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🌊 ೃ‧₊◜ sea may rise, sky may fall chapter X

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: and despite it all, there's still a fight to lead

word count: 8.8k

warnings: mentions of main character death but not actual main character death! as I mentioned in the series warnings; vague allusions to suicidal ideation and thoughts of sacrificing oneself; grief; panic; depression; violence and blood

author's note: i am so sorry, it had to hurt! but everything will be okay, within this chapter already. only this and one more regular chapter before the epilogue. are you ready to see han yujun's demise? i know i am. mwah mwah ily all

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

< interlude - chapter XI >

This is what it is. Pain, salt, blood. Wood, cotton, metal. Sleep, awake, dreams of death. One gunshot that keeps echoing in your ears. Over. And over. And over. Again.

You sit down on the steps leading to the forecastle deck at the front of the ship. Your aching, brittle body hits the solid planks of worn wood, and you can feel every single one of them underneath you. You look around. It’s still the same as when you sat in this exact spot on your first night on it, albeit with a few more bullet holes chipped into the railing, knife marks in the masts. It feels nice to be able to tell the story of most of them yourself.

The world is silent, except for the waves. There never are many sounds this far out at sea, where you are now. Taking the long way around Eleuthera Island. Not passing too close to Dunmore Town, not taking any more chances. Seungmin had suggested it. You had agreed. Two more days didn’t make a difference. Han Yujun would die at the end of this journey.

There are no birds this far out, of course, because there’s no land for them to rest. The only sound, the wind, ripping at the sails. Knocking a wooden peg against the mast over and over again. And waves. Water lapping at the ship. Jeongin isn’t singing. He hasn’t been in the mood much.

The wind cuts like it only does on cloudless nights. You shiver. Feel that your body is alive, despite it all.

It’s the first time you’ve been alone in days.

You sleep in Jisung’s cot with Felix every night. It’s where they carried you, after you collapsed. Not that you remember. Everything after the gunshot is darkness. Felix had filled in the blanks the day after, after you woke up. Sunlight on your face, the smell of Jisung, and a warm, skinny body wrapped around your back. A moment of silence. Then, pain. Unimaginable pain.

After the gunshot, you had collapsed. Screaming, sobbing, completely out of your mind. They’d decided you weren’t stable enough to be on your own, so they carried you into Felix’s cabin, deposited you into Jisung’s abandoned cot. Felix couldn’t take it. He told Changbin to heat up some stew for everyone for dinner, climbed into bed with you and wrapped his arms around you. He stayed there all night. Held you through the heaving, desperate sobs, drying your tears, his deep voice murmuring sweet nothings into your deaf ears.

The next day, you forced yourself up. You nearly fell. Felix caught you before you could smash your skull open on the dresser. He had yelled for Changbin, who had stumbled in from next door half dressed, half crazed with panic, expelling the deepest sigh you ever heard when he saw that you were okay. Felix asked him to fetch you some breakfast and some coffee, didn’t allow you to take a single step out of the cabin until you ate. And you did. As much as you could, which wasn’t much, but you did. Then you got up. Reassured Felix that you were fine. Put on your bravest face while the inside of your chest felt like an empty grave. You made it to your cabin. One of Minho’s shirts was thrown over the back of your chair. You broke down. This time it was Seungmin who found you. He didn’t say a word, wrapped you up in a blanket, took you upstairs, deposited you right behind him on the quarterdeck, where he could keep an eye on you, and went back to the wheel. And that’s where you sat. Quiet. Hurting so much, you didn’t know where else to go, what else to do. You don’t remember what you thought about that first day, if you thought about anything at all. But you know you didn’t move until the sun started setting.

Until Seungmin softly said your name, crouched down in front of you, smoothed a gentle hand over your hair. Asked you if he should get Felix.

You nodded. Felix came, whisked you off downstairs, back into his cabin. The smell of Jisung made your body ache, but you couldn’t go back into your cabin. There was nowhere else to go. And here, you had Felix, who fed you soup, spoonful by spoonful as he chattered. You could see the dark circles around his eyes, the bloodshot white of them telling the story he didn’t want to tell. It made it all so much worse.

You stayed that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. And he never turned you away, only smiled at you and opened his arms. Sometimes you would cry, sometimes he would. Sometimes either of you would wake up sobbing in the middle of the night and the other held them. Sometimes you just talked. And sometimes you were both exhausted, and you would simply wind your arms around each other, let yourself be comforted by each other’s warmth and fall asleep.

It became a ritual. The two of you, in Jisung’s bed, against the world.

The second day dawned, and you swallowed it all down and got up again. This time, Felix didn’t even resist. He called for Changbin. It was the first day of the routine that would remain the same every single day. You weren’t a fool, you knew they were doing it for you. You didn’t fight it. In the morning, Changbin woke you and Felix up with a gentle knock, a soft call of your names. He accompanied you to your quarters. (On that second day, when you saw that Minho’s shirt was gone, you froze right there, in the doorway. You had asked, quietly, brokenly, if Changbin knew if they kept Minho’s stuff. The relief was guttural when he said they did. He asked you if you wanted them to get rid of it. You shook your head. Mumbled out a quiet ’never’.) You let Changbin deposit you on the edge of your bed while he drew you a bath. While you washed yourself, he remained outside, telling you the latest developments through the door.

Then he would say his goodbyes, and Hyunjin would stroll in, just at that moment, bringing you breakfast. He sat with you, ate with you, chatted about everything under the sun, until he had to go and Seungmin picked you up, took you upstairs to sit with him while he steered you around the countless sandbanks and islands. You spend your day there, staring at the horizon, quietly gathering your strength in Seungmin’s comfortable, silent companionship, your mind simultaneously whirring and eerily quiet as the whipping sea wind made you at least feel half alive. After the first day, everyone knew they’d find you there if they needed something. Gaon was helping Hyunjin with the next ration plan and wanted an okay for a budget for new bedding? San had a question about armament for when you reached Andros? They found you there. Approached you only after Seungmin gave them a terse smile.

Chan had dinner with you every night. His presence was nice. Calm. Solid. He chatted to you about things going on on the ship, told stories in his sweet voice, good and bad, about his parents, his childhood, his life as a prizefighter before you gave him another option. Then, after dinner, Jeongin would usually knock on the door and take you up to the top where you would both lie on your backs and stare at the stars. Sometimes he would sing as he kept a look-out. You would talk, but more often than not you were quiet. But when you did talk, you often tried to make him laugh. It was one of your favourite sounds in the world, even when it was streaked with sadness right now.

When the moon reached its zenith, Jeongin would help you down the sails, down to where Felix would already waiting, eyes heavy with sleep and, nonetheless, a beautiful smile on his lips. Always hopeful.

And the next day it would repeat itself.

With all of it, you can’t believe it’s only been days since … . They feel like months, these days, as they travel through your body. It hasn’t been long enough to forget. You remember it all too vividly. Warm hands. Golden skin. Raven hair. Cutting eyes. Skin against skin against skin. A heart shaped smile and a giddy little bunny toothed giggle. It hurts so much that you wish you could forget. That time would pass faster, that you could finally breathe again without missing them, missing them, missing them. But you can’t. It doesn’t stop hurting. It hurts so much that you can’t blame Changbin for refusing to leave you alone, even when you bathe. It hurts so much that sometimes you stumble when you get up the few steps it takes to get up to the quarterdeck, and Seungmin has to catch you, has to support you up.

Because you no longer believe Jisung is alive. The way Han Yujun’s captain had spoken, it was clear that he was either dead already, by Trott’s filthy hands, or his uncle would kill him as soon as he set foot into his house again. The realisation had found you deep in the night, Felix’s deep breaths puffing against your neck. It wasn’t sudden, the fact of it just … settled into your bones as you watched the moon through the porthole. The pain spread through your veins so slowly, you could feel every inch of it, until you could feel nothing else. Until your whole body was throbbing, inside out, with the loss of him. You had started trembling again, earth-shattering sobs waking a disoriented, panicked Felix, who had pulled you close, shushed you, asked you if you were okay, if anything hurt. But you couldn’t speak. You wailed their names into Felix’s chest until you fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Where the pain is, there’s also emptiness. A gust of wind sears through the thin material of your coat, the stars twinkle in the big vast nothing above you. It mirrors the big vast nothing inside of you, where it’s suddenly, for the first time – silent.

The kraken is gone. You have no idea where it went. Maybe it finally escaped, broke out of your ribcage with your screams, slithered out of your guts with the bile that you expelled over the side of the ship when your world went black. Maybe Chan had pulled it out of your throat when you were screaming and thrown it overboard. You don’t know. All you know is there’s a quiet inside of you now. It’s painful, like the feeling of an empty stomach when it starts to hurt.

The kraken is gone, and you’re utterly alone with the words you never said. You remember your dad’s lucky necklace. Wonder what they did with it when they found your stepfather’s dead body.

You blink up at the stars again. You wonder if it’s even colder up there. If what’s left of you would just blend into the darkness, or if you could find a purpose there, too. Maybe, if you looked hard enough, you could find Minho again. It makes you want to try.

You try not to think like that, you really don’t. You can’t. Because there’s work to do. Your crew, men who signed onto your legacy because they believed in you, all of them with you on this journey to avenge them. To make them proud, to keep true to your promise. This was bigger than you.

Distantly, you hear the door to below deck open, Felix’ voice, tentatively calling for you. So soft, so gentle, so pitiful. You can’t believe that tone is for you. You never wanted it to be like this. You’re disappointed in yourself.

When he finds you, spots you from the other side of the deck, a relief floods his features that makes something akin to anger rush through you. Felix. Having to worry for you.

