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Chapter Text

The smell of salt and sun was stifling. The heat closed in around him even under the shade of the overhanging canopy. Lapping water against the hull and the clatter of rolling luggage against the deck made him internally cringe. The line was impossibly long getting onto the ship, and standing for his cruise card was going to be equally as long. Seagulls soared around the ship ready to bomb the deck with shit and he was thankful for the cover.

It was supposed to be a vacation, gifted by Hange. Seven days of being away from his office, no emails or board meetings. No casual check ins from friends. Voices laced with half-hearted concern. They all told him he deserved a break. Relax. Take time to himself away from work and for other reasons they didn't need to say.

His divorce had been hard on him. The years leading up to it, harder. Between marriage counseling and constant arguments, it was a slow erosion. Petra didn't even seem phased when he suggested the separation. That stung almost as much as any of her insults disguised as "feedback". She agreed to a fifty-fifty split without much of a fight. It seemed that had been the only thing they could agree on in the end.

The last straw was when she demanded they start a family. Like a baby would be the glue to keep them together. He wasn't against a family but he couldn't see himself with someone who only saw his flaws.

The line moved and he approached a young woman who looked suspiciously cheerful despite the heat. "You made it just in time. We're about ten minutes from departure." A woman in a light blue polo beamed at him.

As the overly cheerful attendant scanned his ticket and handed him his cruise card, they took his bags and instructed him to follow the balloons to the main bar for the opening ceremony.

As he walked, he took note of the lack of children. He half expected Hange to mess with him and send him on a family themed cruise. They seemed earnest enough with their gift but Hange always had a secret prerogative. The ship let out a loud horn signaling its departure. He looked over the edge of the deck and the ship lurched forward making him grip the railing harder to stay standing.

He watched the dock fall into the distance and followed the crowd to what he assumed was the main bar area. As he entered the glass doors, he was thankful for the cool air conditioning. The ship was nicer than he imagined. Something he expected more from a hotel in Vegas than a cruise. Marble-tiled floors freshly polished, ornate columns stood at attention down the main hall. Steel and painted walls looked clean, and chandeliers sparkled. Hange had sent him links and pictures as evidence that she was not sending him on some tin can of a ship but the main hall seemed more grand in person.

He followed the balloons to two large glass doors leveraged open. In front was a table with two cheerful women greeting people and handing out name tags. He thought for a moment that he could skip it, walk right past and find the way to his room. One of the women spotted him and waved with enthusiasm. Feeling caught, he approached.

"You're name?" She plucked a thick black marker from a cup on the table and snapped off the cap.

"Levi." She wrote his name in big black letters under the printed "Hello my name is…" on the sticker.

"Hmm. It suits you." She blew on the ink to help it dry while keeping an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. She peeled the sticker from the backing and patted it onto his shirt. Smoothing it out slowly for extra measure. Her eyes flickered up to his. "I have a good feeling you will be popular here, Levi." Her voice came out smooth, making him uneasy. "Right through the door. If you need anything, come find me." She winked.

"Okay…" He wasn't sure how to respond. When was the last time a woman showed that much interest in him? He wasn't sure. But even as she batted her eye lashes at him, a guilt settled in his stomach. He felt himself subconsciously touch a spot on his ring finger, now bare. He didn't think the feeling would ever change. 

It had been two years since they signed the paperwork. You would think that would be enough time to get over it all. Perhaps he never really did work through the issue. He buried himself in work and avoided social gatherings. Their friend group was tight, and despite ending on mutual ground he couldn't help feel disappointed every time he saw her. She seemed happier. Bubbly. Like their lives didn't implode.

It made him wonder if he really was the main cause of their troubles. That maybe if he did load the dishwasher just as she instructed they would have been okay. It was an accumulation of small issues that their therapist said all linked back to one big issue. Communication.

He was a brick wall and she would slam herself against it just for a reaction. He was never happy enough for her. Never smiled the way she expected. Even during their arguments he would remain composed while she would scream at him to fight for her. Because to her, if he wasn't losing his mind over a disagreement that meant he didn't care. She saw his calm as apathy. Confused anger with passion. He didn't blame her. He never did. But he wasn't going to pretend to be someone he wasn't. He now saw their relationship for what it was, incompatible. But it didn't make the loss any lighter.

Shuffling to the side, he moved pasted the table and entered into a large room with a bar at the far end. To the right was large windows giving a nice view to the port moving by. Along the windows were several cocktail tables dotted with people chatting. To the left was a small stage with a DJ playing music. His eyes narrowed in on the large banner hanging from the ceiling. His jaw clinched in irritation at the letters as if they personally insulted him. "Welcome Singles!!" in big bold red letters.

He blinked and ripped his sunglasses from his face like they were fooling him. Instead, he just saw the banner without the dark filter. 

His eyes scanned the crowd in panic. All adults, no obvious couples. Flirty touches in every corner. A fake laugh rang out against the murmurs and music of the room. Plastered smiles. Enough cologne and perfume to choke someone.

His mouth twitched with the fury of a thousand unspoken expletives. People moved passed him, glancing back with confusion as he stood in the doorway. Grinding his teeth, he moved to the bar. He whipped out his phone and sent a quick text to Hange before he lost service.

