybe that was the cruelest part of all. Because every time Hongjoong smiled, every time he sat on the bar in front of Seonghwa, the world tilted. And Seonghwa let it. He let it, even knowing how the story ends. Because it was him. And Hongjoong was worth every ache. Even if Seonghwa never said it. And all he could offer was silence—and loyalty, buried deep inside his chest. But gods help him—he loved that man more than his own life. And Seonghwa's chest ached worse now than before– longing and guilt wrapped in thorns. Because he hadn’t even apologized. And because he missed him. Desperately.

But as he reached the harbor, Seonghwa found himself wishing he could turn back time—back to when missing Hongjoong was the worst of his troubles, and at least he knew he was safe.

His steps slowed. He spotted them and instinctively leaned against the nearest wall, trying to control his breathing.

Royal Navy ships.

Their white sails gleaming in the moonlight. The crisp uniforms, the way the air in the harbor grew tense as soldiers spread through the streets.

This wasn’t a standard routine patrol. They were hunting someone.

When he heard an officer growling a name to the village folk, he knew he was right.

He slipped through the crowd, his heart hammering so hard it felt about to leave his chest. He ran toward the Rusty Gull, with his breath catching on each ragged inhale. His chest burned with each step—his lungs always threatened to betray him in moments like this. Panic, alarm, fear—but he couldn’t stop.

Not now.

He tumbled down the back stairs of the tavern to the storeroom, finding Hongjoong crouched over a crate of stolen goods, the pirate’s fingers tracing the markings like a code only he could read.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa gasped.

The room felt smaller than usual, the air tight and heavy.

Seonghwa stumbled forward, grabbing Hongjoong’s arm when the other didn’t look up. “You need to go. Now.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, his cocky grin faltering in surprise, “What—”

“Royal Navy,” Seonghwa spat, struggling for breath. “They’re here for you.”

Chapter Text

A surge of anger rushed in Hongjoong’s eyes—but there was no trace of fear in them. It only made a wave of terror well up from Seonghwa's stomach. Then the pirate's gaze hardened, unflinching, dangerous. “How many?”

“Too many,” Seonghwa swallowed, unable to wet his parched throat.

Boots thundered overhead. Voices barked orders, the smell of gunpowder already creeping in with the salt air.

“You–you’ll never make it to the docks in time.” Seonghwa blurted out, his hands trembling with rising dread as his mind raced.

There was just one chance.

He yanked Hongjoong down the back hallway of the Gull, with his heart hammering against his ribs. He pushed open the warped panel behind the wine casks and it groaned faintly, the sound swallowed by the thicker silence below. The entrance to the tunnel was barely visible unless one knew where to look—just a hollow behind stacked barrels and dust-choked stone, guarded by shadows and the scent of damp earth. Most patrons assumed the cellars ended at the wine vault. They didn’t.

Seonghwa slipped inside first, pulling Hongjoong close behind, the dark wrapping around them like a cloak.

This place hadn’t seen lantern-light in years. The air was thick, heavy with the tang of salt that had long since bled into the stone. The walls narrowed the deeper they went, ribbed with arching roots and wooden supports older than Seonghwa’s memory.

Hongjoong hesitated as they passed beneath the last support beam, his voice low. “What about you? We’ve been seen together—”

Seonghwa turned, gripping his wrist, “I know what I’m doing.I'm going back. You keep moving.”

But Hongjoong stilled, his wrist tense beneath Seonghwa’s fingers. Their eyes locked—close enough that Seonghwa could see the storm building there, the barely checked anger, the fear threaded through it. The tunnel pressed in around them, earth damp and close, like the passage itself was holding its breath. “Go,” Seonghwa rasped, “Please. You have to.”
Hongjoong caught his arm before he could pull away—a protest trapped behind his teeth. Seonghwa saw it there: he wasn’t afraid for himself, but for what would they do to Seonghwa if they got their hands on him. But Seonghwa tore free, sweat slipping down his temple, his strength faltering. With the last of it, he shoved Hongjoong deeper into the tunnel’s bend, forcing him toward the dark  “You don’t have time to argue. Leave!”

Then he turned, his heart pounding as he slid the old panel closed behind them—sealing Hongjoong into the dark.

And sealing himself out.

He staggered back behind the bar just moments before the Navy officers arrived. His legs were unsteady beneath him, one of his hand gripping the counter for balance. He swiped at the sweat dripping down his temple, his shirt clinging to his back.

The door of the Gull burst open, the clash of metal filling the tavern like a thunderclap. Blue suits with gold facings flooded in. For a split second, Seonghwa’s heart seemed to seize—thrashing in his chest, before pounding so hard he thought it might give out altogether.

“Where is he?” who seemed to be captain snarled, every word spoken a whiplash. His gloved hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his fingers twitching as if begging for a reason to draw it.

Seonghwa feigned a bored sigh. He wiped his hands on a rag and drank from a chipped cup, forcing himself to look unimpressed. His pulse pounded at his temples.

 He couldn’t give himself away. Hongjoong needed him.

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games with me, barkeep.”

Seonghwa met his gaze evenly, though each breath felt like it scraped his lungs raw. “You think any man you’re looking for would be stupid enough to walk in here?” He forced a laugh that trembled on his lips.

“You’re lying,” the officer yelled, slamming his fist on the bar.

“I’m not,” Seonghwa growled lowly, “I want to keep my head on its place.'' his fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. Then, eyes narrowed just slightly, “But you must not be much of a captain if you lost him that easily,” he said, the words sharpened to a blade.

The man’s face darkened.

“Hyung!” Jungwon’s voice rang out. The first punch slammed into Seonghwa’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Another blow followed, hard enough to send him sprawling. The floor came up fast, knocking the breath from his chest, and the metallic taste of blood spread across his tongue.

“You have a loud mouth for a man who claims he wants to live,” the officer sneered. “Next time, I won’t be so generous.”

He jerked his chin at his men, and one shoved Seonghwa hard in the shoulder, another cuffing the back of his head as they moved past like he was no more than a sack of grain in their way. “Search this goddamned place—every room, every crate, every hole in the floorboards. If anyone so much as breathes out of turn, drag them out for me to deal with.”

Seonghwa’s jaw pulsed with every beat of his heart, each throb shooting up into his temple. The right side of his face felt thick, weighted by heat and the slow creep of swelling. He tried to open his right eye, but it barely slit before the skin dragged shut again, stubborn and unresponsive. The ache was deep and constant, a hot pressure beneath the surface. He didn’t need a mirror—he could feel the damage in every nerve.

The room around him swelled with noise—boots pounding against the floorboards, swearing and shouting, the scrape of furniture being shoved aside. Through the din, Ian’s shadow broke into view, his boots stopping just short before he crouched down beside him. His eyes flicked over Seonghwa’s face, sharp and assessing, like he was already tallying the damage.

The world pitched slightly as Seonghwa tried to sit upright, nausea brushing his throat. But a strong arm slipped around his waist to lift him up right on time. Ian didn't speak at first. Just tightened his hold and steered him wordlessly down the hall, the sounds of the tavern muffling behind them. With each unsteady step, Seonghwa fought to keep himself upright. His ribs ached from the fall. His face felt like it had caught fire.

They reached the kitchen at last. Ian guided him to the long wooden bench near the back wall and eased him down slowly, like Seonghwa might splinter if he was dropped too fast.

He exhaled through his teeth, his spine slumping. He still couldn’t open his eye and he wasn’t sure if it was from swelling or fear anymore.

“They’ll– find him,” he rasped, more to himself than Ian. His fingers dug into the edge of the bench, white-knuckled. “They’ll tear this place apart if they think I’m hiding him.”

“You should have let me handle it!” Ian snapped, sitting next to him. His voice was low and tight, barely controlled, “You shouldn’t even be on your feet, let alone picking fights—for fuck’s sake, Hwa.” Ian’s fingers trembled slightly as he cupped Seonghwa’s jaw, tilting his bruised face gently upward to assess the damage. Seonghwa winced, but didn’t pull away.

“I had to,” he muttered. “To buy him sometime— he,”

“You’re bleeding. And you're shaking,” Ian cut in sharply, “You don’t fucking get to talk about anyone else’s safety when you’re barely breathing.”

Seonghwa tried to scoff, but it came out strangled, catching on the ache in his ribs.But all he could think, still, was they’re going to find him.

And if they did—

The thought died there, swallowed by the shadows gathering in the corners of the kitchen, and the quiet tremble of Ian’s breath as he wiped at the blood trailing from his torn lips, the cloth coming away dark and wet. His eyes flicked over Seonghwa’s battered features, like he was holding back everything he wanted to say. Seonghwa gave him a dazed, crooked smile, his vision swimming, “I’d rather die,” he managed, with a raw voice, “than—give him away.”

Ian muttered something under his breath, a sound between a curse and a prayer, and grabbed a cloth-wrapped shard of ice from the basin nearby. He pressed it carefully to Seonghwa’s swollen eye, his touch gentler despite the anger in his gaze. “Idiot,” he murmured, but his voice was quieter this time — as if the word itself was an spell to keep Seonghwa with him.

Moments later, Jungwon rushed in, his face drained of color, and eyes wide with fear.

“They searched every inch of the tavern, the inn, the cellar. They didn’t find anyone.”

Seonghwa exhaled, though his breath rattled in his chest. He had committed treason, sure. . . But Hongjoong was safe. For now.

His shirt shifted over a cage of knives, and his hand shook as he took the cloth from Ian's hand and pressed it to his eye.

Minutes later, the Navy declared a lockdown — muskets drawn, boots striking the cobblestones as they shouted orders. No one was to leave until every house, tavern, and inn had been searched. Doors were barred, windows nailed shut, and the air seemed to tighten around them, heavy with the promise of what would come next.

Seonghwa had stayed frozen in the bench. His heart hammering so loud he was sure someone could hear it. Was Hongjoong still down there? Had he slipped away? Disappeared into the shadows while the commotion distracted them? His mind raced with images again — soldiers tearing through the floorboards, dragging Hongjoong up into the daylight, the cold steel of shackles, the end of everything.

Seonghwa's mouth was dry as ash while he stepped back into the cellar. The floor felt uneven beneath his feet as he grabbed a lantern and slipped into the narrow passage behind the barrels, the darkness closed around him like a heavy curtain. His footsteps echoed softly against the cold stone, each one slower than the last.

At first, he thought he heard a faint scrape—a breath, maybe—somewhere in the shadows ahead. He paused.

Then, from the dim gloom, Hongjoong stepped forward, like a ghost—reflecting the faintest glimmer of lantern light. His clothes were rumpled, streaked with dust, and his golden hair clung damp to his forehead. There was a sharpness to his gaze, a raw urgency that made Seonghwa’s heart stumble, as if it had forgotten how to beat.

But for the first time since the soldiers stormed in, he felt something close to relief. Hongjoong hadn’t run. With the lockdown, the patrols, he never would have made it. Hongjoong probably knew it as well. Or maybe fate had kept him here. Maybe it was the only reason Seonghwa was still standing.

They walked toward each other, until they were so close—closer than they had been in a long time. Hongjoong smelled of salt and steel, and that warm, heady scent that was uniquely his. Seonghwa’s ribs screamed with every breath—but none of it mattered.

“What happened to your—” Hongjoong’s eyes opened wide, dark with concern. His hand lifted at once, cupping Seonghwa’s face, his thumb trembling as it brushed along his torn lip. His gaze darted over Seonghwa’s eye then, and mouth pressed into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” Seonghwa lied but the grin he forced didn’t quite reach the finish line. “A small price for them getting the hell out of here.”

Hongjoong’s hand dropped to Seonghwa’s shoulder as if to steady him — or maybe himself. His fingers gripped the worn fabric of Seonghwa’s coat, “They could have killed you,” he gaped, like he hated the taste of his words.

Seonghwa offered a sad, crooked smirk, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then they would have killed a man with nothing to lose.”

Before Hongjoong could speak, before Seonghwa could take it back, he was pulled in — arms wrapping around his waist tightly, as if Hongjoong's grip alone could shield Seonghwa from everything. Even himself. Seonghwa froze for a heartbeat, then sank into it, feeling the tremor in Hongjoong’s shoulders, the warmth of him solid and real, and his. Even for this fleeting moment.

''Don’t you say that.'' the pirate whispered against his ear. ''Ever again,''

Seonghwa shook his head, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to pull him under again. He drew back just enough to see Hongjoong’s face — close, too close — “We are on lockdown now,” he managed to say, his voice came out strained. “They’ll search every inch of the village. You can stay here. In my room. There’s a space behind the wall — small, but hidden, in case they return. Ian and I built it for smuggling days. No one knows it’s there. You’ll be safe.” Seonghwa's lips twitched, trying for a smile again. “And warmer than down here.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer. His eyes searched Seonghwa’s face —every cut, every trace of blood, as if he was taking in every sign of what he faced for him. The rage that had burned there moments before melted away, leaving something soft behind.“You saved my life,” he whispered. His hand slithered on Seonghwa’s jaw again, thumb brushing gently at the edge of his eye.

Seonghwa swallowed hard, forcing down the tangle of feelings bubbling in his chest. “You owe me a drink,”

They laughed, but the sound came out strained, fragile. Then, at the same time, they both said it—guilty and broken: “I’m sorry.”

Seonghwa’s fingers clenched at Hongjoong’s back and Hongjoong’s grip tightened too. Seonghwa looked away, blinking against the sting in his eyes. “I thought you were gone,” he whispered. “I thought—”

Hongjoong let out a shaky laugh, the sound rough but still tender. “I thought you wanted me gone,” he muttered, “But since you gave up on your shot tonight—”

...Gone?

A bitter, disbelieving sound escaped Seonghwa and he let his forehead rest on Hongjoong's shoulder inhaling his scent.

He just wanted to believe in time. Enough to share even a sliver of forever with this man. Without days slipping through their fingers like sand.

And now, once again, with Hongjoong’s hand gently brushing his hair, Seonghwa let himself pretend that forever was within reach.

*

Hongjoong was pacing the small room—Seonghwa’s room—after the other had left to fetch some food.

It was a cramped space, yet every inch of it felt more alive than any captain’s quarters he had ever claimed.

The wooden walls were worn smooth by time. Scars of old nails and seafaring memories.The thin window let in the gray night. Closed stories couldn’t keep out the sharp bite of gunpowder riding the salt breeze.By the window, a small clay vase overflowed with wildflowers—some wilting, some still bright, a breath of color against the weathered wood.

Hongjoong smiled, imagining Seonghwa’s long fingers carefully arranging them.

Seonghwa’s hairbrush on the table caught his gaze next. He reached out without thinking, his fingertips grazing the worn wooden handle.
The bristles were softened, bent slightly at the edges. Familiar. Used daily.
Lavender soap still clung to them—the same scent Seonghwa left behind on pillows, on clothes, in passing. It made the room feel warm. Lived in. His.
It should have comforted Hongjoong.
But instead, something cold pressed beneath his ribs. He froze, with the brush still in his hand, and suddenly the scent felt like a memory trying to form too early.
Like something clinging to him from just past the edge of now.

He set it down carefully, telling himself the ache in his gut was nothing. Just nerves from before. Just worry.

His eyes quickly drifted to a shelf cluttered with small boxes, each one labeled in Seonghwa’s neat handwriting. Hongjoong recognized some of the names—ports where Seonghwa had  probably docked, islands he had passed with Mist. Inside each box, Hongjoong imagined seashells and bits of coral, tiny treasures gathered from every shore the other had walked.

Just then, the door creaked open. Seonghwa stepped in, balancing a small tray—two chipped cups, a small loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a bowl of thick stew that smelled of spices and fish.

“You need to eat,” he repeated, just as he had before leaving the room . His tone held warmth and control, like he was addressing a stubborn child.

The crow’s feet around Hongjoong's eyes deepened as his smile widened.“Ever the caretaker.”

“Someone has to keep you alive.” a glimpse of amusement creeped on Seonghwa's damaged face. He set the tray down and passed him a cup. Hongjoong took it, already feeling the heat of the stew seep into his chilled fingers.

He hadn’t realized how cold he was until now.

Seonghwa settled on the edge of the bed, his breath catching slightly as he sat focused on his own cup.

Hongjoong’s gaze paused on the dark smear of bruising blooming around his eye. The swelling had worsened now since the cellar. The cut on his lip had stopped bleeding, but it split again when Seonghwa exhaled too hard, a faint line of red returning. Something in Hongjoong twisted again and it wasn’t just anger. Anger was too clean, too simple a word. It was sharper than that—blistering, ugly.

He had seen men hurt before. Had broken a lot of noses himself, left bruises on backs and knuckles. But this was different.

This was Seonghwa and seeing him hurt—quiet and tucked away behind too calm eyes,made Hongjoong want to burn the world down. His hands curled at his cup and even though he didn’t speak, the storm inside him must have been loud enough to hear.

Because Seonghwa shifted—slowly, carefully—and met his eyes like he saw the fire burning behind his silence and recognized it for what it was.''They’re searching every building outside,'' he said then under his breath, with a soft voice, grounding them both to the present. Hongjoong simply nodded once—his eyes never leaving Seonghwa’s face.“Ian and Jungwon are keeping the rest of the tavern calm—blankets, bread, ale. Most of them are foreigners, traders passing through. They wouldn’t recognize you even if you were standing at the bar.” He paused, studying Hongjoong’s face, his eyes were gentle. “You’ll be safe here. And-stop worrying for me.”

That calm certainty Seonghwa carried even under skies that forgot the sun. Hongjoong’s heart twisted. 

He ate in silence, every bite of the stew feeling like the first real meal he had had in weeks. The warmth of it spread into his bones, the ordinary taste of thyme and brine oddly comforting. Seonghwa's cooking tasted like the sea, like the Rusty Gull, like home.

When he was done, the other rose to take the tray, moving slower than usual—favoring one side, his bruised eye nearly shut. Each careful step still a quiet echo of the blows he had taken. And Hongjoong's anger returned—The kind that settled deep this time. Shame mixed with guilt, thick and bitter. Here he sat, warm stew in his belly, while Seonghwa walked around with bruises across his face and a half-shut eye.

It made his skin itch with uselessness. His chest tighten with guilt.

The sound of the latch broke his thoughts. The door eased open again and Seonghwa stepped back in. He turned the lock once. Then again. And again. His fingers lingered on the bolt, as if he could seal out the entire damn world if he just tried hard enough. Hongjoong watched him move—tired but still composed, wounded but still standing.

“I shall thank you for not selling me out,” he blurted out, his voice lighter than he felt—like a too-sharp joke wrapped in silk. It was all he could manage. He couldn’t say: I’m sorry you got hurt for me.
He couldn’t say: I hate that I let you.

Seonghwa didn’t laugh. He crossed the room, closing the distance like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ridiculous,” he rolled his eyes as he sat on the bed next to Hongjoong with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re worth more in here than the gallows.”

The edge of his mouth twitched, and Hongjoong couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a warning.

Either way, it was the closest thing to forgiveness Hongjoong had felt all night.

“Worth more…” he smirked and tilted his head to look at him again. “Sounds like a compliment?”

Seonghwa let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

Hongjoong watched the candlelight flicker across his face. There was something different in his expression tonight—an openness that felt rare. Like something had been stripped bare between them during the chaos.

Maybe it was the way they came so close to their end. Maybe it was the relief of still being here, breathing the same air, looking at each other like the world hadn’t just tried to take them apart.

He reached out with his fingertips brushing lightly against Seonghwa's wrist—a grounding touch, unspoken.

“You wouldn’t run,” Seonghwa whispered, and it was more of a fearful accusation rather than a question, “You would stay here and try to fight them. Like the reckless idiot you are.”

Hongjoong’s thumb traced idle circles where their hands met.

“And you’d stand in front of me and take the blows. Like the headstrong fool you are.”

Seonghwa’s lips parted like he might smile, but his expression shifted, “These last two weeks,” he swallowed, “I kept dreaming about you. I saw you standing in the rain, your coat always drenched, and it felt… I felt like I had lived that moment before. Like I had lost you before.”

Hongjoong inhaled, a little too quickly.“I—” he faltered, “Every night, I couldn’t sleep. My chest ached. Like I’d been stabbed and couldn’t stop the bleeding.”

Seonghwa flinched, his eyes widening a fraction. “Your chest…?”

Hongjoong nodded, “It was worse when the sun came down. Especially when the wind came off the sea. Like something was clawing from the inside.”

For a split second, something like fear ran across Seonghwa’s face, but it was gone before Hongjoong could name it.

“Sounds like you’ve got a stubborn heart,” he tried for a smile.

Hongjoong huffed a laugh, but his eyes stayed on Seonghwa’s. “Not as stubborn as yours.”

The smile faded slowly from his lips, leaving only the quiet between them.

The room felt too small for all the things Hongjoong wanted to say—the things that twisted in his chest every time he looked at him. His thumb kept moving, slow and instinctive, tracing Seonghwa’s skin. Letting the motion keep him from unraveling.

“Seonghwa,” he breathed, the name catching slightly in his throat, “these days without seeing you—I didn’t know it could... hurt like that.”

Seonghwa’s eyes softened, a sheen of tears barely held at bay.

“I'm sorry. I pushed you away with my words, when the truth is I'd follow you everywhere, if–” he whispered, “if I could,”

Hongjoong stood still for a heartbeat too long.The words landed in his chest like something tender, fair, true. And the look in Seonghwa’s eyes... It was longing. It was all the things he still couldn’t said. Hongjoong saw it—how his gaze lingered on him like Hongjoong was something he couldn't reach. Like he wanted to close the space between them but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

Why?

Seonghwa still wasn’t telling him everything.

But Hongjoong didn’t need the whole truth, not tonight. Not to know what was real.

“You don’t have to follow me anywhere,” he inched closer on the bed, until their thighs touched, carefully, like Seonghwa might vanish if he moved too fast,“I would stay with you. Wherever you are. Whatever that means.”

Seonghwa eyes fluttered shut just for a second, as if he was letting himself believe it—just long enough to look like surrender. Like trust. And it was all Hongjoong needed.

He leaned in slowly—so close he could feel the warmth of Seonghwa’s breath mixing with his own. The world around them blurred. Like fog on the sea.

And Hongjoong finally kissed him.

All breathless and unspoken apologies at first, before it deepened—desperately, as if they were both trying to piece together the days they had lost, the distance they had created. Like breathing after nearly drowning.

Seonghwa's fingers fisted in his shirt, kissing him back as if he had been waiting—burning—for this very moment for eternities. Like a man starved. There was nothing hesitant in it—only weeks of stolen touches, aching silences and half-said words crashing into now. Every press of lips saying:You’re under my skin.