“There you are,” he hums, and gently plops down beside you. He’s a calming presence, his skinny little body always running hot, a perpetual smile on his pretty lips, no matter how badly he’s hurting, soft blonde hair somehow always smelling like sun warmed fruit and toasted spices.

“Wanna go to bed?” He asks. More sugar-laced pity.

“I won’t break, you know,” you say, your voice not harsh, but cold. But Felix doesn’t take it personally. Knows you too well for that. Knows grief too well. You don’t deserve him.

“I know,” he hums, leans back a little so he can look you in the eyes, makes sure you can see just how earnest he is, “to be honest, you’re handling this a lot better than anyone else would.”

He’s still smiling, but you can’t bring yourself to smile back. The grief has hollowed you out, so painfully that you can feel the cold biting into the shell of you. You wish you could forget. You just want to forget.

You shrug and Felix shuffles closer again, throws an arm around your shoulders. It feels like second nature now. Like Felix had always been attached to each other.

“You don’t always have to be so strong, you know?” he says softly, “none of us expect it of you.”

You shake your head, stare straight ahead.

“You may say that, but we all know that reality is different. If I fall apart, who will lead you? Everyone will lose their respect for me. I will leave you all floundering when we’re so close to the goal, just because of my … no. I can’t.”

You grimace, shoot him a pained smile, but you can’t look him in the eye.

“And don’t worry, I won’t come crawling to you every night forever. I will get over it and your life can go back to normal. I can sleep in my quarters tonight, if you want me to.”

Felix shakes you slightly, scoffs, stares at you like you’re being ridiculous.

“Don’t be silly,” he chides. “Have you considered that I need you there, too? Because I’m grieving, too?”

You swallow harshly. His pain, their pain. A brand new well of pain that you can’t even bear the thought of right now. Because it might be the one thing that makes you give up. You steel yourself. It hurts.

“It will get easier,” you force out, your voice colder than you want it to be because you don't believe it either. The pain feels eternal. But Felix once again just seems to understand. He sighs.

“You always talk like your feelings are a choice.”

Something noxious spreads through your body.

“They are. They have to be. How else am I going to survive this?”

A tear drips from the tip of your nose and you curse. You were doing so well, keeping your violent crying fits to when you were curled up with Felix in Jisung’s bed late at night. You can’t start falling apart out here. It’s a slippery slope to a point where you break down entirely, in front of all of them.

“Like Jisung taught us,” Felix says softly, “You love. Let us love you, let us take care of you. Let us return a fraction of what you’ve given us all by taking us under your wing, protecting us, fighting for us when nobody else did, all on blind faith. For leading us for all these years, for keeping us safe and fed and clothed and gifting us a family when most of us thought we would never have one again.”

His words are so genuine it makes nausea settle in your stomach. It’s too much. Too fucking much.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, you know that,” you mumble and Felix laces his hand with yours, squeezes.

“But what if we want to?”

It’s hard to feel, but something warm does bloom, deep in your chest, in the middle of all the cracks and rubble and blood. It almost hurts more than the emptiness.

“And promise me something, captain,” Felix adds, and you look up at him. He looks wise beyond his years in the moonlight. You wonder when that happened. Another thing you missed, failed to see in time.

“When we find them? Let yourself love them, too. Loudly and openly. We would never think less of you.”

You shake your head, your whole chest aching with emptiness emptiness emptiness.

Love. Felix just says it like that. You can’t, but you let yourself use the word now, in the most private corners of the newfound emptiness where the kraken and your heart used to be. You let yourself finally call it what you think you always knew it was. Calling it love only now that it has turned into past tense. You loved Minho. For years, probably ever since you met, since the first time your eyes met and your souls intertwined so tightly you could never be separated again. You loved him with every touch, every kiss, every smile behind closed doors. Oh, you loved him more than you’d loved anyone.

And you’d grown to love Jisung. He, who had waltzed into your life, so likely to be your enemy, but really unlike anyone you’d ever met before. Pretty, pretty face and determined little scowl and soft hot skin, protective and genuine and honest and so, so tender. Like a missing piece, slotting into you, giving you more love than you ever thought you deserved, looking at every corner of you and finding something to love there, too. And loving not with fear, but with a devastating heart-shaped smile, like it was easy. He made you believe that maybe it could be.

But then death found you again, after years of quiet watchfulness, and took them both from you. So cruel, to give them to you to touch, to hold, just to rip them out of your arms before you could even have enough time. You wonder if you did something wrong. If you missed a sign somewhere. If it was trying to teach you something. But no matter how many times you turn it all over in your head, you can’t seem to figure out where you went wrong.

There was blood on your hands again. The people you loved were all dead. And there was nobody to blame but yourself. For failing over and over and over again.

“They love you, too, you know. God, I hope you know,” Felix continues, scoffs like he’s just made a private little joke. “Minho has loved you since the day he met you. He’s devoted to you, mind, body, and soul. And Jisung?! Jisung has risked everything, has fought us all just for a chance to be with you. He reveres you. The way he looks at you, you should see it, when you walk in the door it’s like the sun has risen, and he’s staring straight at it …”

A sob racks through your body, your whole body like an open wound. You dig your nails into your arm so hard you may be drawing blood. But the physical pain does nothing to dull the grief.

“Stop, Felix! Please … don’t,” you sob. “I- I can’t … they’re gone. Don’t … I know what I’ve lost. Don’t make it worse, please, I know … I know …”

“We don’t know if they’re gone–” Felix starts, but you wail, shake your head so vehemently it makes you dizzy. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around you like it will stop making you feel like you’re about to fall apart. But there’s nothing that can help. Felix rubs his hand up and down your arm soothingly.

“I can’t do hope, Felix,” you sob, let your head fall onto your knees, “I can’t spend the rest of my life waiting for them to come back.”

“Would you wait for the rest of your life?”

You sob again. You feel like you’re slowly breaking into pieces. The shiver is back.

“For them? Yeah.”

Felix pulls you in, then, into his solid chest, and you let him. He cups your head with one of his soft hands. You cling onto him. A cold gust of wind sweeps over the ship. He pulls you closer, grabs one of your hands in his.

“Let’s go to bed, your hands are freezing.”

The 9 more days it takes you to reach Andros Island fly past you in a blur of pain, emptiness, and your newfound routine. You no longer try to snatch moments alone. It’s like Felix’ words broke something inside of you, unleashing a self-hatred, a disappointment so sharp and unbearable, for everything you could’ve had, everything you never knew you had, that you’re scared to be alone. Scared what you would do if you were.

You don’t know if anyone notices, but you no longer look behind you. Even when someone approaches you from your back, you don’t turn. You walk around them, or wait until they approach you from the front. Keep your back to the wall. You can’t turn, when you know he won’t be there.

Every day you remind yourself of two things.

One: You’ve been alone before. In a way, you always have been. This is no different. You repeat it until you start to believe it.

Two: You have to stick around, if only until it’s done. Because you have a mission. More important than anything else. You will make sure Han Yujun will suffer, for all he did, to the world, to the people, to so many of your men. But now? You will make him beg for the mercy of death for what he took from you.

It’s hard, when, as your body numbs to the pain, you start to see something else in awful clarity. Their pain.

Felix cries, too. With you, yes, but sometimes you wake up in the night, and he’s quietly, privately sobbing into your back. Like he doesn’t want you to hear. Hyunjin’s pretty eyes lack lustre. None of his smiles reach them any more. His hair hangs limply, no longer freshly styled and cared for. He hasn’t sewed anything in two weeks, either, his pile of scrap fabric untouched in the corner of the living area. Chan and Changbin’s smiles come much less easily, their shoulders are always tense. They seem almost jumpy, especially when there’s any unexpected noise or someone yells. Seungmin doesn’t seem to have changed much, on the outside, but you can feel it. His silence is different now. When he speaks, it’s slower, quieter. When he looks at you, it’s like he doesn’t just worry for you, but like the weight of the world sits on his shoulders. And Jeongin – Jeongin almost never sings now. Only late at night, when he thinks everyone is asleep. Sometimes you can hear him when you lie awake in Felix’s cabin. They’re all sad songs. Gut-wrenchingly devastating melodies, lyrics of loss and pain. They break your heart. You never bring it up.

The knowledge that you failed them torments you day and night. That this is your doing. You failed Jisung, you failed Minho, you failed your crew. They counted on you to keep them all safe, to protect them from those who hurt them. To protect them from more pain and loss, of which they all had too much, as you well know. It’s what you always wanted, to give them hope again, a home again. But you failed. Yes, they may still be fine, but their beloved friends are gone. You failed to protect those they loved. They didn’t deserve to lose more people they loved. Especially not because you weren’t smart enough to see it coming, to anticipate that Han Yujun would be a step ahead of you. Twice. It’s unforgivable.

The need to make it right is what drives you forward, what forces you to detangle your legs from Felix’s every morning, drag your leaden body away from the only comfort you know. It’s what dries the tears in your eyes, makes your heart deaden in your chest as your soul becomes more and more murderous. In the absence of them, there is only violence.

Because you can’t lose again. You won’t. You won’t be too slow. You won’t be dulled to their machinations. Because you have to see it coming this time. Or it will cost you everything.

This time, you will do what you should’ve done in Trott’s house. You should’ve given yourself before you ever lost one of them. This time you won’t hesitate. It’s set down on a piece of paper, in the top drawer of your desk. Just a few words. Making your ship over to the one person you know would keep her safe.

This is what you hold on to, until the last day dawns and Andros Island lies clear and green on the horizon. Today will be Han Yujun’s last, if by your sword or someone else’s. Even if it costs you your life.