"If you were on this cruise, I would push you overboard. You have 72 hours to live. Just enough time for me to find the nearest life raft and row to shore to hunt you down."

The bartender approached him. "A double bourbon, no ice. Please." The bartender punched the order into a small tablet from the counter and pulled out a plastic black box from his pocket. He extended it toward Levi.

"I have a drink package." Levi eyed the box with confusion.

The man gave him a fractured smile. Possibly the first real reaction he had seen on the ship. "Then you tap your cruise pass." Levi took out the pass from his pocket. He placed on the box and a small green light flashed. "You got it."

He placed a generous tip on the counter as the man poured him the double using exact measurements. He glanced around the room again, it was like watching a mating ritual through a zoo exhibit window.

The bartender placed the glass on the bar top and swiped the tip without even a short "thanks".

His phone vibrated with a notification. He checked it to see Hange reacted to his message with a heart. He took a large gulp of his drink, internally planning to stay in his room for the seven days. The drink and food package they gave him with the ticket was not nearly enough to make up for their betrayal. Was it possible to sleep for seven days straight? He wondered how he could put himself in a self-induced comma as a man got on the stage followed by a marching row of several smiling people in the blue polos tucked into their kakis.

People began to cheer as the music from the DJ died down. "Welcome Singles!!" The man's voice boomed through the speakers. The crowd cheered again.

"I personally wanted to welcome you to this seasons Singles Cruise brought to you by Titan Tides cruises and FateBound!" He smoothed the bangs of his gelled toupee to the side. His overly white grin was blinding against his leathery tan skin.

"Seven days of fun packed activities to help you find a love match! Enjoy our delicious drinks, food, and events designed with compatibility in mind. In your cabins you will find a tablet with the FateBound app and your schedule. The FateBound app will provide you with all your compatibility matches and profiles of all the potential partners on the ship.

The man glanced back and motioned to the people standing to his side. "To help you on your love journey, we have an amazing team this year. Meet your FateBound sponsored Singles Encouragement Committee!" The crowd clapped as the group of polos shifts on their feet and waved. "They're here to help encourage you to get out there. Just as FateBound believes, 'love isn't going to find itself'. Thank you for coming aboard!"

Everyone clapped enthusiastically. Levi didn't. He started another scornful text to Hange but was interrupted by a woman sliding up next to him.

He first noticed her bright yellow tank top so tight that he thought the seams might rip. She leaned against the bar with her arms folded on the bar top. Arching her back provocatively like a cat in heat. Levi grimaced. She twisted her body to face him, leaning slightly forward to ensure he got a good look at her chest as it spills out of her low cut top.

"You look like you'd rather be anywhere else. First time on one of these cruises?" She rubbed the side of the bar top like she was trying to light a fire.

Levi searched elsewhere, any signs divine or otherwise for a way out of the conversation. "Unfortunately." He looked back down at his phone deciding it maybe his only hope for ignoring her.

"Could've fooled me. You've got that mysterious loner thing down pat." She smacked the counter making him flinch. "Very brooding. It's a good look."

Was it truly that easy to get her attention? Standing still sipping a drink at a bar. She was either bold or had low expectations. It was a low effort interaction and all he could think about was Petra. All the work he had put into gaining her attention in the beginning of their relationship. She was someone worth the effort. Even toward the end, he didn't stop trying.

He wanted to give her everything. He listened to her-- a lot, to everything he did wrong. He brought her gifts and took her on dates. It wasn't enough. He tried to meet her halfway but when he did, he did it wrong. When they would go out with friends, he would catch her eyes drifting at bars. More charismatic and outgoing men pulled her attention. 

The thought briefly crossed his mind that maybe something unattached would be okay. He eyed her up and down. His gaze landed on the small pineapple printed on the breast of her shirt. Tropical. How many men had she already hit up at this bar in a matter of an hour of being here? He looked back down at his phone, praying she clearly saw he gave an honest effort into her consideration and took the rejection well. "It's not a look. I'm just trying not to talk to anyone."

Instead of walking away, the woman laughed. "Well, mission failed." She moved in closer.

"I'll recover." He didn't look up from his phone. Searching through random apps to appear busy.

"You're awfully glued to that phone… You gotta wife at home?" She stepped even closer, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. "I really don't mind. Want to get out of here and…"

"I appreciate the offer. But I'm not looking to be convinced." He interrupted her.

The woman blinked but recovered. Giggling lightly. "Wow. Brutally honest. You don't pull any punches."

"No. But I do pull exits." He left his drink and the woman at the bar. She huffed watching him walk away. 

He continued his text:

"Hange, it doesn't matter if betrayal comes with complimentary cocktails. Because I just walked into a goddamn mating ritual and there's a sticker on my chest screaming 'single'."

He pressed send but an error popped up. He no longer had service. He scoffed and shoved his phone into his pocket. He left the bar area, walking back to the deck hoping that maybe there was some way to jump ship and swim to shore.

