Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cold.

When Seonghwa came to, the first thing he felt was cold. Cold wood against his knees, cold air biting at his skin. It took him mere seconds to comprehend where he was, his mind travelling back to the unfolding events of the night before. He was on the deck of the Precious. He was kneeling. Why was he kneeling?

What gnawed at him even more, was his wrists bound by chains. The feeling of dread found its way to his guts. 

Then, he noticed them. A circle of boots around him, surrounding him. 

When he was taken as a slave years prior, he didn’t account for being counted as one of the crew members of the said ship. Not that he gave a single fuck about any of them. 

Their cold eyes stared down at him. Gazing right into his soul. Judging. 

Now how he managed to get himself into this pile of shit is a long story. His life was just as boring and senseless before he left Tortuga. Leaving is a euphemism; He’d once waited tables in a tavern tucked inside Tortuga’s chaotic heart before his fate took a turn for the worse. 

Despite having a vibrant and colorful market brimming with Persian rugs and Indian spices, the underbelly of Tortuga was claimed by criminals and pirates. He knew better than to engage with them in any shape or form. He wasn’t looking for trouble. Or so he told himself right before his eyes found him.

Tortuga wasn’t your typical island, No one was born there; they were simply washed ashore. You didn’t survive in Tortuga by being good; you survived by being useful, or invisible. And he knew better to draw attention to himself, Every corner had a price. Every smile had a threat behind it. And under all that noise, under the music, the laughter, the steel drawn in drunken challenge, there was rot. A deep, wet rot that no amount of incense or prayer could cover. 

Seonghwa has always been careful, but even the most cautious men make the mistake of looking a little too long at something untouchable, something they know they shouldn't touch.  A forbidden fruit, if you will, but you only had one life to spare

It was a regular night at the tavern. He was on duty for the bar or whatever alcoholic beverages were available for the criminals or the pirates docking at the port to abuse. Neither did he engage with any of them nor did he have any desire to do so. He knew what the consequences were of getting on a pirate’s bad side… or their good side. There wasn’t much of a difference between the two.

The atmosphere was always tense on nights like this. When a crew or two docked at the port.

It meant chaos and the possibility of hell breaking loose; so, if you were in your right mind, you’d make sure to stay off their radars as much as possible. 

Unfortunately for him though, one of the crews that were docking that night was the crew of Precious. 

They were disreputable for their cruelty and meticulousness, leaving no trace behind. Any shipwrecked was burned right after. Anybody daring enough to mess with them, disappeared as if they never even walked this earth to begin with. People knew better to get on their bad side. 

They weren’t your typical pirate crew either. The bunch was young, too young according to some local gossipers while having one of the biggest ships in the seven seas. An enormous beast, the sea bent to her, currents shifted, winds stalled, as if afraid to resist her course. Enormous yet mystique in nature, dressed in obsidian and sapphire. 

The figurehead was the first thing Seonghwa saw as the ship emerged from the mist; a siren with its tail in blue ivy, hair frozen in a windless swirl, arms outstretched toward the sea like she was calling it home. It was both a warning and a promise.

To say that Seonghwa was mesmerized was an understatement—he was enamored by her. She felt like a predator, ominous, lurking around waiting for its prey. 

What got Seonghwa completely hooked though, was the captain of Precious.

And well of course a ship like that had a captain just as mighty.

The Nefarious pirate king. The echoes of his fame had traversed every one of the seven seas. 

The first impression he got from the man was… unsettling, to say the least. His smile never quite reached his eyes. 

With one eye lost in battle, dark, long braids adorned with rings and rubies, he simply looked majestic. 

What caught Seonghwa’s attention when he first laid his eyes on the man was his sharp features. He had a pointed nose and a diamond-shaped jaw. Even his clothing was sleek and clean, almost too clean for a pirate. 

Everything about him unsettled Seonghwa, he was too still, too calm, and too commanding in presence just like his ship. He looked deadly.

Not to mention he was right up Seonghwa’s alley. With that low, smooth glide of his body and that goddamn sinful smirk, he was a predator through and through, making the matters worse. 

He knew that if he wanted to live, he had to stop thinking with his dick for a hot second, but a little peeking wouldn’t hurt anybody, right?

Turns out, curiosity killed the cat. That night, the island was on its toes with the Precious docked. Whispers of gossip floated through the air, people eager to take a look at one of the most wicked crews ruling the oceans.

Seonghwa wasn’t any different. Even though he noticed the massive beast docked at the port, he didn’t have the opportunity to observe its crew.

 It wasn’t until hours later, with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation surrounding him, that he finally met the man at the tavern.

Sweat, smoke, rum, and sex thickened the air until it clung to Seonghwa’s skin like a second layer. There were sounds of laughter, grunts and even shouting coming from every corner of the tavern. Typical Tortuga, typical Hell. 

He didn’t flinch when a fight broke out. He didn’t bat an eye when a chair shattered over someone’s back. He just kept pouring. Kept wiping down the counter with the same dirty rag, like he hadn’t memorized the look of every dagger in the room.

It was too hot. He felt his skin dripping with sweat. The smell of rotten fish burned his nose.

 He felt agitated.

All of this was, until they walked in. There was no grand opening, none whatsoever. 

As if they came lurking in, not wanting to be recognized. The only tell-tale sign of their entry was how the air changed weight. 

The sounds became whispers, the shouts and yells subsided, it was a subtle shift in the atmosphere; blink, and you could have missed it, but Seonghwa knew better.

He didn’t look right away, too scared to even breathe too loudly; yet, the silence and rumors of the despicable crew left him no choice. He risked a quick look. His eyes flicked over, just for a second.

That’s when he wished he hadn’t. The man who entered was simply…otherworldly.

Serpentine…with the most gorgeous eyes and pearl-white teeth. With his build wrapped in black and boots, he looked like Seonghwa’s wet dream. Unnecessary if you ask him. 

He was just eager to catch a glimpse, a quick look to satisfy his curiosity, but as fate would have it, his gaze lingered longer than intended. It was a little too late when the captain’s head turned to him, their eyes meeting. He noticed Seonghwa. 

Before he could comprehend what was happening, he fumbled a bottle, his hands shaking as if suddenly caught on fire. He cursed himself for being so sloppy. 

He fought the urge to glance over once more, his gaze locked on his hands. He assured himself it was just his imagination running wild. Surely, the Pirate King couldn’t have possibly cast a glance in his direction. 