Felix looks at you differently that morning, Hyunjin falters when he steps into your office. You don’t want to think about why, if it’s the sick sort of determination in your eyes or if they’re scared you’ll fuck up again. You wish you could tell them that you won’t, that today, you will not hesitate, that you’ve prepared for this. But you don’t. If they knew, they would try to stop you. And you can’t risk that.

When the Andros Town harbour comes into view, you have built a wall around your heart so high you no longer have space for doubt. Only acceptance. It’s almost peaceful. Hopeful, in a way, even though you don’t believe in that kind of thing, usually. But the possibility is enough.

The wind is in your hair, the sails flap in the wind. Seungmin yells some last-minute orders to the men manning the sails, Hyunjin arms everyone to their teeth where they wait above deck. The air is buzzing with a nervous sort of anticipation that settles into your bones.

Everything is fine until your eyes fall on another ship, moored closely to the shore.

No … it can’t be …

You stumble backwards. Seungmin’s eyes find you immediately, his body half turned around, a hand already stretched out to you while his eyes still scan over your body to see if you’re hurt, then the horizon, trying to figure out what has upset you so much. But he couldn’t know, could he?

“Anchor next to that ship up there,” you tell him, and to his credit, he only hesitates for the barest moment before he complies.

And the closer you get, the more undeniable it is. It’s his ship. The Captain’s. Your captain, the man who had saved your life, who taught you everything you knew, who had faith in you when you didn’t know yourself. You don’t know what’s scarier – the thought of meeting him again after all this time, or the thought of his ship, but with someone else manning it.

And then there’s the obvious question: what is he doing here? What business could he possibly have on Andros Island, the most avid of the anti-privateer islands. Could he be after Han Yujun as well? Or worse, could he be on his side?

Your mind is spinning so fast it’s making nausea bloom in your guts. That’s what’s left now, after the kraken has disappeared. A gaping emptiness that makes you feel seasick. Ironic.

You swallow it down, will the dizziness away, focus on steeling your voice as you order your crew to pile into the dinghies and row to land. Ignore even Felix’s imploring look as you wait for them all to head out. Chan refuses to sit anywhere but by your side as Changbin rows you out as the last boat, ‘in order to better be able to protect you’ as he said.

It’s silent in the little boat as he rows, the oars slapping against the calm surf, the sun beating down on you on a day that’s as cloudless as it could be. You can’t tell if that is meant to be a good omen, or if death is laughing at you again, preparing to take you in its cold embrace while you stare up into a brilliant sky, and, if you’re lucky, the loving faces of your crew.

“There are other pirates on shore,” Chan murmurs, rips you out of your thoughts. “I’ve never seen them before. Do you think they’re the ones from that ship we anchored next to?”

You nod, try not to let your eyes linger on the shore for too long, foolishly trying to avert the moment of truth for a little longer. You pinch yourself forcefully for being so childish, but it’s what loss has done to you. Leaving you a brittle shell of yourself on the most important day of your life. Pathetic.

“Do you know if they’re friendly?” Chan asks, hesitantly, carefully.

You realise he wants more, but there’s only so much certainty you can give him.

“If they are who I think they are, then there’s a good chance they will be.”

Changbin gives you a funny look, before turning to Chan, clearly silently communicating between themselves. Before all this, you may have called them out on it. Today, you need to preserve all your strength.

Before long, your dinghy hits sand and Changbin gets out, drags it until you can get out of it with dry feet, offering you his arm as he helps you down. The rest of your crew is gathered on the beach, talking quietly among themselves, throwing nervous glances this way and that. Because none of them know, not even you, if Han Yujun is expecting you, or how he will attack. If he will allow you to come find him or if he will bring the fight to you. But so far, it’s quiet.

A little ways down the quay, the strange pirates sit. They’re loud, relaxed, chatting and laughing raucously, taking long draughts from their flasks. It’s in stark contrast to your crew, high-strung and wary. The strange pirates are sharpening their weapons – at least now you know they’re here for a fight, too. You just hope to God it won’t be against you.

You push through your own crew, make down the beach towards them, two sets of footsteps, Chan and Changbin by the sounds of it, immediately breaking off the group to follow you.

As you approach, familiar faces start to stand out – still the same, only a little older. Some of them get up as you approach, their eyes widening in recognition. They look friendly, excited almost, but you don’t allow yourself to let that give you any hope. They turn somewhere in their crowd, and then, as you’re nearly there, almost close enough to speak, their group parts.

A familiar tall man, dressed in all black with a matching big black hat, turns around, and you fall to your knee without even thinking, your body reacting before your brain can think better of it.

Chan and Changbin freeze behind you, Hyunjin makes an undignified noise, then there are more footsteps hurrying along the beach behind you.

You hear him laugh, low and baritone, as he walks up to you. He places a big, calloused hand on your shoulder, and you shake like a leaf.

“Now, now,” he hums, “that’s hardly necessary any more, is it captain Y/N?”

Your head spins, your body feels like it’s not your own, but somehow, you manage to rise to your feet, meet the Captain’s eyes.

As soon as you do, it’s like all the years never happened. He still looks the same, though a little bit older. The wrinkles around his eyes are more pronounced, his nose is bigger, silver streaks running through his unruly black locks. There’s a new scar over his eyebrow.

“Captain,” you manage to say somehow, your voice still a little shaky.

He smiles at you.

“It’s been a long time.”

“I’ve asked for you,” you blurt out, breathless, “every port I landed, I asked for you, wanted to make sure you and the crew were still out there, still fine. But we never crossed paths.”

He shrugs. He’s still smiling, widely and warmly and affectionately, and it simultaneously gives you pause and makes your heart ache with it. He never used to smile this much – at least not at his crew. At you, sometimes, if you did especially well, but even then, it was a rare treat. He was a serious man, with the weight of all the years and losses on his shoulders. But now, he seems …lighter.

“Ah,” he says, “it seems it wasn’t meant to be yet then.”

He says it so easily, as if you didn’t hope, for years and years, that you could see him again, get closure, get … anything. And now you’re here. Without them. You huff out a laugh, but it’s dry and painful. Tears start prickling at your eyes, unbidden.

The Captain pauses, his face pulling into a concerned frown. He places a gentle hand on your arm and leads you down the beach, towards the line of trees bordering the town. Suddenly, he stops, looks over your shoulder in surprise.

“Sorry, sir,” you hear Hyunjin’s voice, shaky but determined, “but we promised someone we would protect her if he wasn’t here to do it.” Pain, pain, pain, empty, hollow, sharp.

The captain seems to think for a second, then nods and leads you further until you’re finally out of earshot of the two crews, dozens of pirates probably oh so curious about what you were breaking down over now. You dig your nails into your palms until you’re sure you’re drawing blood. You wish everything would stop spiralling out of control.

“How have you been?” the Captain asks, and you scoff out a painful laugh. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chan and Hyunjin.

They’re standing a little ways away, their eyes trained on you. They look ready to sprint into action.

“I’ve killed everyone I’ve ever loved,” you mumble.

The Captain stares at you for a long moment. Watches as you swallow drily, avert your eyes.

“What do you mean by that?”

You can’t look at him when it pours out of you.

“There’s something wrong with me, captain. Everyone I get close to, everyone I …love,” you choke out the words, “they all die. My father, my mother, now …”

Your throat constricts, an echo of the kraken, a painful convulsion in the emptiness. You gasp in a breath of air.

“The one who would protect you, the one they’re here for,” the Captain interrupts you, with a nod towards Hyunjin and Chan, “is that who you lost?”

You nod.

“Him and … I lost both of them. I … killed them.”

You look at the Captain and to your surprise, he smiles, sadly, but softly.

“Silly girl,” he hums, “people die all the time. The whimsy of the fates is not something you have power over. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

You stare at him. The words filter into you, travel through you, make something inside of you tip off balance. You’re too stunned to speak. He places a comforting, solid hand on your shoulder, squeezes. God, he would’ve never done this back then. He was harsh and cold, always said he wasn’t your friend, he was your captain. The crew had always had to rely on each other to patch each other up after a fight, to sort out fights, to help someone through nightmares. It was one of the reasons why you decided to never be like that, why you always wanted to be close to your crew. Or maybe, a mean part of yourself supplies, you just didn’t want to be alone.

“Don’t take responsibility for things that aren’t your fault,” the Captain continues, “life, and especially this one, it claims its victims at random. There’s no pattern, no celestial plot to torment you. You will find love again, probably have an abundance of it, if the way your crew is looking at you is anything to judge by.”

He looks over at Chan and Hyunjin. When you don’t react, he places his other hand on your other shoulder, gives you a soft little shake. It’s sweet, you think. Fatherly. You would’ve killed for this back then.

“You did well for yourself. Your reputation precedes you, everywhere they speak of you, of the hard fight you choose to fight every day, and how you do it fearlessly and with everything you have.”

He laughs suddenly, loud and rough, and the sound is entirely unfamiliar to you.

“Just the other week I got a drink on the house when the barkeep heard I knew you,” he laughs out, squeezes your shoulders one more time before he straightens up, smiles down at you. “So don’t worry, you’ve done well.”

You shake your head in disbelief, a soft laugh escaping past your lips. You wonder if it’s the first one since.

“I always wanted to say thank you,” you mumble before the rest of your courage leaves you. “For saving me, back then, for taking a chance on the random girl that showed up with blood all over her face. For not taking advantage of me and teaching me everything and giving me my ship–”

“Don’t. You deserved it,” he interrupts you, waves you off like you didn’t need to say anything more.

