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Being the hero kind of sucks, actually.
In this book, anyway. Maybe Deacon's grocery store romance novels don't make the best material for actually experiencing the story first hand. From outside of the narrative, from the comfort of a couch, the swashbuckling captain winning over a fair maiden in some brave display of, uh, bravery sounds so romantic.
But…removed from that comfort?
Deacon is already growing tired of the constant seawater spraying on his face, and the constant tipping of the boat every time a sharp wave crashed against the side of it, or when the swell of the water recedes away again and the boat dips violently downward, causing another spray of saltwater to careen over the side of the boat.
Yeah, he could handle...never having to handle any of that again.
But his fair maiden, surely that would be worth it all. The handsome captain wins the affections of his dear, fair maiden in the end, and returns a hero who fought through a harsh storm to bring his crew home.
Deacon is clinging to that hope by a thread that frays further and further every time she dramatically swooned over the wheel of the ship, putting Deacon in two battles: one to steer the ship out of the storm and one to steer the ship at all without dumping her onto the ground just to turn the wheel a fraction of the way around.
That thread is…very, very close to snapping.
A heavy wave slams into the side of the ship, causing it to creak and lull steeply to one side. The fair maiden uses the momentum to fall firmly against Deacon and into his arms—lamenting about her fear and wariness about the fierce storm—forcing him to let go of the wheel entirely as the ship lurches back in the opposite direction. Deacon barely manages to catch his footing to prevent them both from tumbling down onto the drenched deck beneath their feet.
Deacon lets out a loud, annoyed groan. He remembers this moment in the book and he no longer thinks it's even remotely romantic. In fact, the fair maiden is quite insane for actively impeding the captain's ability to steer the damn boat!
Her entire weight is still in his arms as he turns to meet her eyes with a glare that she tragically cannot see. "Lady, if you don't stop draping yourself across the wheel, I'm going to—"
He's cut off with a bright flash and suddenly the weight in his arms becomes a bit heavier. Deacon braces his hold and—
"You'll do what?"
Deacon's eyes widen as he's met with a pair of green gemstones gazing back up at him. No, glaring up at him with a scowl to rival his mother's when he's shown up without his shirt tucked in.
Bronze has never looked so annoyed—or…does he look upset?—and Deacon has never been so…he's not even sure. He sucks in a sharp breath, then opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut just as quickly.
"If you drop me, I'm telling Silver. You cannot possibly hurt such a fair maiden as myself," Bronze deadpans. Deacon quickly lifts Bronze up so that he can stand and something catches in his chest when he meets Bronze's eyes again. It's strange seeing them actually at his eye level. He looks exactly like himself and entirely different all at the same time—hair twisted into a loose braid that hangs over his shoulder and features that have a distinctly human quality to them that Deacon doesn't quite have the words for.
It's almost…transfixing to look at in a way Deacon can't place.
He shakes his head to refocus himself. "Ah, r-right. Yeah. Uh, s-so what are y-you—"
Bronze gets to his feet, ignoring Deacon's babbling. "Want to explain—" Bronze gestures vaguely around them and raises an eyebrow at Deacon, "—this whole mess?"
"I—uh," Deacon looks away, suddenly feeling guilty on top of whatever strange daze has overcome him.
Bronze sighs. "Okay, first lets get out of here before—" his words are cut short by the loud crash of a wave that rushes over the edge of the boat, drenching them both in frigid saltwater. "…that happens," he finishes, his scowl returning.
"R-right, um. Y-yes, we sh-should—" Deacon cuts himself off when he meets Bronze's eyes again. They look marginally less like gemstones here, but they catch the light exactly the same way. Deacon blinks a few times. Bronze watches him curiously, crossing his arms, and Deacon suddenly wishes that Bronze would look anywhere else. His cheeks feel warm. "—do…that," Deacon finally manages.
Bronze raises an eyebrow at him, then shakes his head. He grabs his key, holding it up toward Deacon with a nod, then says "Home." In a flash of light, he's gone and Deacon suddenly feels like he's been holding his breath.
He blinks again, then grabs his own key and follows Bronze out of the book.
After a lecture from Chase that Deacon was too dazed to really hear, Chase, Silver, and Goldie left the tower. Bronze stays behind, at his own request, and Deacon's shoulders tense.
Deacon finally turns to face the table. Bronze is looking up at him with crossed arms and a tentative expression—somewhere between disappointed and curious. Deacon averts his gaze again.
Finally, Bronze speaks. "I can't say I'm not a bit hurt. Care to explain?"
It's never been difficult to look Bronze in the eyes, but for some reason Deacon is struggling to do it as he explains himself. He manages to fumble through the conversation anyway and at the very least, he tries to make it clear that he didn't mean to hurt Bronze.
The matter settled for now, Deacon heads down the ladder to find Chase while Bronze hangs back in the tower—something about needing to think some things over.
Deacon reaches the bottom of the ladder and, once again, feels like he'd been holding his breath for the entire conversation. He still can't pinpoint the cause of it.
"Yo, Dorkin," Chase calls as he walks back into the room, clearly still a bit frustrated at Deacon. "You guys got everything settled? Was your stupid pirate-whatever book worth it?"