Yet, the doubt lingered, teasing the edges of his thoughts, daring him to break his focus and confirm his fears.

He poured drink after drink, moving through the motions on muscle memory alone, Unaware that the man hadn’t looked away.

Hadn’t blinked.

Seonghwa was still spiraling when a figure stepped up to the counter.

He didn’t lift his head. Not until he heard the voice.

“Well, well. Look what we have here. Ye in charge of drinks, Sugar?”

The smooth, nasal voice settled in his brain. As if his brain knew something his eyes hadn’t seen yet, he jerked his head up and felt like he was punched in the gut. It was he, the pirate king. He was even more regal up close, smelling of clean leather and salted wind, he smelled like the sea. 

A low chuckle threw him off his balance, returning him from his cloud-cuckoo land. He tried to find his voice, mortified to realize he was practically drooling. 

Before he could respond, the man knocked him off his feet once again.

“Cat got your tongue, Love?”

Every effort he had made to find his voice was lost on him. A flustered mess, he tried answering the paying customer.

“Uh, Hello-“. Hello? Great, now he is not only a blushing mess, but he also looks like a complete imbecile. 

Clearing his throat, he tried once again, trying to ignore the subtle smirk forming on the other man’s face. 

“Welcome, Sir. What can I get you?”

The captain was looking at him with an amused look on his face, the smirk fully forming on his face now. He seemed like he was enjoying himself a little too much. 

“I’d fancy me a brandy. Pour me crew some o’ that fire water, why won’t ye?”

Enchanted, Seonghwa couldn't even bring himself to utter a single word, knowing if he did, he would make an absolute fool of himself.

He began to do what he was told instead, trying with every ounce of his being not to let his hands shake as much as they did. The man though, was on a mission to make him talk.

”Blimey, riddle me this while you are at it, Sugar. What business does a treasure like you have in a gutter like this?” the captain almost purred lazily. 

Seonghwa, stunned yet becoming very conscious of his circumstances, muttered what he could gather, trying to be as unreadable as possible, or so he tried.

“Nobody is born in Tortuga, people end up washed up here, as a pirate I’d wager you already know that, Captain.”

His words turned out sharper than he had intended.

He cursed himself once again, a wave of anxiety washing over him as he recalled the dire consequences of crossing a pirate, the king of the seven seas, no less. 

This situation could spiral out of control in an instant, leaving him with a blade pressed against his throat, one of those wicked daggers that his crew wielded like mere fashion accessories. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

“Oh my, you've got some tongue on ye, aye. Careful with that, Sugar. Too pretty to ruin, but not enough to stop me.”

Seonghwa felt his hands turning cold at that. That was a warning. Deciding the best course of action was to stay silent; he kept quiet. The man chuckled again, sparing him this time.

When he was done pouring the drinks, he carefully placed them on the counter. Another crewmate stood behind the captain; taller, with pixie-colored hair and a gaze like drawn steel.                              “ It was nice chatting with ye, sugar. Always refreshing to see a fine bit o’ treasure in a place that eats gold and spits out bones.” 

Seonghwa stood there, completely taken aback, words escaping him as he struggled to find his voice. His gaze was glued to the figure ahead, watching intently as they walked away with their drinks. Not a single glance back. 

Overwhelmed by whatever that was, he made an effort to keep his composure for the rest of the night, attempting not to look too shaken yet failing miserably. 

The night seemed to drag on endlessly, far too long for his liking. He felt unbalanced, unsettled. Something inside him began to itch, his eyes darting over to the crew of Precious; He couldn’t shake the sense that something was amiss, an invisible tension hanging in the air, thick enough to make it hard to breathe.

In this notion of internal crisis, he let himself slip, pouring someone’s drink on the counter a drop or two. 

Nothing that has never happened before; however, the universe did not seem to favor him today. 

“You ain’t worth the rum you just wasted, Bitch. Even a gutter rat knows not to waste grog.”

The man shouted with all his might, making him flinch. 

Then again, it was his fault for being so reckless. The anxiety churned in his stomach, adding to the palpable tension he felt under his skin.

The hag too didn't seem like he would let him off the hook that easily, getting off of humiliating someone half his size. 

“Aw, did the pretty little whore forget how to hold a cup? Or just too used to holdin’ other things, aye.”

He heard some of them laughing around the tavern’s corners. 

Suppressing his urge to break down, he muttered 

“I apologize, I-“

“Shut it” the guy growled. “Ye’ll pay for it, one way or the other.”

As he lunged forward, reaching for Seonghwa’s hand, time seemed to stand still. Just as he was about to make contact, another voice broke through the tension, freezing the pirate in his tracks. “That bark o’ yours don’t match the bite, Pup. Try someone more yer size”

Seonghwa turned his head towards where the voice came from. It was one of the members of Precious. He had long hair wrapped in a coal black bandanna, his features cat-like, as if ready to scratch your eye out in a heartbeat.

The man arched an eyebrow at that, clearly challenged. “Since when a crew like The mighty crew of Precious rescue damsels in distress, aye? I thought ye liked to Stick to yer little games. Cats and mice suit you better”

Seonghwa could feel the edges of his vision fading, panic surging with him. This wasn't turning out too good for him. He could only pray he would make it out alive.

“Feelin’ full of yerself, are ye? At least we don’t go pickin’ on lads half our size.” Another crewmate, whose voice was deep and honeyed, hissed at him, glaring. 

If looks could kill, the man would be six feet under the sea by now.

“Let him be. or you’ll be tastin’ the floorboards, mate. I promise ye that.” The captain snarled, expression unreadable.

The pirate grunted, whispering “ we ain’t finished yet, whore”,  before backing off.

He stared at the crew in a daze, unable to comprehend what had happened. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Feeling overstimulated, he decided he had drawn enough attention from criminals for one night. He called over another waiter to fill him in before disappearing into the back of the tavern. 

Behind the counter, there was a narrow, crooked door half-hidden by a moth-eaten curtain. It led to a cramped back room that smelled of old rum and wet wood.

Convinced he was hidden from view, he dropped to his knees, breaths coming ragged and shallow, his long, pitch-black hair framing his forehead. He remained there for what felt like an hour, struggling to regain his composure.