You scoff.

“I didn’t do anything back then, how could I have deserved it?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, another enigmatic smile on his chapped lips.

“When you walked up, all that determination, that strength in your eyes, the blood smeared over your brow, I knew that if I didn’t take you on, someone else would. And they would take advantage of that determination and use it for evil. Call it instinct, but something told me you could do a lot of good. And now look at you.”

You blink at him, his words a brutal reminder of the reality waiting for you when you return to your crew. Briefly, you wonder if he will have to watch you die today.

“That’s what we’re here for today, actually,” you say slowly, cautiously. You try to straighten up, find some of the decorum fitting your status, instead of crumbling like you’re still 18.

You decide to take the chance, to tell the Captain straight out, to take a gamble on what you know about him, what you’re seeing in his eyes, what you know about Han Yujun and his hatred for all privateers and their hatred for him, and if that fails, in your history – and hope it won’t be the third bad decision you make that will cost a life.

“Well, to be precise, we’re here for Han Yujun,” you start. You keep your eyes on the Captain’s, watching for any micro-expression that could possibly tip you off. “You know what he has done, to this island, the people, the whole region. He’s a leech, a corrupt murdered. And we finally got a lead. Evidence to take him down, once and for all. That evidence was stolen, along with …” your voice breaks and curse yourself for still being unable to say it, but you push through, keep talking like nothing happened, “so we’re back to a more primitive plan: go in there, take care of him the old-fashioned way, find new evidence and get his administration and his coconspirators to hang.”

The Captain takes a moment to contemplate your words, then he nods.

“We’re here for Han Yujun, too,” he finally says, and you hold your breath.

“I’m not nearly as good a person as you are, Y/N. We’re here because he hired us to ship something,” the Captain admits and he looks almost sheepish. “But then had us attacked on the way there. His hired guns were pathetic, no match for us, but they still managed to blow a hole into our ship. So we’re here to demand our payment – and get revenge.”

The breath you expel feels like relief, like hope. You have a chance now. You have a chance. With the captain’s crew and yours combined, you have a force of around 70 pirates. Han Yujun’s house guard, even on a good day, shouldn’t measure more than 30, most of them young and inexperienced, no match for your experienced fighters.

You stick out your hand.

“Well, then, Captain, may I suggest a deal? We fight him together. I get his head and enough evidence to topple that corrupt government of his. You can have as much money, as many jewels, anything you want from his house, as much as you can carry, and the satisfaction of a revenge well exacted.”

The Captain’s lips pull into a smirk, something like pride in his eyes when he takes your hand in his and shakes it.

“Deal, captain Y/N,” he says, throws a glance towards the beach where your crews are still lingering. Then he steps back, gestures for you to move. “You lead the way.”

Chan and Hyunjin are already watching you when you turn around and meet their eyes. You can read the question in their big, hopeful, eyes, the way Chan runs his hand through his hair nervously. You give them a small nod and an even smaller hand gesture that tells them to keep it quiet, but Hyunjin can’t entirely fight off the triumphant smile that threatens to take over his face. But they step back, dutifully bow, stand by as you pass them and follow you back to where your two crews are waiting.

The crews are quiet, each amongst themselves, eyeing each other curiously, but not a single pirate reaching out to the other yet. You’re proud of your men, proud of their loyalty, that they waited for you to come back. A memory bubbles up. Minho, spread out in your sheets, chest bare, hair mussed, both his arms crossed behind his head. His eyes closed, a pleased, almost proud smile on his face. ‘Well, of course they’re loyal. They have the best captain in the seven seas. They’d be stupid not to be.’

“Men,” the Captain announces, and silence falls over both crews. You ache, but a salty breeze picks up, and you feel more alive than you have in days.

“Han Yujun will pay today. We will get our pay and what he owes us for trying to fuck us over.”

A cheer runs through his crew, rowdy and loud. He holds up a palm and they fall silent.

“Captain Y/N and her crew are here for him, too. They have their own fight with him, one that demands his head. And I think it’s safe to say it’s in the interest of all of us, as men, as pirates, as the outcasts of this wretched society, that he is finally dealt with. Captain Y/N will make sure he pays with his life. Let’s make sure we give her and her crew all the support she might need.”

“Three cheers for captain Y/N! Let the pig die!” A voice exclaims from amongst the ranks of the Captain’s crew. Kind eyes, wide nose, half long hair. A memory of his tireless patience, teaching you how to shoot on the outskirts of Nassau in the burning midday sun. Sungjin gives you a smile and a wink. The smile you give him back is almost real.

When you turn to your crew, the first eyes you meet are Felix’s. He refused to be left behind today, fighting proficiency be damned. He said it was because, if Han Yujun was going to die, he wanted to be there to see it with his own eyes. But you think he probably also couldn’t stand the idea of being all alone on the ship with no way of knowing if everyone would come back. You had made Changbin promise to protect him at all costs.

Felix’s expression is grave, determined. He nods, knots his hands together in front of his chest. This is good. I have a good feeling about this he seems to say. You’re inclined to agree, for once. He sticks a fist into the air.

“Down with Han Yujun!” he yells, at the top of his lungs.

Your crew cheers, so does the Captain’s. A small smile creeps onto your face.

At least if you die today, they will still be here.

And so begins the long traipse through town. It’s quite the spectacle: A gaggle of almost 70 rowdy pirates, stomping and singing, rattling their swords, battle cries and laughter, spearheaded by you and the captain, followed closely by Chan and Changbin, Hyunjin and Felix right behind you.

It becomes quite clear, quite quickly that the Captain’s men are louder than yours – and a great deal more bloodthirsty. It’s evident in every single one of their raucous yells. The townspeople that happen to be in your path scramble to get out of your way, hiding in shops and alleys, peering at you with wide eyes. It was oddly satisfying, and so liberating. No false restraint, no playing nice or coy or pretending like you aren’t on a warpath. Only rage, determination, momentum.

But once you finally leave the expensive part of town behind, pass from clean paved streets into the dusty, dirty roads of the poorer districts, the mood changes. Children come running, men and women stick their heads out of windows, doors, watch with fascination as you march through. Some of the Captain’s pirates yell to them, tell them that you’re heading to the governor’s place, that the governor will die today – and before long, there’s cheering, locals joining in with the raucous yells, some working men even joining your procession, with shoddy weapons of their own, more determination in their face than sense. But you don’t stop them.

An uprising against Han Yujun had been unthinkable for so long, his bloody reign over the island and stores of his power seemingly endless – but now, with a small army of angry people, thirsty for justice, there was a chance. And you wouldn’t want to take this chance at revenge from anyone.

And God, maybe you were empty, maybe it was hard to live, but this is what you’d been fighting for for years. You and … you and Minho. Together. If you know one thing, it’s that he would’ve wanted you to finish it. He would’ve wanted you to pull through, make him proud. The pain shudders through your body, but it’s warm this time. You will make him proud. You will avenge him and Jisung. It won’t bring them back, but it will bring you just a sliver of peace.

When you lift your head, Han Yujun’s house lies right in front of you, at the end of the street. At first glance, it looks a lot like Trott’s, though where that one was a cheerful yellow, this one’s a ghostly white, weathered with time and bleached by the sun. It’s also twice as big, the garden only sparsely planted, an ugly water fountain in the middle of the too short lawn. The columns on his house are marble, so are the tasteless statues, cheap copies of European art, no doubt, dotted around. Your stomach turns at the display of wealth when you know what he has been doing to the people.

You approach the gate and the Captain’s men press forward, shove against it until the chain breaks with a loud clank.

A guard appears from the right. He’s dumbstruck for a moment, staring at you, the huge, never-ending group of angry pirates and townspeople, and pales. He scrambles for a tiny gold whistle on his lapel, and he manages to blow one shrill signal before he’s tackled to the ground by one of the Captain’s men.

From the house, what you believe is the courtyard, ten men come running, their weapons drawn, looking behind themselves as they approach. They’re out of breath, one of them already has a deep gash in his arm.

“How …” you mumble out, perplexed. “How are we not the first? Who else is here?!”

The Captain next to you mirrors your confusion, orders his men to spread out, to search the grounds, so there aren’t any more surprises hiding in the expensive English azalea bushes while Chan and Changbin effortlessly step forward to take care of the men from the courtyard.

And that’s when you see it. Out of the corner of your eye.

Emerald green silk, fluttering from a window on the top floor.

Your heart threatens to give out.

It’s Jisung’s jacket, there’s no doubt about it. It’s tied around a broken window frame by its sleeves, fluttering in the stiff breeze, the shining threads shimmering in the sun.

You try to breathe through the sense of urgency, but it's like something’s tugging you forward, as you push past Chan and Changbin. Two more guards try to get into your way. You fight one of them, Hyunjin cuts down the other one effortlessly. The one you’re fighting catches you in the arm with his small knife, but you pay it no mind. More guards come, but your crew has your back. You ignore the blood, the bruising pain as you push forward, towards the house, the courtyard, past the ugly fountain and the azalea bushes.

You round the corner, push your cutlass into the guts of the last guard when you see him–

No jacket, only his white, ruched shirt with one whole sleeve missing, honey skin glistening, brown hair wild and flying as he fights three guards. He’s pouting and scowling, determined, as always, and you swallow down a sob.

Hyunjin rushes past you, and so does Chan, yelling Jisung’s name in relief as they strike at his attackers.

Jisung’s eyes widen, his lips pull into a beautiful, heartbreaking, entirely alive smile and then his eyes meet yours and you run.

The air rushes through your hair and then straight out of your lungs when you crash into Jisung. His arms flying around your waist, lifting you off your feet until your legs can wrap around his waist.

