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The door Seonghwa stood before was painted a soft cream, lacking in the gilding most of the others had. Something in the humility of it, in its position near the end of the long hall, made him almost sure.
The key felt heavier than it should, a weight of rusting brass that lay flat across his palm. Seonghwa stood in the middle of the west wing’s hallway, wondering why old manors had such an unnerving amount of doors, leading to a confounding number of rooms.
What he didn’t wonder, however, was why Hongjoong had given him a key without telling him which door it was for. Slipped it right into his pocket on the night they arrived, with a small smile and half a sentence.
‘If you need me-’
Hongjoong started so comfortably, like he was stating a fact. One that put a smile on his face, saying the part that was easy to say. It was easy to insinuate that Seonghwa might need him. They all needed him, and Seonghwa was no exception.
But he remembered the way Hongjoong had looked up at him with parted lips as the rest of the phrase died on his tongue. There had been a mounting horror in his widening eyes, perhaps at how close he’d been to casually voicing something unspoken.
In the moment, Seonghwa hadn’t said a word. He patted his pocket, and gave a reassuring smile, hoping Hongjoong read the ‘I know’ in his eyes.
“If I need you,” Seonghwa muttered, his gaze flitting from door to door, sliding off the pretty carvings and polished silver handles, landing back on the soft cream, the handle of burnished brass. With steady hands, he slid the key into the lock. “If I need you, I know where to find you.”
Slowly, he turned the key, and felt it click into place as much as he heard it; as if it unlocked something within him as well, releasing trapped tension. His body sighed in silent relief.
Some small and secret part of him had harboured a moment’s doubt, but in his heart he knew the truth. The invisible thread that bound them all was fastened well, with knots that wouldn’t loosen under strain.
Steady-handed, he opened the door with a care the house rewarded with soundlessness, no creak or squeak to give him away.
Inside, the room was small and unadorned, with only a desk, dresser, single bed, and little floor space to walk between them. Heavy curtains blocked out the moonlight, leaving the captain with plenty of shadow to obfuscate the decay of the room he’d chosen for himself.
As the captain rustled through a set of papers, motes of dust floated through the candlelight almost prettily, like snowflakes drifting in a gentle breeze. The tallow candles lit him warmly, in a hazy glow, softening the bags under his eyes as if bending to his command, helping him to hide them. The iron-clad set of his jaw, the fire in his narrowed eyes—how long had he sat there, hunched over the spartan wooden desk? It seemed he was so deeply entrenched in his search for an answer to all their problems that he hadn't even noticed the intrusion.
Either he felt safe enough in the knowledge Seonghwa was the only possible intruder, or he was so tired and desperate that he'd let his guard down without even realising it. Both options were unnerving in their own way. For better or worse, Seonghwa loathed to draw attention to his captain's lowered guard, lest he bruise that stubborn pride.
But he had to speak. He had to say something, now, or he never would.
“Hongjoong-ah. Everyone is worried-”
Hongjoong’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and betraying the way he'd been startled. Never one to let tables remain unturned, never one to want to wait, he didn't even let his first mate finish.
“-I know, I know. It's strange, knowing someone else has her and we may never see her again. This place is no substitute for home. But there will be a way to get the ship back, the key is in here somewhere. I just have to find it, if you’ll leave me to it,” Hongjoong gestured to the stacks of paper on his desk, the newly printed notice of confiscation bright against the musty old deed of sale.
Looking up at the source of this interruption, Hongjoong smiled faintly.
“Tell them I'm doing my best.”
He was going for reassurance, for soft but sure pacification - like he was talking to Yeosang or San, someone who would nod (or in San's case, salute) and walk back out the door, granting him the space he wanted.
Instead, Seonghwa met his gaze. Unwavering, but not unkind. He closed the door behind him and took another step into the room. Hongjoong looked up at him, his brow rumpled in confusion.
“Everyone is worried about you ,” he spoke slowly, gently and with a warmth he was sure the captain found unbearable. “Of course we’ll get the ship back, you'll find a way. That's a given, at least in their eyes. You're their hero, but you're a mortal man—you need to eat, Hongjoong-ah. You need to rest, and sleep. Your crew has been worried sick knowing you're avoiding both.”