Hongjoong’s hand cupped Seonghwa’s jaw.Their foreheads met for a second as they broke apart just to breathe and look at each other.

“I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispered to him, “for longer than I’ll ever admit.”

Seonghwa’s lips curled—barely, ''Don’t stop.''

Hongjoong didn’t.

He leaned back in catching Seonghwa’s lips in another kiss—slower, deeper.

His hands cradled Seonghwa’s face, brushing gently over the bruises. Their mouths moving with the kind of hunger that doesn’t live in the belly, but in the spaces that ache when one is alone.

Seonghwa clutched at him—his fingers tangled in the fabric at Hongjoong’s side, as if terrified he would dissolve if he let go. His breath hitched as Hongjoong tilted his head and kissed the corner of his mouth, then trailed soft kisses along the curve of his jaw.

A faint saltiness lingered on Seonghwa's skin. Sweat, maybe, or the echo of tears, before going back to his mouth.

“I thought I’d lose you tonight,” Seonghwa breathed against his lips.

Hongjoong opened his eyes, just barely, to find Seonghwa’s lashes damp, his mouth half open, vulnerable and wanting.

His fingers traced beneath his eye, slow and tender, “You’ll never lose me,” he took Seonghwa's hand in both of his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles—soft, lingering. Like a vow sealed in skin. Then another to the center of his palm, trying to soothe the ache Seonghwa wouldn’t name.

“Not as long as I can fight for you,”

Seonghwa leaned in with a sigh and kissed him first, deepening it at once. Asking without using words.

One of his hand curling at the back of Hongjoong’s neck as if he couldn’t bear to be an inch apart anymore.

Hongjoong’s hands found the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath, his palms splaying over warm muscle, feeling the faint tremor in Seonghwa’s breath as his body pressed close, fitting against him like muscle to bone—solid, warm, real.

It still wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Hongjoong wouldn’t ask for more—but Seonghwa looked at him with a quiet kind of certainty, his pupils blown wide with need.

They rose from the bed together. Instinctively. Like it had already been decided long before this moment.

Their lips crushed again as Hongjoong's fingers worked at Seonghwa’s tied strings one by one, brushing over his chest as each came loose.

The shirt slid from Seonghwa’s shoulders and dropped to the floor in a whisper of fabric. Hongjoong let his hands roam over newly bared skin before Seonghwa’s fingers caught his own coat, tugging it down his arms and tossing it aside.

Boots were shoved off with uneven kicks, belts unbuckled with muted clinks of metal.

Seonghwa’s hands slipped under Hongjoong’s shirt, pushing it up slowly, palms gliding over his ribs and stomach before peeling it away entirely. Hongjoong felt the cool air hit his skin just as his own hands worked Seonghwa’s trousers loose, tugging them down over his hips, leaving him in nothing but the thin linen beneath.

That too was gone in moments—pushed down,and Seonghwa's eyes were on him with something that made Hongjoong’s pulse slam in his ears.

He barely had time to take in the full view before Seonghwa’s fingers hooked in the waistband of  Hongjoong's trousers, pulling them down with the same care.

Cloth pooled at their feet, as they stepped free of it together.

And they were bare.

Hongjoong couldn’t move at first—he just stared.

Seonghwa stood before him, flushed from neck to navel, his chest rising and falling.

His skin was marked—soft pinks, old scars.

But in the candlelight, he looked like something holy.

Like all the parts of him had been carved from sea-foam and fire.

Hongjoong’s gaze roamed over him not with desire alone—but awe. How had he gone this long without touching him like this? Without knowing what he looked like when he wasn’t holding himself together for everyone else?

Seonghwa’s eyes flicked away, as if he wasn’t sure how to hold the weight of being looked at like that. But he didn’t try to cover himself.

''You’re beautiful like this,'' Hongjoong swallowed hard.

The corner of Seonghwa's mouth threatened a smile before his gaze found Hongjoong’s again, “You’re just saying that,” he murmured, but his voice lacked any real protest.

A faint flush crept up his cheeks, his fingers tightening slightly where they rested against Hongjoong’s arm—like he wasn’t used to being seen this way and didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“I’ve never said anything more honestly.”

It was Seonghwa who leaned in again, but Hongjoong’s hands caught his hips—halting him just slightly as his eyes dropped again on Seonghwa's ribs. His voice barely made it past his throat. “You’re hurt.”

His thumb hovered just below the edge of one bruise, not touching, not daring, like the skin itself might shatter beneath him.

The marks were blooming blue, purple, yellow against Seonghwa’s sides. Hongjoong didn't ask where they came from, the words caught, strangled, because he already knew Seonghwa would lie.

“I’m fine.” the other uttered. Too sharp. Too quick. Reflex more than answer.

Hongjoong almost let it go—he would have, if not for the way Seonghwa pulled back.Just a fraction. Barely there. But enough to see the stiff set of his shoulders, the breath that stopped halfway, the twitch of muscle that gave him away. Enough to watch Seonghwa bite down on his lip, too hard, like he could chew the sound of pain back into silence.

It hurt worse than the bruise itself—watching him try to swallow it down.

Hongjoong sank slowly, his knees pressing into the floor, his hands steady on Seonghwa’s thighs grounding himself.

He leaned in and brushed his lips over one bruise, the faintest kiss.

Seonghwa exhaled, shaky, his eyes slipping shut. Another kiss, higher. Another, lower.

Hongjoong’s lips lingered, pressing meaning where words didn't seem to be enough. Seonghwa’s fingers twitched on him—not pushing him away, but clinging, like he needed something to hold.

When Hongjoong looked up, Seonghwa was staring at him. His lips parted. He gave the smallest shake of his head, like he couldn’t believe any of this. His hands clutched tighter at Hongjoong’s shoulders. “Why do you always do that?” His voice broke on the whisper. “Treat me like I’m something worth saving?”

Hongjoong’s answer came out low, almost too soft to catch. “Because you are.”

He stood and his hand slipped behind Seonghwa’s thigh, the other pressing firm and careful at the small of his back, it wasn’t just steadiness he offered—it was devotion, raw and unhidden.“Because I missed you. Every fucking day. Every night.”

Seonghwa’s breath left him in a rush. His hands slid up over Hongjoong’s bare arms, urgent, unsteady and his mouth crashed against Hongjoong’s with need that made his whole body lean forward. When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, his voice ragged but sure. “Show me.”

Hongjoong guided him onto the bed. Firm enough that there was no room for doubt. Soft enough it felt like worship.

Seonghwa lay back, bare against the sheets and Hongjoong knelt beside him, his eyes dragging down the line of his body too slow, too careful, like he was afraid to miss a single piece. Seonghwa was half turned away, one arm bent awkwardly like he was still trying to shield something invisible. A defense against nothing. Against everything.

The soft light caught him anyway.

His skin gilded, rising and falling with each shallow breath. Proof he was still here. Proof Hongjoong hadn’t imagined him.

Hongjoong pressed his hand to his chest. Gentle, but not without weight. Heat flared under his palm, shocking, alive, and then—the heartbeat. Thundering. Uneven. A war drum pounding like it wanted to tear through his skin. Too fast. Too hard. As if it belonged in Hongjoong’s chest instead of Seonghwa’s.

So he started slow.

Because he had to. Because anything faster might break them both.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of Seonghwa’s jaw, then moved lower—to the underside, just where it met his neck. The skin was soft beneath his lips, Seonghwa's pulse steady but quick.

From there, his mouth trailed down to the hollow of his throat, pressing another kiss, slower.

Then further—along the line of his neck, to the curve where it met his shoulder. A sigh escaped Seonghwa's throat, barely audible, but Hongjoong felt it—how his chest lifted just a little more sharply beneath him.

He didn’t stop.

His lips brushed across Seonghwa’s collarbone, soft and lingering, before he opened his mouth slightly and let his tongue trace a slow line along the ridge. The sound Seonghwa made was low and unguarded—closer to a moan than a gasp—as if the warmth of Hongjoong’s mouth had stolen all the strength from him already.

Gods, he was so responsive.

Every inch of him seemed to answer in kind. A small shift of Hongjoong’s hand at his waist drew a sharp inhale from him, his stomach tensing under the touch.

Another kiss, lower now—and Seonghwa’s fingers clenched in the sheets, curling tight as his head tipped back, lips parting on a sound close to a plea.

Hongjoong moved to his chest, dragging open-mouthed kisses. When he began to suck gently at the space just above his heart, he felt the subtle jerk of Seonghwa’s thighs tensing beneath him, like he was holding himself still only through sheer will.

Hongjoong felt it all—every breath, every tremor—Seonghwa reading his touch like a scripture. Like learning a song by heart.

His hands kept moving—over his stomach, down his thighs, pausing every time the other shivered or gasped, committing it all to memory. He met the fading bruises again, pressing more soft kisses on them, like apologies.

He kissed across Seonghwa’s hipbone and felt the tremor ripple through him, until his tongue brushed and swallowed the spot that made Seonghwa’s back arch like a bowstring.

And Hongjoong couldn’t stop looking at him.

He was flushed all the way down, his eyelids heavy, one arm still half-curled above his head. His chest rose and fell like he was trying to breathe through a storm.

Hongjoong realized, with something raw twisting in his chest, that maybe it had been a long time, if ever, since anyone had touched Seonghwa like this. With intention. With care. Like he mattered for more than what he gave. Like the only thing being asked of him was to feel—to be here, in this moment.

Seonghwa wasn’t inexperienced—he met every touch with quiet certainty, his body moving with instinct and trust.

But still, there was something in the way he reacted that made Hongjoong wonder just how rarely he had been treated like this. As someone worth holding, slowly. Like they wanted nothing from him except to see him come undone.

And Seonghwa was coming undone now—achingly beautiful.

Not from hunger or speed, but from the sheer care of it. From being held like this.

Until his hand caught Hongjoong's wrist suddenly. His eyes snapped open—glazed and dazed—to find Hongjoong’s with something urgent behind them.

“Are you trying to make me fall apart so early on?” he whispered with a shy smile.

Hongjoong smiled back—soft and wicked and full of love. “No,” he murmured pressing another kiss to the inside of his knee. “I’m trying to show you what you look like when no one’s watching. And how beautiful you are when you let someone see.”

Seonghwa didn’t answer with words.

He pulled Hongjoong up and into another kiss, full-bodied and unguarded, the kind that said stay without ever needing to be spoken. And Hongjoong went, willingly, completely.

Their bodies pressed together again—warmer now, bolder, harder.

Gently, Hongjoong leaned closer, letting his lips trace over the marks he hated to see. First the bruise, soft pressure, slow.

Seonghwa stiffened at the touch, then shivered when Hongjoong kissed along the curve of his jaw. The cut on his lip drew the most careful attention. Hongjoong pressed feather-light kisses along the line, letting his warmth seep in.

“Shh,” he murmured, his forehead resting against Seonghwa’s.“Breath with me. The rest can wait.”

Seonghwa’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his hands trembling slightly as they found Hongjoong’s shoulders.

“H-Hongjoong…” he whispered, his voice small, a mix of vulnerability and trust.

Every kiss seemed to soothe more than it touched, and the tension in Seonghwa’s body softened under Hongjoong’s care.

Hongjoong’s anger from before had dissolved into something sharper now—but sharper in devotion, not destruction.

The blaze of it turned into the heat of care, of insisting Seonghwa be safe, be seen, be held.

And his heart raced, thudding loud in his chest as Seonghwa eventually shifted, warm hands changing their positions. “You sure?” he asked, a low rasp under the words.

Seonghwa just smiled,

''Lie back.''

There was a shine in his eyes—like he wasn’t sure whether to touch or kneel.

Like he couldn’t believe they had made it back to this moment.

His hand was soft on Hongjoong's chest as he climbed over him, settling like he had always belonged there.

Hongjoong’s fingers curved around his waist, his own breath coming in uneven pulls. Seonghwa kissed down his neck, his chest, his stomach and Hongjoong's hands threaded through his hair as he moved even lower.

He forgot how to breathe, didn’t want to.

Not when Seonghwa’s mouth was on him like that—worshipful and all consuming.

It felt intimate. Like nothing before. The world outside of the room vanished, and the only sounds that filled it were Hongjoong's moans, and the soft creak of the bedframe beneath them.

Hongjoong’s stomach tightened as he felt the brush of his lips, then the slick warmth of a tongue against skin not yet touched like this.

He melted forward, shivering.

His fingers clutching at the sheets, at Seonghwa’s shoulders—anything to ground himself as Seonghwa's hands kept coaxing more space between them with a kind of tenderness that felt like trust made flesh.

Seonghwa touched him like he already knew every place he would come undone.

There was a quiet command in the way the other moved, yet everything he did was deliberate, like he wasn’t just touching him but learning him all over again.

He was beautiful like this.

The moonlight catching on the lines of his shoulders, the sheen of sweat on his skin. Every drag of his touch sent sparks racing up Hongjoong’s spine, each one tugging him closer to the edge.  

“Come here,” Hongjoong whispered, his voice wrecked and wanting. His hand reached up blindly, desperate to feel him again.

“Please...”

Seonghwa’s hands found his thighs first, steadying himself as he rose, moving to straddle him once more.

The mattress dipped under his weight, bringing him closer until Hongjoong could feel the heat of him again.

He slid into his lap in one smooth, unhurried motion, bracketing Hongjoong's hips.

Hongjoong’s fingers tightened instinctively around Seonghwa’s waist as the other leaned in, their foreheads touching, his palm resting flat on Hongjoong’s chest, feeling the beat beneath it. 

“Look at me.”

The words ghosted over Hongjoong’s mouth,soft but unyielding, a demand wrapped in devotion.

Hongjoong did. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

He was taking in everything— how Seonghwa's eyes fluttered shut when he reached between their legs, how his body fit so perfectly with his, how his frame bowed immediately as if drawn by invisible strings when Hongjoong whispered his name.

“I’ve got you,” Hongjoong breathed. “I’ve always got you.”

He barely had time to take another breath before Seonghwa pressed against him—slow, devastatingly gentle.

He didn’t need to be guided. He knew what he was doing, what they both needed.

His hands found Hongjoong’s hips, and for a heartbeat, he could only stare up at him.

His breath stuttered as he arched instinctively into him, every ache soothed in the heat of his skin.

Their rhythm came in steady surges. Kisses broke only long enough for breath, their mouths finding each other again in small, hungry pulls.

They moved in sync without thinking.

Their fingers stayed locked, slick and unyielding. There was no telling who was guiding and who was following—just the push, the drag, the sharp intake of air as the tension burned with every shift.

“You feel that?,” Seonghwa rasped, his voice rough, flushed with strain.

“Right– here…”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong groaned, his nails dragging lightly across bare skin. “Keep going.”

Their mouths found each other again, sloppy and urgent, kissing like they were trying to fill a silence too long held.

Every press sent them closer. The sheets were damp beneath them now. The air thick with sweat and salt and the sound of their bodies finding, matching.

Hongjoong’s hand clutched at Seonghwa’s side, “Don't pull away.”

Seonghwa stilled for a second, his chest rising unevenly. He traced a slow, deliberate path along Hongjoong’s thigh,

''I won’t. Not now. Not ever.''

The way they moved stuttered for a second—then deepened.

Someone gasped. Someone cursed.

Neither was sure who.

The tension pulled tight, then tighter, a coil wound too far for too long.

“I’m gonna—” one of them choked out, breath shuddering.

“I know,” came the answer, just as hoarse. “Hold on to me.”

It hit all at once—Hongjoong’s muscles tightened under his skin, clinging to Seonghwa like he would fall apart without him.

Seonghwa followed with a guttural noise, his body shaking as release washed through both of them in hard waves.

Their bodies locked together through it, their hips jerking, muscles straining, until they were gasping into each other’s mouths, held in the same breath.

All that remained was the echo of panting, and the slow, dazed realization that neither had let go.

Seonghwa sagged against him, his body still trembling with aftershocks. Hongjoong’s arms came around him without thinking, holding him in a steady, grounding grip.

He brushed a kiss against his temple, lingering there before pressing another, softer one. Their breathing still uneven, filling the space between them. 

Seonghwa’s cheek stayed pressed to Hongjoong’s chest, ear over his heartbeat, fingers curled lazily against his ribs.

Hongjoong slid a hand through his hair, pushing it back with slow care, drawing in his scent. It was intoxicating.

He could trade his ship, his freedom, even the sea itself, if it meant staying here—holding this man who felt like the human shape of his own soul.Maybe that’s all this was: not chance, but a blessing, a destiny that had found them again.

“I can’t let you go,” Seonghwa whispered after what seemed to be hours.

It sounded like a guilty, almost tortured confession more than anything.

“Earlier… you said you thought I wanted you gone. These two weeks. I didn’t. And I did.”

Hongjoong’s heart pinched against his ribs.

It must’ve been that last talk. He kept pressing when he saw Seonghwa was already frayed. He cornered him with words he wasn’t ready to hear. No wonder he’d want the distance.

“But— I can’t let you go.”

Hongjoong let the words settle between them, his hand absently tracing the curve of Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t know how to go far from you anyway,” he admitted, ''even if I tried. Even if it might be easier for you.''

Seonghwa’s fingers tightened against his side, like a quiet refusal.

“Easier isn’t better,” he said softly, tilting his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to Hongjoong’s jaw.

Then another, at the corner of his mouth, soft and unhurried. His hand slid up to cradle the back of Hongjoong’s neck, his thumb brushing the line of his hair, “You’re where I want to be.”

There would be more after this—more to say, more to feel, more to lose.

But in this moment, there was only the quiet promise of what they both had chosen to come back to. And seal it.

Hongjoong was the first to move.

He rose quietly and retrieved a damp cloth. Returning to Seonghwa’s side, he pressed the fabric gently to the other's skin—tracing along his stomach and his legs, wiping away with careful, attentive strokes.

Every touch filled with quiet affection—a promise of looking after one another. Then, shifting his focus, he brought the cloth to his own body.

Once they were both clean, Hongjoong settled back against Seonghwa, molding himself into the warmth of his chest.

His cheek pressed into the steady rise and fall of Seonghwa’s breathing, his ear attuned to the quiet drum of his heart.

Seonghwa’s arms tightened around his waist with a soft sigh, pulling them closer.

“You’re not asleep?”

Seonghwa’s reply was slow, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “No. Y–’re heavy.”

Hongjoong huffed a soft laugh, too tired to be offended. ''Maybe I’m heavy, but after you spent half an hour doing me, you should still be able to sleep.''

“You’re still talking,” Seonghwa muttered, one eye cracking open. “Clearly not done enough.”

“You like it,” a ghost of a grin tugged at Hongjoong’s lips.

“I’ll allow it.”Seonghwa’s laugh was breathy, slurred. ''But only because...you look like a smug cat curled up on me.''

“You’re one to talk,” Hongjoong brushed his thumb gently along Seonghwa’s hip.“You haven’t moved since you collapsed on top of me.”

“I moved plenty.” Seonghwa yawned so hard his whole body shifted against Hongjoong’s.

“You’re just too soft to roll off of. Now go to sleep, sailor. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

''You sure?'' Hongjoong smirked then pressed a kiss on his chest. ''You’re the one who looks like you just survived a storm.''

“I did,” Seonghwa cried but Ηongjoong could hear the smile in his voice. “It was you.”

“You love it.” he snorted softly, his heart thudding hard, aware of nothing but the closeness between them.

Seonghwa didn’t reply this time. His breaths slowed and his head settled heavier against Hongjoong’s chest.

Hongjoong smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath his hand.

Outside, the streets were taut with patrols sweeping every corner as the Royal Navy tightened their net.

Inside, everything was still.

Hours later—just before dawn—Hongjoong stirred again.

He woke to that strange pressure in his chest again. Not pain… but weight.
Heavy. Sharp. Familiar in a way he still couldn't understand.

The room was still dark, cast in pale blue light. Beside him, Seonghwa shifted in his sleep, a soft sound escaping his throat.His hand twitched toward his ribs—toward the bruises still healing—and his brow furrowed in distress.

Without thinking, Hongjoong reached over. He brushed his fingers gently through Seonghwa’s hair, thumb grazing the line of his temple before pressing a kiss there.

Seonghwa exhaled. The tension in his body eased.

And just like that—
the weight in Hongjoong’s chest lifted too.
As if it had never belonged to him.
As if it had only been borrowed.

***

The Shore Gazette,

April 1723

On the Offence of the Smokehouses

Many lodged Complaints of late, concerning the smokehouses along the Lower Docks. These Houses, set up by Fishermen and Rogues alike, do fill the Air with a stench most foul, befitting neither honest Trade nor pious Nose. The thick Smoke rolls down the lanes, blackening the walls of neighbouring dwellings, and driving Goodwives from their washing-lines.

It is further reported that some of these smokehouses are but a haven for unlawful Work — concealing stolen Cargo and sheltering men who will not take to honest Labour. The Watch has been urged to inspect such places, and it is hoped the Magistrate shall soon see fit to set a fine upon those who bring Shame and Nuisance to our land.

Let all know, the good people of the village grow tired of this offence.

***

Seonghwa walked slowly down the narrow street, the late-morning sun beating against his back.

The smell of brine, dried fish, and seawater drifted through the air, mingling with the faint clang of a ship’s bell from the docks. Around him, the village moved as always—vendors calling out from behind their stalls, children laughing as they chased each other down cobblestones worn smooth.

But his mind wasn’t in Haemil once again.

It was with him.

It had been days since that night of the lockdown..Hongjoong had been so soft. So responsive. He hadn’t resisted. He hadn’t demanded. No need to lead or follow between them. No one giving more than the other. Just… meeting in the middle. Hongjoong simply held him like Seonghwa was something blessed. And maybe for a moment, Seonghwa had been. Because in those hours, under candlelight and their shared sighs, he had felt loved. Known. Chosen. And no one had ever made him feel this way before. Not like Hongjoong did.

Not even close.

He hadn’t just touched Seonghwa’s skin—he touched all the places no one ever thought to see. The parts that ached in silence. The ones he kept buried beneath duty and tired smiles. With Hongjoong, he felt beautiful. Even in the shadows.

Then the pirate had slipped away before the morning came, leaving nothing but the press of his lips against Seonghwa’s and the ghost of a promise in the dark. For the next days Seonghwa had stood behind the bar, or at his window, keeping an eye on the horizon, waiting for a sail that might never return.

But Hongjoong had come back—days later, the sea at his back, Aurora anchored in the port this time.

And everything had changed.