“Baby,” he whispers, eyes wide in surprise, before you lean in and kiss him.

Peaches and sweat and copper and the smell you’ve been sleeping in that’s been fading for the last two weeks but better.Real. Alive.

You breathe him in like it’s the last thing you’ll do on this earth, threading your hands into his soft hair, scratching at his nape until he hums. And he kisses you back, his hand running up your back, pressing you closer, tongue slipping into your mouth, and you want to crawl into his skin. There’s probably blood on your hands, on his, smearing over his neck and the back of your coat. But you don’t care. How could you, when he’s right here. You force yourself to pull back, just enough so you can speak.

“You’re alive …” you whisper, and he melts, his eyes softening, spit slick lips pulling into a smile that feels like the sun is rising.

“I am, baby,” he murmurs. The emptiness inside you throbs.

“Minho …” you breathe, your hands tightening on Jisung’s shoulders.

Realisation zaps over his feature, and he pulls you closer, so close to his body it feels like he’s holding you together, keeping you from falling apart.

“He is, too,” Jisung mumbles, cups your face when the first tear falls. “He’s here, too. We’re both okay, darling. They didn’t get us.”

Relief. Blinding, unbelievable, too good to be true. It’s so big, so all-consuming that it’s too terrifying. You can’t, don’t dare hope until he’s in front of you, not when something else could rip him away from you still.

Your next words force themselves out of your brittle, aching body before you can stop them. Because even if he isn’t, Jisung is right here. You need to tell him. You need him to know.

“I … I love you.”Jisung looks entirely speechless, then he smiles. Your soul sings. He chuckles breathlessly.

“I know, I love you, too.”

A door slams open on the other end of the courtyard and Jisung presses a swift but sweet kiss to your lips before he drops you to your feet. You land, ready. Jisung smirks at you, so maddeningly beautiful, handsome, irresistible the way his eyes glint.

“Now let’s kill my uncle.”

< interlude - chapter XI >

series masterlist // skzms masterlist // kofi

🔖 series taglist closed! general taglist open! be 18+ and have your age in bio when you ask to be added

taglist part 1: @puppyminnnie @like-a-diamondinthesky @lyramundana @laylasbunbunny @minsflannelwrap148

@caitlyn98s @straystays2345 @3rachasninja @maximumkillshot @sungprotector

@stayconnecteed @mellhwang @chlodavids @kookiesbunny @noellllslut

@warren-thedarkangel @kidrauhlschik @anyhow-everything @krishastumblernow @cutiespaghetti

@hobi-szn @usagi---mochi @stolasisyourparent @steadysuitenthusiast @queen-in-the-shadows

@ayoitschannie @starsandrqindrops @redstayrosie @vitrealisbunny @seukijeuxq

@bakedlilgoonie @bookworm731 @jazziwritesthings @katsukis1wife @minhos4thkitty

@gbskzlover @armystay89 @chuwii3o @foivetimesacharm @palindrome969

@gimmeurtmi @ashareeboobear @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @staysinbloom @f1wh0r3

@mnwrld @linocz @linosssss

#HE’S ALIVE THANK GOD HE’S ALIVE 😭😭😭#I knew he would be but this grief was excruciating wow #IM SO HAPPY CRYINGGG

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starsandrqindrops · 3 months

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This man may not be my bias but DAMN 🥵🥵 Got me on the floor like 🫠🫠

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starsandrqindrops · 3 months

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this is hyunjin’s best look im dead serious my jaw literally dropped when i saw him HOW IS HE REAL HOW IS HE REALLLLLLL like head in hands im feeling faint check on your hwangers today… we are going through it

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starsandrqindrops · 3 months

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🌊 ೃ‧₊◜ sea may rise, sky may fall chapter IX

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: when it rains, it pours

word count: 7.2k

warnings: IF YOU WANT/NEED SPOILERS (FOR YOUR OWN PEACE OF MIND OR ANY OTHER REASON) ABOUT MAIN CHARACTER DEATH PLEASE READ THE SERIES WARNINGS! implied main character death; graphic description of a panic attack; violence; blood; knives; mentions of unprotected sex; mxm action

author's note: okay uh so ... this one's gonna hurt. I'm sorry in advance. please read the warnings carefully! everything I write will end with the characters healing, I promise. but if you need a spoiler about MCD please check the series warnings, I put the answer in there for those who need it (I know how it is, I need to know these things in advance, too askjdfh)

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

< chapter VIII - interlude >

Minho has never been addicted to anything.

The first time he witnessed addiction was as a kid, when his mother turned to drinking to numb the pain. Then he saw it in Changbin, a few years ago, when things got rough for him, and it got so bad that he nearly got himself killed, and the crew had to stage an intervention.

His mother hadn’t lived long enough to see the consequences, and Changbin got better. But Minho had never been addicted to anything. He smokes tobacco every now and again, drinks when they go on land, and he can be sure that either Chan or Changbin are staying with the captain to keep her safe. Even when things got bad, right after his mother died, and he drank more than he should’ve, addiction never caught him. He just stopped one day.

But now, Minho thinks he knows what it feels like.

Minho thought sleeping with Jisung would maybe, just maybe, rid him of his stupid, confusing obsession with him. A one and done type deal, fuck him good and hard and mean and then go back to the way things were meant to be.

But then Jisung wandered back into his arms the day after their night together, all bloodshot eyes and shy glances that asked Minho wordlessly if it was all just for that one night and Minho’s arms pulled him closer, slotted his lips against Jisung’s sweetly, soothed his own over Jisung’s pouty bottom lip, across the corner of his mouth until he could kiss the cute little mole right on his cheek. He bit Jisung’s earlobe right after, trying to distract him from just how gentle he just was. Jisung’s startled little gasp went straight to his dick.

He took him to the captain’s quarters, watched as the captain stared from Jisung to him, her eyes lingering on him with a quiet question.

They hadn’t even fucked the night before, after Jisung left. They spent the evening in bed, lazing around, talking, swapping kisses that made Minho’s already bruised lips and his heart ache until night fell, and he watched her doze off into a deeper sleep. The room, completely quiet, only the lapping of the waves against the wood, the sound of the crew far away, a candlewick crackling. He wanted to stay here forever, in this moment, with her.

Then she fluttered her eyes open, looked right back at him and smiled. He smiled back, hoped it wasn’t written all over his face. When her eyebrows furrowed, he panicked for a brief moment that it was.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, softly.

Relief, then nerves. They had avoided talking about Jisung all night, their conversations like everything was normal. Come to think of it, maybe it’s what Minho, what maybe she also needed. Reassurance that nothing changed, even though everything had.

He watched her closely, briefly tried to figure out what she was thinking, but he gave up just as quickly. No matter how well he knew her, her poker face was too good even for him.

So he opted for the truth. He shook his head.

She watched him, her dark eyes boring into his so intensely, before she hummed, let her eyes slip closed again.

“Me neither,” she simply said.

And that had been the end of it. She had stretched out her hand, lazily tugging Minho closer until his head was next to hers on her pillow, his body folded around her, until she could press sweet, sleepy kisses to his shoulder that made Minho smile, kiss her back just as sweetly, even after they blew out the candle, their lips finding each other in the dark again and again and again until they fell asleep.

It’s not like they didn’t do that. She would kiss him sweetly every now and again, let her fingertips skate up his bare arms when he was holding her. Sometimes, a few drops of his devotion would slip past the tight seal he had on his heart and spill into his kisses, make him do stupid things like whisper “I adore you” into her sweaty hair or let his hand linger on her waist while they were on deck.

But they never did this. Spend the night together, in bed, without fucking. They kissed, sure, but they never kissed like that, for hours and hours, giggling in the dark, kissing just for the sake of it, even when their bruised lips ached and their breaths came ragged. But something had changed. Jisung had changed them, and Minho wasn’t even remotely ready to face the extent of what that meant.

He watched senselessly, then, the day after, after he had kissed Jisung in the hallway where anyone could've seen, with an echo of the captain’s kisses from the night before, before he took him to the her quarters. Watched senselessly as Jisung walked up to her, blinking at her with stars in his eyes, mumbling out the question he hadn’t been ready to ask Minho.

“W-would you want me again?”

And Minho got to watch the captain’s face soften, her beautiful eyes widen, her soft, gentle fingers wrapping around Jisung’s wrists, dragging his hands up until Jisung took the hint and cupped her face. Jisung let his forehead tip forward against hers, eyes fluttered shut, his thumbs soothing over her cheek.

“How could I not want you,” he heard the captain whisper, quietly, painfully honestly, before pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was so gentle, yet turned into tremblingly hungry so quickly it made Minho reel.

He thinks that’s the moment he got addicted. Addicted, in a sick sort of way, to the way Han Jisung touched. Because when Han Jisung touched the captain, it was nothing short of reverential.

He kissed her like he couldn’t believe his own luck, smoothed his hands over her body, from her calves up to her face, like he wanted to drag every ounce of pleasure out of her skin, sank his hands into her hair to pull her closer and closer and closer like he wanted her to climb into his skin and make herself a home there forever.

And just when Minho thought it couldn’t get any worse, Jisung would turn, would look up at Minho with an almost dangerous softness in his eyes, and kiss him with the captain’s taste still on his lips, baring himself to him, always ready to take and take and take whatever Minho gave him, the reverential hands he watched on the captain now skating over his chest, down his abs, scratching at his happy trail until Minho had to suppress the tremor that shuddered through his limbs.