The captain bristled, perhaps at the notion he was human. It went against his need to be more, to embody the flag; to be legend incarnate, the source of fear in the hearts of his enemies and hope eternal for his friends.
And he was. Riotous colour and rebellion, a firestorm raging against the wrongs of the civilised world. He was all of that and more. Relentless and vicious, fearless and beautiful, their Hongjoong.
“It's for their sake,” he murmured, hoarse-voiced as he slumped a little in his chair, letting himself feel the fatigue.
“I know that,” Seonghwa said, taking a few careful steps towards the desk. “They know, too. None of us can stand that you're pushing yourself so hard for our sake.”
For a moment he was tempted to let the desk remain a barrier between them. To walk around it, to approach as his heart desired, was to knowingly chart a course through darkening stormclouds.
To go through with it, he’d have had to find the kind of confidence reserved for the mad; the devil’s own promise of sailing in the eye of the storm, of finding the calm in the chaos and staying steady within it as the storm raged on as far as the eye could see.
He looked to Hongjoong, who couldn’t meet his gaze. Against the modest frame of the deck chair, he folded in on himself, buckling under the crushing weight of his crew’s trust. Their future, their fate. Shakily, his ink-stained hands moved to cover his own face as he hung his head, unwilling or unable to hold it up any longer.
Seonghwa had never seen him look so small; the man whose pride could not be tamed, who would rather drown in the drink than show weakness.
Madness came easily after that. Without a second thought he swept around to stand beside his captain, taking position at his right hand side. Where he belonged.
“Captain.”
Seonghwa’s voice was low and deep, and twice as gentle as his touch. Feather-light, his fingertips skimmed the length of Hongjoong’s right hand, still pressed to his face. From the tips of his delicate fingers, down the back of his palm and back again.
“Rest.”
He had meant it as a plea, but it left his lips closer to some kind of hypnotic command.
And like magic, Hongjoong’s breathing began to steady. Slowly, almost delicately, he lifted his head from his hands and looked upwards, with the quiet reverence of a priest gazing up at the coloured light shining down from the stained cathedral glass. He looked into Seonghwa, truly searching, scouring his expression like it was the only place he’d ever have half a hope of finding any answers.
Seonghwa could do little but stare back at him with kindness and pleading plain on his face.
As the captain’s hands dropped lower, he withdrew his touch. Hongjoong gave chase, catching Seonghwa’s wrist with his iron grip without hesitation.
Seonghwa couldn’t help it, his lips parted in a silent gasp; his eyebrows shot up, surprised not that Hongjoong wanted his touch but that he’d given in to desire. Sure enough, that familiar horror flashed in his tired eyes. Unbridled fear of what his instincts gave away, of what they meant. Within the space of a second, Hongjoong cast his gaze aside.
Seonghwa watched out of the corner of his eye as the shadows they cast in the candlelight entwined on the back wall, hoping that was how they’d remain. The wave of longing washing over him, he had no reason to hide it. It would ebb and dissolve into seafoam long before the captain mustered the courage to look at him again.
“Even if there was time to rest…” Hongjoong began, trailing off into nothing. His grip loosened slowly. Inevitably. It wasn’t long before he’d let go entirely.
But try as he might, his body could no longer bear the dishonesty. Hongjoong leaned out the side of his chair like the magnet in a compass, drawn to true north. The side of his head came to lull against Seonghwa’s midsection; and almost absently, ever so slightly, he rubbed his cheek against the soft, cream satin of Seonghwa’s blouse.
Seonghwa stifled his surprise at a break in the pattern of indulgence followed by immediate restraint.
Honesty was answered with honesty, as he was swept away by the force of his own need to comfort and soothe. He failed to resist the urge to cradle the captain’s head in his hands, holding Hongjoong against him with unchecked tenderness.
Ever so gently, he ran his lithe fingers through Hongjoong’s hair, short as it was, applying the light pressure to his scalp he knew the other man liked. His touch was met with a shiver, and the comforting weight of Hongjoong relaxing further into his embrace.
“I can’t face them like this,” the captain finished his thought, barely more than a whisper. His face burned hot with what Seonghwa could only guess was some mix of shyness and the shame of his perceived weakness.
“You won’t have to,” Seonghwa was quick to respond, his voice low—more resolute than his usual soft reassurance.