A soft smile played on Seonghwa's lips now.

After that first night—they had been unable to stop. A brush of fingers became a kiss; a glance became their hands kneaded. Night after night, they found each other. In the quiet moments between danger and duty. They reached for one another, as if touch alone could seal their future.

The way Hongjoong always looked when he touched him—his eyes dark with something deeper than desire, his hands trembling just enough to betray how much he cared. Like he couldn’t believe Seonghwa was real. Like there was no one else in the world.

And even now, sitting on the small stone bench outside the doctor’s office, Seonghwa felt it in every quiet ache he didn’t let anyone see. His chest pressed tight, a dull burn at the edges of his ribs. The ocean rolled behind him, but all he could feel was the pull of his own weakness, the warmth of it crawling beneath his skin. His hands were cold in the spring air, fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if holding himself together could keep the tremor at bay. He tugged it closer, wrapping it around his shoulders,

Seonghwa wished for more. More time. More touch.

But in the days that followed, something inside him grew taut, like a rope drawn too tight.
Not a strain between him and Hongjoong—but within himself. His lungs caught on every breath, his heart beat uneven, as though it no longer knew the way forward.

Is it all in my head?

He closed his eyes. The air tasted like rust and herbs from the room inside.

No. It wasn’t in his head.

He hadn’t told Hongjoong. Not yet. Because how could he explain it?

It felt like a trade. The brighter Hongjoong’s smile got, the closer Seonghwa felt to the warmth of being loved—the deeper the ache grew in his body. Every time Hongjoong kissed him like he meant it, like he had found something eternal in Seonghwa’s lips, it felt like something inside his ribs fractured open a little more. The coughs came harder. The fatigue faster.

The happier we are, the worse I feel.

And yet every night Seonghwa still crawled into Hongjoong’s bed, curled into the crook of his body like it was home. Like he could keep everything at bay just by staying close enough. In the way Hongjoong kissed him, like he had already loved him in a thousand other lives. It didn't make sense. But it felt true.

Three nights ago Seonghwa had barely whispered, “I wish we could stay like this.”And Hongjoong had murmured, “I know,” with that same crooked smile that looked like it had once lived in Seonghwa’s dreams.

That smile haunted him.

Because it didn’t feel like it belonged to this life. And for the first time today, Seonghwa wondered–if their hands had found each other before, in some oth–

“Seonghwa?” a voice called from the doorway, pulling him back. “You can come inside now.”

He stood up slowly, hand bracing the wall beside him. The familiar burn crept behind his ribs again.

The doctor’s office had a sharp scent that made Seonghwa’s stomach churn. Not from fear of the place—but from the knowing.

He already knew what the doctor was going to say.

But still—he stepped inside.

*

The old man peered at him with calculating eyes, fingers ghosting over Seonghwa’s ribs with precision, pressing lightly in intervals, pausing whenever Seonghwa flinched. His hands, though aged, moved with care. For a good while, he said nothing, only listening, frowning slightly at the shallow rise and fall of Seonghwa’s chest.

Finally, he gave a quiet exhale, took a polite step back, and motioned toward the linen shirt draped over a stool.

 “You may dress.”

Seonghwa obeyed quietly, pulling the garment over his head as the man turned toward a cluttered shelf of instruments and jars. He said nothing at first, but his eyes lingered on a long parchment where he had been noting something—measurements, perhaps, or changes.

“It’s getting much worse,” he said at last, not unkindly. His voice had softened with age but held the weight of finality. “Faster than I expected.”

Seonghwa swallowed, settling onto the stool to steady himself. “I know.”

“There is something that might help,” the doctor continued, rummaging through a wooden chest. The sound of shifting metal echoed through the quiet room before he produced a weighty object and brought it into the lamplight.

It gleamed dully—a leather vest, reinforced with curved steel bones and interlaced buckles, worn smooth in places from use. Not new, but well maintained. “It was made for a man with a similar… condition. Custom work. I’ve adjusted the fit.”

Seonghwa reached out slowly, his fingers brushing against the cold metal. It was heavier than he expected, the inner lining padded but stiff.

“And the pain?”

The doctor was quiet for a beat too long.

 “The pain…” he looked up, his eyes meeting Seonghwa’s, “will remain.”

Seonghwa’s grip on the vest tightened, jaw ticking with restrained emotion.

“Rest when you feel faint. ” the man added, his voice quieter now, ''No climbing rigging. No lifting weight beyond your own. No cold nights on deck.''

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered toward the floor, and he gave a small, bitter smile. “Sounds more like a sentence than a remedy.”

The old man said nothing to that—only pressed the vest gently into his hands and turned away to busy himself with his notes, as though he had heard the same thing far too many times before.

Chapter Text

The air smelled of sailcloth and old rum, thick with the voices of vendors shouting over one another—spices, dried fish, seashell trinkets no one needed but everyone touched. The market churned like something alive, sailors calling across the rows, children darting between legs, laughter and curses tangled together.

And beneath it all lingered the salt of the sea, a breath on the wind that once felt like freedom to Seonghwa.

They had been walking around all morning, Hongjoong’s grin bright as a sunrise. He had wanted to buy some things—spare parts for the ship, a new compass, another bottle of that spiced rum he claimed it tasted like 'danger'. His list had gradually grown absurdly long, and Seonghwa had found himself stopping again and again to help with a smile on his face. He didn’t mind. Not really. Watching Hongjoong’s joy was a kind of sweetness in itself, the sort that lodged deep in his chest and left him full, wanting more. He caught himself smiling too often, caught himself looking at him too long, and tried to ignore the thought that had been creeping in more and more lately: that he was already too far gone.

“Which one do you think, Hwa? This or that one?”

“Maybe the smaller one,” Seonghwa replied patiently, “It’ll fit in the hold better.”

They had circled the market three times now, and every step started feeling heavier than the last. Seonghwa's heartbeat skipped and lurched, too fast one moment, too slow the next. As if it, too, wanted to give up the fight. But Hongjoong’s unguarded chatter, his mouth curving like it was made to smile at Seonghwa, pulled him on without a miss.

He loved this, even when it hurt. The two of them moving through the market like they were just another couple, bickering over prices, laughing at street performers.

Like he wasn’t counting every breath.

Like he wasn’t dying.

But then, as they stepped out of the market and onto a quiet, narrow street, heading back to the Gull the world shook underneath Seonghwa's boots.

It started as a twinge in his chest, a pinprick. Then the pain deepened, spreading like fire through his lungs. He lost his breath—and before he could catch it, a cough wracked his body. Blood sprayed across his hand, bright against his skin.

“Seonghwa!—” Hongjoong’s scream sliced through the fog.

Seonghwa doubled over, the street spinning around him. His knees threatened to buckle, and he reached for the wall, coughing, smearing blood across the stone. A pair of hands gripped him and turned him around. His face was buried in Hongjoong’s collarbone. His hold iron-strong. Holding him up right. Seonghwa forced himself to breathe, to steady the chaos rattling through his chest. But pressed that close, he knew it was useless—Hongjoong could feel the shudder in him, hear the rasp he couldn’t swallow down. 

When he finally lifted his head, their eyes met. Hongjoong’s were blown wide, panic plain and unhidden, and for a moment Seonghwa forgot the pain in his lungs—forgot everything but the sharp sting of being seen too clearly. He had never wanted Hongjoong to look at him like that.

His hands tightened on Seonghwa, guiding him toward the nearest bench. He crouched low between his knees, pressing a folded handkerchief to the blood on his lips with a hand that wouldn’t stay steady. “Please,” he blurted, the words tumbling out too fast. “What’s wrong?”

Seonghwa tried to laugh it off, but the sound snagged in his throat, wet and broken. “You always think something’s wrong.”

“Because it is,” Hongjoong's calloused hand lifted to cup Seonghwa’s cheek. The touch was careful, almost reverent, and it ached in a way Seonghwa couldn’t bear.

He opened his mouth. The words hovered there—about the pain, the warnings. Everything that had been pressing heavier on him with each passing day. He wanted to say it. Needed to. But with Hongjoong looking at him like that—

Seonghwa leaned in and kissed him. Slow, deliberate—a confession in itself. He tasted like the ocean, like hope, and Seonghwa let himself drown in him, just for a heartbeat. Even for one last time. Because the truth, heavy and unrelenting, was about to break them both. Hongjoong kissed him back without hesitation, not caring about the blood. He only held him tighter, as if he could keep him from slipping away at all. “Listen to me,” he breathed against Seonghwa's lips. “I know something is bringing you down. The other day in the tavern, you nearly fainted, and you said it was the heat. Every other night you toss and turn in bed. Please—I’m begging you, let me in,” Hongjoong's voice cracked. “You make me want things I used to fear—To drop anchor. To stay. To belong to someone. Whatever’s coming… I swear it won’t be enough to tear us apart.”

Every word struck Seonghwa like a blow. Desperation slicing, like a sword driven through his ribs. Hongjoong deserved so much more than this—more than a man already halfway gone.

“I don’t–I don't have much time left.” he finally  whispered, his tears hot, racing down his cheeks now, “I shouldn't have let you waste– your heart on me, Hongjoong-ah,”

For a moment, Hongjoong didn’t move. Only his eyelids blinked. Searching Seonghwa’s face as if the words had been spoken in another language.

“What...” he managed, his voice barely there. “What does this mean?”

Seonghwa looked away, shame pulsing through his frame, “I’m sorry, for everything,”

“Don’t—say sorry,” Hongjoong asked almost breathless, “Just... help me understand,”

''I–'' Seonghwa hesitated, his lips trembling. “I have–two moons,” he uttered. “If I’m lucky.”

Hongjoong stood up and took a step away from him, as if the air itself had turned solid and punched him in the chest. He kept staring at Seonghwa as if trying to read between the lines of a metaphor that wasn’t there.

But the truth was plain—written in the lines of Seonghwa’s face. The weight in his shoulders. The way his breath shook in his chest.

“Two moons,” Hongjoong echoed hollow after a while.

Then his voice rose an octave, “Says fucking who?”

Seonghwa flinched, but he didn’t recoil. He sat there, tear-streaked and pale, “My doctor.He has treated men like me before. Sailors. Miners.” Hongjoong still stared at him like the words couldn’t make sense. “I wish it was a lie,” Seonghwa's voice was barely above a whisper. “I’d give anything to be wrong.” He laughed bitterly, and wiped at his nose with a shaky hand. “But he said once the tightness starts creeping into my heart…”

Hongjoong's expression was unreadable. As if he didn’t know if he wanted to scream at him, or hold him. Or neither.

“Two moons and you—you were going to let me find out when?” Hongjoong's chest rose and fell with a shudder, “You let me talk about plans, about us, and you just... counted down the days?”

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa managed.His chest tightened with every syllable, as if speech itself cost him more than he had left to give.“I just wanted—one more season. One more week. One more day of being yours without pity in your eyes.”

Hongjoong shook his head, and the panic in his eyes was unbearable. “You think I’d pity you?!”

''Hongjoong-ah, it wouldn't change anything–''

“I would’ve carried you through everything.'' Hongjoong’s voice broke raw with pain. “I would’ve tried to find—” The rest caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa sobbed, the words splintering in his throat. “I–I couldn’t—”

For a moment, neither of them spoke—just stood there in the stillness between a confession and havoc.

Hongjoong's face crumpled, then darkened, grief and anger eating each other alive.

“You had me dragging you to the market,” his whole frame quaked around the syllables, “Pestering you because you wouldn’t join my crew, climbing the rigging with me, hauling nets—watching you work your ass off to keep that fucking tavern running—and now you tell me this?”

Seonghwa’s tears blurred the world. Because he could hear underneath Hoongjoong's words.And he was telling Seonghwa how he trusted him, and how Seonghwa turned out unworthy of this trust. And yet– “I just wanted to live!” he burst out, “You made me feel like I was more than a dying man. I didn’t want to stain that with my pain—my tonics, the doctor’s hands on me—every reminder of what I am.”

Hongjoong’s eyes shone wet, “I wanted to hold you through it,” he yelled sharp enough that Seonghwa thought it might split him in two. “Do you think so little of me—that I’d break just from knowing? That I’d shrink away from what’s yours? I’d fucking face it all, with you!''

Seonghwa’s heart lurched, stirring a mix of awe and guilt he couldn’t speak around.

“I never wanted to ruin your life because mine is ruined.” 

Each word hit him, dizzying, relentless, as if the air itself had thickened. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw it—that flicker in Hongjoong’s eyes. As Seonghwa’s anguish tore into the space between them.

The anger in Hongjoong's features died down, his face softening with something helpless yet fearless.As if he would have taken the hurt into himself if he could.

He reached for Seonghwa's arms, tried to hold him—but Seonghwa flinched.

He jolted up from the bench, stumbling back, his legs still weak beneath him. His balance faltered, and he stadied himself on the wall.The thought pressed down on him like a cement: it had to end today. To set Hongjoong free now than let him carry him to the grave. Hongjoong would break through this, just as Seonghwa would break if the roles were reversed.

Loving Seonghwa would now feel like dying slowly, exquisitely. Day by day. And for Seonghwa– every heartbeat would remind him of what he would lose. Every touch sharpened the edges of the inevitable. Still, even as the ache threatened to undo him, he wanted Hongjoong to live beyond him—whole, untethered. Away from what was coming.

He turned away, wheezing, and took a few shaky steps—toward nowhere, anywhere but there.

“Where are you going?” Hongjoong’s voice wavered, fragile and uneven, as if he already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Don’t you dare follow me,” Seonghwa snapped, “Go away, live your life, leave me alone. I just want to die in peace.”

He saw Hongjoong freeze, as if the ground had dropped out from beneath him. That softness from before—the desperation to help—replaced by a piercing hurt that splintered Seonghwa from within.

The pirate swallowed hard, his voice hoarse as he spoke and the tears wouldn't stop falling, “If dying in peace means dying alone—then I hope the sea swallows me first.”

Seonghwa turned his face away, his shoulders trembling, every step feeling heavier than the last. And then he ran, despite his heart hammering, and his lungs burning.

Slipping into the alleyways like a ghost abandoning the only warmth he had ever known.

Leaving Hongjoong standing there with a basket brimming full of trinkets and his heart broken.

Chapter Text

Hongjoong had been drinking for hours aboard the Aurora. The steady roll of the deck under his boots matching the sick churn in his gut.

The rum burned his throat, but it couldn’t burn away the ache inside.

Wooyoung had come by earlier, worry plain in his eyes. “Captain, what happened?” he asked gently, fingers brushing the bottle as if trying to take it away.

He let out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all, just air catching in his throat. He tightened his grip on the neck of the rum, unwilling to let go.

“He sent me away,” he said finally, “He’s sick. And it’s worse than I imagined.”

Of course Hongjoong knew...After a certain point, there was no mistaking it.

The bruises on Seonghwa's sides that wouldn’t fade. The way he moved like each step had to be measured. The coughs he swallowed down. The way his strength faltered when he thought no one was looking. The way he fought to hide it.

Hongjoong had told himself it was probably a passing thing. A light condition worsened by nerves, bad sleep, the weight of duty. He wanted to believe it.

He needed to.

What he hadn’t let himself imagine—what felt impossible even now—was that Seonghwa could be past the point of return. That this, of all things, could happen to them. To Seonghwa, who had carried him through storms. Who had stood between Hongjoong and death. Seonghwa, who never wavered, who never allowed himself to break.

The thought that his body might give out where the world had failed to bring him down—Hongjoong couldn’t reconcile it. He wouldn’t.

It wasn’t supposed to happen to them. Not like this. Not when they had just found their way to each other.

And yet Seonghwa’s voice lingered in his head—quiet, steady, resigned. Not something time would heal. Not a fight he could win.

Two moons.

Wooyoung had tried to comfort him, but Hongjoong had waved him off—gently, though his chest felt like it was splitting apart. The alcohol sat heavy in his blood, dulling nothing but only blurring the edges.

When the night fell he stumbled down the gangplank, each step unsteady, every breath weighed down by grief that threatened to pull him under.

The Rusty Gull glowed in the dark, a fake promise of comfort he knew he would never find there anymore.

He pushed the tavern door open and his heart leapt for a moment, hoping Seonghwa would be behind the bar.

But there were no starry eyes there, no gentle smile that made his heart tremble, no quiet strength that steadied Hongjoong even on the roughest seas.

It was only Jungwon, gathering empty bottles and tossing them into an empty box. Hongjoong crossed the floor in three strides and barged inside the kitchen despite the boy's startled: ''Ahoy, Captain, wh–''

It was only Ian in there, wiping down mugs and muttering to himself.

The sight hit Hongjoong like a blow. Empty. Too empty.

Was Seonghwa gone or–

The thought made his stomach twist. The rum in his veins did nothing to soften it; it only made the room tilt harder, the air too thin.

His voice came out raw, slurred but sharp: “Where is he?” 

Ian’s eyes widened in surprise the moment he saw him,  “Hongjoong-ssi—”

But Hongjoong darted ahead and grabbed him by the collar, throwing him against the closest wall. 

“WHERE. IS. HE?”

“Captain!” Ian choked,

“I don’t fucking know—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Hongjoong barked, his hands trembling around the fabric. “How long have you known everything? How long did you let him work himself to his death in this goddamned place?!”

“You think I didn’t tell him to slow down?!'' Ian yelled at his face, a vein popping on his forehead, ''You think I didn’t try? Don't you know he's the most proud and stubborn man who ever lived?''

His grip on Ian slipped, useless, and before he could stop himself he turned and drove his fist into the jagged rock wall.

Pain fired up his arm, sharp and blinding. He welcomed it. Hit again, releasing a growl. The sound was ugly—bone on stone, skin splitting, blood smearing against the rock. He could feel it running warm across his knuckles, dripping to the ground.

Ian flinched back—Hongjoong saw it in the corner of his vision, the half-step, the hand twitching like he might reach out. But he didn’t. He just stood there, watching, the way one would watch a man set fire to himself and know there was no stopping it.

“I told him a fucking hundred times to quit,” Hongjoong spat, pressing his forehead to the cold stone. His throat burned. He tightened his bloody fist against the wall until his whole arm trembled.

From behind him, Ian’s voice came—steady yet dripping with defeat. “And so did I, captain. But what makes you think he’d listen to me if he wouldn’t even listen to you?”

The words barely pierced through the roar in Hongjoong's skull.

“He kept this place running even when I—his sworn brother—wanted to give up on it. “But you…” Ian’s voice dropped. There was a note of resignation there, of sad, quiet acceptance. “You’re not his brother. Not his friend. You’re the one he sees, the one he lets himself need—like you could hold him together when nothing else can.”

Hongjoong froze, the sentence pressing against him like a weight he hadn’t expected. After everything that had happened between them today, hope felt like a cruel joke. And yet, somehow, it lingered—the last thing refusing to die. Wasn’t it?

Ian’s gaze drifted, distant. “Before you, he was quiet, closed off. Like he was waiting for something. You made him happier than I’ve ever seen him—happier than he’s been in years.”

Hongjoong felt a hollow ache coil low in his stomach, spreading upward until it caught in his throat. Tears slipped unbidden, blurring his vision, and he pressed his hands to his face for a moment, as if to hold himself together. When he finally spoke, his voice was cracked. “Tell me… tell me what he has,”

“It’s his lungs. And his heart.” Ian muttered, low, strained. He avoided Hongjoong’s eyes. “The doctor says it’s something that took hold long ago… and never properly left him, no matter how cautious he was. Seonghwa—he was careful, I swear it. Took every tonic, followed the orders to the letter. But now…” His voice broke. “There’s no hand alive that can set him right.”

Hongjoong stood stiff as the mast in a storm. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not yet.

Ian rubbed a hand over his face. “The ship—living aboard, breathing the salt wind day and night… it wears a man down when his lungs are weak. That’s why he left Mist behind, the sea air and the damp—it worsened his breathing. You already know how he’s stayed ashore these last years. And when his heart’s heavy, or his mind troubled… that’s when it’s worst. He can’t catch his breath, as if the air’s turned thick as molasses around him.”

Hongjoong’s fingers clenched at his sides as the images played in his mind, unbidden and merciless. San and Wooyoung, their voices bright with excitement, urging Seonghwa to join them for a short sail aboard the Aurora. And Seonghwa offering that gentle, polite murmur—“I have so much work at the inn”—while his eyes drifted to the sea, gaze heavy with longing and dread both.

The ocean...his home, his curse.

Seonghwa at the market, moments after the thief had fled. His breath ragged, and his hands trembling. Claiming his reaction was just fear afterwards. Seonghwa.Who laughed at the face of Royal Navy's captain.

And Seonghwa just hours ago—struggling to draw a breath, his skin pale beneath the day light. The sound of their raised voices still echoed in Hongjoong’s ears, their argument leaving their throats raw.

Guilt clawed at his chest once again, sharper than any blade.  

“Do— you know he’s got—”

“I know,”

“He pushed me off,” Hongjoong rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “Said he didn’t want me there.”

Ian sighed. “He’s a gallant idiot.”

“I can’t—I won't let him–” Seonghwa’s words pierced through his mind, “die alone.”

“I don’t want him to be alone either,” Ian's eyes were glistening, “I’ll try and find him. I’ll get word to you.”

Hongjoong only managed a nod. His mouth dry, his body leaden, every movement unsteady as he turned away.

He stepped outside the Rusty Gull and Halazia swooped down from the sign at once. She settled on his shoulder, her bright green feathers ruffling in the night air.
“You followed me.”
She squealed and pressed her beak to Hongjoong’s neck, as if trying to comfort him, her tiny claws digging in—a small tether pulling him back from the dark. Something in Hongjoong pulled tight as he reached to pet her.The kind of ache that came with being seen when he least deserved it.

Because he should have known better.

Should have acted sooner.

Instead, even today, he had let Seonghwa go. Let him walk away when everything in his body screamed to follow. And now the weight of his worry settled sharp, clawing at his ribs without mercy. The bond he shared with him felt torn, like a ship split by a reef.

“I never wanted to ruin your life because mine is ruined.”

He knew Seonghwa loved him. He knew he was trying to protect him.But Hongjoong didn’t want to live this or any life without him.

So, if Seonghwa didn’t want to be with him, didn’t want to see him, then Hongjoong would make damn sure he’d get to hear his name wherever he stepped a foot on this cursed island.

Because he wasn’t leaving.

Not until Seonghwa knew they shared one life and one heart—no matter how long they had left.

***

Fish Market Talks

''Have ye heard of that pirate captain's buffoonery?''

''Ye speak of Aurora's man?''