The horn bellowed like some ancient beast shaking off slumber. The dock barely a speck in the distance. Levi stood rigid, watching the land retreat like it was abandoning him, not the other way around. He leaned into the railing, eyes narrowing as the water churned with oily froth beneath the hull. The worst part of it all, the damn land was still visible but too far to jump.  

He resigned to finding his room so he could at least be comfortable for the next seven days of hell. Even if he somehow made it back to his apartment, he had the entire week off and couldn't show his face at the office without getting questioned. He groaned at the idea of explaining to his secretary that Hange signed him up for a Singles Cruise.

If he left, he would go home and look around the open concept living area. Pausing in the entrance like he did every day. Wondering if the empty space would ever stop feeling like the aftermath of a war zone.

The furniture would sit awkwardly in place, like it didn't know where it belonged anymore. The kitchen would hum quietly, the refrigerator still running like nothing ever happened. Even the sunlight felt like an intruder.

Their marriage ended like a truce with loneliness. And when he would see her smile and laugh without him now, it felt like she got the nicer car and he kept all their baggage. 

He found his cabin near the end of a quiet hallway, just far enough from the festivities to pretend the ship wasn’t filled with hopeful strangers playing dress-up as soulmates. The door opened with a soft beep, as if even the lock pitied him.

Inside, the room was clean. Sterile. Designed for comfort but with all the warmth of a waiting room. A fruit basket sat on the table with a card that read “Wishing you seven days of connection!” He tossed it facedown without reading the rest.

He peeled the sticker from his chest, and dropped it in the empty trash can. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the carpet like it might blink first.

This wasn’t a vacation. This was exile with decorative throw pillows.

He leaned back, arms folded behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

The room was too quiet. But at least it didn’t expect him to smile.

Chapter Text

The glass doors to the bar were already open, like they had been waiting for her. Eveline stepped through them with the kind of confidence that made conversations falter mid-sentence. Not dramatic—just… deliberately visible. Like she knew the lighting would hit her just right when she paused at the threshold. Her sundress clung in the right places, loose in the others, swaying with each calculated step like a silk flag on a windless day. She wasn't asking for the attention, but she dared it to look away.

She didn't scan the room. No. That would've implied she was looking for someone. She was there to be looked at. She made her way to the bar with ease. Someone whispered something-- probably about her legs. A man down the bar laughed too loud trying to get her attention. His gaze burned into her profile. She ignored them without breaking stride, her heels clicking out a slow countdown to the beginning of her well-deserved vacation.

She ordered a drink without glancing at the menu, she knew what they had. She leaned against the bar like it owed her a favor and smiled—small, amused, lethal—at the bartender making her drink. He glanced at her and his motions faltered for just a moment before he recovered. He gave a cheeky grin back to her, making her laugh softly. Her eyes slid down his arms, feigning interest, but she was really watching his hands—tracking every ingredient he added to the glass.

He made a show of setting the cocktail in front of her. "And to top it off." He plucked a tiny red umbrella from a container and placed it in the drink with a wink. "For the most beautiful woman on the ship." He slid the glass toward her. She glanced down at his name tag that read 'Rob'.

He pulled out the box for her to tap her cruise pass. "Tell me, do you flirt like this with all the women, or just the ones who look like they’d ruin your life in the best way?"

She watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat as she removed her pass and a large tip from her handbag. She tapped it and the green light flashed. She brushed her fingers across his open palm, removed the box from his outstretched hand to set it on the counter to replace it with the tip. "Rob, I have a feeling we're going to be very good friends on this trip. I'll see you around."

She gave him one last smile before grabbing her drink and drifting away from the bar toward the line of cocktail tables near the wall of windows. Her usual table was occupied by a taller man in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants. From behind, she let her gaze travel down his form to his gym shoes. Not exactly her type, but who was she to interfere with fate.

She approached and settled into the open spot across from him. He looked up from his phone as she gifted him a soft smile. He put away the phone with urgency. She guessed his fantasy football league was no longer interesting. Her eyes lingered only for a moment before turning to the view.

The ship eased its way through the port with the grace of something far too large to be that gentle. On the shore, hills folded into the hazy coastline like a memory already being overwritten. Sunlight glittered off the surface of the ocean, catching on every ripple like sequins on a moving dress.

The man cleared his throat—subtle, but clearly begging for her attention. Her gaze shifted toward him, catching the grin already stretched across his face.

"Careful sitting there," his tone light and easy. "People might get the wrong idea and think we're already a match."

He delivered the line like he'd been practicing it in the mirror. Like he was auditioning for the part of 'Charming Stranger #4' in a high school play. It was harmless enough.

His kind brown eyes slightly wrinkled in the corners from age, laugh lines etched into his cheeks. She was happy for him. She hoped those features were earned with a good life. She found herself hoping that was true. He reminded her of Harold—but what older man didn't. This specific cruise was designed for the age group 30 to 45. Clark had to be brushing against the upper age limit. The deep brown eyes and graying mustache could’ve been Harold twenty-odd years ago, before they’d ever met. Before he became an uncomfortable memory Eveline still hadn’t found a good shelf for.

A heaviness she associated with guilt laid in her chest. She gave him a fake airy laugh. "And would that be so bad, Clark?"