A surge of protectiveness moved through him, the same kind of madness that led him to the captain’s side.
He weathered it, focusing on the feeling of Hongjoong’s soft hair between his fingers and the sound of his long, slow breaths. It was an irrational feeling and he knew it. The last force he would ever need to protect his captain from was their beloved crew. They could certainly handle seeing him human, believe in him in the moments he struggled and wrestled with the weight of their fate on his shoulders. The seven of them would love and support him through anything, without hesitation, without thinking any less of him. That much was clear as day to Seonghwa, even if Hongjoong couldn’t see it.
Still, there was something about being the one entrusted with his vulnerability. Something in these fragile moments that he didn’t want to share. Not yet.
“As long as it takes, we will wait. We chose you. We will always choose you,” he murmured, the truth of it left unspoken yet tangible in every tender touch.
I chose you. I will always choose you.
“You’re our captain,” Seonghwa continued, “We’ll follow you anywhere, ship or no ship. With you at the helm we can fear nothing and burn down everything in our way. There is no one else, no other way. Only you can lead us.”
After a long and tenuous silence, he felt the shake of Hongjoong's head in the hair sliding against his fingertips, in the heat of the captain's cheek on his stomach, satin moving against his skin.
Just the idea of Hongjoong denying his words was enough to freeze Seonghwa still, no further context needed. The words he had spoken were all truths from his heart, undeniable facts that held up the foundation of their lives.
The captain took a deep breath before firing another broadside.
“You're wrong.”
When he made the slightest move to pull away, Seonghwa’s hands fell limp at his sides. He failed to curtail a frown, wondering what he possibly could have said to turn the tides so quickly. They’d been so close, so close , to the captain’s surrender in their little parlay.
What misstep of his broke the spell? He wondered and watched in silence as Hongjoong stood up and walked over towards the small window, in the far corner of the room.
“The captain… he looks to the heavens for guidance,” Hongjoong spoke as if telling a story, repeating the words of a folktale he’d told himself over and over. Dust flew from the heavy curtains as he opened them, letting in the faint light of the moon and stars filter in.
Seongwha stood, helpless, gazing on from the flickering warmth of the candles on the captain’s desk as Hongjoong looked soulfully up at the stars, seeming suddenly worlds away. The pale, blue-hued light trickling in cast his delicate features in a cold and ethereal glow.
Though the space between them could be bridged in a few determined strides, it might as well have been a whirlpool. The mad courage he’d summoned before was nowhere to be found.
“There is one star in particular,” Hongjoong’s voice was clear as a bell, and so sure, as if he'd come to a sudden enlightenment in the aftermath of all his exhaustion. “Bright and constant. When all seems lost, the North Star lights the way.”
Seonghwa searched for delirium and overtired mania in each note of his voice, swept his gaze over the captain head-to-toe in search of the signs. He found none, but not nothing. Pieces of the puzzle came to light the longer his eyes lingered. He took in the light, repetitive tapping of Hongjoong’s restless fingers on the windowsill, back and forth in a soothing motion; the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, hard.
These words, he quickly realised, were difficult to say. Words that had been thought time and time again, words that had always hung unsaid in the air. And Hongjoong, his mind hadn’t gone someplace far away and beyond comprehension. No, he was merely looking back to their beloved home. To long nights in the captain’s cabin poring over Yunho’s maps and charts, quiet conversations on deck under a veil of stars, with naught but the waves to hear their whispers.
Hongjoong turned his head, a little bashful in his brief hesitation to meet Seonghwa’s eyes. The smallest smile played on his lips, soft and private.
“The captain looks to his North Star, and remembers. He's not alone. He could never do this alone.”
The words struck Seonghwa, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet; they feel like a cutlass bearing down on his own, the clash and clang of iron on iron, the shock of the parry reverberating through his entire body. Struck, like lightning that had once hit the crow’s nest, starting a fire that ravaged him, a deep flush spanning from his chest to his cheeks and forehead.
And Hongjoong wasn’t helping. He turned away fully from the window but tilted his head downwards so his hair fell in his eyes, hiding his vulnerable expression. For all his bold declarations to the crew and acts of incredible bravery, when it came to the two of them the captain could be so adorably shy.