Jisung’s hands. Minho found himself slowly but surely haunted by the image of them. Big and strong, nails neatly kept, veiny and knobby in all the right places, usually adorned with a collection of pretty silver rings that made shivers rack down Minho’s spine when they touched his bare skin.

But it wasn’t even just his hands – no, Han Jisung’s whole body seemed to be made by whatever Gods were out there, to be naked, golden, and smoothed against a lover’s. He kissed with his whole body, an ankle hooking over Minho’s as he caressed his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his fingers lacing with whichever one of theirs he could reach whenever he was about to come, a thigh wedged in between the captain’s as he pressed his chest to hers.

God, his thighs. Minho had spent the better part of an hour a few days into their trip to San Salvador between Jisung’s legs, sucking the supple, impossibly soft golden skin between his teeth until they were littered in pretty purple marks. If he dug his fingers into them every time he kissed him just to hear him gasp, that was between him and God.

Minho was addicted to Han Jisung. And he was terrified.

He was terrified because he couldn’t deny it, the way he made his whole body tremble with every touch, his heart beating in his throat whenever he smiled at him. He was terrified because he had never felt like this for anyone. Not even the captain. And that scared him even more, terrified that somehow, something had irrevocably changed.

But then, she walked up to him, smoothed her thumb over the crease in his brow in the way he usually did to her and pressed a sloppy kiss to his jaw, and his whole body sang with his devotion to her. Then he knew again, with unshakeable certainty, that what he felt for her was untouchable – and somehow entirely intertwined, but also entirely separate from what he felt for Jisung.

But he didn’t know what that meant for them. For him. For Jisung. He could accommodate the fact of how he felt for both of them, just barely, the pressure of the crew’s eyes on him and his heart already stretched so thin with so many unspoken words that at times he had to force himself to look away. And he knew that Jisung could, his heart on his sleeve, every single one of his actions evidence of just how much he wanted them both – but he didn’t know if she could. If she was willing to.

What if Jisung’s was the kind of love she truly wanted?

She opened up for Jisung in a way she had never done for him. Something in Jisung’s eyes made her soften, unravel, reciprocate Jisung’s affectionate words, shakily, but with determination. More affection than she had ever shown Minho. She had grown softer with him, too, yes, and Changbin had told him, back then, though indirectly, that everyone thought she loved him, but Minho couldn’t help but see everything he wasn’t to her. And he was scared.

But he couldn’t do anything. The trip from Nassau to San Salvador wasn’t a long one. Even in bad conditions, it was barely more than a few days of slow sailing around the numerous islands and sandbanks of the region that kept mostly Seungmin and whoever was manning the sails busy. And at the end of the trip loomed the first step in their plan to finally end their mission, secure their legacy. To take down Han Yujun.

Minho couldn’t get distracted now. At least not more than he already was by the sheer perfection of the two beings that would find him, between hastily closed doors and around the bend of hallways, soft, slick lips and wandering hands and so greedy for Minho and his pleasure. So he holds on. Lets himself feel it all, the fear, the devotion, the unimaginable pleasure they caress out of his body; buries his worries between his captain’s legs, deep inside of Han Jisung’s soft hot mouth.

He will deal with this when Han Yujun hangs. He can’t wait for Han Yujun to hang.

When you dock in San Salvador, nobody stops you. That should have been your first warning.

There is no local police, no coast guard waiting. They let you dock, even though it’s clear that you’re not a registered ship, but privateers, and when you request for you, Minho, and Jisung to come ashore, they just … agree. That should’ve been your second warning.

But as it is, the three of you step onto land, allow Jisung, now dressed in his green silk jacket, the one he wore when he arrived on the ship, to lead you through the small, sleepy coastal town. Jisung’s hair is slightly longer now, his face a healthier colour. But most notably is how he carries himself – calm, confident, his shoulders squared, eyebrows set in a determined scowl. He’s different from the insecure, scared young man that Chan and Changbin dragged into your cabin a few months ago. This life seems to suit him almost naturally – an odd thought, when the rest of you had been thrown into it by circumstance, by necessity, whether you wanted it or not. But Han Jisung seemed to be born for it.

Jisung leads you through the centre of town, past fancy shops boasting luxurious fabrics that you know Hyunjin would love to have taken a look at, past taverns and butcher’s and cheesemongers and flower shops. Past many elegantly dressed townspeople, men in top hats and women in big, expensive dresses, who stare at you unabashedly, a hint of distaste and fear in their powdered faces. But you don’t mind them.

Jisung stops in front of a big, metal-wrought gate, leading into a lushly planted but meticulously landscaped garden. There are palm trees and succulents, but also all shades of expensive English roses, meticulously cut into abundant bushes. A perfectly raked path of pebbles leads up to what you can only describe as a mansion. It’s painted a pale yellow, dark green shutters framing the many, big windows. All around the house, there are tall, white pillars with ornate designs carved into the top and the bottom of them. Two of them hold up the portico that hovers majestically over the gigantic front door, making it look like the entrance to a castle.

The well-oiled gate opens with only the barest hint of a creak when Jisung pushes it open and motions for you to follow him. You can see the uneasiness in Minho’s set jaw, the hesitation in his steps when he follows Jisung in. You trail after them, taking in the garden, still. The feeling that something is off comes back with full force, and you stare at the roses as if they have the answer that eludes you. They only sway in the breeze, wordlessly.

When you reach the door, Jisung doesn’t hesitate. He lifts the heavy brass knocker and drops it against the wood once, twice, three times.

The sound echoes through the house, then it’s quiet. Not even footsteps. Then, there’s a lock being turned, and a surly older British man stares back at them.

“Oh,” he breathes, momentarily forgetting his training, evidence of his surprise written all over his wrinkled, English face, before he catches himself, schools it into a snobbish, condescending half-smile.

“Mr Han! What a surprise to see you here. Do come in.”

He takes a step back and holds the doors open for you, allowing you to enter into a high entryway tiled in light stone, before carefully shutting the door, and asking you to follow him.

The room he leads you to is on the other side of the house, through two stately, Victorian sitting rooms with fake stucco and dark wood and fireplaces that you doubt would have much use in the humid island weather. It’s a smaller room, with only four chairs and two tall windows looking out towards the ocean on one side, a set of heavy oak doors on the other.

“I will let Mr Trott know that you’re here. Please be so kind as to wait here for a moment.”

With that, he disappears through the two wooden doors.

You look at Minho and Minho looks at you.

“I don’t like this,” you say, and Minho shakes his head. The apprehension in his eyes mirrors yours. Something feels off.

Jisung fidgets, visibly nervous where he’s perched on the arm of one of the armchairs.

“I’m sure it’s fine, these places are always uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that it’s …”

You’re interrupted by something light blue fluttering in the corner of your vision. When you whirl around, you’re faced with a pretty, petite doll of a girl. She can’t be much older than 20, you think, her cheeks rosy and her eyes big and wide and glassy. She’s wearing a fluttery baby blue dress, her brown hair falling over her bare shoulders in perfect dark brown curls.

Jisung shoots to his feet, nearly topples over with the speed of it. Something ugly buzzes in your fingertips.

“Miss Trott,” Jisung mumbles and bows absentmindedly, seemingly automatically, before he catches himself. He throws you and Minho an embarrassed look. You don’t let your face give anything away.

“Jisung …” she returns, deliberately forgoing his attempt at politeness, “what are you doing here?”

Jisung’s eyes widen, and he chuckles nervously, his gaze ping ponging around the room restlessly.

“I came to talk to your father,” he says, before belatedly adding, “… about business.”

The girl nods, her eyes leisurely sweeping first over Minho, then you, giving you a cold once over, before looking back at Jisung. She tosses her head, the delicate gold necklace on her perfectly smooth, white neck glimmering in the sun, and gives him a honeyed smile. You suddenly feel violently out of place in this room, this house. Big and clumsy and dirty in a world where girls are sweet and petite and pale like fairies. The insecurity makes you reel for a moment.

“Will you be coming more often again? Like the old times?” the girl asks Jisung, coquettishly, blinking her big, pretty eyes at him. Her voice drops a register. “We had so much fun, didn’t we?”

Oh. You understand now. Was he meant to marry her? Did they … sleep with each other? The thought of his lips on her neck, his golden skin in contrast with her untouched ivory, sends a violent wave of ugly, petty jealousy through your veins. Your eyes turn venomous, but the girl doesn’t condescend to spare you another glance. Your fist balls where it’s hanging next to you.

Jisung laughs nervously again, ducks his head. The discomfort is radiating off him in waves.

“Hah, no, I will not be coming more often,” he tells her, the polite grimace on his face slipping slowly, like it’s getting too hard to uphold. His eyes dart to you, and you tear your eyes away from hers. Jisung’s eyes linger on you, searching, puzzled. Minho, behind you, steps closer to him, crosses his arms over his chest as he looks down at Jisung.

Suddenly, Jisung laughs, a real laugh this time. His cheeks flush, his shoulders relax slowly.

“As a matter of fact, I hope this will be the last time I ever have to come to this godawful place.”

The girl’s mask slips and there’s shock, then anger, pulling her angelic features into an ugly scowl. She opens her mouth, but turns and disappears without another word when the heavy wood doors open and the servant appears again.

“Mr Trott will see you now,” he mumbles, haughtily, and gestures for them to come in.

Minho’s hand smoothes over Jisung’s lower back as he guides him inside.

Nicholas Trott’s office is darker than the rest of the house. Almost entirely panelled in dark oak, you think this is what an English study would look like. There’s another fireplace, crowded bookcases lining the walls, in front of one of which sits a big heavy desk. Behind it, is a tall, skinny man of around 50. His hair is unfashionably long, and he doesn’t wear a moustache, like so many others. His eyes have a dangerous glint to them that you immediately distrust.