He whistled low at her rebuttal. "That's a neat trick. I didn't even see you glance at my name tag."

"Maybe I already knew your name." She teased, swirling her drink with her straw.

"Well, whatever you heard about me ain't true. Unless it’s good things, of course." He winked, his grin never faltering. His eyes traveled down to her sticker. "Clara, beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

"I think so too."

On her first cruise, she picked Clara for anonymity and it stuck. Over the last several Singles Cruises she had learned that any name can be beautiful when a man was looking for someone to warm his bed. It was such a common line that it made her think that a woman could be named 'Doormat' so long as she had tits and a hole.

"Is this your first cruise? Haven't seen you around before. I would've noticed." He took a sip of his beer. It was a simple question on the surface but it was a test of experience. To someone who had been on one or two of these cruises, they would understand the implication. Someone who didn't know what to expect might be out of their comfort zone.

"It's not my first. But I like to leave just enough mystery so men think I might be."

"I didn't think so. I can usually spot them a mile away." He picked up his beer and gestured with it toward the entrance. "Like that guy."

Her gaze shifted to a man dressed in a fitted white t-shirt and linen black shorts. An expression written on his profile like he was debating the legality of arson on international waters. He aggressively removed his sunglasses and blinked in the direction of the stage decorated with a banner and balloons. People walked around him like he was a rock sitting in the middle of a stream.

She couldn't help it when the side of her mouth twisted into a smirk. They watched him walk toward the bar, posture stiff, energy radiating 'do not talk to me'.

"New fish," the man across from her said. "Looks like he just got divorced yesterday."

She tilted her head, "Or like he's considering doing it preemptively the next time he's in a relationship."

She took a sip of her drink trying not to laugh as he pulled out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen like he was filing a formal complaint to the gods. Rob approached and he fumbled through the order.

"He looks fun. Must’ve been dragged here by a friend."

She knew he meant it to be sarcastic but he did look like her type of fun. The kind that wouldn't talk much, and definitely wouldn't fall in love after one conversation and a poorly made mojito. He had the permanent scowl of someone who thought flirting was a form of psychological warfare. That, to her, made him interesting. Someone who could compete against her in judging people for sport. He didn't come there to be liked. It made earning his attention feel like cracking a safe—thrilling and full of things she probably shouldn't touch.

The music died down, and the emcee began the welcome announcement. She half listened and mouthed along to the speech. The crowd cheered and she gave a half-hearted clap. She searched the room for the man who looked like he regretted being born. Her eyes spotted him still at the bar but he was no longer alone. Samantha, another experienced attendee, was eyeing him like prey. It seemed like her clothes got smaller and smaller every trip. His glare scanned over her body, and Eveline could swear she heard him gag from across the room.

He mumbled something and stalked away. Leaving his drink at the bar. Samantha's expression fell.

"Now that all that hoopla is over, I was wondering if you would be interested in getting a drink later. Maybe in a more private setting." Clark's offer barely registered.

Eveline smiled, warm but distant, one she designed to be soft enough not to bruise an ego. "That’s kind of you, Clark, really. But I think I’m going to see where the night takes me—with no itinerary." She raised her glass slightly, a gentle toast to ambiguity. "I have some unpacking to do before lunch. I'm sure I'll see you around."

She left her glass on the table and drifted to the deck for the view of the ocean. As the ship picked up speed, wind swept across the deck in warm, salty gusts, lifting loose hair and soft laughter into the sky. The open sea welcomed her with a deceptive calm, masking its depth beneath a polished shimmer.

It felt like crossing a line—one that divided what you brought with you and what you might become.

Chapter Text

The sun was merciless, baking the steel deck of the muster station until it radiated like a stovetop. Passengers fanned themselves with laminated safety cards. The crew had gathered everyone like reluctant livestock, herding them under a striped canopy that offered about as much shade as a napkin.

Eveline stood wedged between a man whose entire chest was a tribute to tanning oil and another who'd clearly mistaken "casual cruise attire" for "leather harness and a thong." She tried not to judge—well, she tried not to let the judgment be audible.

The cruise staffer chirped room numbers over a crackling speaker, as if she wasn't about to make fifty people practice how to survive a disaster with the energy of a mall Santa in August. They tried to make the drill interesting every year. This year the cruise staffer opened with, "Think of this as the sexiest fire drill you'll ever attend. And if you're standing next to someone interesting, well—don't let the romance sink when the ship floats."

The line landed as gently as a cat in a bathtub.

She switched her weight from one hip to the other, hand barely clasping the orange life jacket as it dangled as lifelessly as the crowd.

"8232?" The staffer called into the crowd. People stopped searching around the group for someone to answer after the third call.

She dropped her pool bag from her shoulder to the deck. It rolled to the side as if the heat was melting the fabric. After the second cruise, she knew the drill took place right after lunch. Like the crew personally had something against the guests and wanted them to keel over. So she dressed light in a bikini and a thin cover. A sun hat and sunglasses because at one point they didn't have the canopy.

"8232?"

She searched the crowd for someone interesting. Her eyes landed on Clark standing at another muster station close to her. He had been watching her. When he caught her eyes, his eyebrows shot up. Eyes widening with an almost cartoonish glee. He gave her a nod so enthusiastic it could’ve been mistaken for a minor whiplash incident.

