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The sea wasn’t quiet.
It hissed and roared and licked at the sand in a rhythm Benny didn’t think he’d ever get used to. Roanapur was never this loud with something natural; there, the soundtrack was gunfire, engines, and the occasional screaming match two blocks down. Here, it was water. Endless, pulsing water.
He leaned back on his elbows, squinting up at the midday sun. His laptop lay unopened in the room. His phone was turned off. His hands were empty.
For the first time in… hell, he couldn’t even measure how long, Benny had nothing to do.
“Not your kind of noise, huh?”
Dutch’s voice came from behind him, smooth and low like always, carrying over the surf without needing to be raised. Benny twisted, shading his eyes. Dutch stood barefoot in the sand, a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and for a second Benny thought: this guy really looks like he belongs here.
Dutch fit anywhere. That was the annoying thing. He could walk into a boardroom in a suit or a dive bar in fatigues and nobody would question he belonged. Benny had always envied that.
“Guess I’m more of a keyboard-clacking kinda guy,” Benny said, grinning. “This whole… untamed force of nature thing? Bit above my pay grade.”
Dutch chuckled, coming closer until he stood right at Benny’s side. “Thought you’d say that. You’ve been tense since we landed.”
“I’m not tense,” Benny lied. Then he sighed. “Okay, maybe a little tense. You ever notice how quiet feels… unnatural when you’re not used to it? Like, I should be looking over my shoulder right now. Waiting for Balalaika to pop out from behind a sand dune with a cigar and three RPGs.”
Dutch lowered himself onto the sand, folding his long legs neatly, the picture of calm. He didn’t correct him. He didn’t laugh. He just gave him that steady look that always managed to cut through Benny’s sarcasm.
“You’ll get used to it,” Dutch said finally. “Or you won’t. But either way, you’re here now. That counts for something.”
The idea of a vacation had been Dutch’s, which had shocked Benny enough that he almost refused on instinct. Dutch wasn’t exactly the let’s unplug and unwind type. He’d been running Black Lagoon for years without once suggesting a break.
So when Dutch had shown up at Benny’s little corner of the Lagoon Company office one evening with a casual: “We’re taking a week. Beach. Somewhere no one knows our names.” Benny had stared at him like he’d just grown a second head.
But here they were. Thailand, but not the parts crawling with smugglers and syndicates. A fishing town, bright-painted boats bobbing in the harbor, waves crashing just far enough away to be soothing.
Their hotel was small, the kind of place honeymooners probably rented, all white curtains and hammocks and an owner who didn’t ask questions. Benny had tripped over his own suitcase getting through the door. Dutch had laughed, in that quiet way of his, and the whole place had felt less alien.
“Bet you’re hungry,” Dutch said now, breaking Benny’s thoughts. “We passed that market on the way in.”
Benny made a face. “Street food?”
“You’ve lived on instant noodles and cigarettes for a month. You’ll survive grilled fish.”
“Yeah, but will my stomach survive grilled fish is the real question.”
Dutch shook his head, smiling faintly. “Come on. Don’t make me drag you.”
Benny snorted, pushing himself up. “I’d like to see you try.”
Dutch didn’t answer. He just raised an eyebrow, amused, and Benny immediately shut his mouth. Because yeah, Dutch could absolutely drag him if he wanted to. And for some reason, the thought made Benny’s stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with grilled fish.
The market was alive with chatter, laughter, the metallic hiss of woks. Children darted between stalls, chasing each other barefoot, while old women barked prices in rapid Thai. The smells were overwhelming: fried dough, sharp chili, roasted meat.
Benny felt out of place immediately. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trailing half a step behind Dutch, watching how easily he blended in. People made way for him, not because he demanded it, but because he carried himself like someone who belonged.
“You stick out,” Dutch murmured over his shoulder, voice amused.
“Yeah, thanks,” Benny muttered. “Nothing like being the awkward gringo in a Hawaiian shirt.”
“You bought the shirt.”
“You said it was festive!”
Dutch chuckled, deep in his chest, and Benny tried very hard not to notice how much he liked the sound.
They ate on a low wall overlooking the sea, skewers of grilled fish and sticky rice balanced between them. Benny made exaggerated gagging noises after the first bite, but his mouth was full and Dutch only smirked.
“It’s good, right?” Dutch asked.
Benny swallowed, licking chili oil off his thumb. “…Shut up.”
Which was as close to admitting it as he’d get.
The days blurred, but in the best way.
Morning sunlight through the curtains, Dutch already awake and sitting on the balcony with a cup of coffee. Lazy afternoons stretched out in hammocks, Benny rambling about some tech theory until Dutch’s quiet nods lulled him into dozing off. Evenings spent wandering the town, the rhythm of their footsteps unconsciously in sync.
Benny joked. Dutch listened. Sometimes Dutch even laughed.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, Benny realized he was happy.
That scared him more than any gunfight.
One night, the air heavy with salt and the hum of cicadas, Benny found himself standing at the water’s edge while Dutch lingered a few feet behind. The moon cast silver paths across the sea, and for once Benny’s mouth had nothing to fill the silence.
“You ever think about leaving?” Benny asked suddenly, surprising himself. “Like, for real. No Roanapur, no Lagoon. Just… staying somewhere like this?”
Dutch was quiet for a long time. “Sometimes.”
Benny turned, startled. Dutch’s face was shadowed, unreadable.
“But then I remember,” Dutch went on, “places like this don’t last. Peace doesn’t last. Not for people like us.”
“That’s a little depressing, man.”
“It’s honest.” Dutch’s gaze shifted, locking on Benny. “But… maybe peace doesn’t have to last. Maybe it just has to exist. For a little while.”
The words sank into Benny’s chest, deeper than he wanted to admit. He looked away, trying to mask the warmth in his cheeks. “You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re auditioning for some wise old mentor role in a movie. Real ‘stoic war vet gives cryptic advice’ vibes.”
Dutch smirked. “And you’re the smart-ass sidekick who never listens.”
“Damn right I am.”
But Benny smiled. And Dutch smiled back.
On their last morning, Benny woke to find Dutch already packing. The sight hit him harder than expected. The shirts folded with military precision, the boots lined up by the door, it meant the vacation was ending.
“You ever think,” Benny blurted, “that maybe we should’ve just… stayed here?”
Dutch paused, hands stilling on a shirt. Then he looked up, his expression unreadable, and said: “Maybe.”
The word held more weight than Benny could carry.
But when Dutch reached out, steady hand brushing Benny’s shoulder, grounding him, just for a second- Benny thought maybe “maybe” was enough.
They left the town behind at noon. The sea hissed and roared, endless, untamed, but Benny didn’t mind so much anymore.
Because beside him, Dutch walked with the same calm stride he always did. And that was enough to make anywhere feel like a kind of home.