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Despite being a seafarer, Manju was afraid of storms.
Not the deathly afraid kind though. He wasn't the type to panic at the mere signs of one starting, or to completely shut down at the strike of lightning. But the kind that settled deep under his skin, a nausea that triggered his body to break into a cold sweat. Distress engulfing him from the inside out until it was impossible to ignore, flourishing on his skin in the form of goosebumps.
But for someone who sails across oceans for a living, having such a fear wasn't an option.
Whenever he was unfortunate enough to encounter such weather, his mind would take any measure to suppress the growing panic that bloomed within him, feigning bravery even if he felt everything but so. Freezing up was dangerous in a situation that required you to act in seconds. So, with time, he became better at masking such fear. Yet the slight tense of his muscles was still present, his hands still shook even as they grasped firmly on the helm.
Such actions have come to betray him in the midst of tense, unpredictable moments. Although he's tried not to let it get past him, he still fucks up in a similar fashion on occasion.
Which brings him to now.
Dismal, somber clouds conceal the vast skies, coating the atmosphere in dull, unwelcoming shades of grey, or maybe celeste. He couldn't tell in the moment. Icy gusts of wind pricked at his skin. Like the spines of a cactus they dug deep, the hellish sensation grasping at his focus and evoking a pained whine out of him.
Pathetic, the word an anchor that settles itself in his mind, yet he pays no attention to it. He couldn't.
He couldn't afford the luxury of lowering his guard.
The sea is unforgiving, so much more than usual it feels like a curse that was bestowed upon the seas. An unwelcome gift which caused more harm than good. Immense waves rock the vessel like a child's toy, swaying it side to side, side to side in a mismatched tempo. Cycles of harsh rainfall had soaked him completely long ago, kimono discarded aside once he felt like it had inconvenienced him enough. It was best for him to stay focused.
The pressure mounts on his chest, heavy as a boulder. His lungs — ruined from years of smoking — had taken the brunt of his stress, and he was finding himself unable to breathe properly the one time he desperately needed to do so.
"Reef to port!" His lips parted to speak, yet the sound that comes out is wrong, faintly hoarse and mangled in a way. He prays his crew can't note the terror in his voice.
They needed a captain that could lead confidently in times like these, not cower in fear while the rest struggled.
And although he so surely knew how much effort he was using to do so, it would never be enough to satiate his worries.
"Manju?"
Horrifying is the only word that comes to mind as he tries to comprehend what he's witnessing. As if his day couldn't get worse, he's now in shambles trying to steer The Red Knot out of the path of the Avatar of Destiny.
His lips purse together, a thin line drawn across his face. Around him, his crew scramble to control the vessel. Orders called left and right he barely heard past the racing thumps of his heart. Another bolt of lightning strikes the water just meters away and it takes everything in him not to yelp.
Instead, he chokes.
The impact is imminent, seawater spilling onto the deck from a wave he hadn't spotted. Eyes burning, he forces himself to continue despite how every muscle in his body ached to stop. Tears prick at his eyes that he excuses as saltwater. A lousy excuse, but he doesn't have the time to pull himself together properly. He can feel the sea tides moving at a rougher pace now. If they weren't fish food then, they were now.
"Manju."
Acting on instinct, he takes a sharp steer to the right, just narrowly missing one of the Stones of Destiny dropped by the archangel.
The boat tips too far to the side for comfort and his ears pick up a sound too akin to wood splintering, yet he's too fixated on getting out alive to care.
If they didn't get out of here now, they were as sure as dead.
However luck was never on their side.
And as the vessel rocks again his ankle rolls and time freezes as his body emits a deafening crack.
"Witches, no, please not now." He begs, a whisper so low it's engulfed by the wind almost immediately.
Pain takes no time to shoot up his ankle like lightning. He jolts, unable to think straight.
"Please…"
It's impossible to tell whether he's bleeding or not due to the soaked condition of his pants.
He couldn't look down now.
The mound of blue catches his eye in his peripheral vision.
A towering wave caught a fraction of a second to late.
He steers harshly into the opposite direction, yet it's futile. He knows it is.
A cowering, shaking mess, he braces against the wheel.
He was going to die, and it was his fault.
"Manju!"
In a flash, he jolts up. Breathing, shaking, crying.
Alive.
Sweat and tears mix as it glides down his skin and trickles onto his legs and sticks to the loose strands of hair that now clung onto the edges of his face. His breathing spiraled into a fit of coughs and hacks, attempting to expel water that hadn't entered his lungs in the first place, until he was left wheezing and breathless. The claws on his hand had found it's way to the nearest object without thinking who or what he was clenching in his hands. No matter how much he focused, it felt near impossible to steady himself.
Who he was? Fuck, he couldn't tell.
Completely disoriented, he tried — and failed — to capture his surroundings. For a while, he spent witches knows how long just figuring out where he even was in the first place. The unlit environment wasn't any aid to his confusion, yet it did give him some sense of the time of day.
Clarity came to him in small fractions.
It was night, he was sure of that by the lack of birds chirping or sunlight seeping through the cracks. Presumably 2am if he had to take a guess, but the moon out the window seemed to indicate a later time from it's position near the horizon.
The cold hit him next. All at once and all too much for him to comprehend in the moment. His body, slick with sweat, clung to the breeze of the ocean's winds. His hair swirled in patterns along his back and chest, only partly drying and leaving his skin tacky and clammy. He'd peel away from his skin if he could.
His figure shook as he finally shifted, bringing his arms across his chest as his hands grasped the thin fabric that lay in front of him. Terrified, he tries to grasp at any prior memories that may give him a single clue as to the overwhelming dread that rushed through him, though nothing came to mind despite his efforts to rack anything that could hint to something.
He doesn't remember ever being this afraid since he was five.