''Aye, Fishermen tell madness has taken him now—he charges straight into enemy fire like it’s a game, laughing in the face of death itself.''

''Folk said he always ran a rig to devil, now they tell he's courting doom.''

''Two days ago, it was. A cannonball whizzed by his head, missin’ by inches, and the madman just laughed.''

''Aye, and lad's been drinking like there’s no tomorrow. Strongest rum he swills, and no man’s too big to best in a brawl— I reckon he’s making peace with a fate he won’t speak of,''

''A rival drew a cutlass on him yesterday and he didn’t back a step down.

He taunted ‘em instead.

He’s defying the clock of the living, like time holds no power over him.''

***

The house at the top of the hill was little more than a ruin now—old boards creaking in the wind, the roof sagging, patches of mold clinging to the corners.

It had belonged to Seonghwa's mother once, when the world had felt safer.When he had been a boy with sea glass in his pockets and innocent joy in his heart.

Now, every step inside it felt like stepping into a memory Seonghwa would rather forget.

The walls smelled of damp earth and neglect. A single wooden bed, its mattress lumpy and torn, stood in the corner. Cobwebs clung to the rafters like sad little ghosts.The window rattled in the wind, salt air sneaking in through the cracks.

Climbing up there had been a struggle—Seonghwa's chest burned with every breath, and his legs trembled like they belonged to a much older man, but it was the only place noone knew about. The only place noone would come to look.

For the first three days, he barely moved. He lay on the bed, staring at the gray sky through the window, the dusty blanket pulled around his shoulders like a shroud.

He didn’t bother with his medicine.His appetite had vanished, and water from the old well by the door was all he could manage. The pain in his ribs was constant, like an invisible hand scraping at him from the inside.But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The heartbreak was.

Seonghwa had never imagined that on top of dying, his soul would feel like it was splitting in two.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Hongjoong’s face—the anger, the tears, the betrayal. The way Hongjoong looked at him, hurt shining in his eyes like broken glass.

Seonghwa should have kept him safe.Spare him the sight of watching him waste away.He should have protected him better. Like Hongjoong always did with him.

And yet he was no more than a selfish scum.

Because all he had done was hurt him more. Even in their end. Seonghwa’s heart ached at the memory of it—at the way he had yelled at him, 'Don’t you dare follow me.'

Guilt boiled like acid down his stomach.

He had made Hongjoong cry. He had made him yell. He had flinched from his touch.

On the fourth day, desperation pushed him from the bed. He needed food. To fill his stomach with something other than regret. He chose the fish market farthest from where he was staying, as well as the Rusty Gull. An hour’s walk. He was sure Ian was looking for him by now—he had always been too soft-hearted for his own good.

Every step felt like dragging an anchor, but Seonghwa forced himself forward.

And yet, even in the smallest fish market, news traveled like wildfire.

Seonghwa had barely crossed the main thoroughfare before he heard curious, excited and condescending chatters behind every stall: 

“... nearly got himself killed again.”

“He’s daring the sea to take him.”

“...drinking like there’s no tomorrow.”

Seonghwa’s heart felt both as a wound and a witness while he stood there hollowed.

Hongjoong.

Laughing at cannon fire. Drinking himself blind. Daring death. He pressed his lips together, his eyes unfocused as the crowd moved around him.His hand brushed absently against the worn wood of a table to steady himself.

It wasn’t the image of danger that gnawed at him—it was the thought that maybe Hongjoong had chosen it. That this recklessness was not accident, but intent.

Τhe way he told Seonghwa, “If dying in peace means dying alone—then I hope the sea swallows me first.”

Seonghwa pressed a trembling hand to his mouth. Tears welling up in his eyes.

If Hongjoong was really throwing himself at death, he’d be damned. Even if Seonghwa wished the sea would take him before Hongjoong had to watch him die.

The fifth day dawned cold and gray.

By the evening Seonghwa knew he couldn’t delay it any longer; his lungs were heavy now, like they were filling with something thicker than water. He could hear it in his chest, every breath another rattle. He had to see his doctor, no matter how much he dreaded the walk.

Climbing down the hill, he choose the narrow path that skirted the Cliffside.The wind bit at his face, but he ignored it.

The village below seemed to be a blur of movement—shouts, and the clatter of boots on cobblestone. The night was alive with shouts and smoke, the sharp smell of burning tar in the air.

Something was on...

Seonghwa turned the corner and saw the crowd gathered by the dockside.

Everything in him stilled. 

The dock burned like a hellmouth come to life. A merchant’s storehouse at the water’s edge was a wall of flame, sparks leaping higher and higher into the night sky. Fire hissed and roared as it devoured hemp rope, casks, and timber.

And at the heart of it all—stood Hongjoong.

On the ground, sailors formed a bucket line, heaving seawater into the blaze. Others wrestled barrels away from the sparks, shouting themselves hoarse. But Hongjoong alone went higher—climbing for the smoldering cask lodged in the beams, the one no bucket could reach. If it took flame, the whole dockyard would follow.

“Leave it, captain!” someone shouted below. “It’s too dangerous!”

But Hongjoong didn’t stop.His jaw was set, his eyes blazing with reckless determination.

He was already halfway up a rigged line stretched between two masts, climbing toward the storehouse roof where fire licked hungrily at the tarred beams. His boots slid against the swaying timber, his coat streaming behind him like a battered flag.

Seonghwa’s heart slammed against his ribs as he shoved through the knot of bystanders. Their voices blurred, their hands tried to hold him back, but he tore free, eyes only for the man above.

“Hongjoong!” His voice cracked like a whip through the smoke.“Don’t you dare!”

Hongjoong turned, soot streaking his cheek, his coat scorched at the edges. Firelight made him look both wild and terrible—like the man Seonghwa had first fallen for, the one who never backed down, no matter the weight on his shoulders.

“I can’t leave it!” Hongjoong shouted hoarsely, pointing toward the glowing cask wedged against the burning rafters. “If that catches, we all go with it! Get out of here, now!”

The wind screamed off the bay, whipping sparks into a frenzy. Flames gnawed at the tarred canvas, dropping burning shreds onto the dock. Smoke rolled thick, turning the air into choking fog.

Seonghwa staggered closer, stumbling over a coil of line.

He couldn’t let Hongjoong burn himself alive just to prove he could save the world.

A barrel burst nearby, showering splinters across the dock. Heat clawed at Seonghwa’s lungs, searing his throat, but still he pressed forward, clinging to a piling as the boards quaked beneath the fire.

“Don’t—don’t do this,” his voice trembled, but he forced it out, not caring who heard—sailors, strangers, it didn’t matter..“I can’t— lose you too.”

Hongjoong froze on the beam, grief flashing raw in his eyes.

“Leave!” he barked, the word cracking apart, desperate more than furious.

“I won’t!” Seonghwa staggered another step, his body trembling like the dock under cannon fire. He clutched the side of a handcart to stay upright.

“Hongjoong—please,” he begged, voice shredded by smoke. “For me.”

The heat pressed in like a vise, the air itself burning. Seonghwa’s ision wavered.

Then—pain.

White-hot, ripping through his chest like steel through sailcloth.

His knees gave way.

Orange light and shadows swallowed him whole.

He barely heard Hongjoong scream his name before the darkness took him.

And then—nothing.

*

Captain's Journal,

26.05.1723

 Smoke, Sorrow. The lamp flickers low, as if it too mourns.

Beyond this wall, they work to pull him back from the brink. The sound of Death’s footfalls. I have heard it too many times at sea.

And this time… it paced too near.

I chased fire when I should have clung to him. I thought myself brave, but what use is courage if it leaves the one you love gasping for breath in the dark?

If he slips tonight, the sea can have my soul. I have sailed through storms and outrun cannon fire. I have outwitted kings’ men and stared down the hangman’s noose. But none of it frightened me like the sight of him falling to his knees, calling my name with his last breath.

If he lives, I will thank the gods with every sunrise. If he dies, I will curse them with my last. I swear it on the wind that first brought him to me.

Let him stay. Or take me with him.

*

When Seonghwa opened his eyes it seemed to be the middle of the day.

Which day?

Everything felt blurred and too bright, like the world had been washed in saltwater. The ceiling above him seemed to be made of old wooden beams, the smell of herbs and alcohol thick in the air. Where…?

His memory came in fragments—flames on the docks, Hongjoong’s voice, the blinding pain.

Then nothing.

He turned his head, and pain lanced through his ribs like a hot knife. He gasped, one hand flying to the left side of his chest. Bandages wrapped his ribcage tight—rough linen stained with old blood. Underneath the cloth, he could feel the raw tenderness, and the dull ache of something missing, like his lung had been carved out and replaced with a hollow.

In truth, the doctor had likely performed that same old procedure Seonghwa had been through a couple of times, while he was unconscious —a boiled hollow needle, rum or laudanum for pain, a quick incision between the ribs, then the tube and suction.

Judging by the pain, Seonghwa knew the tube had been removed but the wound left behind felt like a ragged hole.

His other hand felt heavy, like something weighed it down. Frowning, he turned—and nearly choked on his breath.

Hongjoong.

His head rested on the edge of the bed, arms curled around Seonghwa’s wrist like he was a lifeline. His hair was damp with sweat, his face still smudged with soot. His eyes—red-rimmed and swollen, met Seonghwa’s with a kind of fragile daring.

“Hey.”Hongjoong’s voice cracked low in the hush of the infirmary, rough like wind and sleepless nights.“You’re awake.”

Seonghwa blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog in his eyes. His throat burned. His chest ached like they’d been split open and stitched back with raw string.

“I… what…happened?”

“You scared the hell out of me.” Hongjoong leaned closer to him, dragging the stool with a screech across the wooden floor. “One minute you were yelling at me in the middle of the burning dock, and the next—” He swallowed thickly. ''You were coughing blood and collapsing in my arms.” He pressed his forehead against Seonghwa’s hand, as if that would help him forget.

Seonghwa’s lashes fluttered. He tried to move, but pain snapped down his side at once. “You… you got me here?”

Hongjoong nodded, lifting his head just enough for Seonghwa to see the terrified glint in his eyes.''You were barely breathing.'' he swallowed. ''You… You were, so cold.''

And Seonghwa thought bitterly—that was exactly what he had tried to prevent.

That if he stayed away, Hongjoong would never have to see this, never have to watch him collapse, never have to carry those images as the last memories of him. Yet here they were, and his worst fear had unfolded in front of Hongjoong’s eyes.

''I'm sorry,'' Seonghwa's eyelids fluttered shut. Sorry for breaking what I wanted to protect. “I wouldn't...I wasn't going to cross your path again. But when I saw you, I didn’t want you up there alone…”

“You should’ve stayed the hell back.”
The sharpness in Hongjoong’s voice made Seonghwa flinch.The feeling of him being a dead weight flared.

But Hongjoong’s grip tightened around his hand, rough,desperate, as if he could read this thoughts. And maybe he could.“I didn’t mean it like that. I just—fuck, Seonghwa, you walked straight into the fire when you can barely breathe.”

His voice cracked, fierce with something that wasn’t bother at all, but terror.“Do you have any idea what it did to me, seeing you there? Thinking you—” His words fainted, and instead he dropped his head against Seonghwa’s hand.

“I thought you would be mad,” Seonghwa whispered.

“I am mad.” Hongjoong gave a breathless laugh, but it was shaken.“Mad as hell. At you. At myself. At the sea. At gods” he shook his head fiercely after a pause.“You really believed I would stay gone after what you told me? That I’d leave and not look for you every hour since?”

Seonghwa’s breath caught.He didn’t have the strength to explain that he had spent every night wondering if he would ever get to see Hongjoong again, even from afar. If Hongjoong was safe.

“I heard certain...things,” he murmured, ''About you—"

Hongjoong’s fingers brushed lightly over his lips. “You can lecture me when you’re strong enough to climb a rigging line again.”

A soft breath left Seonghwa, part laugh, part wheeze.“You sound like Ian.”

“I’ll take that as an insult.” Hongjoong gave a half-hearted grin,“But I’ve earned the right. You don’t get to nearly die and then scold me before I’ve had my say.”

“Oh?” Seonghwa turned his head weakly, offering a tired smirk back. “And what would that be?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened. Closed. He stared at him for a long moment, like he was choosing his next words from a ledge.

“I love you,” he finally said, firm as if carved into the air. “Even when I’m furious. Even when you’re stubborn. Even when you won't listen to me.Even when you tell me things that feel like barbs to the gut. It doesn’t matter. I love you.”

Seonghwa blinked up at him, stunned. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” Hongjoong added quickly. “I just— I wanted you to know.”

Seonghwa’s eyes filled again.The words pressed into him like something he had been starving for and didn’t dare ask to taste.

It ached, sweet and sharp all at once—because he wanted to hold them close and never let them fade.

He squeezed Hongjoong’s hand, weak but steady, and a faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips.

“You should’ve said it before you went taunting pirates with drawn cutlasses,” he muttered. “Might’ve spared me a few more lines on my face.”

Hongjoong gave a breathless laugh, shaking his head.“Lines or not, you’re still the most infuriatingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”He leaned down, pressing his lips to Seonghwa’s hand again. “And I’ll say it to you every damn day now. So get better.” He swallowed. “Please.”

Seonghwa’s heart swelled, even as his body ached.  

“I—”

“Don’t talk anymore,” Hongjoong said, his thumb brushing across the back of Seonghwa’s hand. “The doctor said you’ve got enough trouble breathing as it is.”

Seonghwa felt his lips curl into a small, exhausted smile. “High and mighty,” he uttered, the sound slurred.

Hongjoong leaned forward, his lips brushing Seonghwa’s knuckles.“Damn right.Someone has to keep you from running headlong into death every other day.”

Look who is talking...

Seonghwa’s lids fluttered shut again, but the smile on his face stayed.

And Hongjoong stayed too.

Through every cough, every shallow breath, holding his hand like it was the only thing tethering either of them to the world.

*

The pain had been relentless for the rest of the day–despite the herbs. Despite Seonghwa being mostly asleep. A pressure deep in his ribs that made every breath feel borrowed.

Seonghwa hadn't said a word.

Hongjoong was already doing too much by being there, even if Seonghwa tried time and again to send him back to the Aurora.

As dusk filtered through the infirmary shutters, Seonghwa turned his head on the pillow and found Hongjoong quietly rearranging the blanket, smoothing the corner.

He was humming—soft, off-key—but unmistakably the tune of a lullaby Seonghwa’s parents used to sing when he was younger. One he hadn’t heard in years.

His eyes burned. His throat closed.

“How do you always know?” he whispered.

Hongjoong looked up, puzzled.“Know what?”

“When I’m breaking,” Seonghwa said. “Even when I don’t say a word.”

Hongjoong blinked, then smiled faintly, brushing Seonghwa’s hair back from his forehead. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just… feel it.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes, and for the first time that day, he exhaled without shaking.

*

The spring air bit at his cheeks as they leaving the doctor’s place the night after. He was exhausted, every step a slow war between his heart and his lungs.

The doctor had ordered seven days of rest—no work, no chores, no strain. He had delivered the words like a sentence.

Hongjoong had offered— insisted—to carry Seonghwa back to the Gull, arms already braced to lift him like a bride. But Seonghwa had shaken his head, stubborn even now. He needed to walk. He needed to prove—to himself more than anyone—that he still had some strength left.

Hongjoong didn’t argue. He simply took Seonghwa’s arm, wrapping it over his shoulders and holding him tight, careful, steady. Every step hurt—like knives in his ribs—but the warmth of Hongjoong at his side made it easier.

They reached the Rusty Gull in the hush of a lantern-lit night. The moment they stepped inside, Ian and Jungwon rushed forward, “Hyung!” Jungwon’s voice cracked with relief, but before he could tackle him with a hug, Hongjoong hissed, “Careful. He's got an open wound.”

Ian’s arms circled Seonghwa gingerly, a soft laugh escaping his lips, half-tearful. “You scared the hell out of us, you ass.” Seonghwa leaned into the embrace, while Hongjoong murmured to Ian, ''He found me first,''

They led him to his room—small, spare, but home. Hongjoong moved first, changing the sheets without a word. Watching him fuss over every wrinkle made Seonghwa’s heart clench. Even though Hongjoong did everything with too-casual shrugs, as if it was just another chore, every small gesture screamed devotion.

When the bed was ready, he helped him change into a simple linen nightshirt. His hands were gentle, but Seonghwa flinched every time he brushed against his bandaged ribs.

“Does it hurt so bad?” Hongjoong asked, his voice was soft, low.

“Only when I breathe,” Seonghwa tried to twist it into humor. As always. But the smile didn’t hold.

Hongjoong’s head fell on his chest. He hovered by the bed, his gaze flicking once toward the door, like the memory of being pushed away was tugging at him.

“Stay,” Seonghwa whispered, the word catching. “Please. I… I want you here.”

Hongjoong’s eyes lifted to meet his, wide and stunned. For a second he didn’t move—just stared at him like he couldn’t believe he was hearing those words.

Then he came to sit on the bed next to Seonghwa, biting on lips, as if trying to keep something in. But soon his breath shuddered out of him. “I—Hwa, I’m scared.”

Seonghwa’s chest tightened. “Scared?”

“I’m scared of losing you.'' Hongjoong’s voice tore loose. “Every time you breathe like it hurts, every time you look like the sea’s dragging you under—I’m terrified.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes,“I’m scared too. You’ve got your ship, your crew, your fight. But me—” His words stumbled. “I’m scared of turning into nothing but a memory for you.”

Hongjoong caught his hand before he could move, in a fierce grip. “You’re not a memory. You’re the one thing I’d chase across oceans and storms. Illness, time, gods—none of it matters. If you tried to leave me, I’d follow. If you disappeared into the sea, I’d dive until my lungs gave out just to drag you back.”

Tears slipped down Seonghwa’s face. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I mean every word.” Hongjoong’s thumb brushed his cheek.“I can’t stop. I won’t stop.”

For a long moment silence pressed between them, deep as the ocean itself. But then Seonghwa’s expression hardened.“The drinking. The fights. Running at death like it was a joke.Why?”

Hongjoong hesitated, then turned his gaze on their hands. “I wanted you to hear it. To know I was still here. To remember me, even if you stayed away.”

Seonghwa’s face spasmed with hurt. “You crazy fool.” His voice wavered, torn between fury and grief. “It tore me apart finding out th- ”

Hongjoong’s head jerked up, his eyes sparkling wild. “It tore me apart. Knowing you were out there, sick, and I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t even see you.” His lips pressed thin, “I’d rather have death at my throat than silence in your absence.”

The words shattered Seonghwa’s anger. It dissolved, leaving only trembling exhaustion and a love too heavy to bear. His hand found Hongjoong’s jaw, his fingers weak but steady.

“You undo me,” he whispered, as the tears started falling again.“I hate that I understand.”

“Then let me undo you,”Hongjoong leaned into his palm, lips brushing against his wrist.

“Hate me. But don’t leave me.”

Seonghwa gave a ragged laugh that turned into a sob. He reached out, his arm shaking as he pulled Hongjoong closer.

“I love you,” he said, helpless, the words tasting like salt and honey on his tongue.

Hongjoong's breath hitched but he pressed his forehead against Seonghwa’s.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“I love you,” Seonghwa breathed, stronger this time. “I love you, I love you.”

Hongjoong’s lips found his in a kiss that felt like the ocean itself—vast, wild, and endless.

When they parted, the pirate's eyes were wet, but his smile was real in a way Seonghwa hadn’t seen in too long.

“We’ll steal every minute,” he promised. “I don’t care how few there are. I want them all. With you.”

Seonghwa’s throat tightened as he nodded, his arms wrapping around him.

“Let me stay,” Hongjoong whispered again, his voice breaking into something pleading.“Let me stay forever.”

Seonghwa reached up, brushing away the tears off his cheeks with trembling fingers. His own voice came quiet but certain, “Forever,” he said, though his chest ached with the truth he couldn’t change.

Even if it isn’t as long as you deserve.

Even if forever is shorter for me… it will still be yours.

***

Port Gazette

Summer of 1723

On Witches, Wise Women, and the Truths They Might Speak

It is whispered in corners of Haemil, as the gulls cry and the tides shift, that not all those called witch serve the devil’s work. Some, they say, are simply women who know the ways of herbs, of stars, and of the sea’s old humors. Their brews ease the sailor’s cough; their words, strange though they sound, have foretold both storm and calm with uncanny precision.

A fisherman’s wife swears by the tonic that soothed her babe’s fever. An old mariner claims a charm kept his ship from splintering in a squall. Others, more cautious, watch these women with unease, unsure if their gifts are boon or bane.

But one wonders: if their words are folly, why do so many return to them, in the dead of night, or when hope runs thin as rain? If their potions are naught but seaweed and salt, why do the desperate trust them more than doctors?

Perhaps, in these dark and restless times, the village will not judge too harshly the ones who speak to the wind, nor the ones who listen.

***

Over the next days, the sea grew restless, and so did Hongjoong’s heart.

The wind knocked on the tavern windows like the sea itself was reminding him of the time they had left.

Seonghwa’s smile came slower now, each one a victory and a heartbreak all at once.

His steps grew shorter, his breath mostly a labor. Even when he tried to hide it—standing tall behind the bar after a week of rest,with a grin on his lips, Hongjoong knew.

The tavern felt like a cage.

Every beam, every wooden plank seemed to count down the days like a dying clock.

And still—Hongjoong wouldn’t leave his side unless he absolutely had to: to talk with suppliers, to handle the crew, to keep the world at bay.

But every time he walked out the door, his stomach turned to stone with the thought that Seonghwa might slip away while he wasn’t there. To hold him.

They slept together every night now, in Seonghwa’s small room above the tavern. Hongjoong refused for them to sleep on Aurora where the sea’s humidity was too much for Seonghwa’s lungs.

And he’d rather die than let Seonghwa sleep alone.

He noticed the vase by his window had been empty for weeks. Seonghwa hadn’t gone out to gather wildflowers since before he left for his mother's house. So Hongjoong went himself—every few days. He would bring back whatever he could find: daisies, thistle, tiny white blooms that had no name. Anything to keep color in that room, to remind Seonghwa that there was still life in the world.

They fought. About different medicines. About other doctors. Seonghwa would look at him with those tired, patient eyes and explain—so calm, and so final—why none would work. And every time, a hush would fall between them. The kind that hurt. The kind that made Hongjoong want to scream and break everything around him. Because no matter how hard they fought, no matter how much he raged, they both knew they were running out of time all the same.

But Hongjoong wouldn’t quit. He couldn’t.