Seonghwa wanted to devour him. To cross the distance, tilt his head upwards with a hand under his chin and kiss him until neither one of them could remember how to breathe.
The self restraint it took to remain still was immense. Hongjoong had been painfully honest and sincere in the space they created together, the one that felt so very safe. He moved them through the familiar waters they’d navigated together time and time again, steering them into the great unknown. But Seonghwa wasn’t brave—not like Hongjoong. At least, not brave enough to wade further into this unexplored, dangerous territory, unsure if the depths of longing within him would be matched or even welcomed.
Instead, he scrambled for something to say that acknowledged the beautiful words Hongjoong spoke without giving his own heart’s contents away.
“Well,” Seonghwa broke the silence at last, cheeks still burning bright. His face revealed enough, set ablaze out of his control. “The North Star says it’s time to go to bed.”
The startled laugh that bubbled out of Hongjoong was worth more than any treasure; there was no light brighter than his disbelieving grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth and mischief.
The inevitable tide of Hongjoong’s happiness pulled him in. How could he be anything but captivated by that slowly softening smile, those big, dark eyes that looked up at him with naked, unguarded adoration?
Acceptance, not even a little bit of reluctance left.
“Lead the way,” Hongjoong inclined his head, gesturing towards the door.
Seonghwa unfroze, the heel of his boots clicking against the floorboards as he walked. The sound filled the room in a way it hadn’t before, the silence between them becoming suddenly unbearable.
“I’m glad it was obvious enough that I wasn’t about to let you sleep somewhere as draughty and dusty as this. You’d catch your death! The fireplace is already going in my room,” Seonghwa said, a return to the status quo. Fussing and fretting, truly familiar waters that made him start to feel like he could breathe again.
“Perfect.” Hongjoong yawned, following after him. The rhythm of his footsteps was calm and steady, lacking his usual frenetic energy or any sign of his pathological resistance to taking care of himself.
It’d be back before long, sure enough. But for the moment, Seonghwa could exhale and lead them both through the labyrinthine manor’s halls, without casting a glance over his shoulder.
The strange experience of navigating the long, winding halls of the mansion had his mind cast back to the many books lining the shelves of the Destiny’s captain’s cabin. Stories of myth and magic, one this house would be well at home in. There was an air of mystery, as if each dust mote could contain a grain of magic as much as dust; as if behind each door was a world that would reveal the heart of whomever chose to step inside.
Predictably, Seonghwa had chosen the room closest to the grand staircase leading down to the first floor. As first mate and quartermaster, it was his duty to be easily found. But the room had spoken to him in other ways, with its luscious red brocade curtains and silken sheets atop the four poster bed with an exquisitely carved mahogany frame. To him, the room felt well loved; and probably had been, by whoever Wooyoung and San had scammed the property deed from. (Allegedly. Both certified card sharks held fast to the claim of ‘beating the stuffy lordling-type fair and square in a game of chance .’)
One turn of the silver handle opened the door, no key necessary. Warm light spilled out into the hall, emanating from the crackling, open fireplace just by the entrance. Seonghwa had beaten the curtains, rugs and duvet outdoors until the clouds of dust dissipated, and left the room to air out earlier that day. It was in ship shape compared to the captain’s choice of dwelling, and he couldn’t help but to worry over the contrast.
How could he show Hongjoong that he deserved to be safe, well-fed and warm regardless of his performance as captain? That he deserved the love of the crew, and should accept it without doubting his worthiness for even a second…
Hongjoong crossed the threshold first, glancing back over his shoulder when he noticed Seonghwa wasn’t following. The look was enough to pull Seonghwa out of his thoughts.
A notorious pirate, Captain Kim Hongjoong never hesitated. Yet here he was, pausing in motion, his brow furrowed and eyes wide in a lingering look that was openly unsure.
“Are you not joining me?” He asked, after a few beats of silence.
He’d been waiting, Seonghwa realised. Waiting for his first mate to follow as he always did, hesitantly curious as to why he lingered by the doorway instead.
“I will, soon,” he answered, his tone too gentle, betraying the way Hongjoong’s sentiment almost entirely melted his resolve to leave. Straightening up his posture, he adopted the authority of the quartermaster to smooth over the softness. Logic and logistics were a welcome shield. “I’ll be back in a minute. I’m just going to tell the others the captain has finally seen fit to listen to reason so they can stop wearing the floorboards out with worry. They won’t get any sleep otherwise.”