No, wait, fuck where was he? Right. A bed, maybe? He thinks. It's all so confusing to him. The fabric in front gives him a slight clue.
Yet this wasn't his bed. The dark, patterned sheets weren't his. Nor was the voice that repeated itself beside him before he woke, though the idea of who it could be was just slightly out of reach in his mind. It took him most of his strength to look towards his side, head jolting just for his frightened gaze to meet hers.
Out of everyone it could've been, it's the one person he never wanted them to see like this.
Like a deer in headlights, the only thing he can do is stare back, frozen in time. There's so much he wants to know. He wants to speak, to shout. To tell her that he's okay, that she's overreacting even though she hasn't reacted yet. But he knows how it looks from her end. There was no excuse that he could think of fast enough that would withhold his reputation in front of her.
Do you still see me the same?
"Who- where am I?". The words tumble out much quieter than he intends, voice scratched up and hoarse.
Wow, really? Out of everything he could've asked about, it's something as simple as his own fucking name.
It's silent, mostly. The wheeze of his lungs fills the room, accompanied by the gentle hiss of the waves outside, taunting him. How incompetent does someone have to be to forget his own identity, he thinks. Even worse, there's this look of pure concern written all over her face, clear as fog.
Or was it judgment? Pity? Revulsion?
Crumbs, he prayed it wasn't the latter. He'd hate to be perceived as weak by someone he held so dear.
"You're in bed, Manju. My quarters."
He takes a moment to process the information. Right, Manju. Jagae's quarters, of course. Where else would he be? He'd laugh at his own stupidity if he wasn't on the edge, heart rate through the roof.
"You're safe."
The last part hits him harder than it should for a reason he doesn't fully know how to explain yet.
Does the memory haunt you too, or am I alone?
"What time is it?"
Honestly, he couldn't care at all about the hour. Another distraction from it all was what he needed most in the moment. His eyes focus on her as she turns away from him to face the hung clock on the wall, her hand still cradled gently in his firm grasp.
Since when did he take hold of her hand?
"2:32 in the morning."
He could probably imagine how she felt, dealing with the mess that he was at the moment. Frozen, unsure what to say, how to comfort him. She was never good when dealing with the emotions of others. They were opposites in that sense, yet somehow both emotionally unavailable at the same fights. There were countless times where they argued over the fact, a part that each of them were trying to work though.
Whatever, it didn't matter now.
He detested himself for putting her in this situation.
You should hate me.
"Are you okay?"
Tears still continued to pour down his face, yet it had slowed to an occasional drip rather than the cascade that flowed out oh his eyes just minutes before. The gasps he took were ragged and uneven, clashing with the steady tick, tick, tick of the clock, like the unsteady beat of a drum trying to keep up with a metronome. Breathe, he needed to breathe.
"Are you?"
So why don't you?
Pained, he withheld himself from letting out a choked sob. He refused to make her worry than he had already. He didn't deserve her. His mouth opens slightly, yet freezes before he makes a sound.
Why, after all this, do you still stick by me?
"…"
The silence between them is thick, palpable. Was there anything to say?
He shuts his mouth as quickly as he opened it. No, there wasn't. He'd hate to make the mood worse.
"Manju."
Past her, he spots the desk he'd walk past on the daily. She'd sit there, reviewing paperwork, managing stock, handling some of the many contracts she held. His kiseru lay next to her binyeo and daenggi, scattered like a second thought. He could really use a smoke right now, calm his nerves and such. If he wasn't in her quarters, he probably would've picked it up ages ago.
"I'm here."
Manju stares down at the hand holding his and wonders if it would be okay if he grabbed the other one. She hasn't pulled away yet, though her grasp feels weak and he struggles not to overthink it. It's hard to not let the doubt seep into his mind. Although he would probably never admit it, her touch has done more to ground him to reality than anything else has.
"I'm here for you."
A shift in the bed, Jagae's facing him completely now. There is no mask to hide him, no excuse to cover him. His body has been stripped raw of anything that could help him conceal his pain.
And yet, he doesn't mind as much as he thought he would.
Maybe it was her gaze, but he could sense a tenderness he rarely saw from her. Maybe it was the fact she cared enough to spare him her usual coldness. He meets her gaze again, and refrains from immediately throwing his full weight into her. Hesitant, he inches ever so slightly forward.
You're lying. You're lying right to my face to spare my feelings, so you don't have to deal with the mess of a person I am-
"I…"
A sniffle. And although he doesn't note who moves first, the comfort of her embrace is enough for him to ease his muscles. A dam breaks, and the shirt Jagae is wearing is soon soaked in his sweat and tears. The sounds that rip out of his throat are not human, woeful, the sounds of a helpless fox writhing in pain. He's desperately pulling and tugging at the fabric of her shirt as if she'd disappear if he'd let go for even a second.
But he's glad.
He's so, so glad to have her by his side. Holding him as he had held her many nights before.
You deserve so much better.
"I'm sorry- hic for waking you."
Manju's nose brushes against her neck, his breathing steadying with every passing moment. By this point, his body has fused into hers, two souls intertwined together as one. Maybe he was going to be okay.
"It's okay." Jagae responds in a beat, the sleepiness in her voice is unmistakable. Though she doesn't let go of him, instead cradling him softly in her arms. While he's not looking, she lets out a soft, quiet yawn, not daring to disturb her love. She'd hate to make him feel worse by accident.
"You murmur in your sleep." A feeble attempt at lighting up the mood, yet she smiles as she hears a soft giggle come from him. They'd spent many nights like this before, the life of a merchant was anything but easy. And despite the years of experience it was hard to forget some of the horrors they've experienced while on the sea.
But she swore to stick by him throughout it all, and she'd do so happily to have him by her side.