Every day he would send letters, ask questions, talk to every apothecary, every sailor who might know a remedy. He would bury himself in books, maps, whatever might hold a cure. It took at least half of every day—and still, at night, he’d crawl back into that small room, his hands raw from scribbled letters, his mind ragged with hope.

Ian and Jungwon did their best too.They wouldn’t let Seonghwa lift a barrel, wouldn’t let him drag a crate from the cellar. But they couldn’t keep him from working. Hongjoong grumbled at him to rest more, but Seonghwa just shook his head and said 'he would rather die behind the bar than in the bed.'

So they let him.

They let him live, because maybe that was all they could do now.

Hongjoong watched him laugh with the patrons, watched him wipe glasses and pour drinks as always. And every time, the weight of it dragged his shoulders low. Because they had gone back to their old life, but it wasn’t the same.They both knew now. And every smile carried the weight of a goodbye.

And yet—somehow—they were still happy together. Still fighting side by side. Still finding each other’s hands in the dark, holding on as the tide pulled at them.

Maybe that was what their bond was. Not perfect. Not free of pain.

Just two broken pieces that fit together in a way no one else ever could.

Hongjoong knew it in his bones even if he couldn't explain it with reason: Seonghwa was his.

Every life, every sea, every storm.

And he would be damned if he let him go without fighting for every breath they still had left.

***

Captain's journal,

15.06.1723

Yesterday his doctor said it plain.

Words I can’t scrub from my skull no matter how much rum I pour over them.

And Seonghwa… when we got back to the Gull, he sat there with that steady face of his, like he was the one comforting me. Like it wasn’t his own body still failing him.

I left at dawn. Three days’ voyage. Three fucking days. Already one day gone, and it feels like I’ve been torn from him for a lifetime.

The sea stretches on, but all I see is his face every time I close my eyes.

What if I come back and—

 I can’t even write it.

He said he wanted me near. He said it softly, like it cost him something to ask. And I have to leave anyway, because duty never waits, and the sea doesn’t care about who’s my whole world.

I told him I’d chase him everywhere, and I will. But tonight, all I can do is write like a fool with shaking hands, drunk and furious at myself.

All these months ago, I thought it was pride. Maybe it was. But it was also pain. Quiet. Constant. Consuming.

And I...I was too caught up in the sound of his laugh, in the way he looked at me like I was the shore after a long voyage, to realize he was sinking right in front of me.

***

Chapter Text

The moment Aurora dropped anchor at the port, Hongjoong all but ran to the Rusty Gull. His boots hitting the ground like gunfire, each step faster than the last.

It had been another four days of rough winds, half-rotted sails, and a broken pulley that had nearly taken Yeosang’s hand. Their food stores had gone sour, and they had been forced to a fixed amount of dry biscuits soaked in stale beer. A storm had chased them east for two nights, and Jongho had come down with fever.

But the worst part wasn’t the hardship—it was the absence.

He hadn’t heard his voice since the moment they parted.

And now, with the Gull’s crooked sign just ahead, glowing gold in the late sun, Hongjoong didn’t slow down.

He was home, and he needed to see him.

And yet, as he stepped within the tavern’s walls, the familiar cheer that usually danced through the room seemed strangely dulled. Laughter still rose in bursts, mugs still clinked, and the hearth gave off its steady glow—but the spirit of the place felt dimmed.

Hongjoong’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Seonghwa’s face, but Seonghwa wasn’t darting glances at the door every now and then like he used to when he was waiting for him. No faint smile breaking loose when their eyes met, no trace of the warmth that had lingered in their last night together before Hongjoong sailed. Then, Seonghwa’s laugh had been soft against his shoulder, his arm thrown heavy over his waist, his body curved around him possessively.

Now, there was only distance—a careful chill Hongjoong couldn't decipher.

He forced his legs to move, finding Ian at the usual corner table, bent over talk of rum, spices, and a new trade route from the southern islands. Business that needed both their signatures. Hongjoong dropped onto the bench, the wood groaning under the weight, but his attention stayed fixed on the figure moving between tables.

Seonghwa passed by without pause, sliding two plates onto a nearby table. He spared Hongjoong a nod, the barest twitch of his lips, then turned away.

By the time the ink dried on the ship’s log and the goods were accounted for, Hongjoong’s patience had worn thin. He left Ian to his numbers and made for the bar, settling into his usual place.

Jungwon approached, his hands trembling and his eyes darting nervously toward Seonghwa. He set down a glass of rum for him, his voice a hush.“Here, captain.”

“Thanks,” Hongjoong muttered, though his eyes kept following Seonghwa.

He was moving faster than usual, his motions sharp, every line of his body tense. His patience seemed to be thinner than old rope and he was drinking—a lot. He snapped at a drunkard for spilling ale. He gritted his teeth when Jungwon brushed too close, the lines around his mouth tight with what seemed to be anger.

Hongjoong knew it was pain. He could–feel it.

He frowned as he took a sip of his rum, “What’s wrong with you tonight?” he asked as Seonghwa approached his side of the bar.

“Nothing.” the other's voice was clipped. He slammed a mug down harder than necessary.

Hongjoong scoffed, ''Nothing, my ass.'' he didn't try to mask the disbelief in his tone even though Seonghwa ignored him.

Hongjoong’s gaze dropped to the bar, where an empty glass sat by Seonghwa’s elbow, its rim still wet. The bottle beside it already half-drained.
“Is that your third?” he asked, quieter now, his throat tightening.

Seonghwa didn’t answer. He locked eyes with him as he tipped the bottle, filling the glass to the brim in one long pour. Not careful, not discreet.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said, more firmly this time, “This isn’t good for you.”

That made the other smirk faintly, the glass tilting in his hand. He turned his head, slow and sharp, his gaze glassy from the liquor but burning with something deeper. “Are you a doctor now?” he sneered, lifting the drink like a challenge.

“I’m the person who gives a damn if you collapse behind that bar.”

Seonghwa’s laugh cracked out, hollow and half-bitter. He raised the glass as though in a mock toast, before draining it in one swallow, “Do not. I’m fine.”

Heat climbed the back of Hongjoong's neck. He wanted to rip the bottle from Seonghwa’s hand, to shake the fight out of him, to say 'you don’t have to do this, not tonight, not alone.' But something in Seonghwa’s expression stopped him—the kind of pain that lashed out before it collapsed inward. The kind that didn’t want comfort.

So Hongjoong gritted his teeth and let the bottle tip again. But his fingers curled tight around his own glass. Because it didn’t feel like watching a barkeep get through a bad night. It felt like watching someone he would kill for fall apart in real time.

Across the counter, Ian edged closer, some excuse about an uncollected tab on his lips. Seonghwa’s head snapped toward him, sharp as a blade.
“Not now,” he bit out, the words low, but enough to make Ian retreat back toward the casks without another word.

Hongjoong caught it all—the tension in his features, the way his hand trembled as he set another glass down, the restless energy in his movements.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice, trying again.“Did something happen while I was missing?”

“Drop it,” Seonghwa snapped. His eyes cut sharp, bright as shattered glass. “Just fucking drop it, Hongjoong.”

The sudden bite made Hongjoong's back straighten, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Seonghwa exhaled sharply.“You!” he yelled, “Not everything is your business.”

“Since when?” Hongjoong shot back.

“You’re impossible!” Seonghwa downed his rum and banged the glass so hard on the counter it cracked.Something in Hongjoong snapped too. He reached out and ggrabbed his wrist—not rough, but firm enough that the other had no choice but to look at him. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t so determined to kill yourself. You’re not on your own anymore.” he gritted the words between his teeth.

Seonghwa tried to yank away, but the motion made his eyes squeeze, his shoulders jerk with visible pain. Hongjoong’s grip shifted, but his fingers brushed against something hard beneath Seonghwa’s shirt. He froze.

His eyes narrowed on Seonghwa’s chest rising and falling like a broken mast as his thumb pressed gently against the rigid shape beneath the fabric.

Hongjoong felt his expression going blank, a stark difference from the anger that had been there a moment before. ''What the hell is this?” he demanded. Seonghwa wrenched away, stumbling a step back, but Hongjoong didn’t let go, his eyes sharp and searching.“You’re wearing armor?”

''No,'' Seonghwa scoffed—a hollow, exhausted sound as he tried to pull his wrist away, “Just something to keep me standing.”

“Does it cause pain?”

Seonghwa’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his grip still firm and his eyes locked on Seonghwa’s.

“You’re going to tell me everything. Right now.” he said, his voice ice cold.

~

“Joong—let me–” but Hongjoong didn’t even look back, ignoring his weak protests.

His hand was still closed around Seonghwa's wrist like an cuff, as he was all but being dragged up the narrow stairs. Back to his room above the Rusty Gull.

Hongjoong kicked the door shut behind them with a force that rattled the hinges.

He whirled around to face Seonghwa, his eyes blazing.His voice only betrayed the effort he made to keep it low, even. ''You need to rest.And I’ll tie you to that fucking bed myself if I have to.''

Seonghwa scoffed, though his voice was little more than a tremble.“I don’t have time to rest.”

“You don’t have time not to!” Hongjoong yelled, and a vein popped on his neck.

Silence pressed between them, thick as the ocean fog outside.

Seonghwa's hair clung to his clammy forehead, and his lips were drawn into a pale, exhausted line. His  knees trembled beneath him—but he refused to fall. Not in front of him.

Across the room, Hongjoong exhaled sharply, his anger slipping away after he looked at him in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now. The fire was gone from his voice, but something worse remained—fear. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just—” He paused and swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me about whatever the hell this is? Why keeping secrets?”

Seonghwa felt a muscle ticking beneath his temple.He tried to turn his back at him, but the pain was so bad now that even this small move seemed impossible.“And say what? That I can’t stand without strapping myself in like some broken mast?” his laugh came out bitter, brittle. “How much more of a burden do you think I could be, Hongjoong?”

“You’re not a burden,” the other replied almost like it frustrated him to have to say it aloud. “You think I’d be here if you were?”

Seonghwa’s sneered down his nose. He looked away, but the words still pressed against him, stubborn and unshakable,

“Then stop looking at me like I’m about to shatter.”

Hongjoong dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back. “Why wear it now, then? Not months ago? Not when you were hiding bruises with that damned tavern smile of yours?”

Seonghwa’s gaze dropped.

“Because without it, I can’t work anymore. I can’t carry the trays. Can’t haul the barrels. Can’t even stand behind the bar without feeling like I’ll fall over.” He gave a hollow shrug.“With it, I can do something.”

Hongjoong stared at him for a few silent moments, “So you strap yourself into pain—just so you can serve ale and stew to patrons who won’t even remember your face tomorrow?” His voice rose. “So you can prove what? That you’re worth something?”

Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up then, his lips pressed thin, “I want to be worthy.”

Hongjoong let out a disbelieving laugh,“Worthy for who? For strangers who don’t know your name? For sailors who’ll forget you by dawn?” He stepped closer, his voice trembling now with what seemed to be a different kind of anger.“Ian doesn’t love you because you pour him the perfect drink. Jungwon doesn’t look up to you because you can carry a barrel. And I—” his voice broke. “I don’t want you because you’re strong enough to work through pain. I want you because you’re you. Because you breathe. Because you exist.”

Seonghwa’s face twisted, all the fight draining out of him at once.

He blinked at him, the weight of the day pressing heavier against his spine minute after minute.

Hongjoong took another step closer closing the gap between them. His voice was gentler, “Let me see it,” his fingers brushed the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt. The touch was tentative.

Not demanding. Just... asking.

Seonghwa hesitated, but this time not from pain. From the way Hongjoong looked at him. Like the open wounds beneath Seonghwa's shirt hurt him too.

He fumbled with the buckles of the vest, wincing as the leather came loose. The moment it slipped from his shoulders, his legs buckled, and he caught himself on the edge of the bed with a small cry.

Hongjoong’s sharp gasp made him flinch.

He couldn’t bear to see the horror on his face, but he couldn’t look away either. Seonghwa followed his gaze to where the leather vest lay crumpled on the floor, darkened at the seams with sweat and blood. It looked harmless now—just worn leather and frayed stitching—but it had carved valleys into his skin, left ridges of purple-black blooming over his ribs.

And Hongjoong... he was staring at it like it had personally harmed him. His mouth parted slightly, then shut again. His hand twitched, like he meant to pick the vest up—or maybe tear it in half—but he didn’t.

Seonghwa saw it all.The fury, the disbelief, the helplessness. How his gaze flicked from the vest to him, then back again, as if trying to understand how long this had been going on without him noticing. Then he reached out to Seonghwa. His hand was warm— or maybe it was just that everything else around him felt so cold. His fingers enveloped his trembling ones with a gentleness that shouldn’t have belonged to a pirate.

He still didn’t speak. Just brushed his thumb across Seonghwa’s knuckles in slow, careful strokes. As if trying to soothe the pain without medicine.

And just like that, something in Seonghwa cracked. His throat burned. His eyes blurred.

A tear slipped free after resisting for a good while.“I thought it would be the only thing holding me up,” he said, his voice thick with shame. “But it has been killing me every time I move. More and more each time. Every morning, when I strap it on, it feels like… like my ribs are breaking all over again.” His voice trembled on the last words.

He didn’t mean to sound so small, but the honesty made him feel weightless—exposed.

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong murmured as he pulled one hand to wipe Seonghwa's face, “I didn't know and I thought—” He exhaled harshly, fingers tightening around Seonghwa’s. “I thought you were driving me away. Again.”

“I’m still here,” Seonghwa said, quiet enough to vanish if not caught.

“For how long?”

The question hung heavy in the room, unanswered.

Seonghwa swallowed. “Long enough.”

They both knew it was a lie, but neither of them dared correct it.

Hongjoong moved quietly, as if Seonghwa might break if he shifted too fast. He eased him down onto the bed, then retrieved a basin and clean cloth from the drawer. He dipped it into cool water before kneeling beside him.

Seonghwa watched through a haze of pain as Hongjoong lifted his shirt carefully. His eyes tracing days of bruises—blues and greens, ugly, against his too-pale skin. Some spots oozed blood where the metal had bitten too deep tonight.

Hongjoong's lips were drawn tight, and yet his hands were steady even when his face wasn’t.He dabbed softly against the worst of it. With a kind of care that made Seonghwa's heart ache more than the cuts ever could.

Every touch was painstakingly gentle, like he was trying to undo the pain inch by inch. It made something in Seonghwa twist—from the way Hongjoong always looked at him; like this body mattered. Like it was worth holding, even broken.

Seonghwa dragged a gasp through him as if it scorched his lungs, flinching despite himself, and then perhaps out of exhaustion, or shame, he let out a soft sound that resembled a laugh, “You’re a pirate, not a nurse,” 

The corner of Hongjoong's mouth lifted—not quite a smile, but something close. “I’m whatever you need me to be,” he said quietly, not looking away from him.

And for a second, neither of them moved.

Seonghwa let his eyes close, not to shut out the pain—but to hold onto the way Hongjoong said those words. He bit his lip but he couldn't keep it from trembling. “Joong…” he forced the words out. “I’m… I’m sorry. For earlier. For drinking… for snapping at you. I’m just… tired.” His voice broke. “Tired of this.'' he pointed on the vest on the floor, ''Of being sick. Of feeling like I’m one step away from slipping every time I close my eyes.” He swallowed hard, “But I’m not tired of you,” he whispered. “Never you.''

''I know,'' Hongjoong’s fingers paused their careful work, brushing against Seonghwa’s cheek. “You never have to apologize for being tired,” he said softly, “And you don’t have to stand alone. If you fall, I’ll be here.”

Hongjoong glanced up at him with something fragile and fierce in his eyes. “I’d carry you to the ends of the earth if you asked.”

Seonghwa's inhale broke, sorrow bleeding into love.

“I won’t ask,” he whispered.

“I know,” Hongjoong replied, tucking the cloth aside. “But I’ll do it anyway.” he leaned forward then, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s temple.

Seonghwa let out a broken laugh, the pain and relief mingling inside his chest. “You’re a fool,” he whispered.

Hongjoong’s grin was small, daring.“Your fool.” he leaned down again, pressing his forehead to Seonghwa’s and reached for his hand, their fingers tangling together like lifelines.“I love you,” he whispered, the words falling from his lips as naturally as breathing. “More than the sea. More than anything.”

Seonghwa' could listen to it forever and it would never be nearly enough.

“I love you,” he hummed against Hongjoong’s lips.

The pain didn’t vanish, but it dulled in the face of their words.

Hongjoong lay by his side, his palm tracing slow circles against his back whenever the pain became too much.

He didn’t speak, didn’t push. Just stayed.

And when Seonghwa finally drifted into an exhausted sleep, he could still feel him there.

As if he couldn’t leave. Not now. Not ever.

***

Captain's journal,

04.06. 1723

I won’t stop searching.
I have to save him.
There must be a way.

Even if I have to tear the world apart to do it.
Even if it means standing against storms or men stronger than me, so be it.

***

The cuts and bruises on Seonghwa's sides had barely begun to fade when he stood stubbornly once again behind the bar. A towel slung over his shoulder, the smell of citrus soap clinging to his sleeves.

But after a few days Hongjoong, Ian and Jungwon noticed how he would miss a step while wiping down the counter, or sway on his feet when the room grew loud and hot. Even pouring drinks had become a struggle. The mugs growing too heavy for his hands.

He would stumble sometimes, and Hongjoong’s heart would skip a beat, ready to lunge forward to catch him before the floor did.

One night he collapsed mid-shift, his breath rattling like broken bellows.

After that, Ian and Jungwon insisted he step back.

Even Seonghwa couldn’t fight them anymore.

He moved to the kitchen. Slower work, seated more often, his hands still busy, chopping vegetables with peaceful, steady movements, while the scent of rosemary and parsley filled the air.

Hongjoong had taken the vest apart himself, unable to stand the sight of the angry red welts it left behind. He had replaced the inner lining with soft cloth, stitched by hand, and adjusted the straps so they wouldn’t cut so cruelly into Seonghwa’s ribs. Still, when Seonghwa tried to wear it again, he winced before the buckles even latched.

“You don’t have to anymore,” Hongjoong had said softly, one hand resting over his. “The doctor said if you slowed down—you might not need the brace anymore.''

And for once, Seonghwa didn’t argue.

Life changed then, in small but beautiful ways.

The room above the Gull, once only Seonghwa’s, became their shelter.

On good days, they would lie together on the narrow bed, the breeze carrying the smell of linen drying in sea air through the open window. Seonghwa would lean against his chest, tracing idle patterns on his forearm as Halazia perched on the headboard, her feathers fluffed like a tired old lady.

Sometimes Seonghwa would laugh—quiet but real—at Hongjoong’s half-cooked stories of old sea monsters and mutinies that never happened.

On good days, they made love, slow and unhurried. Not because Hongjoong needed it, but because it felt like a promise. That even dying couldn’t break them. Their connection went deeper than that anyway. Hongjoong would have stayed even if Seonghwa’s body was too fragile for any touch beyond a kiss on the forehead. He would stay because he needed Seonghwa's lips ghosting on his skin and the way his soft eyes could make a storm inside Hongjoong calm.

He brought Halazia with him every single time he came from Aurora these days.

At first, the parrot would flap back to his shoulder before Hongoong left the Gull without a fuss. One of these mornings, Seonghwa was braiding a length of old netting by the window, his hair falling in his face and Halazia waddled up to him and hunched down on his neck, pressing her little beak to his cheek. When Hongjoong reached to retrieve her, she hissed and refused to leave with him.

Seonghwa just laughed—a sound so bright it made Hongjoong’s chest shake—and scratched Halazia’s feathers.

“Looks like she’s claimed me,” he teased.

Hongjoong grinned, though his heart squeezed at the sight. “She has good taste,” he whispered.

But when the nights grew quiet, when Seonghwa’s air came in shallow bursts and his skin turned frozen, Hongjoong’s old, familiar desperation clawed at him.

Like the night he sat at the bar, writing nothing on a page he couldn’t focus on.
Inside the kitchen, the moment Seonghwa coughed, sharp and gut-wrenching—Hongjoong doubled over with sudden breathlessness too.

He ran.

By the time he was next to him, Seonghwa was leaning against the oven, wiping blood from his lips. “I’m all right,” he whispered.

Hongjoong had already known he wasn’t.

He kept scouring every port, every dockside stall, every shadowed alley. Foreign medicines from lands he couldn’t even pronounce. Healers with whispered promises of ancient magic, of blessings and curses that might buy a man more time. He got them all. Even a relic rumored to bring back the dying—a piece of blackened coral, the healer claimed was stolen from the Goddess of the sea herself.

Seonghwa tried to stop him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered one night, his fingers tangled in Hongjoong's, “Don’t chase ghosts for my sake. Don’t spend our time like this. Just… be here. Be with me.”

But Hongjoong couldn’t.

Not completely.

Because every second with Seonghwa felt like a thin bottle buried in the sand—waiting for the tide to steal it away.

And then—finally—he found something that worked.

Not a cure, but a medicine that eased the pain. Loosened the strain on Seonghwa’s heart, let him draw air a little easier.

It wasn’t everything, but it was enough.

Enough that Seonghwa could walk down to the docks with him some evenings, leaning on his arm, smiling at the sea. Enough that he could cook with Wooyoung in Aurora, chopping celery sticks, scolding Hongjoong for stealing too many bites. Enough that they could sit on the deck of the Aurora at sunset, side by side, Seonghwa’s head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, their legs tangled, and talk about all the places they would love to see together.

It was enough to fill the days they had left with something like hope.

And Hongjoong would take that, even if his heart still ached for the time that slipped through their hands like seawater through a net.

***

I can feel the sea’s pulling at my heels, like it knows I don’t belong on land anymore.

Some days I think I’ve escaped it—Your laughter filling this room, Halazia clucking on my shoulder, your hand in mine.

But even on the calmest days, I feel the undertow.

I’m not afraid of dying anymore.

 I’m afraid of leaving you here without my care and with the pieces of me you can’t put back together.

Afraid our life and memories will fade like the sea foam on the shore.

I wish I could promise you forever.

I’ve never loved you more than I do now.

Every moment feels like a stolen treasure, but every breath that keeps me close to you feels like a gift.

P.S.H.

Chapter Text

The wind howled off the sea that night, setting Hongjoong’s nerves alight as he hurried towards the Rusty Gull.

Once again, he hadn’t wanted to leave. Εven for these three days. But he had no choice. One of Aurora’s hidden caches—buried deep inland and used to store medicine, coin, and black powder, had been raided. The crew needed him to track the thieves, recover what they could, and settle the message that pirates under his flag weren’t to be stolen from.