“Hmm,” Hongjoong pretended to think it over, but the act was too translucent. The clockwork of his mind was poorly hidden. “They won’t get any sleep, regardless.”
Who could say if the lapse was caused by exhaustion and fatigue, or simply the fact that Seonghwa knew him too well? But he watched, as the captain conjured mischief to cover the vulnerability, set it dancing in his sprite-like eyes.
“But alright. Don’t take too long. I could change my mind, you know. Go back to working late,” Hongjoong said, a touch teasing in tone.
Brat, Seonghwa thought to himself, with a fondness he couldn’t suppress. Even if the mischief was worn as a mask, he found it precious. The childlike side he seemed to bring out in the captain made his chest feel a warmth that eclipsed any of his frustrations.
But he tried to look stern, hoping his true feelings didn’t shine out from within.
“You better not.”
A threat, not without bite. Wherever Hongjoong would run to, he could find him. Would find him, and bring him right back.
The captain turned to face him fully, his smile so unbearably warm. The fondness must have been shining through after all, a failure Seonghwa couldn’t help.
“I won’t,” Hongjoong spoke softly, looking up at him with a hint of the earlier shyness. “I promise. Can’t let all your hard work wrangling me go to waste, after all.”
There was a little playful sparring in his words still, of course, a touch of mocking the extent of his first mate’s fussing. The usual deflection of any tender feelings. Hongjoong moved further into the room, veering sideways to stand by the fireplace and warm his ink-stained hands.
Without looking up from the flames, he spoke again. A soft murmur, barely audible. Seonghwa would have denied hearing it, if not for watching the captain’s lips move in the shape of the words.
“Just come home soon.”
Seonghwa blinked. Once, twice. Was he dreaming? Was it him who was exhausted to the point of delusion, seeing some kind of mirage like the ones in the stories of the desert or hearing some distant siren’s song?
Just come home soon. Four words that hit like a chained cannonball, tore right through him and twisted up his insides.
For a long moment he floundered by the doorway, feeling he had become a sudden, kindred spirit with Hongjoong; specifically his frequent horror at his own instinct to answer affection with affection, trust with trust. The words that bubbled up from within, the answer that made him ache, he swallowed them all down. The truth would have left him utterly defenceless. It was too much, fingers prying in an open wound.
Without a place to call his own, without a ship, without two thirds of their thirty-man crew… Seonghwa had never once felt adrift.
So long as he was with Hongjoong, home was a place he never left.
Voiceless and a little shaken, he left the captain in his quarters and headed for the staircase. Atop it, he could hear the creak of movement on the floorboards below and muffled voices in conversation. Listening carefully he could make out San’s unmistakable whining, Wooyoung’s dulcet tones and a few words in Yeosang’s tired baritone. Mingi’s snoring was equally unmistakable, and the careful, considered footsteps pacing back and forth surely belonged to Jongho.
It seemed the crew were all where he left them, cozied up in one of the sitting rooms waiting for word of a plan.
All except for one.
Yunho met him half way up the overly long staircase, his graceful movements at odds with the grave worry wrought across his handsome face. He’d been with the captain the longest out of all of them, so he knew better than anyone the battle the first mate was so bravely facing.
“He’s fine,” Seonghwa said, and watched the tension drain from Yunho’s body as he took a long, deep breath. “He’s resting. Can you tell the others? I managed to cajole him into my quarters but there’s no telling if he’ll actually sleep unless I put him to bed.”
Yunho smirked and waggled his eyebrows, his mood turning on a dubloon. A pre-emptive dusting of pink appeared on Seonghwa’s cheeks, as he prepared himself for whatever the rascal would say.
“Put him to bed, eh?” Yunho said, the look on his face downright lascivious.
The visions he conjured for himself must have been quite the sight. For someone so imaginative, it wouldn’t have been difficult to envision the first mate and captain secreted away, entangled in an impassioned tryst. Rumpled bedsheets, silk gliding against bare skin with every wanton movement, the sheen of sweat across Hongjoong’s brow, his pupils blown wide with lust-
Seonghwa told himself he caught the visions, the same way one catches a fever. Yunho’s scandalous imaginings were contagious, and not of his own design.