The image flashes back through his mind—Bronze as a human standing on equal ground. The way his eyes seemed to catch a light source all their own. His hair being tousled by the wind rather than the rigid metal form Deacon was used to being able to seeing. The weight of Bronze resting in his arms—
Deacon slams the breaks on his train of thought when his cheeks start to feel warm again. Tragically, Chase notices it in an instant.
"Whoa, did he totally chew you out or something?" Chase laughs.
"Wh-what?" Deacon stutters. "No, h-he—we just—uh."
Deacon looks away and Chase leans down to get a clear look at his face. "Dude, you're SO red right now! You got a huge lecture, didn't you?" Chase's previous frustration is entirely lost at the sight of Deacon's utter embarrassment.
"N-no, I didn't," Deacon insists. He clenches a fist around the hem of his shirt and tries to will away whatever is making him feel…feel flustered. There's not a better word for it.
"Okay, whatever you say dude," Chase laughs again. "You look like how I felt that time my crush chewed me out for spilling water on his homework when I borrowed it before class," he jokes. "Wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't cute," Chase adds under his breath.
Cute.
Wait.
No, no, wait—
Deacon's eyes widen slightly without looking toward Chase. His lips part slightly in realization, and tragically, Chase notices immediately.
Chase's eyes widen, further than Deacon's. "Oh my god," he breathes. Deacon's eyes snap to Chase's.
"Chase, wait—"
"Oh my god! Deacon?" A horribly amused grin is working across Chase's face, widening at the sight of Deacon's blush reaching his ears.
"Listen—"
A loud laugh escapes Chase. "Dude, oh my god! Are you serious!?"
"Please shut up—"
"Like hell I will!" Chase says through more laughter. "You!?"
"Chase!" Deacon hisses. "Shut up, I didn't say anythi—"
"Oh, your face said plenty," Chase says smugly. His laughter finally tapers off and Deacon is refusing to meet Chase's eyes again. Chase nudges him teasingly. "Sooo, what'd he look like then? If he's apparently your typ—"
"Shut up!!" Deacon shouts, covering his face with both hands and rubbing his checks like he can scrub away the very apparent warmth on them. "He's no—I don't have—" Deacon groans into his hands.
"Dude, this is so funny."
"Oh my god, shut up—"
"Nope!" Chase shouts.
"YES!" Deacon argues.
"Absolutely not. I refuse to let you live this down."
Deacon groans again, louder this time, and falls backwards onto Chase's bed wishing he could dissolve into the ground instead.
"Uh," Bronze's voice breaks the new silence as he pops into view from the hatch into the tower. Chase sees the barely perceptible way Deacon flinches at the sound—face still in his hands and clearly refusing to look up at Bronze—and he nearly bursts out laughing again. "Are you guys…okay?"
A mirthful look crosses Chase's face as he looks down at Deacon, then tries to reign it back to something neutral as he faces Bronze.
Deacon speaks first.
"Yes, we're fi—"
But Chase speaks louder.
"Oh, I'm fine," he says, stifling a laugh. Chase makes a sweeping gesture toward Deacon, who immediately shoots a glare at Chase as if to silently say "Don't you dare."
"Dorkin on the other hand thinks that you're so—HMPH!" Chase's words are cut off by Deacon lunging toward him and tightly covering his mouth. He looks up at Bronze with a nervous laugh.
"Y-yep! We're, uh, both fine," he says to gritted teeth. "Chase is just being dumb," he adds.
Bronze watches them both for another curious moment and gives Deacon a look that says he doesn't remotely buy it but genuinely can't be bothered to ask any more questions. He shrugs and paces away from the hatch and out of sight again.
Deacon gives Chase a stern look and Chase rolls his eyes but returns a relenting look.
"Not a word."
Chase huffs through his noise and shoots Deacon an unamused look. Deacon hesitates another moment, then removes his hand from covering Chase's mouth. Chase bites back another smug grin.
"Not a word to Bronze," Chase clarifies.
"What?"
"I won't say anything to him. I think you might actually die if I do." Deacon opens his mouth to argue, but Chase keeps talking. "But I am absolutely not going to forget about this." Chase turns to walk across the room. "Ha, to think you have a type for men and that type is a 5-inch-tall meta—"
"Chase," Deacon groans.
"Okay, okay, fine." Chase spins back around to face Deacon with a huge smirk. He looks past Deacon. "We'll keep your secret, won't we?" he says, meeting Deacon's eyes again. Deacon squints at him, then realizes.
He whips around and, to his horror, finds Goldie and Silver on Chase's bedside table. Silver waves at him with a polite smile, but is clearly stifling a laugh.
"Of course we will!" Goldie cheers.
"Yes, your secret will be safe with us," Silver adds, a small giggle escaping at the end of her sentence.
Deacon turns back to face Chase looking distraught as Chase cackles. He falls back onto Chase's bed with his hands over his reddened face.
After a pause, Chase speaks again in an even and performative tone. "You know, Deacon. Nothing you do would make us love you any le—"
A pillow thrown directly at his face cuts Chase off with a loud fwump.