It was days of chasing shadows through backwater coves and negotiating with toothless informants who only talked after steel was drawn.

But Hongjoong was back now. And every inch of him ached to hold him.

Seonghwa had seemed better before he left. With that teasing smile of his tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned in for a kiss at the door. ''Just go, Hongjoong-ah. Don’t give me those eyes. Wooyoung will be around too.'' By then, he and Wooyoung had grown impossibly close. Close enough that when the Aurora had to sail, it was understood one of them — Hongjoong or Wooyoung — would stay back with him.

''I’m not going anywhere.'' he had said, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation.

And Hongjoong believed him.

The scent of wet wood and old smoke greeted Hongjoong now—as he waved to Jungwon and Ian behind the bar, already moving toward the stairs.

But before he could take the first step, a hand seized his arm.

“Captain.”

He turned to meet Wooyoung's eyes. Red-rimmed and puffy. He didn’t let go of Hongjoong’s sleeve.

The inn suddenly felt colder than the grave.

“You ought to know,” he said, his voice a brittle whisper, “Hyung has been–getting worse. Fever has taken hold. He...he’s slipping fast now.”

Hongjoong didn’t speak. The words didn’t register—not fully. They echoed in his skull as if spoken underwater. Distant. Unreal.

His feet felt nailed to the floor.

“I didn’t think it would happen so fast,” Wooyoung's hand cupped over his nose and mouth, amplifying his brief sob. “He was still up on his feet two days ago. Joking with Jungwon about the soup being too bland.”

All Hongjoong could do was stare—then he staggered a step back, his hand reaching blindly for the stair rail, as if the world had suddenly lost its balance. Seonghwa had promised. He had promised.

''Don’t talk rot.''  he managed to utter, ''He was fine. Ιt was—''

Wooyoung shook his head, “...the calm before the end. He didn’t want you to worry.”

A hot surge of anger—at himself, at fate, at everyone—rushed through Hongjoong's veins.

''Bring the doctor,''

''The doctor left a wee earlier. Captain–''  

Hongjoong yanked his arm free the moment Wooyoung squeezed it.

“I said get the bloody doctor!'' he barked, and didn’t wait for a reply. He took the stairs two at a time. The ache of the road forgotten, the weight inside sharpening into panic with every heartbeat.

He flung open the door. The room smelled of brine, bitter herbs, and dying candles—but the sight shattered him.

Seonghwa lay in his bed, propped weakly against a slope of pillows that no longer offered comfort. His skin so pale it made the darkness in his eyes seem endless. His hair, once light and unruly, stuck damp against his forehead, matted with sweat. The shirt clinging to his chest hung loose, buttons misaligned, fabric creased where it clung to the sharp lines of bone beneath. Even the blanket—once neatly straightened by his own hands—was now a twisted heap at his waist, threadbare at the edges, as if even the room had given in to his fading.

And beside him, perched loyally on the edge of the headboard, was Halazia. She hadn’t left since Hongjoong’s last visit. Once again when Hongjoong tried to take her, she had snapped her beak and fluttered back to Seonghwa’s side with startling force. Now she was still, watching Seonghwa with glossy eyes. Her feathers ruffled each time he wheezed, and she let out a soft, guttural coo—an anxious, low sound she only made when something was wrong. Every now and then she inched closer, brushing her beak against his sleeve, as if trying to rouse him.

Each breath that left him was shallow, uncertain. He blinked slowly towards the door, as though the effort alone could take him out. When his gaze focused on Hongjoong, a tired smile spread across his lips. Fragile as a dying star.

''Took, you, long enough, sailor.'' His voice was rough––barely making sense, ''I was beginning, to think– the sea, swallowed, you, whole.”

Hongjoong crossed the room in two strides, falling to his knees by the bedside, taking the Seonghwa's clammy hand in both of his own.

''I’m here now.'' his eyes shining with unshed tears, ''I’m here. Don’t you dare leave me, you stubborn goof.''

Seonghwa made a sound like a sad laugh and  Hongjoong's gaze melted into indistinct shapes.

He pressed his forehead to Seonghwa's knuckles, kissing his hand, cursing the gods, the sea, his life.

Where is the fucking doctor?

*

He was sitting beside Seonghwa's bed. His hands trembling as he dipped a rag into the basin of cool water and gently wiped the sweat from the other's brow.

Every movement felt desperate — like someone trying to mend a sail torn beyond repair.

Seonghwa's eyes fluttered open now and then. The black of his irises almost lost in the shadow of his lashes. Sometimes he focused on Hongjoong, sometimes on something far away. Each inhale a jolt, each exhale a stutter.

Hongjoong watched each rise and fall of his chest as though counting down. His throat was strained from the tears he wouldn’t shed — not yet.

Between them, the silence stretched like a thin thread that threatened to snap. Hongjoong cleared his throat once, twice, but every time words died on his tongue. What could he say that wasn’t a lie or a prayer too late to be answered?

Where is the fucking doctor?

He fussed over Seonghwa's blanket, tucking it around his shoulders, though the fever still made him shiver. He stroked his hair and pressed his lips to the back of his hand.

Seonghwa's fingers twitched. His lips curved into a tired half-smile, “You always, did, worry– too much.”

Hongjoong let out a bitter laugh, “Look at you. Skin and bones, sweat soaking the bed, barely breathing — and you want me to be calm?”

Seonghwa's smile widened a fraction, enough to show Hongjoong that daring spark he had always loved, “Always… the worrier. Even when, you were, the one in. . . trouble.”

A tear finally slipped down Hongjoong's cheek, silent and unbidden. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

“Don’t… don’t talk like you’re leaving.”

Seonghwa's eyes softened, sadness and acceptance mingling there.

Hongjoong pressed his hand to his cheek, feeling the faintest warmth left.

The new candle he lit on the table burned low, the shadows gathering in corners like watchful sentinels.

Minutes stretched into eternities.

Hongjoong tried to think of happier times — the glint in Seonghwa's eyes when he teased him, the way he would roll his eyes and call him “sailor”, with that secret fondness only the two of them understood. Their shared breakfasts on quiet mornings, Seonghwa humming softly as he stirred porridge, hair still mussed from the sleep. The way he would pass him a mug of tea without asking, always knowing how he took it.

He remembered the stolen glances during a storm a little before everything came out. When Seonghwa helped lash down crates on Aurora’s deck with shivering hands and refused to leave until the last rope was tied. The scent of salt in his hair, the stubborn tilt of his chin. And how afterward, in the still of the captain’s quarters, they had clung to each other, bare skin on skin.

But the present would not let him escape into memory; it dragged him back, merciless, to the bed beside him. Where Seonghwa's huffs came slower now.

Each one like a small death in Hongjoong's chest.

Where is the fucking doctor?

''Hold on, love,''  Hongjoong's neck bowed until his head could drop no lower, ''The doctor’s coming. Just a little longer.''

Seonghwa managed a weak smile, his lips chapped and colorless.

''The doctor––can’t, help, with, this,'' he squeezed Hongjoong’s hand, weak but determined. A cough rattled through him, sharp as the crack of ice. He was still holding Hongjoong's hand despite it. As if it was the last thing keeping him to the world. “But you—can stay, with me, until, the end.”

“Always.” Hongjoong's chest heaved. An unspoken dread stirring.

He didn’t want to take in what he saw.

But he had to.

He moved up on the bed, boots scraping softly against the floorboards. The mattress dipped under his weight, and then he slid his arms beneath Seonghwa’s frail body, cradling him carefully. Pulling him up into his arms the way he used to, when storms raged and Seonghwa’s chest ached too hard for him to sleep.

But now, the difference was stark—Seonghwa’s limbs were light as driftwood, and his frame boneless, limp with an exhaustion he wouldn't recover from.

Seonghwa rested against his chest, his head tucked under Hongjoong's jaw, his body still quivering like a dying flame. Hongjoong tightened his hold, one hand splayed over Seonghwa’s back, the other wrapped protectively across his waist. As if holding him tighter would stop what was coming. He leaned in, brushing a lock from Seonghwa's damp forehead, pressing his lips to the fevered skin.

“Promise... promise me, you’ll keep, sailing. That y’ll—” Seonghwa choked back a sob, “—remember, me, when the wind is– at your back.”

Hongjoong cupped Seonghwa’s face with shaking fingers, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks with a touch so soft, it might have been mistaken for wind. “Don’t speak of remembering, when you’re still here with me.” his voice broke sharp, wild with fury.

Seonghwa looked at him with a gaze no longer filled with pain or even sadness, but something worse: resignation. And beneath it, fear. Like he knew his death wouldn’t just break Hongjoong. It would end him.

Hongjoong could feel his face going slack, but Seonghwa tried to smile at him. It didn’t reach his eyes—but he tried. For Hongjoong. His fingers trembled where they lay against Hongjoong’s hand, a ghost of a touch. And then, soft as a sigh: “My, captain.”

The words cut straight through him—clean and merciless.

 “I promise,” Hongjoong cried, even if the words felt hollow. Because he couldn’t promise that. He couldn’t promise to keep sailing, not when every tide would feel like a betrayal. Not when the wheel would turn and Seonghwa wouldn’t be in his world anymore.

His tears came fast now, spilling down onto Seonghwa’s skin as he pressed his face into the curve of his neck. “Stay with me,” he begged, his voice breaking open. “Please.”

Where is the fucking doctor?

Why isn’t anyone coming?

Outside, the wind howled like mourning, rattling the windows like bones in a box.

Seonghwa’s ragged inhales came few, stolen before they belonged to him.
But he didn’t let go. His fingers still twined with Hongjoong’s—anchored there. As if he didn’t want to leave either. As if he still had so much to say.

Hongjoong held him tighter, clutching their joined hands like a lifeline.“I’m here,” he whispered, even though his throat kept closing. “I’m right here.”

Seonghwa’s lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile. ''That’s... enough, for, me,''

His head tilted softly to the side. His lashes lowered and his body went still in Hongjoong's arms.
And then– just a soft, long sigh. As if he was simply letting go of the pain.

And just like that—

Hongjoong’s world collapsed into silence.

*

It didn’t make sense.

Nothing about this made sense.

Seonghwa had been there—next to Hongjoong. Resting in his bed, dragging air. Just a moment ago his eyes were fluttering in that way they always made Hongjoong’s heart ache.

And then—nothing.

Halazia hadn’t moved. She remained beside Seonghwa’s pillow, tucking her wings in tightly, cooing once, mournfully. Then falling silent. She leaned closer to Seonghwa's body, as if trying to warm him.

Hongjoong's mind couldn’t wrap around the stillness in his arms. It was like some cruel god had stopped the time, and he was trapped in that moment with no way out. Moments ago he had felt Seonghwa’s body trembling against his chest. Heard his soft sighs that seemed to echo –even now– around him.

But those echoes were tricks of grief—a memory painted over the silence.

Seonghwa was here. No. He is here. This isn't the end. Someone so full of laughter and music and mischief can't just—stop.

How could someone who had wrapped his arms around Hongjoong in the dark of so many nights be gone as if the sea had just swallowed him whole?

He couldn't. Of course he couldn't. And he wasn't just someone. He was Hongjoong's.

His heart twisted in a way he had never felt before as he stared at Seonghwa's body in his arms.

It was different than losing a friend or a crewmate. It was deeper. Darker. Like something inside Hongjoong had been torn from its roots. Like he had lost the part of himself that made sense of the world. Every time he had looked into Seonghwa’s eyes, he had seen something older than both of them staring back at him. And now Seonghwa was sleeping. Leaving behind him this ache that threatened to swallow Hongjoong whole.

He was supposed to stay. He will wake up, because he is supposed to stay.

He pressed a shuddering hand to Seonghwa’s chest—once, then again, harder. “Come on,” he whispered with a smile, “You’re just… resting. You’ve always slept too lightly, remember?”

He leaned down, pressing his ear to his heart, waiting—hoping—for the faintest echo of movement.

But there was nothing. A silence that felt like a scream.

“No—you don’t get to do this,” Hongjoong choked out, curling his fingers into the linen of Seonghwa’s collar, shaking him gently. Then harder. “You said you weren’t going anywhere. You promised me, damn it!”

He pressed both hands flat over Seonghwa’s heart, pumping, counting out beats between panicked pleas.

“Seonghwa? Just once more. Just open your eyes, laugh at me, curse me—anything.”

Tears dripped freely now, splashing onto Seonghwa’s cold skin.

“You’ve been sleeping, that’s all. Just tired from the fever, Aye? Just tired…”

He tried again—another desperate push to the other's chest, but his hands began to shake. His strength was failing, and so was his hope.

He let out a ragged cry and collapsed forward, burying his face against Seonghwa’s hair. “Please,” he whispered into the hollow of his throat, “Don’t leave me here.”

The body beneath him didn’t stir. Didn’t reply. Didn’t blink.

And Hongjoong screamed—until his throat burned and he tasted blood at the back of his tongue.

Until his cries shattered in the quiet room, and even that felt too loud for the dead.

Still, he didn’t move from the bed. Didn’t let go.

He kept holding Seonghwa in his arms like a man pulling driftwood from a wreck, clutching his him to his chest, as if the sheer force of his love could coax some warmth back into him. As if their memory alone could call him home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, again and again against Seonghwa’s skin. “I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve kept you safe.”

He kissed every inch of his face—the soft corner of his mouth, the fading warmth of his temple, the lashes resting gently on hollow cheeks. He stroked his hair back and murmured promises he could no longer keep. Stories they would never get to finish. Ports they would never reach.

“I’ll find you,” Hongjoong choked, pressing his lips against his.

Outside, the rain began to fall—a soft patter on the windows, as if even the sky wept along with him.

And inside, in the stillness of the room, he held the man he loved as the world moved on without them.

He didn’t sleep.

He couldn’t.

No storm had ever wrecked him like this.

And none ever would again.

*

By morning, his crew ducked inside Seonghwa's room like shadows. Tender voices, quiet steps, as if that would make it easier.

Hongjoong’s head hung low over Seonghwa’s body. His eyes vacant with grief, lips moving in silent pleas. His arms were still wrapped around him  as if fusing their souls together.

''Captain...'' Yunho called even though his voice wavered. He reached a tentative hand toward Hongjoong’s shoulder, ''It’s time.''

Hongjoong's arms tightened. ''Τhe doctor isn't here yet,'' he murmured more to himself.

After a few silent moments Hongjoong turned to see if the others were still there. No one had moved. Their expressions half terrified, half desperate now.

''They—they have to take care of him now.'' Jongho chimed in, his tone seemed to have a finality to it that pushed something in Hongjoong over the edge.

“He's with me. He doesn't need–He’s not gone—'' he let out a hoarse growl, ''He’s just...”

 “Captain,” San called and his hand slipped on Hongjoong's shoulder now, “He is beyond our reach now.”

Hongjoong’s head snapped up, eyes wild and glassy. He jerked his shoulder hard, wrenching free of San’s touch, all while clutching Seonghwa tighter against him. “Don’t you touch me—don’t you dare.” His teeth were bared, feral.

San’s hand fell back. He met Yunho’s gaze, then Jongho’s, and the three of them exchanged a wordless nod, sorrow etched deep in their faces. Wooyoung hovered at Hongjoong’s side, whispering, “I’m sorry, Captain,”

Then hands closed around him. Yunho and Jongho reached for his arms; Wooyoung’s hands slid to his legs. They pulled, not with force but with grief, dragging him inch by inch away from the body he still cradled. So many hands—hands that had sworn loyalty, hands that had bled for him—were now prying him from the only world he wanted to remain in.

Hongjoong fought them.

Every muscle strained, every agonized scream tore at his throat. His boots kicked and scraped against the floorboards, leaving scuffs where he dug in. His cries splintered like glass underfoot. Don’t take him from me, please...His teeth gnashed as he spat curses that didn’t even make sense, the words tangling in grief and rage.

It took five of them to pull him away. He felt them pressing bruises and scratches into his skin. He didn’t care. He clawed his free hand at the wooden headpost of the bed, nails splitting, leaving bloody streaks on it. Seonghwa’s hair, so dark and soft, fell in limp strands across his face as Yeosang and Mingi lifted him from Hongjoong’s arms. His head lolled, sickeningly gentle. A sound ripped free from his lips—part sob, part scream—a  hoarse sound that shook the old inn’s windows and echoed through its beams like the cry of a dying gull. “No—no—no—”

The world had turned to water—like the ocean itself had seeped into his skull, drowning every coherent thought.

Several pairs of hands were holding him back when he saw them.

Jungwon first, his face pale and his eyes red from crying. Then Ian, shoulders stiff with the duty he clearly despised. And a man Hongjoong didn’t recognize—gray at the temples, his face lined with the quiet resignation of someone who had ferried too many souls across death’s threshold.

They moved with hushed reverence, as if they feared of waking up the dead. The stranger carried a white sheet, worn but clean, and the rustle of it sounded like a funeral bell in Hongjoong’s ears. Halazia let out a shrill cry, nipping at the air, protesting at them getting closer to Seonghwa.  Mingi ran to pick her up, carefully restricting her inside his palms.

Hongjoong could barely inhale as they approached even closer to the bed. Seonghwa’s skin was pale and sunken, lips parted like he might whisper something—a secret meant for Hongjoong alone.

But he didn’t.

The sheet floated down in slow motion, settling over Seonghwa’s face like a shroud. Hongjoong flinched, his hands curling into fists.

“Where are y—” his voice fell apart mid-sentence, strangled with sorrow. “Where are you taking him?”

Ian met his gaze, eyes wet and desperate. “To the cellar,” he replied gently. “Where he can rest until burial.”

Hongjoong’s stomach lurched. The cellar. Underground. Cold stone walls, dark and damp and frozen. No place for Seonghwa, who’d once laughed like the sun and carried the sea in his smile.

His body trembled, but he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t fight anymore.

He watched as the three of them lifted Seonghwa’s body, slow and respectful. The sheet shifted, and for a heartbeat, Seonghwa’s hand slipped free, hanging limp. Hongjoong bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

When they left the room, Hongjoong’s knees gave out beneath him. The strength that had kept him upright bled away all at once. Wooyoung caught him before he hit the floor, pulling him into a rough, desperate embrace. He was crying too—his shoulders shaking,his  breath hitching against him. But Hongjoong’s arms hung useless at his sides; he couldn’t lift them, couldn’t return the comfort. All he could do was sag in Wooyoung’s hold, hollow, as though his body had forgotten how to answer back.

Eventually he broke free and  crawled back onto the bed. Pressing his face into the place where Seonghwa’s head had lain.

He buried his face there, taking in the faint scent of the ocean breeze and something sweet—Seonghwa’s scent.

The tears came hot and unrelenting, soaking the sheets, searing his heart—each one a drop in the very soul of the sea.

He didn’t care that his crew was gone.

He didn’t care that the bed was cold and empty.

Nothing mattered now.
He stayed there, in that place where Seonghwa had been, and whispered words no one would ever hear.

*

He didn’t move from Seonghwa’s bed for the rest of the day, absurdly waiting for him to return, as if the silence might break and prove itself a mistake.
Someone—Wooyoung—tried to coax him to eat, to drink a little water. Hongjoong barely managed a swallow before he retched it up beside the bed, his body rejecting even that. Afterward, he collapsed again, sinking into a tortured, fitful sleep.

When he opened his eyes, it was night.

Wooyoung had returned, quiet as a shadow, and slipped an arm around his waist to lift him from the bed. Hongjoong let himself be pulled up, though his body felt hollow, his limbs heavy with something beyond exhaustion.

He guided him carefully down the narrow streets to the docks. The Aurora waited there, her masts cutting against the moonlit sky in familiar lines. Hongjoong’s eyes caught on her shape. But they felt dry, brittle, as though tears could no longer form.

He blinked at Wooyoung, searching his face, wordless: why?

The other swallowed hard, “I’m sorry. They… they’ll have to clear his room. I thought you wouldn’t want to stay there.” His hand trembled as he nudged Hongjoong forward.

But Hongjoong stopped, boots planted on the dock. “No.” The word broke slow and aching from his lips. “I can’t—”

Wooyoung’s gaze faltered. He lingered, his hand pressing lightly against Hongjoong’s shoulder. After a moment, he gave a small nod, eyes lowered, and turned toward the stairs to the deck—leaving his Captain in the quiet dark.

And Hongjoong’s legs carried him back to Seonghwa’s room.

The door was half-open, a thin sliver of candlelight bleeding out onto the hallway. He pushed it open and found Jungwon and Ian inside. Their eyes swollen and red. Ian’s hands trembled as he tried to fold a scarf, but it slipped through his fingers. Jungwon was staring around, utterly lost.

They both froze the moment they saw him.

Ian’s hands stopped mid-fold, still gripping the hem of Seonghwa’s navy scarf—creased and threadbare at the edges. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Jungwon looked up like he had seen a ghost. Maybe he had. Hongjoong wasn’t sure what he looked like—haunted, maybe. Hollow. Or worse.

“Captain,” Ian greeted him with a small, uneasy voice.

Jungwon took a step back. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

Hongjoong said nothing. Just looked around.

Seonghwa’s room had already been split open. And now it was bleeding. Folded shirts stacked too neatly. His boots, polished and waiting. A book on the nightstand, its spine bent from reading. A seashell tucked beside the pillow—one Hongjoong had brought back from the southern cliffs, half-broken and ugly, but Seonghwa had kept it anyway.

All of them being packed into wooden boxes.

Jungwon sniffled, then wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.“I—I didn’t want to,” he said quickly to Hongjoong, “We didn’t. But, Seonghwa-Hyung—he told me… asked me.” a sob broke through the boy.“When he was gone, he said to clear it out. To use the room for the inn. He said it was—was the last thing he could do for the Gull.”

Hongjoong’s lips pulled into something that might’ve been a smile. The Gull. The damned Gull. Of course Seonghwa would say that. Of course, even while dying, he would be thinking about the space, the business, about making things easier for everyone else. Selfless. Headstrong. A worker to the end.

“That’s so…” Hongjoong exhaled. A bitter laugh clawed at his throat. “So him.”

Ian looked down. The scarf he had been trying to fold slipped from his hands again and crumpled to the floor.

Hongjoong stepped into the room, his boots silent now.

No one spoke.

He crouched and picked up the scarf, rubbing the soft, frayed ends between his fingers. He remembered Seonghwa wearing it one morning—the wind tangling it as he leaned out the window to watch the sun rise.

Everything still smelled like him. Salt and lavender.