“It’s not like that ,” he scowled, sounding thoroughly scandalised.
(Except, it might have been like that. He couldn’t be sure if he was Hongjoong’s star so long as the other man was deliriously tired and in want of comfort, or- or the unthinkable alternative.)
Something about his response had Yunho softening, looking down at him with equal parts confusion and thoughtfulness.
“Why not? Shouldn’t it be?”
Seonghwa took a deep breath and prepared himself to launch into the long list of answers to that question, only for Yunho to hold up a hand, cautioning him to stop.
“Wait. Before you answer that, let me tell you what Wooyoung told me. Don’t make that face, it’s actually great advice. At least, it’s worked wonders for us,” Yunho began, speaking with confidence, like he knew Seonghwa would humour him.
And he would, he always did - it was his job, after all, to hear the crew’s concerns. Even if those concerns were about his smouldering… something… with the captain.
He couldn’t help but wonder which us Yunho was referring to. It could be any combination of the six sided shape their closest crew made together.
But he was soon distracted from that line of thought by the sound of Yunho clearing his throat, and the pure performance that was his transformation. The navigator’s stance changed from relaxed to bursting with attitude. He made out as if he was flipping shoulder length hair, when in reality his dark hair was cut short at his ears, and his voice took on a sensual, airy lilt.
“We’re outlaws, hyung. We burn brighter and hotter than anyone else, but for who knows how long? When any day could be our last, shouldn’t we be making the most of the time we’ve been given?”
Equal parts sweetness and boldness with undertones of criminal cunning, Yunho had Wooyoung’s mannerisms down to a fine art. And the words, the words themselves were more than true to character.
Wooyoung had said those exact same words to Seonghwa one late night, when he'd lingered in the kitchen. Pretty words. Poignant words. Easier to appreciate than to live by, but certainly ringing with truth.
“So that’s how Wooyoung got you all in his bed?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed
“Me and Yeosang, yeah. San didn’t need any convincing as you well know, and Mingi goes where I go. Jongho likes to watch, so he watches and joins when he feels like it. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
Yunho shrugged as if to drive home his point, to prove how uncomplicated it all was. And it was, he could concede, rather a lot less complicated than it sounded. The six pirates looked at each other with all the love in their hearts, and that was more than enough to smooth over any of their arrangement’s rough edges. He’d been a listening ear for the few troubles they’d had, and none of it was anything not easily fixed by a conversation.
Whatever luck brought and bound them together, Seonghwa could find none of it for himself. He had his hands full with his brightly burning captain, trying to make sure he never got close to burning out. He couldn't afford to be selfish, to take for himself from someone who gave everything he had already.
And even if he could, those walls of Hongjoong’s… they could rise back up at any moment, blocking him out again and locking out any exchange of emotion between them. It was all so terribly precarious.
“Sometimes it does have to be complicated. It is. With me and the captain,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s a complicated man.”
Yunho shrugged again. “You’re both overthinking it.”
Overthinking it. That wasn’t an argument the first mate could soundly refute. He stood there, frowning and searching for anything to say that wouldn’t just prove Yunho’s point.
In the end, he surrendered.
“Maybe,” he sighed, rubbing at his temples. “I should get back to him, anyway. Tell everyone to get some sleep, from me.”
Turning around, he could hear the smirk in Yunho’s little, “No promises.”
Not that he could blame them. Soft beds made for much better rendezvous than hammocks and the hard boards of the cargo hold.
“Don’t make too much noise,” he called down after the navigator.
Who responded, yet again, with, “No promises!”
- - -
When he returned to his quarters, the captain was predictably passed out atop the bedsheets. Sleep had been so quick to claim him that he hadn’t even changed into his nightshirt.
Seonghwa wasn’t quite brave enough to strip and change him; luckily his house clothes looked comfortable enough. But it was easy otherwise, to tuck Hongjoong under the soft, feather-down covers, especially given he was fast asleep. He offered no resistance despite obviously stirring while Seonghwa rearranged his limbs and pulled the duvet up over him.