There was nobody in the room. The floorboards groaned underfoot, warped and slick from decades of spilled drink and spit. Barrels were stacked haphazardly in the corners, some leaking, some dust-covered one or two hiding daggers instead of liquor. A low-hanging lamp swung from the ceiling, its oil flame casting long shadows that danced like ghosts on the wall.

At the far end of the room sat a rusted iron door. Beyond it was the alley; narrow, damp, and choked with fog. 

It was well into midnight, and the streets of Turtuga became the stomping ground of criminals at the dead of the night. 

Despite having been on the verge of death literally two minutes ago, he decided he needed fresh air, finding the confines of his compact room suffocating.

He opened the iron door, and the moist air and drizzly fog refreshed his face and lungs. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. The moonlight subtly illuminated the alleyway, but it wasn’t enough for him to see clearly.

His newfound sense of peace shattered in an instant. 

Barely awake, he felt a hand clamping over his mouth, a strong body pressing against him from behind, rendering him helpless. 

Panic surged through him as he struggled, instinctively pushing forward, desperate to escape the suffocating grip. His screams were swallowed in silence, tears brimming in his eyes as he fought to pry the hands away, but it was as if they were glued to his face. The weight of fear bore down on him, each moment stretching into what felt like an eternity.

He heard a familiar but nasty laughter sending shivers down his spine. He knew who it was. The same pirate from before, looking at him with the most sinister look in his eyes.

“Told ye we ain't done yet, Bitch. A waste yer saviors ain't here to protect ye. Now time to pay for me rum ye wasted o’ there.”

The man stomped forward, gripping his arms tightly, causing pain to radiate as if he could feel bruises forming from the pressure. He tried to pull away, but the dread and fear of what was about to happen intensified with each passing moment. He felt helpless and horrified by the implications behind the man’s words.

The man pushed him against the wall, putting one hand on his mouth and another on his neck. He could feel his consciousness failing him, his breaths shallowing. 

He was becoming weaker by the second, adrenaline slowing him down, hopelessness settling like a dark pit in his gut, and dread washing over him as he felt the cold stones behind the thin fabrics of his clothes. He was truly done for this time.

Just as he teetered on the edge of surrendering to his tormenting fate, a voice cut through the silence, a low, menacing whisper that made his stomach drop.

“So ye decided not to take me warning seriously, aye?”

Chapter Text

“So ye decided not to take me warning seriously, aye?”

The captain rasped, as he materialized like a ghost, a familiar silhouette of people emerging from the fog beside him. Seonghwa blinked rapidly, his vision still blurred with tears; hope, tentative and trembling, started to wash over him.

“This ain't any of yer concern, captain. Best not stick your nose where it don’t belong. He’s mine to deal with.” The pirate's voice erupted in a desperate bark, his hands instinctively tightening around his throat as panic surged within him. Gasping for air, he fought against the tightening grip, realising he was on the brink of suffocation.

“Afraid it is now, mate. Can’t have scum like us creepin’ through alleys, layin’ hands on innocents. Ain’t exactly civil, is it?” the captain grinned dangerously, his voice dripping venom.

“Civil, aye? Since when does the Pirate King give a damn about the innocent? Or d’you fancy this lil’ bitch, is that it?”

The pirate bit back, trying to stand his ground. 

The Captain, clearly bored with the whole theatrics, rolled his eyes. “Ye should’ve known better than to touch somethin’ that ain't yers. I'm afraid ye’ve left me no choice.” He flicked his wrist, lazy and lethal.

 ”Get 'em boys.”

The pirate didn’t even have time to blink.

The first blow came from a blur of movement, a lean figure with sharp eyes and a grin too wide, teeth flashing like a wolf’s in the dark. His coat flared behind him as he slammed a fist into the man’s jaw, sending blood spraying against the stone wall. The grip on Seonghwa’s throat disappeared in an instant.

“Should’ve kept that rotten mouth shut,” the grinning one muttered.

The man staggered back, but he didn’t get far; another figure was already there, the same man with pixie hair, giving his face more edge under the moonlight. He moved like a hammer, knocking the attacker’s weapon clean from his hand with the blunt end of his pistol, then swept a powerful kick into his chest that sent him crashing into a stack of crates.

The pirate scrambled, bloodied and wild-eyed, until a third crewman emerged, quieter than the others, with storm-grey eyes and sleeves rolled to the elbows. His knuckles cracked once, loud in the still alley, and one clean punch sent the bastard’s head whipping sideways. He didn’t get up.

“Captain said finish it,” the quiet one murmured, dusting his hands off like it was nothing.

Seonghwa gasped, still trembling, slumping to his knees. His vision swam, but through it, he saw someone crouch beside him. It was the man with the black bandanna and cat-like features, his expression playful, eyes tilted, and two daggers strapped to each thigh, one of them twirling idly between gloved fingers.

“Still breathing, sweetheart?” he teased, voice light but gaze razor-sharp. “Would’ve been a shame if we were a minute late.”

Then came the arms that lifted him, steady and warm, he was wrapped in the smell of cloves and clean smoke, pressed against a wide chest, the gentlest of the lot.

Beyond the haze, Seonghwa saw a silhouette break from the fog, a long dark coat, braids that glinted red with rubies, a gold hoop in one ear catching the moonlight.

“Drop him in the sea.” His voice broke through the fog like a knife. Senghowa took a glance at him through his lashes. The adrenaline and panic resigned from his system, leaving him exhausted.

He struggled to find the right words, feeling overwhelmed by the number of eyes fixed on him. He wanted to express his gratitude. Out of all the people in a place like Tortuga, he never expected that pirates would become his saviours. It was ironic, if you asked him.

“Thank you, Captain. I, uh-“ his voice trembling, he felt a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know what awaited him if the pirates hadn’t saved him. 

“Don’t go wanderin’ into alleys without tellin’ someone next time, sugar,” Hongjoong murmured, voice low.

“Tortuga could’ve lost somethin’ precious.”

Seonghwa felt a storm of emotions swirling within him, a mix of unease and fluster that made it hard to focus. He stood there, his heart racing, highly aware that the moment he spoke, the dam would break and tears would spill over. 

The weight of silence hung heavy in the air as he struggled to find his voice. 

He glanced at the crew, attempting to get a clearer look at the bunch. 

The first thing he realised was how young they appeared. They were likely his age, and the moonlight on their faces made them look almost boyish.

Before he could utter anything, the same man who got him on his feet smiled at him. 