He made her want to shrink. Slide deeper into the crowd and vanish. He didn't look exactly like Harold, but he reminded her enough. The conflicting feelings she thought she worked through in therapy surfaced like inky oil on water. Complex barely described their relationship. He was like a heavy blanket in the summer—suffocating, misplaced, and offered with good intentions that missed the mark entirely.

Seeing so much of him in Clark didn't bring her peace—his presence pressed in, making the unease more noticeable, like a song played just off-key. Or a shadow that didn't align with the placement of the sun.

Clark mouthed 'drinks later?'. She made a face like she didn't understand what he was saying.

"8232…" Another call for the missing cabin.

A couple strolled up to the crowd with the kind of oblivious ease usually reserved for the blessed or the chronically self-absorbed. They moved like they had no idea—or worse, every idea—that the entire mass of sunburned passengers had been waiting on them for ten whole minutes.

The woman giggled at something he whispered, clutching his arm, as if this were a casual beach stroll and not a government-mandated safety briefing holding up hundreds of people. Her free hand brushed through the mess of her hair, remnants of whatever activity had kept them occupied.

"8232?" The staffer asked from the front.

"Present!" The man turned to the woman, whispered something in her ear, and patted her ass as she sauntered with a swing to her hips to a different muster station.

The crowd parted for the man to approach the front and the staffer scanned his cruise card. He blended into the crowd with an ego-fueled smile. As if he had gotten off on the idea of making them all wait on him.

"8233?" No one answered. She sighed, resigning to the idea that she would be there all afternoon.

Avoiding Clark's direction, she searched the other side of the crowd. Her eyes spotted the black hair of the man she mentally compared to the reincarnation of a wet blanket. His permanent scowl now ironically suited for the situation at hand. He had placed himself front and center for the safety drill, like a dutiful student in high school. The thought crossed her mind that he might have brought a notebook and the idea made the corner of her mouth twitch slightly upward.

She weighed her options carefully, always deliberate in her approach. The risks were high if she engaged but the pay-off could be worth it. She pulled her attention momentarily to a woman approaching the group to answer the cabin call. The staffer called for the next number. She barely heard it as her gaze flitted left, to where the dark-haired man stood in that perfectly aloof way of his—shoulders squared and jaw tight.

Of course he looked good even while glaring at the laminated safety card. Of course she couldn't stop looking at him. His entire existence said "I dare you to talk to me," which unfortunately for him, was Eveline's favorite kind of invitation.

She could just… say hi. Nothing dramatic. No suggestive quips, no overly polished lines. Not like that would work on him anyway. No, she needed to approach with the precision of an expert disarming a poorly constructed pipe bomb. A polite "first cruise?" with her signature friendly smirk could do the trick. Keeping it light. Worst-case scenario? He grunted in her direction and she moved on with her dignity mostly intact. Best case scenario? She would find someone challenging enough to keep her interested.

"Alright, lovebirds and love-hopefuls," the staffer's voice crackled like static from the intercom. "Let’s talk life vests! Because whether you're falling head over heels or just overboard, it's always good to know how to stay afloat."

The staffer demonstrated how to put on the life vest over her light blue polo. Providing step-by-step instructions to the group. Pulling the straps tighter, she winced slightly but recovered with a painted smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And remember—secure your heart like your straps: snug, supportive, and ready for the ride of a lifetime!"

The group was required to test the life vests and Eveline slipped it on like a second skin. The thought crossed her mind that maybe the dark-haired man of mystery would struggle. It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to slip to his side and offer assistance. No line needed. Just a simple kindness and soft touches to get his attention. An easy ice breaker.

She searched for him in the front of the crowd and saw that he already had the life vest on. Perfectly in place, as if he had done it a thousand times. She doubted her assessment of him for a moment, perhaps he wasn't what Clark had called a 'new fish' after all. Or maybe he was competent. It wasn't as if putting on a life vest was a science.

"Now, in the unlikely event that things get a little too hot between you and your new flame, don’t panic! Just follow the glowing exit signs to your muster station, aka your emergency breakup route." She paused for a laughter that never came. "Because nothing says romance like knowing where the nearest escape hatch is!"

Eveline decided to at least take the risk of putting herself in his line of sight. Maybe he would do the work for her. Make a biting comment under his breath that would pique her deepening curiosity and it would be her opening. She moved through the human casserole of sunburned shoulders and synthetic fibers. As she moved, the plastic straps rustled like disgruntled grocery bags, and the sound of impatient shifting swelled as the crowd gently parted for her.

She stood a little to his left, leaving a comfortable space between them. She shifted slightly closer as if the crowd had guided her there. She watched ahead as the staffer continued on with her instructions.

"And if the seas—or your date—get too rough, don’t worry! Our life rafts are standing by like the ultimate emotional support rebound. Just climb in, cry it out, and float on toward better choices." She delivered the line like she was giving relationship advice and not a rundown on emergency procedures.