"I’ll do it,'' Hongjoong’s voice came out softer than he meant, ''Please. Let me."

It was one of the few times he had said please.

Ian looked up, his voice ragged with grief. "Captain, you don’t have to—"

"I need to."

Jungwon’s eyes glistened as he nodded. He and Ian exchanged a glance before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving Hongjoong in the silence.

He stood there for a moment, letting the memories crowd in. He moved slowly, picking up each item close to him and holding it for a moment.A pressed flower fell from between the pages of a book. He set it gently aside. Folded linens still held the crease of Seonghwa’s hands. And then, tucked between the drawers of the nightstand, where only someone who knew Seonghwa would think to look, Hongjoong found–

A letter.

His name written on the front—Hongjoong-ah, in a familiar, looping hand.

The room tilted just slightly.

He didn’t open it right away. He just held it, his hands seized by a tremor, his eyes locked on the ink like it might vanish if he blinked. For a long while, he sat at the edge of the bed, the paper growing warm in his palms, as if Seonghwa’s fingers had only just left it.

When he finally unfolded it, carefully, his chest caved in on itself. The tears came quiet, unstoppable—wetting the edges of the paper as his eyes scanned the words. Trust layered between care. Regret and gratitude. A final promise. A final I love you. A final I was yours.

When the letter finally fell on his lap, he reached blindly for something to steady himself—and his fingers landed on the small wooden comb.

Hongjoong picked it up slowly. Turned it over. And suddenly the memory crashed into him again.The first night he saw it. How his chest had clenched then, inexplicably. How something about that little object had filled him with dread he couldn’t explain. But now—now he understood. It wasn’t dread. It was recognition. As if a part of him had known. He pressed the comb in his palm.

The small wooden box t by the window held a collection of seashells Seonghwa loved so much. Each one unique: a pale pink conch, its edges worn smooth by years at sea, a black-and-white scallop shell, cracked on one side from a rough tide, a tiny spiral shell, so delicate it seemed a single touch might shatter it.

Hongjoong held the box in both hands, brushing his thumb over the shells as if they were sacred relics. Seonghwa had always found them, always tucked them into his pockets like small treasures.

Then he moved to the dresser—to Seonghwa’s sketchbook, leather-bound and worn at the edges, the corners soft with time. A few loose pages stuck out at odd angles, curled where he had scribbled in the dark, half-finished sketches layered over fleeting thoughts. The graphite smudges stained the leather like fingerprints that refused to fade. Hongjoong picked it up carefully. The weight of it in his hands felt too heavy, and too light, all at once.

He ran his fingers over the cover, thumb catching where Seonghwa’s initials were carved—faint, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. Discreet but still there.

Without thinking, Hongjoong pressed the sketchbook to his chest. Hard. And like that he could feel it—the lingering energy of nights they had spent side by side. The way Seonghwa would draw in silence, lit only by the glow of candlelight or moonlight slipping between curtain folds, the page cradled delicately in his lap. Hongjoong beside him, hunched over his journal, pen scrawling line after line of thoughts too big to say aloud.

They rarely spoke during those moments. They didn’t need to. The scratch of graphite and ink on paper was enough. One heartbeat syncing to the other.

His art, my words. That had always been their rhythm.

Flipping through the pages now, Hongjoong saw everything—half-finished portraits, landscapes rendered in soft lines, the curve of the Aurora under starlight, a single drawing of Halazia nestled on the windowsill.

And there, near the center—his face. Hongjoong’s. With dark eyes and an expression caught between mischief and melancholy. He traced the line of his own cheekbone, sketched by a hand that had memorized him.

“I should’ve told you to draw more,” he whispered. “Told you every day how good you are.”

The sketchbook trembled in his hands.

He shut it gently. Held it close again. And for just a moment, he imagined Seonghwa sitting behind him, his legs tucked beneath himself, humming as he sketched. As if the room wasn’t empty. As if time had rewound.

But only the sea answered. And the silence remained.

There was a thin silver chain—tarnished, the clasp loose—that Seonghwa had worn the first time he visited the Aurora. Hongjoong wound it around his fingers, trying to remember the way it had rested against Seonghwa’s throat when he had slept.

He packed Seonghwa’s favorite boots, the ones he had insisted on wearing even when they were too worn to hold a shine.

His shirts. Some still faintly damp with sweat, folded in careful piles.

A scrap of cloth embroidered with a compass rose—he had made it for Hongjoong these two weeks they didn't see each other after their first fight.

With each item, Hongjoong felt the weight of memory pressing harder on his chest.

When he finished, the room looked too empty. He sat on the edge of the bed again, the seashell box open in his lap.

His hands shook as he pressed the lid closed.

He rose, carrying the box and a bundle of Seonghwa’s things, and stepped into the hallway.

He paused, just once, to look back.

The bed was still rumpled where Seonghwa had slept, his imprint faint but unforgotten.

A part of  Hongjoong wanted to lie down there and never get up again.

But Seonghwa’s voice, even in death, felt like a tide in his blood: "Don’t let me be the reason you sink."

So he carried the seashells, the chain, the sketchbook, the letter, the memories—and walked on back to the docks, where let himself collapse, sobbing.

“I can’t do this without you.”

The wind carried his cries out to sea, a grief that would haunt every horizon Hongjoong sailed

from then on.

*

Port Gazette, Summer 1723

Obituary Notice

It is with heavy hearts that we announce the passing of P. Seonghwa,

beloved barkeep of the Rusty Gull,

known for his steady hand, warm smile, and unwavering kindness. He departed this life on the evening of the 27th.

His closest remained at his side in his final days, though details remain scarce.

A funeral will be held tomorrow at the sea-facing graveyard on the outskirts of the village.

All who wish to pay their respects are welcome to attend.

*

The funeral came the day after, in the sea-facing graveyard just beyond the edge of the village. A place in Haemil where the dead slept to the sound of waves crashing on black rocks.

The sky hung low, swollen with gray clouds, as if the sea itself had summoned a storm to match the tempest in Hongjoong’s chest.

Salt air mingled with the smoke of cheap candles the village folk had brought. The wind was fierce enough to whip his coat against his legs, nearly stealing the priest’s words from his lips.

He stood at the edge of the grave with his fists clenched at his sides, the salt spray stinging his face. Every drop felt like an accusation.

Halazia sat huddled on his shoulder now—quiet, unmoving. She didn’t speak. She didn’t shift. Her claws dug a little deeper into the fabric of his coat every time a spade struck the earth. She wouldn’t leave him, even in grief.

His crew stood behind him. Wooyoung with red-rimmed eyes leaning on San’s chest. Yeosang and Mingi had tears slipping down their cheeks. Jongho’s jaw was set, his eyes glistening as he stared at the ground. Yunho stood closer— with his shoulders squared, a source of silent strength, but even he shifted on his feet, uneasy, every now and then.

Hongjoong could not bear to look into the coffin—Seonghwa laid out in white, still and composed, nothing like the man he had held in his arms. The shroud framed his face too neatly, his hands folded on his chest, as if death could tidy away the wildness that had once burned in him. Instead he stared at the horizon, hoping that if he stared hard enough, the sea would give him back what it had stolen.

A shiver crawled down Hongjoong's spine as the priest began to speak again: “From shore to deep, salt to salt…”

But the words meant nothing.

Seonghwa was gone, and no prayer could fill the hole he’d left.

He watched as they laid the lid across the coffin, wood groaning as it closed away Seonghwa’s face for the last time. The hammer struck next—each nail driven in sharp, the sound splintering through Hongjoong’s chest worse than any blade ever had. When the ropes were looped around the box and it began to lower, he felt his breath stagger, his hands clenching uselessly at his sides.

And then came the shovels. By the time the last spadeful fell, Hongjoong felt something in him give way, a crack deep enough that he knew it would never mend.

A sound caught in his throat—a strangled whimper that never fully formed. His eyes misted over. The priest droned on, but the words splintered in the wind.

By the time the last prayer was spoken and the earth pressed firm, the crowd had begun to drift away in hushed groups, lanterns bobbing as they vanished down the path. Soon only seven remained, standing in a broken line before the grave.

Hongjoong’s chest heaved, his knees threatening to buckle, but he forced himself to speak. His voice came low, ragged: “The sea won’t hurt you now… nothing will.” His words felt like a betrayal, like letting go of something he could never let go of.

Seonghwa’s face, those eyes, the softness of his voice—the memory hit him like cannon fire. Hongjoong’s legs gave out, and Yunho caught him before he could collapse fully. The world spun, the wind roared, the sea thundered like his own heart.

“Captain,” Yunho muttered, his voice thick with grief. “He’s at rest now. And you should rest too.”

Hongjoong shook his head, a tear sliding down his cheek, stinging like salt in a wound. “Rest?” he rasped.

The crew fell silent, a circle of broken men around their Captain. None of them spoke again. None dared to comfort him—his pain was too bare, too deep for words.

Hongjoong knelt down, spreading a quivering hand to the freshly dug earth. His tears soaked the dirt. He pressed his forehead to the ground, wishing he could dig his way to Seonghwa’s side, to hold him one last time.

No tears came—only the endless sound of waves and the memory of a promise he never got to keep.

When Yunho finally pulled him back to his feet, Hongjoong felt nothing but a dull ache.

He let his men take him back toward their ship, each step heavier than the last. The sea wind bit at his face, but he barely noticed.

They led him into his cabin, and gently pressed him on his bed. Wooyoung must have taken his coat and his boots off before he tucked him under a heavy blanket.

The room grew hazy. Salt and sorrow bleeding into darkness. Hongjoong's heart reached for Seonghwa’s soul, but there was nothing—only cold, only emptiness.

He was gone.

A howl built in Hongjoong’s chest, and he let it loose—an unholy sound that rattled the timbers and bled into the sea air. The sound of a shipwreck in a storm, the sound of the sea reclaiming its own.

But even the sea didn’t answer.

Hongjoong's screams echoed through the ship.

 Like a wounded animal taking the final blow.

Seonghwa was gone—and the horizon, once a promise, had turned into a cruel, endless line that could never be crossed.

Chapter Text

Right afterwards, Hongjoong's world collapsed into shadows—like a ship torn from its moorings, dragged into a whirlpool of mourning. And the waves inside him rose higher than reason.

He wouldn’t set sail—not to trade, nor to raid, nor to discover.

Yunho, his second in command, tried to reason with him—to remind him that his crew needed him, that the sea called—but Hongjoong only turned away, with his eyes hollowed and his jaw clenched.

He barely noticed anything or anyone around him anymore.

Halazia no longer chirped for attention or tugged at his coat. She simply stayed close, watchful, perched quietly nearby—as if she understood that his silence wasn’t hers to break.

When she fluttered near the hearth one morning, he barely turned to look.

Hοngjoong forgot to clean her nest.

He forgot how to speak.

Mingi found her curled by the windowsill of the captain's cabin, her feathers puffed up, listless. She wasn’t sick. Just... subdued. Grieving, in her own way. He approached quietly, gently gathering her in his hands. “I will take care of her, Hyung,” he said softly, not expecting an answer.

Hongjoong didn’t give one.

As they were leaving Halazia turned toward Hongjoong and a single soft chirp escaped her throat, rasping and quiet.

The sound sounded like an echo of Seonghwa’s voice.

As if to remind him that love, once given, didn’t vanish. It waited. It stayed.

Halazia would come back to him.

Just as Seonghwa always had, when he was alive.

Every time the ship anchored near a port, Hongjoong disappeared.

At first, his crew assumed he was visiting taverns—chasing drink or warmth in the arms of strangers. But soon they learned it wasn't warmth he was looking for—only oblivion.

He found it in smokehouses—places that reeked of old rum, rotting fish, and the bitter tang of poppy resin. Hongjoong would trade coin for a pipe of black opium, the sailor’s vice that numbed the pain in his chest. Most of the times he smoked alone, hidden behind crates, staring at the night sky until dawn blurred the stars.

The first few nights it was just to sleep. Turn the noise down. But soon he found out that the poppy smoke didn’t just quiet his mind—it rewrote it. Smoothed the bleeding edges of grief until they blurred into something dreamlike. Something softer. Something that looked like Seonghwa.

In the haze, Seonghwa still smiled. Still moved like light through a doorway. Still reached for him and kissed him. Warm and whole and his. Sometimes they lay on a sun-warmed deck together. Other times, Seonghwa was behind the damned bar again, pouring rum and giggling at Hongjoong’s terrible flirting.

They were always happy inside the smoke.

Hongjoong chased that feeling like it might make him whole again.

But it never lasted.

The moment the smoke thinned, the illusion collapsed. The ache inside his chest returned like a sea monster–too cruel to fight. And then emptiness.

And so, the pipe stayed close to him. Always.

He told himself he wasn’t addicted. That he could stop if he decided differently. That the others didn’t notice when his hands shook, or when his eyes went bloodshot and glassy. That the weight loss had nothing to do with it.

But withdrawal was its own hell. The nightmares became sharper. His skin itched, his stomach turned sour. He couldn’t keep food down. The tremors made him drop his compass once, and he was left staring at the cracked casing like it was a metaphor someone else had written just to mock him.

He snapped more.

Barked at Jongho for speaking too loud.

Avoided San’s worried glances.

He couldn’t look Mingi in the eyes anymore.

When Hongjoong wasn’t chasing utopia, he found himself at Seonghwa’s grave.

He would sit cross-legged on the grass, the stone still fresh.

“You said you’d stay with me 'til the end'. Whose end did you mean?” his fingers tracing the name carved into it.

*

Every wave leaves foam on the sand, a signature that fades with the tide.

I keep looking for his footprints in that foam. They’re not there.

*

One night, Hongjoong sat on the floor of a crumbling tavern in Haemil. Half-hidden behind a curtain of moth-eaten canvas.

The air was thick with the sharp, bitter-sweet scent of poppy smoke. Candles guttered in bottles on every table and shadows danced like vast tentacles on the dirty walls.

His head lolled to one side as he watched the smoke swirl—trying, hopelessly, to find Seonghwa’s eyes in the haze.

Behind the bar. Behind every curl of cackling laughter. Behind every shattered version of himself.

But only an old woman stepped through the smoke, her cloak trailing behind her like a dark wave. Her face was half-hidden, but her eyes glistened like onyx.

She crouched beside him, the scent of kelp smoke and seaweed strong in her hair.

“Captain.”

Hongjoong blinked, half-thinking he had imagined her.

“I'm not sharing,” he muttered, taking a slow drag from the pipe between his fingers.

“I have no need for your poison,” she said with a sour smile, “But I’ve been watching you. You’ve sat here night after night, trying to drown a grief that wasn’t made to be drowned.Your pain deserves answers.”She held out her hand, her long fingers pale and callused, ink-stained at the tips. 

Hongjoong stared at it for a long moment, dazed, the pipe trembling between his lips.

His pain?

“What does that matter now? He’s gone.”

He knew he didn’t make sense. She was probably some beggar, drawn to the scent of coin and sorrow. Thought maybe Hongjoong was high enough to be lured off somewhere. Drugged into sleep to have his pockets emptied afterwards. Let her try.

The woman didn’t flinch.

“Not gone. Not really.” her eyes glimmered in the candlelight.

Something in her voice—deep and dark cut through the fog behind Hongjoong's eyes. His eyelashes fluttered.

“Not really,” he echoed, his words balancing between a whisper and a plea.

''Come,'' she insisted, but Hongjoong shook his head hard, the smoke in his chest curling up his throat, “Who the hell are you, woman?”

She smiled faintly ignoring Hongjoong's words. “A watcher. A keeper of currents. A soul who remembers more than she ought.” Her gaze sharpened. “You’ve seen me before. But you don’t remember it. That, too, is part of the calamity.”

Hongjoong stared at her, dry-mouthed. “Calamity?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she said quietly, “I don’t want your coin. I want to show you what lies beneath your grief. There are things you need to know, Captain. Things he would want you to remember.” Her voice dropped lower. “Is the pain in your chest is yours alone? You think this misery is madness? ”

Hongjoong looked at her hand again, that was still outstretched. Still weary. A part of him—half-alive and half-asleep—wanted to spit, to turn away. But the other part...The other part had always obeyed the call of the sea.

His hand moved before his mind agreed and he let the woman take it.

The moment their palms touched, the haze in his lungs felt thinner. Not gone, but changed.

She led him past the curtains, through the rotten wall panels, into a room so silent it felt untouched by time.

As Hongjoong sat in a little table she pointed at him, he looked around.

Shelves of bones and little bottles and coral. A floor of polished black stone. Maps stitched in human hair. A mirror with no reflection.

“I live where the dying spirits gather,” the woman said as she reached for one of the bottles. “I serve no God. I serve the sea, and she has whispered your name.” she handed him a seashell, filled with a thick red liquid. “Drink this.It will bring your mind back to the shore.”

Hongjoong hesitated. He had no wish to sober up, but–

Not really. Not gone.

He tipped it back, as the woman took her seat in front of him.

The quiet deepened while his strength slowly soared. And as always,when the smoke left the hole in his chest wheezed in its emptiness.

“He was... more than a friend,” he whispered more to himself than the woman, “More than a man behind the bar. Every time I looked at him— he felt like forever—longer than forever. I—I—”

''You don't have to explain to me,'' she nodded softly, ''For I know your souls have danced this dance before.''

She lifted a bowl of water from the table, swirling it with her fingers, and images began to rise in its depths like smoke trapped in glass.

Hongjoong leaned closer despite himself. The surface shimmered, and he saw them. Two men, sketched in light and shadow across the rippling water.

''In the time of the pharaohs, you were a fisherman on the Nile, casting nets into the moonlit waters. He was a boatman who guided the dead to the afterlife.You met on a night of low tide, sharing stories. He died before sunrise.''

Hongjoong froze. He didn’t blink. His throat dried up like sand under sun.

The image flickering in the water shouldn’t have reached him. But it did. His breath hitched as he watched that boat. The silver curve of it. The narrow body leaning against the oar, smiling through mist—familiar, impossibly familiar. Like something Hongjoong had forgotten the shape of and remembered all at once.

This isn’t real. It has to be the poppy. Or the drink. Or the smoke.

And yet… Hongjoong could feel the heat. Hear the frogs croaking on the banks. Smell the sweet rot of the lotus. He could feel the ache in his chest—not the one that grief left behind, but a deeper one. A muscle pulled through time.

He didn’t remember the boat, not truly. But he remembered the way it felt to see Seonghwa there. He remembered what it was like to fall in love in a place where the stars looked different. And to lose it before morning.

His hands trembled on the rim of the bowl, and he clenched his jaw to keep something broken from escaping. 

The water rippled again with sea foam, a half-sunken net, a hand reaching skyward.

''In ancient Greece, you were an oarsman in a trireme, rowing through black waters to the rhythm of drums.'' the woman went on, ''He was a pearl diver, collecting treasures from the deep. One evening, you met at a rocky cove. Shared kisses by moonlight. But one day a storm rose before dawn, and he was swallowed by the waves.''

Hongjoong gripped the table's edge.

He could smell the salt, not of today’s port, but older—cleaner, wild. He could feel the ache in his shoulders, the weight of oars, the slap of saltwater on sunburned skin. The cove flashed in his mind before he even realized what he was seeing. He remembered the feeling of the kiss—an echo lodged between his ribs, unspoken, unfinished.

His lips parted, wordless.

That kind of loss—it wasn’t ancient. It lived in his breath now.

The water churned again before his eyes.

A longship breaking through mist, a young man’s hand stretched across the waves, then vanishing.

"In the dark ages," she intoned, "you were a sailor on a Norse longship, carving dragons on prow and shield. He was a sea witch’s apprentice, born of ocean spray and winds, guiding your crew through fog and whirlpool.''

The flash of carved wood. The scent of iron and pine tar. The weight of runes on his arms. A foggy night—whispers from the mist—and then, silence. Hongjoong’s nails dug inside his fists as if bracing for the blow he already knew was coming.

The woman touched the water with her index finger, ''One night he wove a spell of calm seas—yet a rival’s betrayal left him drowned in the depths before his promise could reach you."

Hongjoong clutched his arms around his chest. The worst part wasn’t the betrayal. It was that even then, in a life of war and magic, Seonghwa had still been trying to protect him. And he hadn’t made it back.

Again.

How many times had Hongjoong failed to save him?

The woman's fingers moved slowly through the bowl again. The surface of the water darkened, and then shimmered like silver silk.

“Your last life together—before this one—happened near the close of the previous century. An age of sails and smoke. A world carved by steel and swallowed in fog.”

The water showed a tall, crooked lighthouse perched on jagged cliffs. Waves crashed below, throwing up white spray. Within, a figure climbed the narrow spiral staircase with a lantern in hand. A flame flickered high above—a beacon for the lost.

“You were a keeper of the light,” she added gently, “In the northern waters, when seafarers feared the cold more than death. You lived alone, guiding ships through jagged coasts.”

The image shifted—down to the rocky shore, where moonlight spilled across tide pools and slippery stone. A figure appeared in the surf, his silhouette slender and shining, hair glinting like wet kelp. An otherworldly beauty that made Hongjoong dazed.

“And he was a siren—one who had turned his back on his kin, drawn not to ships, but to you.”

Hongjoong was struggling for breath. His eyes weren't dry anymore.

“You met at the edge of the sea once again. Whispered words in the hush between the tides. You let him soften your loneliness. And he let you believe the soul of the ocean loves you back.”

The bowl darkened.

“But one night, the sea grew jealous. A wave unlike any before rose and tore him from you. Dragged him under. And he never surfaced.”

Hongjoong stared into the ripples, stricken. “I’ve dreamt of that,” he whispered, “I—I didn’t know it was– I thought it was just a dream, I kept—”

The woman looked at him tenderly now. “It was not a dream,” she said. “It was memory of the last love the ocean allowed before it separated you again.”

She let the silence stretch a moment before she said, low and final: “And in this life, he was stolen from you before the dawn.”

“You had wondered, hadn’t you?” she asked, her voice slow and deliberate.“That ache in your chest when his breath grew shallow. The dreams.The way your pulse tangled when his faltered. The knowing—before any word was spoken—that he was hurting, and you were needed.”

Her gaze had settled deep into his.

“That was why your voice calmed the storms that tore through him as if you had been born for it. Why his touch stilled the rage in you when you would have burned the world down.Why his presence pulled the bottle from your hand before it drowned you. Why he bore your weight as surely as you bore his.”

She let the silence linger before finishing, softer now.

“He endured when you were near. And you endured because he was. You carried each other—always. Not in halves, but whole.”