“If you were ever in need of aid, you can always find us at the port on Precious.”

Seonghwa realised that they didn't use the same pirate slang as their Captain. 

“It would always be refreshing to see a gorgeous face like yours.” The man in the black bandanna teased with a flirtatious tone. And Seonghwa found himself blushing. The resemblance between the captain and his crew was quite uncanny. 

“You’ll always have my gratitude for your kindness,” Seonghwa murmured genuinely, which made the crew bark chuckles at him. 

“You heard that, Cap’? He said we’re kind.”

The man turned, flashing a toothy grin. A dimple peeked through as his eyes crinkled into amused crescents.

Seonghwa couldn’t help but blink in disbelief. Were pirates always this… adorable?

The captain snorted, his eyes softening as his eyes found Seonghwa.

“Enough of that. We've got to set sail before dawn.”

The crew, almost automatically, started exiting the alleyway. Seonghwa could hear them saying sentences like “ see you around, pretty” and “ till next time, hun” here and there. He could only blush, his neck and cheeks turning a bright red. 

Captain’s eyes stayed on him, not wavering once. It was only the two of them left in the alleyway and Seonghwa couldn't help but bask in how beautiful the man looked. 

It was unheard of for a pirate to look this regal but alas, Seonghwa could see why that was. The pirate king never got his hands dirty. The smell of clean leather and salt was even more intense up close. He looked like the sea.

A smooth voice woke him from his daydream, forcing him back to reality. 

“Ye never told me yer name, sugar.”

Seonghwa swallowed. He didn’t go by his real name in Turtoga, knowing the risk of using his name out in the open like that. 

He didn’t know why, but he was inclined to tell the man his true name, concluding it was the least he could do in exchange. 

“It’s Seonghwa, Captain. I’m forever in your debt.”

He bowed, the meaning behind his words genuine. 

The man hummed, as if tasting his words in his mouth. “ Seonghwa like the stars in the sky, how fitting.”

The man was dead set on throwing him off his feet tonight. Before he could respond, the man beat him to it. “I’m HongJoong. It’s only fair if I told ye me name too.” He almost purred, smirking playfully. 

“Until the seas bring us together then, Seonghwa.”

He turned his back before Seonghwa could register any of his words, not looking back once.

When he went back to the port the next morning, the Precious was gone.

˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The port became his favourite place to unwind from then on. He convinced himself that it was due to his newfound curiosity and fascination with the ocean.

The waves swirled toward the shore, with saltwater gently brushing against his face. The sunset cast a warm glow over the sea, painting the water in hues of orange and pink, while seagulls called out to the sea like lovers beckoning each other home.

But as time passed, he found himself gazing a little too long at the horizon, where the sky met the sea, searching for a giant blue beast..

Deep down, he couldn't shake the unsettling truth that every moment since that fateful night was slipping away, wasted, while Seonghwa remained on land. A powerful, nameless longing tugged at his heart, an irresistible force he struggled to understand.

Each day that passed only deepened his yearning, spiralling him into a restless countdown of what could have been, leaving him desperate for the days that felt just out of reach.Waiting for a sign, a flag, a news. 

But nothing came. Precious never docked at the port of Tortuga, at least not for the next year. Even if it did afterwards, Seonghwa wasn't there to witness it.

˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The tavern was quiet for once. No drunk sailors howling over spilt beer, no shattered glass, no knife fights over women or cards. Just the soft flick of a rag over the countertop and the crackle of dying embers in the hearth.

It was quiet, too quiet. The ominous atmosphere put Seonghwa on edge. He could feel it in his gut that something wasn't right. 

Unsettled, he tried keeping his anxiety at bay, glancing at the space of the tavern one too many times. He noticed a pirate looking at him for a second too long.

The front door didn’t creak when it opened. It slammed, loud and graceless. Before he could comprehend what was happening, the sound of boots crashed into the silence of the tavern. 

Before he could scream, he felt a hand grabbing him from behind and he could only register a growl seething in his ears before he was knocked unconscious.

“Quiet, pretty thing, yet capt’in ain't here to save ye this time.”

˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The year that passed after he found himself hostage in the unfamiliar ship passed in a blur. 

He couldn't remember much other than the time he woke up in the ship’s brig. The surface was wet and unstable with the back of his head throbbing with dulling pain, and his hands in chains. 

He could still remember one of the bastards’ snark at him when he threw a bowl of inedible porridge in front of him.”yer prince charmin’ ain't comin’ to save ye this time. A shame he wasted a whore like ye just to let ‘im rot.”

There's a saying that dead men tell no tales. Turns out they do. And now he was stuck in a pirate ship, not the one he yearned for, for the indefinite future.

He became the reluctant servant aboard that godforsaken ship, a rusting hulk that creaked with every wave. 

Tasked with cleaning every existing spot and stain, he toiled endlessly, scrubbing the deck until his hands were raw and his back ached. Each day bled into the next, a monotonous cycle of labour from dawn until dusk. 

He slept in the cold, damp confines of the brig, a reminder of his captivity, never allowed a glimpse of the crew’s nest, not that he had any desire to.

As he lay on the hard floor, staring at the dim ceiling, the only thing grounding him was the flickering flame of hope that the crew of the Precious would eventually come for him. 

It felt foolish, almost laughable, to cling to that hope after two long years had passed. Deep down, he knew it was unlikely they would search for him or even remember his existence.

Yet, despite the overwhelming despair that surrounded him, he held onto the faint possibility that he might one day feel the sun on his face again, free from the shackles of this forgotten life.

Despite everything, the idea became his guiding light. Every night, when sleep eluded him, he would gaze up at the night sky, finding comfort in the thought that the crew of the Precious was out there somewhere, and that he would reunite with them one day.

As his time on the ship dragged on, his hope began to fade. 

His meaning wasn't lost on him, but despair was taking over, blocking any other emotions or meanings from breaking through his exhausted and isolated mind.

The longer he remained on the ship, the more the nagging fear of never leaving began to grip him. As time dragged on, his anxiety doubled, morphing into a desperate restlessness that gnawed at his soul.

One night, he was scrubbing the deck when he overheard two drunken crew members whispering. It was unusual for them to discuss their strategies in his presence, so he seized the opportunity and sharpened his focus, trying to gather as much information as he could.