Trott doesn’t spare you and Minho more than a glance, allowing you to look around the room. One window, but it’s latched tightly shut. Behind Trott at his desk stands an armed guard, pistol and a glimmering cutlass sheathed at his belt. When you turn, you realise the door is shut and there are two more guards behind you, flanking you and Minho perfectly. You’re outnumbered. Alarm shivers through you, but you calm it. You need to keep a clear head. All of your lives depend on it. Han Yujun’s demise depends on it.

Trott gives Jisung a fake smile that doesn’t even pretend to be real. His teeth are bad.

“Han Jisung,” he drawls, “what a surprise to see you here … and alive. Your uncle told us your ship went missing. You were presumed dead.”

Jisung smiles coldly, the muscles in his shoulders jump when he crosses his arms over his chest. Minho next to you shifts his weight from one foot to the other. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“Well, I’m not,” Jisung quips, juts out his chin. There’s the defensive arrogance again. But Trott’s smile doesn’t waver.

“I’m sure your uncle will be overjoyed to hear it.”

Something cold shivers down your spine at his tone, alarm bells going off in your head.

Trott’s eyes catch on yours. His eyebrows fly up, and an ugly little grin spreads over his face.

“And you’ve brought the famous captain Y/N,” he snarls. Minho takes a step closer to you on instinct. Trott notes it with a little chuckle. “What an honor to have you in my house.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction, just return his gaze steadily.

Jisung breaks the silence. His voice is cold and hard.

“Enough with the chitchat,” he says, and the man visibly bristles at his tone. “We have something to speak to you about.”

You take this as your cue. You step forward, fix Trott with the most neutral gaze you can muster, with the unexplained dread still prickling on your neck.

“Mr Trott,” you pronounce slowly. Your voice doesn’t conceal what you think of the title, “you may not think this now, but I think we have a common enemy. Maybe we can be of use to one another.”

Trott motions for you to go on. He looks slightly on edge, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Good.

“But first, to sweeten the deal, so to speak,” you say sweetly, a dangerous smile on your lips, “I think it’s important that you know that we have proof of your and Han Yujun’s plans to sell your territories to the Spanish for a premium, before staging a coup and claiming independence. And we both know, that should this evidence reach the crown …”

You watch closely and see Trott’s pupils shake. You got the jump on him. It improves your odds. Before he can ask a question, you continue. You need to get out of here.

“But we also intercepted another message. This one was for Lord Dunmore. Han Yujun is playing with you, Mr Trott, promising Lord Dunmore a lot of money and his protection – for your head.”

Trott’s face shutters, his eyes boring into yours.

“So, you see how we might come to an agreement here,” you finish, a lazy smile on your lips. You tap the tip of your boot against the floor. Suddenly, Trott laughs. It takes you by surprise.

“What kind of proof could you possibly have?” he scoffs, leans back in his chair nonchalantly. “How would you have come across it.”

Jisung speaks before you can stop him.

“We found them on two of my uncle’s ships we intercepted. The coded maps, one for you, one for Lord Dunmore.”

Trott laughs again.

A nameless panic drips down your spine. This is wrong. All wrong.

“Mr Han, I get told many crazy stories every day, this one really takes it. Coded maps, you say?”

You notice what he’s doing just a beat too late to stop Jisung, who is already in motion. Jisung’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth and blurts it right out.

“We can show them to you, we have them right here.”

Nicholas Trott looks at him then, his smile no longer playful, but almost eery.

He raises a singular hand, and before you can react, a blade is pressed to your neck. You suck in a breath, your eyes twitching to Minho, but he’s in the same position, the guard on his side holding him in an iron grasp, his cutlass pressed against Minho’s Adam’s apple.

The man behind Trott’s desk has managed to capture Jisung in the same type of hold, guiding him slowly but surely until he’s standing behind Trott’s desk, facing you and Minho. He looks petrified, his eyes huge and panicked as he looks from you to Minho. He starts squirming so violently you’re scared he will hurt himself, so you lift a hand, motioning for him to calm down. He does, instantly.

Trott fixes you with his horribly triumphant smile before he gets up, slowly rounds the table. He saunters over, comes to stand so close to you that you can smell the stale cigar on his breath. He smiles down at you, lets his filthy gaze drag shamelessly over your face, down your body. Minho next to you, trashes in the guard’s hold and lets out something akin to a growl.

“I assume they’re in here?” he asks, playfully nonchalantly, as he pops open the button of your satchel without giving you the reprieve of moving away. If your odds weren’t so bad, you would’ve tried, and probably managed to, get out of the grasp of the man behind you already. But with Minho and Jisung with blades to their throat? You can’t risk it.

You watch helplessly as he pulls the two maps and Yeji’s note, your final, big chance to finally take down Han Yujun, out of your satchel like it’s nothing. The satisfaction on his face is sickening. He pats your cheek patronisingly, and you bite down the urge to spit in his face.

“Such a pretty face, such a shame that you’re such a dirty little pirate whore,” he hums, lets his fingers drag down your face. They feel like they’re leaving dirty streaks in their wake.

Minho next to you jerks violently in his captor’s hands.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growls, and Trott looks over at him with wide eyes – and laughs. You hear Minho curse, and struggle more.

Your hand shoots out in his direction, a gesture of calm, of ‘I’m okay’.

“Ah, she knows what’s good for her, too,” Trott coos, and this time you don’t hold back. You stare right at Trott, collect a big glob of spit in your mouth, and launch it onto the floor somewhere to your left.

The guard’s grip on you tightens, and you can feel a stinging pain on your neck, before warmth trickles down your skin. The blade nicked your skin. Jisung makes a strangled noise from where he’s watching you.

Trott just shakes his head, almost pityingly, and smiles again, before he turns around and places his newfound evidence on his desk.

“Now, …” he muses, letting his gaze wander over the three of you, “I could let you all go, but that would be stupid. But it would be really convenient if your dirty little gang of misfits could get to Han Yujun first. Soften him up a bit, maybe even do the dirty work for me.”

Then he turns to Jisung.

“But I’m going to keep this one. Who knows, maybe you’ll buy me something yet. And I think your uncle would be very upset with me if I let his supposedly dead nephew get away from me … alive.”

Your stomach drops. Jisung stares at Trott, his eyebrows furrowed. He looks angry, petulant, determined, but somewhere beneath it all you can see his fear, the one he tries so hard to hide. The need to protect him flares in your gut, makes you strain against the knife until more blood trickles down your neck. Minho next to you hisses out your name in warning.

“We’re not leaving without him,” you snarl.

Jisung’s head whips over to you. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes.

But Trott laughs.

“How sweet. But you are, actually. I’ll make sure of that,” he purrs, and turns to his guards, “escort them back onto their ship, make sure they get on it and sail away before you come back.”

No, no, no, no, no. This is all wrong. The man jostles you, and you try to resist, desperately fighting against the way the blade digs into your skin.

“Jisung …” you breathe out, and God, Jisung looks so sad. You can’t bear it. And yet, he forces a brave smile. It’s almost worse.

“Go,” he tells you, “I’ll find you again.”

The man pulls at you, and you huff in despair.

“Jisung,” you say again, but he just keeps looking at you. “Be careful, okay? Don’t be stupid.”

He tries to nod, but that’s all you see before you’re harshly tugged backwards and out of the room. You feel like a part of you is left behind.

Minho doesn’t speak until you’re being shoved down the garden path, now with the barrel of a gun digging into your back instead of knives against your throat.

“He’ll be alright,” Minho says, quietly.

You look over at him, your brows furrowing in irritation.

“What do you mean ‘he’ll be alright’?”

Minho grimaces, avoids your eyes.

“He can defend himself. We’ll find him again. What’s important is that we get you and the crew out of here alive.”

You blink at him, almost stop dead in the middle of the English roses, but the barrel pressed to your back keeps you moving.

“We don’t trade lives like that, Minho,” you hiss, “I’ve never left anyone behind. Ever. And now … him …”

You don’t know what else to say, not within earshot of the guards.

“He’ll be alright,” Minho just says again, and it makes anger bubble in your gut. But you swallow it down, ignore the loaded silence between you until you hit the quays, half your crew watching from the ship as you and Minho are shoved in front of the two guards, the cold metal still pressing into your back bruisingly.

They’re true to their master’s word. They stay, watch grimly as you board your ship and still make no move to leave.

Hyunjin is the first to help you over the railing, and he stares at you, his eyes pleading.

“Captain, where’s Jisung?”

Your heart threatens to break.

“They took him,” is the only thing you can manage to say before you have to shove past him.

“Seungmin,” you order, “get us out of here. Straight to Andros Island.”

“But Jisung …” Hyunjin says, but Minho interrupts him.

“He’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘he’ll be fine’?” Felix pipes up, “what are they going to do with him?”

“Ship him back to his uncle, probably,” Minho mumbles. The knowledge that you have no idea what they’ll do to him makes the kraken wake up. It roils and undulates and reaches into every crevice of your ribcage it can reach.

“That is not fine!” Felix yells. He's panicking. You can hear it in his voice. You flinch, your throat threatening to close up.

“He can defend himself! He will have to,” Minho barks back. You see red, whirl around.

“Shut the fuck up,” you scream at him, and the blank violence of it makes Minho recoil. “You don’t get to talk like that. Not when I’ve never … we’ve never left anyone … when … Jisung …”

The kraken roars, winds its tentacles around your ribs, crushes bone, tissue, grips your lungs and squeezes and pulls like it’s trying to tear you apart from the inside.