Hongjoong had thought himself emptied already, but her words struck through what little was left.Because she was right. Every word.

His throat burned.

Not in halves, but whole.

But what was he now?Just the half that remained, stumbling through a world that had already taken his better part. ''Every time...'' he sighed, ''Every time, he dies before we can begin.''

“And every time,your souls find each other again. A curse? Or a promise?''

''Why?'' 

The woman looked straight into Hongjoong's desperate gaze for a moment. Then she drew her finger through the water in her bowl, sending ripples that flickered like candlelight.

“Long ago—longer than the tide remembers—your souls made a vow.'' her voice was low, haunting even,''When the world was young and the Gods still walked among mortals, you were bound together by a love that defied the stars. But it angered a scornful God—who coveted your laughter, your loyalty, your joy.”

She raised her gaze, and Hongjoong saw a flicker of pity in her eyes.

“In a fit of rage, he cast you both into a cycle of rebirth, where each life would bring you together only to rip you apart. One of you would always be torn from the other’s grasp—by sea, by sickness, by steel. A punishment for daring to love beyond the bounds of mortality.”

The water in front of Hongjoong shimmered and dimmed, as if swallowing the room in its depths. The woman leaned closer to him,“Every time when you meet him you kick at first. It's your soul remembering the pain of saying goodbye to him time and again. The loss lives here,'' she reached out and gently touched his chest.

''Then, you quickly become possessive over him. Because your soul remembers he has been yours since the beginning of the time. And the closest you two get in each lifetime, the faster the separation is meant to come.''

Hongjoong’s chest caved inward.

Everything made a paranoid sense.

He recalled the tangled feelings of curiosity and annoyance the first night he met Seonghwa. His own unwillingness to go back to the village that first week. It wasn't just Hongjoong being afraid to tie himself somewhere. It was– Then his instant assumption that Ian and Seonghwa were lovers.

''This is eternal torture. For him.'' he whispered and his hands started shaking,''Every time, he dies–because of me. Because of us.''

The woman’s eyes burned as she leaned closer again, “No,” she hissed, shaking her head with force. “This curse is not punishment alone, Captain. It is a trial, a gauntlet meant to sear your bond until nothing—no god, no fate, no death—can break it.” Her gaze seemed to pierce straight through him.

“You are not merely bound. You are tethered. And when two souls are tethered, even eternity cannot hold them apart.”

Hongjoong’s hands curled into fists again.

“How many times?” he sniffled, his voice almost a snarl. “How many more lives must I bleed through before this curse is satisfied?” His breath shuddered, anger faltering into something rawer. “How much more do they want from us?”

The woman looked at him with a solemn gaze, ''When your soul has no more voyages to make—and the sea has finally given you her last farewell. In this life the two of you will be bound by a love stronger than the ocean’s pull.''

The water shimmered once more, the surface flattening into a mirror. But what it reflected this time was not a ship, or water, or a kiss beneath the moon.

The landscape Hongjoong watched flickered like a nightmare. Concrete fortresses scraping the sky, great beasts of black rocks racing on glass roads, people speaking into glowing stones, their eyes dull and cruel.

It looked like hell.
Like a place no wind could touch.
No stars. No sea.

Hongjoong flinched an inch back from the bowl, suddenly cold with dread, but the water rippled again.

It was another place like a—square. Its floor golden like polished wood. Strips of strange light glowed from the ceiling. Noise pounded from unseen corners, a thrum so heavy it crushed Hongjoong's skull. And at the center, he saw two figures: One moved with a precision Hongjoong recognized in his very bones—fluid yet deliberate, like a man who had always danced with the wind at his back. The other… had red hair. Sweat was clinging to his neck. He stood slightly apart, watching with a furrowed brow, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

Hongjoong’s chest tightened. He recognized the weight in the boy’s gaze.

“The red-haired one—he’s…”

He couldn’t say me . It felt impossible.

And yet he couldn’t tear his gaze from the image.

That world felt like a captivity. And yet—he was there. Seonghwa would be there. And somehow, it was the only life where the sea didn’t steal him.But Gods—how could anything survive in that land?

His voice came low and rough: “That’s where we’re supposed to be free?”

The woman didn’t answer. She only let the water ripple closed. ''Until then, you will always find him—and you will always lose him. It is the sea’s cruelty—and her promise. When you'll taste salt on your lips but you won't be in the sea anymore then you will you hold him in your arms without the fear of fate.''

''When my soul has no more voyages to make,'' Hongjoong parroted, his gaze barely focusing on her.

The woman nodded, ''When your compass finds home.'' she added, ''For now—carry his memory in your blood. And in the end he will find you.'' She blew gently across the water’s surface, and all the images faded.

Hongjoong sat back, his breath even heavier with the loss. “Why?” he asked bitterly. “Why did you show me all this? What is the price?”

“Nothing,” the woman replied as she stood up, giving him the sign their time was over. “Answers weigh less than questions. And you’ve carried enough, Captain.”

Hongjoong was too lost to acknowledge anything.

The woman's previous words echoed as he stood up and left the room.

His mind flew back to their first night during the lockdown. Their hands, their lips and their bodies one. And Seonghwa’s health unraveling like frayed rope soon after.

 '' Τhe closer you two get, the faster the separation.”

Not only Hongjoong couldn't save him, but he was the very reason Seonghwa was dying. In every life. Every version of him.

Like a cruel trap — exquisitely designed. Because even in the next lifetime, until the very last, Hongjoong would only find Seonghwa to lose him all over again.
He would feel that same pull, the ache of familiarity, the echo of something eternal, but he wouldn’t recognize the love that had followed him through every lifetime. Their love that even borrowed, was worth every moment.

And he couldn’t live without Seonghwa. And, as fate had proven, he couldn’t live with him either.

All they had ever been allowed was a brief illusion — a flicker of time, stolen from the hands of fate, before the curse reclaimed one of them. And the other was left to remember. To mourn. To hurt.

Hongjoong didn’t know how he had ended up on the docks.His feet moved on their own, as if retracing every path they used to walk together. One moment he was walking through the alleys behind the tavern, the taste of poppy smoke clinging to the back of his throat as he pulled out his pipe, and the next, he was wandering aimlessly past crates and ropes, the sea mist curling around his ankles like hungry hands.

A ship’s bell rang in the distance, dull and hollow. Hongjoong blinked slowly, his vision swimming, and he realized he was stumbling sideways—his shoulder hitting something solid.

Someone cursed. “Watch it, you—”

A large sailor, already drunk turned to face him, the flicker of a lantern catching the yellow in his eyes. “Aren’t you the bastard captain of the Aurora?” he sneered, taking a step closer. His breath reeked of sour ale and rot. “Thought you were something fierce.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer. Didn’t even look up properly. He just swayed where he stood.

The man shoved him. “Not so full of chatter now, eh? What happened, your crew leave you behind? Or was it your little barmaid?”

The name twisted in the man’s mouth like a joke—barmaid—and for a flicker of a second, something in Hongjoong should have snapped. Once, it would have. But now the word slid through him like a blade through water. No flare of rage, no fire to bite back with. Only the hollow echo of it landing somewhere deep and already ruined.His fist tightened faintly, but even that felt like someone else’s gesture. The truth the witch had left in him gnawed too deep, and anger seemed pointless—like trying to shout at the tide.

Another shove came, harder this time. Hongjoong staggered back into a stack of crates.

“He’s high as a gull,” another voice jeered. “Looks like he’s been crying.”

That got a laugh.

''Sad little sea prince.'' A third man joined, stepping out from the shadows. ''Crying for his lost love? Shame. I thought pirates had thicker skin.''

Hongjoong lifted his head just slightly, a lock of copper hair falling into his bruised eyes. A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Come on then,” he rasped, “Don’t waste my time with shoves. Hit me like you mean it.”

The first punch landed somewhere below his ribs. Then one to the jaw, hard enough to make his head snap to the side. He stumbled, but he didn’t fall. Another to the gut. He bent forward from the force, but still didn’t resist. He welcomed the bruises.

Anything to feel something that wasn’t loss.

The blows kept coming, rough and messy, fists fueled by rum and boredom.

Hongjoong didn’t block. Didn’t grunt. Didn’t scream.He felt every strike.

But they were nothing compared to the hollow ache tearing through his chest. Nothing compared to watching Seonghwa die. Nothing compared to living without him.

Someone finally shoved him down. His knees scraped against the stone dock, his palms bloodied as he caught himself. The world tilted and stars started spinning overhead, the sea roaring in his ears.

“Pathetic,” one of the sailors muttered, turning away in disgust.

Hongjoong didn’t move. He stayed like that for what felt like an hour with his forehead resting against the dock’s wood, as if the grain might whisper something back. The blood dripping from his mouth tasted of iron and ash.

The salt in the air stung his open lip. In it he thought he tasted Seonghwa’s name again.

When he finally stood, it was only to walk toward the grave.

*

The wind had grown familiar here.

It hummed through the grass like a lullaby, brushing over the stones respectfully, as if even the sky knew this place held more than bones.

Hongjoong stepped through the crooked gate of the sea-facing graveyard without hesitation, the creak of rusted hinges announcing him like a bell toll. He didn’t flinch anymore.

This was the only place Hongjoong still felt close to him.

Seonghwa’s grave lay in the corner, where the trees bowed toward the shore and the sea. The tombstone was simple, but he had made sure it was made of dark granite — not for grandeur, but not to erode too quickly. So Seonghwa’s name would last. Even if Hongjoong didn’t.

P.SEONGHWA

Brave. Beloved. Free.

The sea could never keep him.

But she will carry him home.

Etched by Ian’s hand.

A box of seashells sat tucked into the curve of the stone — part of the collection Seonghwa had once kept in his room. Hongjoong refilled it when a storm would knock them away. A few wildflowers — always white — bent in the breeze beside it, their stems tied with a red scarf.

The one Hongjoong never wore again.

He lowered himself to the grass beside the grave, his bones aching from the hits he barely remembered earning, his breath shallow from the weight he always carried here.

“Hey,” he murmured.

It was the same every time. His voice rough, engulfed by the wind.

“You probably hate me by now,” he laughed, dry, bitter. “I’m not exactly doing great with the whole… sailing thing.”

He lay down then, right beside the grave like he always did. The earth was cold. He didn’t mind. He rested on his side, facing the stone, fingers tracing the carved letters like they might open a door.

“A witch came to me tonight.”

He paused, the silence pressing in around him, but he imagined the tilt of Seonghwa’s head, the narrowing of his eyes like he used to do when he thought Hongjoong was being all dramatic and pouty.

He smiled faintly.

“She told me we have been through this before,” he continued, staring at the sky. “All of it. Over and over. Always finding each other. Always losing each other. She showed me—”

His voice broke.

“She showed me you. In the Nile. In Greece. In the north. Always the same eyes. Always the same end.”

A shudder ran through him. He curled closer to the stone.

“She said it is a curse. Some God didn’t like that we were… that we kept finding something beautiful. So we suffer for it. Lifetime after lifetime.”

He swallowed thickly.

“Hwa? I believe her.”

The stars blinked overhead, faint behind thin clouds.

“But...you always slip away before I can love you the way I'm meant to. If fate needed someone to bear the end, it should have been me — not you.”

The air shifted violently, like something unseen refused to let his confession stand.

Hongjoong's voice was a whisper now. “But she said something else.” He smiled, hurt and soft. “She said … in my soul's last journey, I’ll get to keep you.”

His chest ached, but this time it wasn’t from the smoke or the drink. “That I’ll taste the salt and not be near the sea. I’ll hold you and not lose you. Even if this place looks like Hell on earth,”

He closed his eyes.

“I’ll let the sea keep what it already took. I’ll follow the tide, wherever it takes me. Back to you.”

A long silence followed. The grass rustled. A gull cried faintly in the distance.

And Hongjoong simply lay there, with his forehead pressed to the soil.

The graveyard didn’t feel cold anymore.

Just quiet.

Just like home.

*

He didn’t sleep. He hovered somewhere between memory and grief, adrift in the haze of poppy smoke.

A gull cried overhead as the first light of dawn stretched across the sky.

Grass whispered under steady footsteps, drawing closer.

“Captain,” San’s voice came, low and careful—softer than Hongjoong had ever heard it.

He didn’t lift his head.

Then Wooyoung crouched beside him, not touching, just close enough. His voice cracked despite the gentleness. “Come on Hyung. Let us take you home.”

Home?

Hongjoong didn’t speak. His legs trembled as he stood, every movement heavy with defeat. Despite of himself lately, he didn’t resist when Wooyoung steadied him with a hand to his back. He didn’t flinch when San silently wiped the blood off his face. He left nothing on Seonghwa's grave this time—no flowers, no seashells. Just the weight of himself, rising.

As they walked, in the hush between footsteps, Hongjoong only heared the witch’s voice:“When you taste the salt on your lips, but no longer sail the sea, he will be there. And fate will no longer tear you apart.”

But with each aching step, Hongjoong knew in this lifetime the sea had already claimed what it came for.

He was no longer a captain, not really.

He had tasted the salt on his lips, but from the tears he had shed on Seonghwa’s hair.

And now, there was nothing left for the tide to steal.

***

Captain’s Final Journal Entry,

28.08.1723

The tavern is quiet.
His voice is gone.
And yet—I still think I hear him in the wind.

I keep his letter on my bunk.
I keep his smile in my heart.

But the rum is always bitter.
The poppy smoke is thinner now—it doesn’t carry him back to me the way it used to.

In his final breath, I didn’t promise him I would keep sailing.
I only promised I was there .

And tonight the stars are brighter than they’ve been in weeks.
And the sea is calling me home .

If he waits beyond it, I won’t make him wait long.

***

The next night the storm rolled in without warning. Even in the heart of the summer.

Waves slammed against the hull of the Aurora. The winds shrieked through her sails like mourning women.

But Hongjoong didn’t seem to hear it. He stood alone on the quarterdeck, soaked to the bone.

The witch’s words still echoed in his head—“Only in your final life will you hold him without fear of fate.”

But that life wasn’t the one.

And Seonghwa was gone.

Hongjoong had lived through mutinies, through betrayal, fire and havoc, but nothing had ever undone him like this.

The sea didn’t scare him. Dying didn’t scare him. Living without Seonghwa did.

When Wooyoung found him, it was just before dawn.

The storm had broken. The deck was slick with rain. And there, slumped beside the helm, lay Captain Kim Hongjoong. Still, quiet, and impossibly pale.

His sword rested beside him, untouched. No wound. No more blood. His hand was curled gently around Seonghwa’s soaked letter.

A vial of bitterroot extract lay empty by his side.

*

They carried him below deck, silent and respectful. Everyone from the crew too stunned to cry.

When they didn't stop at his quarters—Halazia shrieked loud enough to shake the timbers. She was perched on his chest as if she was guarding him. Her wings flared, her claws dug into the crook of his neck, refusing to let go. Yeosang reached for her gently, but she struck at his hand and pressed closer to Hongjoong’s throat, as if to shield what little warmth remained.

“She knows,” Mingi whispered. “Leave her be.”

So they did.

They laid him out in his quarters—his favorite coat cleaned and buttoned, his rings still on his fingers. And Halazia didn’t leave. Not for food, not for water. She tucked herself under his jaw and stayed there all night, still and silent.

By morning, she was gone too.

Curled into him, her body stilled beside his, as if her small heart had chosen to follow.

*

They buried them side by side, next to Seonghwa’s grave, in the sea-facing cemetery of the village.

Ian read no formal rites. He just stood with his arm around Jungwon and his head bowed, while the crew of the Aurora dug the earth with quiet hands.

No one spoke of curses or fate.

Only love.

A seashell was placed in each grave—one from Seonghwa’s old collection, the others taken from Hongjoong’s pocket.

And Halazia’s body, wrapped in a white cloth, was buried between them as a final seal.

As the sea wind swept through the grass and the gulls circled above, still no one wept loudly.

The loss clung to the air like fog.

And it would stay long after the earth was closed.

So far away, nothing new can fill it like you,
The warmth can't reach this cold place like you,
Even though I was dizzy, my heart wanted to catch, but this empty ending ends.

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1879

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1964

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In every life, a ship sails. In every life, a storm comes.

In every life, it's us two.

Salt on our lips.

Ink on our skin.

Even death cannot keep us apart forever.

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2017

Most days, the silence in the studio wasn’t just silence—it was him.

It knew his footsteps, the echo of his pen, the shape of his breath when it hit the mic. It had been there longer than anyone else, except maybe the fluorescent hum of the ceiling light and the dent in the wall from when he had once kicked a trash can out of frustration. Waking up and falling asleep to the same loop: train, work, believe.

Hongjoong was used to being alone. He was the first trainee at KQ Entertainment. The only one for a long stretch of months. He had written dozens of songs in that basement. Designed practice routines. Slept on the studio couch more than his own bed. There were days his voice cracked mid-sentence from not having spoken to anyone except his reflection. He had goals, sure—but he had already stopped hoping for connection.

Until the others joined.

A new group was coming. 

“You’ll probably be the leader,” one of the managers had said offhandedly, tossing Hongjoong a bottle of water.

Hongjoong had nodded. But he didn’t like the word leader.

He liked captain. A little grander. A little freer. The concept they had hinted at—pirates, rebellion, mapless wandering, chosen loyalty—it suited him better than choreographed smiles and line distributions.

Compass needles that didn’t point north but toward dreams.

A little world where rules bent and bonds were chosen, not assigned.

Still, there were days the dream still felt far away.

He was adjusting the volume on the studio speakers, sweat already drying at the back of his neck, when the knock came.

Quick. Decisive.

Then the door creaked open.

“Hongjoong,” one of the managers poked his head in, smiling. “This is the new trainee I was telling you about. It's high time you meet!”

A tall figure stepped into the light. Then the door shut. And they were alone.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Hongjoong had seen plenty of trainees in his life, but none who carried themselves like this—calm, composed, as though the room bent to make space for him. His features were almost too perfect, sharp and delicate at once, and the studio light only made them harder to ignore. Hongjoong felt something stir in his chest, an unwilling admission that he was beautiful—handsome in a way that made him both want to stare and look away at the same time. Nonsense. 

“Hi.” the other bowed. “I'm Park Seonghwa”

“Hey,” Hongjoong bowed back. “Kim Hongjoong,” 

Seonghwa stepped farther inside. “The managers said you’re the one who never stops working.”

“I’ve been here for a while,” Hongjoong admitted, still cautious.

“I know,” Seonghwa said, and his voice was soft, “You were my reason not to give up.”

That stilled Hongjoong.

Seonghwa chuckled, sensing his confusion.

“I only knew you by what they said, but... it helped. Thinking someone else out there wanted this badly enough to burn for it. I also heard that you don’t sleep? That you write like you’re racing something.”

Something in Hongjoong’s chest shifted. Not a quake. Just a subtle pull. Familiar, but unplaceable.

“Well,” he said, trying not to sound thrown, “don’t believe everything they say.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Seonghwa smiled. “I’ve only seen you for two minutes and you already look like you haven’t slept in two days.”

“Three, actually,” Hongjoong muttered, rubbing his temple. “And I work better exhausted.”

“Sure,” Seonghwa replied, dropping his bag beside the mirror, “I bet your exhaustion writes bangers.”

Hongjoong stared at him. A second passed. Then a snort slipped out. “You’re not shy, are you?”

“I am,” Seonghwa said, deadpan. “This is my shy voice.”

They both laughed.

And something locked into place.

There was no thunder. No vision. But the moment felt too solid.

*

They practiced together with the other members for hours, the beat pounding low from the speakers.

Yunho was in the corner stretching, his long limbs. Mingi kept fumbling a step, his sneakers squeaking as he argued about the count. Yeosang, quieter, mirrored moves with sharp precision, correcting himself with little frowns whenever he fell out of sync.

And then there was Seonghwa.

Hongjoong found his eyes straying more than he wanted to admit. He moved differently—steady, as though he had been waiting for this room all along. His features were distracting enough under the lights, but it was his composure that got under Hongjoong’s skin. Too seemingly unshaken by the weight of newness.

“You weren’t lying,” Hongjoong muttered to him when he caught onto a difficult step almost instantly.

“About what?” Seonghwa asked, not even breathing hard.
“Learning too fast. You’re going to make the rest of us jealous.”
From across the floor, Mingi groaned. “Too late. I already am.”
Yunho laughed as he stood. “Hyung’s just mad because Seonghwa-Hyung is making it look easy.”

Hongjoong shot them a look but turned back, running through the combo again. Twist, drop, pivot—except his sneaker caught and his balance pitched forward. He hated moments like that, hated anyone reaching for him, but before he could catch himself, a hand closed around his arm.

Seonghwa’s.

The instinct to pull away flared, but Seonghwa’s grip was steady without being pushy, his expression all the same calm. Close up, Hongjoong noticed the faint sheen of sweat at his temple, the dark eyes that didn’t flinch.

“You okay?” Seonghwa’s voice was low.
Hongjoong swallowed, easing back quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
Yeosang’s reflection in the mirror betrayed the ghost of a smile, but he said nothing.

“Guess exhaustion doesn’t make you better at everything,” Seonghwa added softly.

Hongjoong almost groaned, tousling his hair. “I was testing you. Seeing if you’d react.”

“Then I passed,” Seonghwa replied, releasing him.

The music started again, and slowly,everyone's rhythms aligned. Hongjoong showed the step one way, and Seonghwa mirrored him without needing words. When Hongjoong faltered again, Seonghwa steadied him—never too long, never too much, but constantly there.

Mingi threw himself dramatically to the ground after missing another beat, complaining about his coordination. Yunho teased him, Yeosang corrected him, the room bubbling with noise.

But Hongjoong and Seonghwa moved as though some quiet tether pulled them into sync.

At one point, Hongjoong let out a surprised laugh. “You’re supposed to be the new trainee. Why does it feel like I’m the one learning?”

“Maybe I’m just good at following your lead.” Seonghwa’s mouth curved faintly.

The words settled too deep in Hongjoong’s chest. He glanced away quickly, trying to smother the warmth rising beneath his skin. But even with the members filling the studio, the moment between them lingered, solid as a heartbeat.

That night, as Seonghwa sat cross-legged beside him on the studio floor, humming softly to a melody Hongjoong had been producing, and it felt like slipping into a rhythm he hadn’t known he was missing.That frightened him.

It was annoying.

Hongjoong sipped at his strawberry lemonade, his lips curved in a faint pout as he tried to wash away the sudden sting of salt on his tongue.

Hongjoong didn’t know it.

But he had arrived.

This time, he wouldn’t lose him.

This time, he wouldn’t let go.