“Heard word from the winds,” one grunted, voice thick with ale. “The Devil’s Crew is makin’ rounds again. Precious, they call ’em. Headed straight our way.”

By the mention of Precious, he felt himself shiver, a whirlwind of emotions surging within his gut. Are they coming for him? 

His heart leapt to his throat, only to be crushed seconds later.

“Ain’t for us,” the second one muttered. “They’re just sweepin’ Flint’s old routes. Takin’ down what’s left o’ his mess. Nothin’ to do with us.”

Well of course, it was naive of him to believe they would remember him, much less go to the trouble of tracking him down. 

Just as he felt the weight of self-pity threatening to pull him under, one of the voices cut through his thoughts, stopping him in his tracks..

“Still,” the first pirate slurred, “they’re a crew with a reputation. All high and mighty, like they’re kings of the seas. Can’t let ’em get too close without a bit o’… persuasion, aye?”

The other snorted. “Persuasion? Ye mean the pretty one?”

“Aye. Don’t matter who he is. He’s easy on the eyes, and lookin’ scared half to death. Holdin’ a hostage makes us look like we got somethin’ to bargain with.”

“Or toss him overboard if they don’t bite.”

“They’ll bite.” A pause. Then, darkly: “Everyone’s got a weakness. Can’t say no to a face like that.”

Hearing that, Seonghwa froze, his breath caught in his throat. He always entertained the idea as to why they'd keep him alive. At first, he thought it was because they found him useful and low-maintenance enough to keep him on board. All the while, they were keeping him as some sort of leverage to bargain with when the time came. 

A wave of nausea churned in his stomach as bile rose dangerously close to his throat. He abruptly got to his feet, nearly flying towards the brig, as if hiding there would provide some sort of protection.

That night, sleep didn't find him. He tossed and turned on the cold surface of the brig, panic building its way to his whole body. 

Each time he foolishly convinced himself that the situation couldn’t possibly deteriorate further, it managed to surprise him in the most astonishing ways. 

It was two days later when the whispers of Precious turned into a palpable anticipation that hung thick in the air. The crew was restless, the sea's winds heavy with the looming presence of their ruler.

Seonghwa could feel it deep in his bones, a thrill that settled deep in his bones.They were coming.

He walked on eggshells when on deck, determined not to attract any unwanted attention. His daily chores were performed in silence, even the instinct to hum crushed under the weight of caution.  Even breathing too loudly was likely to get him in trouble. 

Apart from the panic he attempted to keep at bay for the time being, he also couldn’t shake off the exhilarating hope that rushed through him. The eagerness to see them again, see him again, almost a tangible weight in his veins.

That night back in Tortuga, the captain confidently declared that the waters would reunite them. At the time, those words had seemed just another sailor's promise. Although now, his words seemed to ring true to his ears. 

This time, Seonghwa made a deal with himself. He wouldn’t let the opportunity slip away. If fate allowed him to cross paths with them once more, he’d ask to join the crew of Precious. He had learned the ways of a ship, proven his worth, and he would not make the same mistake twice. He could feel it in his very core; this was a chance he couldn’t afford to lose.

It was three days later, when it happened.

The sea was still. Too still

The crew sensed it before they saw it, tension crackling through the ropes, the sails stiffening in the windless air.

 Seonghwa stood at the railing with a filthy bucket in hand, scrubbing mindlessly, when he noticed the lookout freeze on the crow’s nest.

A sharp gasp followed. Then a scream.

“Ship off the port bow! Full sail!”

He turned his head, heart dropping. It was them.

A towering blue beast of a ship split the horizon, The Precious, riding the waves like a goddamned legend, her sails ink-black and stitched with blood-red markings that screamed death. The polished cannons glinted in the sunlight, already rising from the belly of the beast like waking dragons.

“Brace for fire!” someone shouted.

The warning came a second too late.

The first blast hit hard, shaking the deck beneath his feet. Seonghwa stumbled, falling to his knees as smoke and splinters exploded into the air around him.

Screams rose, wood cracked, and then, it was pure chaos on board.

Cannonballs pounded the hull, shredding through the sides of the ship like paper. One of the masts snapped with a horrifying creak, crashing down into the sea as pirates ran for cover. Flames licked the sails. The Precious was merciless, its crew methodical and precise. They weren’t raiding, they were razing. Precious didn’t leave men to tell tales.

Seonghwa crawled toward the brig stairs, instinct screaming at him to hide, when a shadow fell over him.

A hand seized the back of his shirt. His breath hitched in his throat.

“Got one!” a rough voice barked. “Tryin’ to run.”

Before he could speak, to explain, to even breathe, a cloth was forced over his mouth. The stench of rum and blood clogged his senses. A sense of Deja vu embraced his senses, before his vision went black.

Chapter Text

Cold.

When Seonghwa came to, the first thing he felt was cold.

Cold wood against his knees, cold air biting at his skin. It took him mere seconds to comprehend where he was, his mind travelling back to the unfolding events of the night before. He was on the deck of the Precious.

He was kneeling. Why was he kneeling?

What gnawed at him even more, was his wrists bound by chains. The feeling of dread found its way to his guts. 

When he was taken as a slave years prior, he didn’t account for being counted as one of the crew members of the said ship. Not that he gave a single fuck about any of them. 

Their cold eyes stared down at him. Gazing right into his soul. Judging. 

Something wasn't right.

Then, he noticed a circle of boots around him, surrounding him. And when he looked up, his heart almost stopped beating.

Cold eyes stared down at him. It was Them. Gazing right into his soul. He felt bare, as if he was exposed.

The familiar scents of salt and smoke hit his nose, along with something more bitter, judgment.

“Found ‘im scurryin’ toward the brig,” one of the crewmates said, voice flat. “Didn’t fight. Didn’t shout. Quiet as a rat. Weren’t nothin’ but a wrigglin’ lure to us in. waitin’ for us to bite.”

“Aye,” someone else muttered. “Looks too clean for a prisoner. Fed. Not bruised.”

The man’s voice was too familiar. Deep and honeyed. He had played their conversation one time too many not to recognize that it was one of the crew members. He never got the chance to know them by name, but he would certainly recognize them anywhere.

Seonghwa wanted to scream that he’d been bruised, just not where they could see, not after two years on that god forsaken ship.

He opened his mouth, but the words tangled in his throat. He wasn’t sure anyone would believe him.

He swallowed, the desperation rising in his body, eyes brimming with tears. 