Glancing to her side, she saw the dark-haired man watch the staffer with annoyance. He had paid absolutely no mind to her, not even a quick look as she moved near him and bumped into his arm by 'accident.' She tried to suppress a frown. He was either blind or intentionally ignoring her.

Eveline acted a bit rash, leaning slightly toward him. Her voice low and dry as the sunbaked deck beneath them. "If I drown on this cruise, it won't be the sea that kills me—it'll be the secondhand embarrassment from this speech."

Without breaking eye contact with the staffer, he replied, "I don't want your bad comedy act while I'm focused on surviving this floating matchmaking hell."

She controlled her expression but internally she recoiled. Her thoughts scrambled in the aftermath of his gut-punching reply. She had miscalculated the worst-case scenario. The warmth of embarrassment clawed its way from her stomach to the tips of her ears.

"You don't need to make it so obvious your marriage counselor chose your wife in the divorce." The words left her mouth so quickly she was surprised by them. She was only guessing but as she glanced over she saw his jaw tighten, like she had twisted a knife. His gaze stayed forward and his lack of a reply was enough to soothe her own wounds from the interaction.

"And remember folks—when tensions rise, just pull the straps, puff out your vest, and let the waves carry you somewhere more peaceful. That concludes our muster drill! Enjoy the rest of your day!"

Eveline took off the life vest and she let the sweet ocean air fill her lungs without the vest compressing against her chest. The dark-haired man had disappeared with the crowd. Hopefully to sulk somewhere and lick his wounds. She adjusted the straps of her pool bag on her shoulder and walked toward the pool.

Sunlight bounced off the teak wood and chrome railings, but she barely registered the glare. A breeze tousled her brown curly hair, but damn it felt as fake as the smiles plastered on every couple fishing-for-flings lounging poolside. She dropped her pool bag next to her preferred padded lounge chair. Hot sun rubbed against her shoulders but she felt cold.

Laying back in the chair, she flagged a waiter for a drink, and pulled out a novel she had been promising herself to read when she had time. "The Dragon King’s Accidental Fiancée" seemed promising on the bookstore shelf. Flicking to the first page of the first chapter, she read. Or at least attempted to. The words seemed to have lost themselves between the page and her eyes as her mind kept anchored into the short bitter interaction at the muster drill.

It must have been a ridiculous sight, two grown adults slinging whispered insults in neon orange plastic vests.

She flipped another page, eyes scanning words she didn't absorb. The sun glared off the glossy pages, but it wasn't the heat that made her jaw clench. It was him. That rude, razor-tongued man. He wasn't even charming. Just… honest. Brutally so, like he could see her despite never even looking her way.

Her book sagged against her thigh as she stared at the pool—at all the eager, open faces trying to make themselves into something lovable. Maybe that's what annoyed her most about him. He didn't seem to care if he was lovable. He didn't try.

She told herself she wouldn't think about him again.

Then she turned another page.

And thought of him again.

Chapter Text

Levi sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the pristine wall across from him like it had personally ruined his life. His sneakers were on but untied—half a commitment, which was more than he was willing to give at the moment.

The thought briefly crossed his mind that he could just starve. He had access to fresh water. He’d learned from a random survival documentary that people could live up to three weeks without food, and he only had to last a third of that. The cabin tablet lay face down on the bed next to him. He had already checked it for room service options. As disgusting as he thought eating in his room might be, it was a better option than navigating his way through a social jungle.

Unfortunately for him, the ship didn't offer cabin service, and he was starving after only eating half of his dinner the night before. Levi loved to eat good food and was surprised by the quality of the meal at dinner, but constantly being eye-fucked from all corners of the restaurant spoiled it. He couldn't take a single bite without someone sidling up to the table, offering coy smiles and tragic flirtation attempts like it was speed dating in a food court.

One woman complimented his "intense eyes." Another asked if he was a widower, like it was a kink of hers. And then there was the man—shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest—who winked at him like they shared a secret Levi never agreed to.

He checked the time. Then checked it again thirty seconds later, as if the passage of time would suddenly become less offensive if he squinted at it harder. He was hungry and irritated, and he could only manage one of those intense feelings at a time. He was a man of routine, and he was well past his normal breakfast.

There was a gentle knock on his door. Grumbling, he bent down to tie his shoes before answering. A maid stood at his door with a cart full of cleaning supplies.

"Oh… I'm so sorry to disturb you." She looked away from his glare. "Normally people are out of their rooms or have a 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging from their doors by this time."

"It's fine. I was leaving."

She muttered a thank you before slipping past him. If he wasn't in such a mood, he might have felt bad. It must be a disgusting job cleaning up after people who spent their night doing who-knows-what in their rooms. As he passed people on the way to the restaurant, it became abundantly clear what people were doing. Women and men were slipping out of rooms in last night's wrinkled clothes, leaving with intense makeout sessions in the doorway before parting.

Women swayed as if still half-drunk, wobbling in heels they'd long since stopped pretending were comfortable. He was particularly surprised when a group left a room, but he tried not to think too much about it. It wasn't just a walk of shame—it was a slow limp of poor decisions and post-coital regret. The hallway stank of too much body spray and too little shame.