“Seungmin, away from here. Andros Island,” you order, before you turn to Felix. Your throat is closing in around itself. You have to force your next words out through shaky gasps. “Felix? I promise, we’ll find him again. We will not abandon … him. I swear, I’ll make … this right.”

You push past them, and into the hallway, manage to make it into your quarters and lock the door behind you before you fall to your knees. Your vision dots with black as the kraken roars and screams and wreaks havoc inside of you. Aborted breaths and sobs tear their thorny way out of your throat, your whole body shaking, the thought of Jisung, back with his tormentors, not safe and here and wrapped around you, unbearable. You failed, you failed, you failed …

Distantly you hear pounding on your door, Minho’s panicked yells of your name, the rattle of the doorknob.

But you ignore him as your body starts shaking more and more.

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself across the floor, your knees scraping across the wood, and you barely make it onto your bed, drag a pillow close enough so you can stifle your gasps and sobs, before your vision blacks out.

You can still smell Jisung on the sheets

They come later that night, sometime just before the sky starts brightening with the coming sunrise, when even Jeongin has fallen asleep in his lookout. Perfectly planned. Perfectly executed.

You’re jostled awake by the sound of wood splintering when the first cannonball hits the side of your ship.

But despite, that reality only comes into focus sluggishly. You’re still fully clothed, collapsed at the foot of the bed, clutching your pillow so hard your fingers ache.

Then there’s another hit, this one even louder. Cold, unadulterated panic zips through your body.

You stumble to your feet, have to catch yourself on the bedpost when the world around you spins. Your head hurts, and you’re shaking; not trembling but shaking, fully body tremors wracking through you and your stomach aches with hunger, your throat raw and painful from the sobs, and you’re so unbelievably cold.

You stand there only for a few seconds, but it feels like a millennium, trying to catch your breath, trying to will your body back under your control so you can go and do what needs to be done.

It’s the thought of your crew that gets you there. It centres you, clears the haze, makes you take the first step, then the second. By the time you reach the door to your cabin, your legs no longer wobble.

It’s only a few minutes after that first hit when you stumble onto the deck, but the fastest of your men are already loading the cannons, and getting themselves armed.

Minho’s there, catching your eye across the ship, softness, regret, then a deep worry in his eyes when his eyes take you in. You can only imagine the state you’re in. He doesn’t even hesitate, waves whoever is talking to him off and approaches you. You want to tear your eyes away from him, but you can’t. But the closer he gets, the clearer the concern swimming in his eyes becomes. You feel bile rise to your throat. He looks tired, too. Unfocused, upset. You want to cry. Scream. Something. But there are more important things to deal with. You swallow it all, ignore the pain and the anger, as he debriefs you.

“It’s an ambush. Han Yujun’s men. They shot straight through our storage area. Not low enough for water to get in, thank God. San and Hwa are already patching it. It seems like it was a warning because they’ve stopped now. But they’re close already, they’ll be ready to board in a few minutes, and we’re barely armed.”

You look at the ship approaching in the dusk, an ominous feeling in your gut that makes dread creep up your spine. You’re not in any condition for this fight.

“How could this happen …” you whisper.

Minho looks at you. He reaches out, but his fingertips only graze the back of your hand before he pulls it back. Like he just remembered you’re mad at him. Your head swims and you have to blink the haze from your eyes again.“They probably were in San Salvador while we

were, we just didn’t see them. And then they followed us. Trott must have been another step ahead of us.”

You curse, try to control the senseless panic in your guts. You’re so fucking angry. At everyone, at no one. At Jisung for falling for Trott’s trap and getting taken from you, at Minho for just letting it happen and treating it so casually, but mostly, and this you know, at yourself for failing to protect them and to win this goddamn fight that should’ve been, was supposed to be easy. You had it all right in front you!

“Get everyone ready as fast as possible,” you order, “and be careful, I have a bad feeling about this.”

And with that, you turn around, try to quell the nausea of dread in your stomach by helping your men lug up weapons, before you come to stand on the bow of the ship, facing Han Yujun’s ship as it inevitably comes closer.

“Captain Y/N,” someone, undoubtedly their captain, yells once the ships are only about 20 yards away from each other. “I’m giving you a chance to give up now. You’re not winning this one.”

You scoff. Their captain sends you an ugly grin that makes shivers run down your spine. You don’t let it show. Your body settles. The pain fades. You know how to do this part.

“We already have one of yours, one that Mr Han will be more than happy to be able to dispose of himself. Do you really want to lose more?”

You raise an eyebrow, and raise your middle finger into their direction, the man cackles out a cocky “suit yourself.”

And then they’re close enough to throw their gang plank, and they’re coming.

It’s chaos, your men as good at fighting as always, but still rumpled from sleep, destabilised by the loss of Jisung, by your almost public breakdown. You watch Minho sink his knife into a pirate’s neck, and you realise you haven’t slept alone in a week. Since Nassau.

Two, big, burly cronies approach you at once. A dirty move. You spring into action. But they put up too much of a fight. You manage to disarm one of them, dodge the other’s knife and then another fist, but it’s taking too long. Your muscles already start to ache, your lungs burn, your eyes have trouble focusing. You land a well-placed punch in the face of the one you managed to disarm, but it takes you just a second too long to turn around, and all of a sudden, you feel the searing pain of a knife slicing the skin of your leg. You yelp before you can stop yourself. Minho’s head shoots up towards you, and the man he’s fighting with takes the opportunity to sink his fist into Minho’s face, hitting him straight in the eye. It makes a sickening sound and there’s so much blood that your mind blanks in panic.

And then the whole scene freezes – because the ugly, smug captain of their ship stands in the middle of yours, in the middle of your men, holding a bomb in one hand and a torch in the other.

You’re frozen, your mind going a million miles a minute, running through one scenario after another, trying to figure out what to do, how to save this, to save your men, to save Minho, who’s bleeding so much, so so much, oh God. But there’s nothing you can do except … watch.

“Anybody moves, and I’m lighting this thing,” the man with the bomb yells, and your breath hitches.

You know your men won’t move if you don’t. They’re your men. But you hold up a calming hand anyway, without taking your eyes off the stranger. He looks so smug when he realises he has the upper hand. You want his head.

“Men, fall back,” he orders before he motions towards Minho and grins at you again. “But we’re taking this one with us. He has killed a few too many of our men over the years.”

You step forward before you can even think.

“Why not take me, then?” you ask, your voice shaky. “I think I’ve killed more. And loved every second of it.”

The man laughs. It’s raspy and wet and disgusting.

“Boss’ orders,” he snarls, and you nearly growl.

“Bullshit,” you hiss, “come on, coward, take me. Fucking try me.”

“Y/N."

Your name. Not your title. Minho’s voice is calm, insistent, and when you meet his eyes you know why. He’s made up his mind. “Let me go, they need you.”

You shake your head at him, the dread filling your body with a dull pain. The kraken seems to grow and grow and grow.

Their captain laughs, motions for his men to go, and they do. File over the plank one by one, laughing and cheering and making obscene gestures at your men. Chan looks like he is one second away from shooting one of them right between the eyes. When you catch his eyes and shake your head, he takes a deep breath. You catch Hyunjin’s eyes next to him, see the question in his eyes as his hand hovers over his revolver. But there’s no guarantee, even if he shoots at their captain and doesn’t miss, that the bomb and the torch falling won’t light the fuse. Or that your ship won’t catch fire. Or that one of their men will not pick them up and do it themselves. They’re too many.

So you shake your head at him, too. His eyebrows furrow, his lips curl into a scowl. It’s desperate, pleading, grows increasingly more so when two of their men drag Minho towards and over the plank. You just shake your head again, screw your lips shut. You can’t. There are too many of their lives at stake. And you know Minho knows that, too.

He goes without resistance, his head held high, still bleeding from his eye, and you hope to God they will at least patch him up.

Minho turns, resists, looks at you before he’s pushed below deck, and it’s like time slows down for a second. He stares, blinks, something in his eyes like he’s trying to tell you something, or like he’s trying to commit your face to memory. The light of the rising sun shimmers over his skin, he blinks, and then he’s out of your sight. Your whole body is trembling. You can’t even hide it. You know your whole crew can see it. So can their captain.

He grins at you. As soon as the last of his crew is off the ship, their navigator at the helm, their sails unfurling and gathering wind, he bows without breaking eye contact. Then he grins.

“Boss is waiting for you,” he says and touches the torch to the bomb.

The fuse sizzles, he drops it, makes a run for a rope his crew have thrown him and leaps onto his own ship.

On your ship, several people leap for the bomb, but Chan gets to it first, picks it up without a second’s hesitation, though the fuse is shortening alarmingly fast.

He throws his arm back and hurls it, as hard as he possibly can, at the enemy ship. But their ship is smaller, just a Brigantine, so much faster than yours could ever be, even faster than Chan could be. It has already turned, managed to manoeuvre their exposed side away from you.

The bomb flies, but it falls short. It plops into the ocean. The fuse fizzles out, and the bomb sinks out of sight within mere seconds, as if it had never been there in the first place. As if it didn’t just threaten everything you had. As if it didn’t just make you lose Minho.

There’s a dead silence as you all watch them sail away. Nobody moves. There is no hope that you could catch them. Your whole body is shivering, and you feel someone’s hand on your shoulder.

Then it echoes across the water.

A single gunshot.

Your world goes up in flames.

You manage to stumble towards the edge of the ship before your stomach turns.

Someone screams, high and loud and mad. You realise after a second that it’s you.

Then everything goes dark.

< chapter VIII - interlude >

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