Before he could get his words out, he heard it.

Sounds of boots, measured and heavy, looming and dangerous like that night in the fog, approaching from behind.

The crowd parted like fog around a blade, making way for the silhouette to materialize.

His black and scarlet coat fluttered like a banner. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned.

“Well, well,” the captain said coldly. “Look what the tide brought in.”

Seonghwa’s heart leapt to his throat. He looked just as he did that night. The sea in his coat, the storm in his eyes. Regal. Still impossibly beautiful

He smelled of clean leather and salt. The king of the seven seas.

“Captain-I didn’t—“ Seonghwa pleaded, his voice cracking from the rawness of being mute for two years. He couldn't recall the last time he used his voice, and now even that was failing him.

“Didn’t what?” Hongjoong rasped, stepping forward. He was furious. “Didn’t switch sides? Didn’t become their lil’ cabin rat?”

Seonghwa flinched. The words stung, the weight of the accusation almost too much to bear.

“Two years,” Hongjoong muttered, circling him like a hawk.”Two damn years we thought ye dead. But here ye are, tidy and breathin’, not a scratch on yer pretty face.”

“That’s not true—” Seonghwa croaked, only for a boot to hit the deck beside him.

“Don’t lie to me, sugar,” he said, quieter now, dangerously low. “I trusted ye.”

Seonghwa felt like he was punched in the gut. 

The crew said nothing, but their silence weighed heavily on him.

They almost looked… disappointed.

Seonghwa felt it in his bones. The revelation weighed on his soul. He wasn’t just being questioned, he was being judged by the same people whose mere existence kept him afloat.

He couldn't let this happen.

“I didn’t betray you,” Seonghwa whispered. “I waited. Every day I waited. I didn’t think you’d remember—”

“Then why the hell were ye on that ship?” Hongjoong spat.

“Because I was taken,” Seonghwa said, voice trembling, he could feel his cultivated dam shattering, this was too much. This was even worse than his two years of torture on that ship. “Because I had no choice.”

The tension cracked like a whip. For a long moment, nobody even batted an eye, all the eyes were on their captain, ready for his order. 

But he noticed the man with the coal-inked bandanna looking at him from under his eyes, as if calculating his words, expression unreadable yet. Almost apprehensive. 

“Answer me this then, aye? Why ain't ye dead yet? No prisoner o’ pirates lives to tell the tale. Ain’t no prisoner walks free unless he’s turned tail.” Then, Hongjoong chuckled mockingly. “I fear I can't believe ye this time, sugar.”

He finally turned away. “Tie him below,” he declared. The order, loud and clear, rang in his ears, dulling his senses. Seonghwa felt his heart shatter. 

Once again, it was his fault for holding onto a fantasy created out of desperation and fear.

He had been promised nothing and should have seen this coming from a distance. They were pirates, not philanthropists. Yet, that did little to ease the tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. He felt a deep sense of disillusionment.

The crew, by the declaration of their captain, dispersed right away. Two of the crew members, the same pixie-haired man and the one with dimples and crescent eyes, emerged from the dispersing crowd. 

They hoisted him to his feet, carelessly dragging him down the spiral staircase that led below deck.

They weren’t cruel by any means, they seemed… apathetic. Which was somehow worse.

As he was being dragged away, the man with the ink-black bandanna lingered, eyes fixed on him, deep in thought. 

He muttered, low enough under his breath, only for Seonghwa to hear:

“Should’ve screamed louder at his face, pretty boy.”

 
˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

They descended into the ship’s belly, down a narrow staircase of polished wood that resisted the creaks typical of seafaring vessels. This was not just any ship; The Precious glided through the waves with an otherworldly elegance, as though even the sea dared not tarnish her immaculate sails. 

The passageway was dimly lit but impeccably clean—no soot, no blood, no hint of decay. 

Lanterns swung gently from brass hooks, their surfaces gleaming, the glass etched with curling patterns like delicate tattoos. Dark oak planks lined the walls, sealed and waxed to a near-mirror finish, each knot in the grain smoothed as if the ship itself refused to harbor any flaws. 

An odd scent permeated the air—far from the pungent mixture of salt, sweat, and damp rope he had come to know. This was refined. The fragrance of leather oil mingled with the faint smoke of aged cigars, underscored by a hint of citrus. It was as if the captain’s essence had permeated the very fabric of the ship, a whisper of reverence that beckoned to him. 

With every step deeper into the ship, he felt the air grow denser, tightening around him like the grip of a predator. Each beam was perfectly carved, every brass hinge silenced to a hush. The Precious thrummed with a composure that mirrored her master—impeccable, meticulous, and merciless. 

Rows of closed doors flanked him as they walked, perhaps crew quarters or armories. One detail hit him with a wave of realization: not a boot was out of place, not a rope allowed to remain tangled. 

This sort of order didn’t stem from mere discipline; it radiated obsession. It was an unsettling form of worship.

Then came the brig.

Not a dark pit of mold and iron bars like the ship he came from, but a small chamber lined in thick steel and lacquered wood, cold as the deep. 

There were shackles bolted to the floor, but even they gleamed. Well-oiled, as if waiting for him. There was only one cell. Because on this ship, prisoners were rare. Or never lived long enough to need more than one. Seonghwa didn’t know how to feel about that implication.

Seonghwa stumbled helplessly as they thrusted him inside.

Pain shot through his bones as he hit the floor, his legs betraying him entirely. He kept his eyes shut; to open them would be to confront the harsh truth of his reality, and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

Against the far wall were three iron rings, provisioned with two at the base, almost obscured by shadows. Blink, and he might have missed them.

“Sit,” commanded the pixie-haired one, his voice deep and unwavering. He didn’t shove him. Just stood there, waiting to be done with the whole ordeal.

Gritting his teeth, Seonghwa crawled slowly across the cold wood floor, dread tightening around his gut with each painful inch. The chill of the ship seeped into him, as if even The Precious deemed him a traitor. 

His back hit the wall, knees folding beneath him. All he wanted was to curl inward, to vanish into himself and disappear from the face of this earth.

A gloved hand took his wrist. It wasn’t rough, nor was it cruel. It was precise and clinical. They stretched his right arm outward until it aligned with the ring on the wall. The cuff clicked shut around his wrist like the bite of a jaw.