As his head was gently lowered onto the pillow, he cracked an eye open. For a moment it looked as if he was going to say something… but he simply closed his eyes again, and nestled into the silken pillowcase.
Even without the peaceful lull of the ship’s rocking back and forth, there was something about the setting that set him at ease. The quiet smouldering of the fireplace, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the tiled roof, the sound of the captain’s even breathing as he slipped into a deeper state of sleep.
As he had seen Hongjong melt into him and let go of his troubles, he decided to try and allow himself the same grace. Changing into his long, white nightshirt, he slipped under the covers next to the captain.
He lay on his side, facing Hongjoong, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest and trying not to think about just how innocent he looked. The man was a master criminal, after all. However noble he was—however principled—a thief was still a thief.
And Seonghwa knew he would never get back what Hongjoong had stolen from him. Those swift and agile hands had picked all the locks, bypassed all the defences and snatched the heart right out of his chest.
“In the morning, when you’re in your right mind, if you look at me with those eyes and call me your star, then it will be real. Then I’ll tell you everything,” Seonghwa whispered to the sleeping thief, both an admission and a promise. “But Kim Hongjoong, if you’re messing with me, I’ll be so fucking cross with you.”
After a beat of silence, the sleeping captain wrinkled his nose a little, and stirred.
“Seonghwa-yah.”
A jolt of panic shot through his body at the raspy, sleepy murmur of his name. He hadn’t meant for Hongjoong to hear, not really.
Yet there he was, his eyes still closed and head lolling to the side, his dark hair strewn about the pillow. Messy. A little huff left his lips, before he spoke again.
“...I like it.”
Seonghwa sighed with relief. Sleep talking, he could manage.
Gracelessly, the seemingly still not entirely conscious Hongjoong reached out towards him, blindly pawing at the sheets blindly until he found a hand to hold.
When his grasping fingers landed at the base of Seonghwa’s wrist, all of the worry melted from his face. The captain smiled a carefree smile; so blissful, so honest, he couldn’t have been fully awake.
“When you threaten me, I like it so much,” he whispered, like it was a giddy secret. Like it didn't make Seonghwa's cheeks turn a brighter shade of red than any ruby they'd ever stolen in the past.
Hongjoong’s palm slid up against his, until their hands were flush; small but sturdy fingers folded through the gaps between the first mate's long and bony ones. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to become intertwined.
Dark ink smudged against the skin of his knuckles as Hongjoong’s fingertips came to rest there, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind it. The longer he waited, laying still, the more it truly seemed the captain was genuinely out to it; therefore not responsible for the confounding things he said, even if they were true.
And yet. The warmth in Seonghwa’s chest remained, bursting, inflamed as much as his face was, still flushed from the strangeness of the words. From all that had been exchanged between them that night.
After all of these years, Seonghwa was no longer the cannonfire desperately firing, broadside after broadside trying to puncture an impenetrable hull. He was the water rushing through the cracks, the all encompassing ocean that could no longer be denied. He was unyielding, and Hongjoong welcomed his attention with barely a display of resistance.
Hell, he'd even sought it out . What kind of upside-down world were they living in? Or was this just reality, unmasked? Seonghwa prayed a silent prayer to whatever stars were watching over him that his captain would stay honest after a good night's sleep. After all these years of tangled feelings and impulses kept in check, of having each other's back and building a trust that extended far beyond what either had imagined possible…
There was a lot to figure out. But together, they could face any danger.
Perhaps even this. Their future, and the terrifying prospect of desiring a life spent with fates as entwined as their fingers.
As he began to drift into the place between conscious thought and sleep, the thousand small moments that led to the crumbling walls of restraint and repression they'd clambered over that night began to replay in his mind. How many times had he caught the captain looking? That thoughtful expression gazing up at him, was it always belying such admiration?
Did he always look to Seonghwa the same way he looked towards the starry sky? He had never compared or contrasted before, but he’d certainly been watching Hongjoong’s handsome face long enough to summon both images of him on command.
Pilfering through his own memories and finding treasure abound, Seonghwa fell asleep with a smile on his face. And when he finally woke, it was to the soft sensation of lips pressed against the back of his hand, with the weight and warmth of Hongjoong’s hand against his own, their fingers still interlocked.
Maybe Yunho was right. They’d been overthinking it.