He passed a man wearing swim trunks and a towel toga, grinning like he'd just solved world peace but had probably just found a third person to "complete the experience." A woman trailed behind him, mascara smudged and mouth set in the tight-lipped smile of someone realizing tequila isn't a personality.

Someone muttered "walk of fame" like it was a joke, but Levi thought "parade of shame" was more accurate. He avoided eye contact like it was contagious and wondered if anyone on this floating singles prison ever made it to breakfast without swapping fluids first.

"Fuck." He cursed under his breath when he saw the line leading up to the host's stand.

"If you're so hungry, I got something for you to eat." A woman in a zebra-print dress cat-called him and winked as she walked past. He mentally told her to fuck off while the line moved.

"I just want a single table. To eat alone," Levi asked, in the nicest way possible for his mood. The host frowned, looking down at their tablet.

"I'm sorry, sir. A single table will be a moment, or you can enjoy yourself at one of our communal tables."

He wanted to say, So I get to pick between starving or sitting elbow-to-elbow with horny strangers reenacting high school? Fucking perfect. But instead, he settled for a muttered, "I'll wait."

He slumped into a chair off to the side, as far away from people as he could. The smell of breakfast wafting through the air made his stomach growl. A woman with orangish-red hair walked by him while giggling with a friend. Suddenly, it wasn't just his stomach that was empty.

If he could be anywhere else right now, he would be back in his own kitchen, making Petra eggs and toast just the way she liked them. Sunny-side up and toast as black as his hair. He used to pick on her at the dining room table about how the kitchen would smell like burnt toast for a week, and she would smile into her coffee—half whole milk, mostly sugar, and a splash of actual coffee.

"Sir, your table is ready." The host motioned for him to follow.

Levi was seated by the windows, giving a nice view of the ocean. He laid down the book he had been carrying around on the table and thumbed the corner of it, teasing the idea that it might actually help keep people at bay.

The gentle rise and fall of the waves reminded him of breathing, something he hadn't done properly in years—not since everything with Petra had started to unravel. The ocean didn't judge him. It didn't ask him to open up, or smile more, or please. It moved, indifferent and vast. He could respect that.

He glanced away from the window, scanning the dining room like a sniper eyeing enemy territory. Couples tangled in each other like they'd just invented touching. Strangers laughing too loud at jokes that probably didn't have punchlines.

A man was feeding his 'girlfriend' a bite of pancake with such theatrical affection Levi wanted to file a noise complaint.

Everyone looked either freshly laid or desperately hopeful. It was nauseating. The worst part? Every single person in the room seemed to be trying—trying to flirt, trying to mingle, trying to ignore the crushing reality that they had willingly paid to be part of a corporate courtship experiment in international waters.

The waiter approached for his order, and as he walked away, Levi's eyes landed on the host, pointing him out to two women. One of them held a tablet and wore the light blue polo he had learned to associate with irritation.

The other woman could only be compared to a ferret in a cardigan and thick-framed glasses. She was an odd sight among the half-dressed crowd in the dining room. The staffer walked confidently toward him with the ferret woman in tow, shuffling across the carpet and picking at her nails.

"Good morning, Levi!" the woman in the light blue polo chirped. "I'm Mary. I'm sure you remember me from the welcome ceremony." He didn't. As far as he was aware, they were all clones—fake smiles, tanned skin, and hair pulled out of their face with either a ponytail or too much gel.

"Well, anyway," she continued, as his eyes shifted to the ferret woman standing a few feet behind her, "I'm part of what I personally call 'the love committee,' but you know it as the Singles Encouragement Committee." She paused, as if waiting for him to give some reaction.

"Okay?"

"I have made it my personal goal to find you a match, considering you're our most difficult case."

"I don't get it. Is there a problem?"

"I'm here to remind you that you're lovable and you have the potential to find your match. You just aren't leveraging all the opportunities we offer."

"Is this some type of sales pitch?"

Mary snorted with laughter. "That's so silly. Your profile said you were funny." She wagged a finger at him like he was caught red-handed. "No. We just noticed that you're struggling with socializing. Mingling. You even missed karaoke last night! Everyone loves karaoke!" Levi didn’t love karaoke. He also didn’t love this conversation. She made it sound like he was some loner standing in a corner wearing a questionable trench coat.

"I'm socializing. I'm here, eating breakfast. You're talking to me right now despite it being unpleasant. If anything, it's weird that you've been watching me."

"In my defense, you're kinda hard to miss. All of us have noticed your struggles, and we want to help. Which is why we pulled one of your matches and came to introduce her to you. Now you can have a companion for breakfast." Mary stepped to the side and waved the woman forward.

"Alyssa, this is Levi. Levi, this is Alyssa. I'm sure you will enjoy a wonderful breakfast together. I'll see you both around." The eye contact Mary gave to Levi came off more as a warning than a simple goodbye.

Alyssa sat down across from him, continuing to pick at her nails. The silence was heavy and awkward, like a wet sock clinging to an ankle.

Levi's eyes flicked to Alyssa's hands—her thumbnail scraping under her other nail with such intent, it was like she was mining for emotional stability under her cuticle. The rhythmic pick-pick of nail on nail grated on him. He tried to look away, but once you witness a grown woman treating her hand like a chew toy, it's hard to unsee.