The metal was cold against his skin, his arms now spread wide, chest open and defenseless. It was as if they made him bear, exposed. He knew he was an unseemly sight.

“Raise his arms higher,” said the one with the dimple, crouching beside him. “Don’t want the chains slack.”

His wrists were adjusted, lifted just above shoulder height. It was enough pressure to tug gently at his joints, causing them to ache..

Next came his ankles. They were bound with thick, dark leather. Looped through the base rings so his legs folded beneath him, knees up. He couldn’t stand, nor could he lie flat. He felt completely paralyzed. Like a trophy just to sit there, a warning nailed to a wall.

He exhaled slowly, trembling. Panic lurked at the edges of his consciousness. His eyes burned; his whole body felt aflame. A coil of anxiety wound around his throat and stomach, making him nauseous. 

The two crewmen stood back. One of them stepped forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from Seonghwa’s face, surprisingly gentle.

“Captain said tie, not suffer,” he murmured. “You’ll keep your blood for now.”

Then they departed, the door locking behind them with a clean, mechanized click—the latch slamming shut, sealing him inside.

Silence fell around him, wrapping him in a suffocating embrace. Pinned to the wall like a relic, he sat with arms outstretched, chest open to the harshness of his fate.

He kept his head down. Unable to move, unable to think. 

And in that moment, he realized this was worse than the last ship, worse than the fists and bruises he endured. Back then, he latched onto senseless hope. A guiding light in his darkest nights.

Disillusionment weighed heavily on his already exhausted soul. 

That was when after two years of holding himself afloat, he allowed himself to weep. Silent tears ran down his cheeks, shallow breaths turned into gut-wrenching screeches. 

He wept and wept. Kneeling in the kingdom of Precious, he was at her altar, wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit. 

Anger surged within him, a fury boiling under his skin. He knew he couldn’t trust pirates; anyone with even a shred of logic would recognize the danger. Yet he had once surmised them differently. 

Now, feeling the sting of betrayal, he was accused and falsely imprisoned by the very pirates who had once been his saviors. He felt helpless, a lost cause with no way to prove his innocence.

He wasn't their friend, he was a traitor.

So he just sat there, breathless and shattered until his eyes gave up on him, a restless slumber welcoming itself into his consciousness.

˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

He always remembered Tortuga as a cacophony of unpleasant noise and stench. The wet slap of dead fish, sailors barking slurs, and the clanging of cutlasses echoed in his mind.

He recalled the starvation almost tangibly. Just another abandoned child, he wandered the streets of Tortuga searching for half-eaten food left in filthy alleyways.

He considered himself lucky when the previous innkeeper of the tavern took pity on him and decided to take him in.

Miracles didn't happen in Tortuga, nor did mercy have a place in people's hearts. The rule was simple enough for even a child to understand: you either killed or you were killed.

Kindness was a rare occurrence, yet it found its way to him. He became a waiter boy, cleaning, cooking, and serving customers.

The innkeeper was a kind man. He often told Seonghwa that he reminded him of his son, a sailor lost to the merciless sea.

He even taught Seonghwa how to read and write, which was a rare privilege on an island known for piracy and violence.

When the innkeeper died, Seonghwa felt as if he had lost a father. He never knew his lineage or who his parents were, nor how he ended up in Tortuga. He found himself there, fighting for his life with every ounce of strength from the moment he gained consciousness.

Seonghwa always felt like he didn't belong. An unnerving pull beckoned at him whenever he was near the ocean, as if it were calling him home.

Or perhaps he was just lonely, and it all got to his head. That’s how he ended up here— in a dungeon, with no home and no friends. Even aboard the ship Precious, he was cast aside.

He believed he must have been cursed to always end up alone. No matter where he went or how hard he tried, he could never belong.

That was what he had always yearned for: a place to belong, a place to call home.

No matter what life threw at him, he remained as gentle as circumstances allowed, always trying to be kind to others, even in Tortuga, where sympathy held no weight.

Not that it got him anywhere, and he didn't have it in him to be anything anymore.

It was dark outside when he awoke to the creak of the door. The moon dimly lit the brig, deepening his melancholy.

His eyes were puffy from crying, and every joint in his body felt stiff from being in the same position for so long.

He guessed he looked awful, but at this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The door of the brig opened slightly, the sound of clanking footsteps shattering the silence of the dungeon. He had a visitor.

A silhouette of a man emerged before him, a tray in his hands.

“Rise and shine, princess. Making ourselves at home now, are we?” the man teased playfully, placing the tray on the surface of the brig right in front of him. His usual bandanna was missing, allowing his slightly long black hair to fall over his forehead.

“Cat got your tongue?” he remarked, causing Seonghwa to wince and grit his teeth. The audacity of these men!

“No need to look daggers at me like that. Last I checked, I wasn’t the one who put you in here. Even so, you were looking at the one who did anything but daggers.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened. Was he that obvious?

He lowered his head, trying to hide his eyes to prevent them from betraying him further.

The man chuckled playfully, as if reading his mind. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now. You haven’t been exactly discreet, have you? I’m Wooyoung. Fancy meeting you here.”

Wooyoung teased as he moved closer to Seonghwa.

Seeing his bewildered expression, he explained, “I’m going to undo your chains so you can eat. Best not to try anything funny, or the captain will be pissed if he hears I marred his boy toy.”

Seonghwa stared at him, processing his words. Did he just call him a boy toy?

He felt relief wash over him when his hands were freed, blood rushing through his immobilized limbs, tingling as movement returned.

Wooyoung squatted beside him, looking at him with an amused expression as Seonghwa instinctively moved away, trying to put as much distance as possible between them given the circumstances.

“I’m the least of your concerns right now. No need to be so uptight.”

Seonghwa frowned; he wasn’t uptight.

“I’m not uptight,” he whispered.

“Oh, but you are. You look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

“I don’t have a stick up my—” he quickly shut his mouth, realizing the man was messing with him.

Wooyoung laughed heartily, clearly pleased with himself for making Seonghwa lose his composure.

“I bet you’d want to. Eat now. We don’t want the princess starving himself to death.”

Seonghwa frowned again, not touching the food.

“It’s not poisoned. We’d just make you walk the plank if we wanted you dead,” Wooyoung said lazily, with that same smirk on his face. Seonghwa found himself annoyed by him.

He stared at his hands resting on his lap, refusing to engage with Wooyoung’s banter. He had no appetite.