It was the kind of moment where even the condensation on the water glasses seemed to be inching away in discomfort. She didn't seem to notice the tension, lost in her ritual. Her mouth puckered slightly, like she was chewing over a thought that never made it to speech. He stared blankly, not even bothering to mask the internal scream playing on loop in his skull.

"So…" she muttered at the table. "What do you like to do for fun?"

The question hung in the air like a smoke alarm he couldn't shut off.

Fun.

What the hell was fun? Did people really still have that? Was he supposed to say “crochet” or “jet skis”? He couldn’t remember the last time he did something that wasn’t out of obligation, caffeine, or spite. Was judging people a hobby?

He thought about replying, "I watch my houseplants die slowly and call it character development."

Or, the more honest answer: "I sit in silence and resent my past choices."

Instead, he glanced down at the book on the table. "Reading. I like… reading."

He didn’t actually like reading. It was something he tolerated. She nodded as if she understood.

He knew this was the part where he asked her what she liked, but it felt like a trap. Like someone who listens just so they can reply.

He opted for silence, looking out the window because pretending to read felt too rude. She was sat there and forced into this just as he was, but maybe she’d personally signed herself up for the cruise and honestly was searching for companionship. Part of him felt bad that she was wasting her time at his table when he had nothing he wanted to offer her.

He heard her shift in her seat and hoped she was getting up to leave. Instead, she was fishing something from the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out a tiny wooden bench—complete with two thumb-sized figurines glued delicately in place.

Then came a miniature lamppost.

Then a shrub.

A teacup.

A mouse holding a violin.

Levi watched as the corner of the breakfast table transformed into a bizarre café. She hummed softly as she set each piece down with sacred reverence, adjusting the posture of a tiny man in a bowler hat like she was directing a stage play only she could see.

"You… carry those with you?" Levi asked, voice low, the words barely escaping his throat like they were embarrassed to be part of this.

"Oh yes," Alyssa said, beaming. “These are my travel companions. I can’t go anywhere without them. They keep me grounded.”

Levi didn’t respond. He was too busy calculating how many wrong turns in life it takes to wind up across from a woman who carries miniatures around like emotional support animals.

The waiter came over to get her breakfast order, and she waved him off with a slight glare, as if he was interrupting the scene she was playing out in her own head.

She began talking in great detail about the people’s backstories. How she hand-painted each one. She rambled on about how she joined a miniatures club once, which was managed by an older woman she compared to Satan for using polymer clay. She scathingly spoke about how that woman accused her of purchasing miniatures on Etsy.

Levi’s food came when she began diving into her declaration that 3D printing was "killing the art." He took two bites of his eggs, and Alyssa went silent. He slowly looked up at her, catching her staring at his breakfast.

He briefly wondered if she was offended by bacon before she asked, “Can I have a bite?”

He chewed slowly—both his breakfast and over her question. He swallowed and answered, “I’m not into sharing.”

Alyssa pouted, looked around the room for a second, then excused herself to find a waiter and place an order. Levi took the opportunity to shovel as much food into his mouth as possible before sneaking out without her noticing.

He couldn’t help but wonder: If this was FateBound’s idea of his perfect match, then the app was either broken… or he was.

And if it wasn’t broken?

What exactly did that say about him—or, more importantly, what the hell did Hange put in his questionnaire and profile?

His plan to go back to his room backfired when he saw Mary hanging out near his cabin. Instead of turning down the hall to approach her, he kept walking straight. He thought that maybe if he walked long enough, he would walk into the ocean and end the nonsense.

He came upon a deck with a few padded lounge chairs, but it seemed mostly empty except for a woman sunbathing. Her curly light brown hair rolled over her shoulders from under a floppy sun hat.

She seemed comfortable, lying back slightly in a two-piece bathing suit with a book leaned against her bent knee. He sat down near her on a lounge chair, mindful to keep one chair between them, and peeked at the novel she was reading.

The Dragon King's Accidental Fiancée —the front cover showed a woman in knight’s armor, sword in hand, facing the head of a dragon. He rolled his eyes at the odd fantasy novel and laid back to read his own book.

It was comfortable for a moment before he noticed her staring out of the corner of his eye. She shifted like she was uncomfortable, looking back between her book and subtle glances toward him. He heard her book close sharply and saw her drop it to the end of the lounge chair. He tilted his head slightly to get a better view of her sitting up and biting her lip, as if she was arguing with herself.

She gave him a slight glare over the rim of her sunglasses as she packed up her stuff into a pool bag and left, her feet padding against the wooden deck with frustration.

Levi blinked at the now-empty lounger, the imprint of her body still warming the vinyl like she might snap back at any moment to yell at him. But no—all she left was a whiff of coconut sunscreen. He looked around, baffled. He hadn’t even spoken to her. Not a word. He didn’t even sigh in her direction.

He wondered if maybe the committee clones weren’t the only ones who had been noticing his antisocial behavior. Was he really the weird guy in the trench coat? Maybe he’d rejected one of her friends?

“What the hell did I do?” he muttered, staring after her retreating form like she’d just flipped him off.

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