Noticing his hesitance, Wooyoung’s playful demeanor shifted to seriousness. He lowered his head, trying to meet Seonghwa’s gaze.

“You know that starving yourself won’t make him change his mind, right?”

“Why do you care?” Seonghwa spat harshly, resentment coiling within him, his eyes brimming with frustration.

“I’m your best bet. I’m the only one who thinks you might be innocent. But rebelling against the captain’s orders won’t get you anywhere. I have clear instructions to deliver three meals to you daily. If he finds out you’re not following his orders, he won’t be happy,” Wooyoung said matter-of-factly.

Seonghwa could only focus on one thing: he thought Seonghwa was innocent?

“You think I’m innocent?” Seonghwa said, stunned and unable to believe his ears.

Wooyoung stared at him for a couple of seconds before continuing, “I said might. And I tend to be over-optimistic. But you don’t look like someone who has been in a pirate crew, not even a rat at that. You look too… something. I can't exactly put a name on it.”

Wooyoung contemplated for a moment. Just before Seonghwa could respond, Wooyoung beat him to it.

“Ahhh. Too incompetent for that.”

The audacity. “Excuse me—I’m very competent at being in a pirate crew—”

Wooyoung interrupted, cackling, “Sure you are, princess. Now eat.”

Back to square one, Seonghwa guessed. But he wasn't going to comply. There was no way the captain could get his way every time.

Seonghwa wouldn’t let him.

“I’m not eating that. You can go tell your captain to throw me overboard and get it done with instead of playing with his food like this.” Seonghwa bit back, his decision final. 

Wooyoung huffed, clearly frustrated with his antics. “Fine, do what you will. But don't say I didn’t warn you.” He then stood abruptly, chaining Seonghwa back.

The familiar feeling of cold metal around his wrists made him wince, a bitter taste filling his mouth.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Hopefully, you'll have changed your mind by then,” Wooyoung added before taking his leave. 

The door clicked shut, and he was alone once more.

Chapter Text

Wooyoung returned the next day with the same tray in his hands.

A thick slice of sweet cornbread rested beside a small bowl of steaming porridge.

It smelled like roasted coconut and cinnamon. There was pan-fried fish, glazed in something sharp and citrusy. The scent of warm lemon and rum clings to the air, curling around him like fingers.

Seonghwa didn’t blink. He just stared at the tray his eyes widened.

“Captain’s galley,” Wooyoung muttered as he did the same ritual from last night. “Leftovers,” Wooyoung said with a knowing look in his eyes. It unnerved him.

Nobody serves this as a leftover.

“Nobody serves this as a leftover,” Seonghwa said with an accusatory tone. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so angry. Did they take him for a child?

“Aye, it ain’t. Does this look like leftover food to you?” Wooyoung snorted, stating the obvious.

“Good for you, honestly. I wish the captain cared about my diet as much as he cares about yours. But the question here is that are you gonna eat or are you planning on making my life miserable a little while longer?” Wooyoung asked, lowering his head to meet Seonghwa’s gaze, one eyebrow raised.

“Why would I make your life miserable? I’m your prisoner here.” Seonghwa hissed with rage. Why were these people so audacious?

“Because of you, Princess, I had to keep watch last night, and it wasn't even my fucking turn.” Woyoung said, clearly upset with the whole ordeal. Good.

“I wasn't the one who made you do that. Go complain to the one who did.” Seonghwa replied, his tone dripping with venom. He knew exactly who had ordered it.

Before Wooyoung respond, Seonghwa Continued. “He wrongfully accuses people without any hard evidence, publicly humiliates them, and falsely imprisons them, then he sends his own table food to prove what exactly? Do you always torture your prisoners before killing them like this?” 

“Whoa slow down. No need to go full psycho mode on me. I'm not him. Remember. I didn't order anything and I most certainly did not imprison you. Why are you so uptight first thing in the morning Blimey—” Wooyoung said with a surprised laugh, clearly not expecting such an outburst from him.

“I told you I'm not uptight.” Seonghwa spat, clearly past his limits. “And to answer your question, no. I'm not eating that, Go tell your captain that he can't trick me like this. I'm not a child.”

“Sure as hell throw tantrums like one,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, glancing from the corner of his eye. 

A moment passed before Wooyoung sighed, despair evident in his voice. “Look. I’m worried about you. You can't go on like this for much longer.” 

“Well that's what you kept me here for isn't it?”

Seonghwa said begrudgingly. “ I'm sure your Captain would be delighted to get rid of me as soon as possible. I'm just helping him out” Seonghwa deduced, his tone certain. 

Wooyoung was exasperated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if to regain his composure enough to handle seonghwa.

“Why are you so stubborn? A match made in heaven indeed,” he muttered the last part, clearly not wanting Seonghwa to hear.

Seonghwa stayed silent, not having enough energy to continue being furious. He closed his eyes, waiting for the chains back on his wrists.

When Wooyoung was done putting the shackles back on, he got to his feet, holding the untouched tray. 

“Do you want me to bring you anything?” He asked. Seonghwa shook his head with his eyes closed. 

It wasn't long before he heard the door closing with a thud.

˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

It became a routine for the following days. 

Wooyoung bringing warm, fresh food in, trying to cheer him up with his playful wit and teasing comments. 

Wooyoung was the cook and informant of the Precious. He joined the crew years ago, in quest of grand adventures. 

They were similar in a way. Although Wooyoung had better luck at finding somewhere to belong, unlike Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa decided he enjoyed his company. After years of solitude, he was a solace to his never-ending loneliness. 

However, Seonghwa could feel himself depleting after two days. The exhaustion of being shackled and having no food settled within him. 

His snarky remarks turned into mere hums. All he could do was listen to Wooyoung talking about everything and anything. 

Even that became a struggle. Seonghwa found himself unable to register a significant portion of Wooyoung’s words due to hunger and fatigue. 

After a few days, he had trouble keeping his head upright for more than a few seconds. Dizziness and nausea became constant forces, preventing him from functioning properly, while his limbs felt perpetually stiff and sore from the chains.

Wooyoung witnessed Seonghwa’s deteriorating state, concern and worry becoming increasingly visible each time he visited. 

On day five, Wooyoung came down to the brig and found Seonghwa half-conscious, his whole body dripping with sweat, breaths shallow and ragged, and bile had soiled his already worn-out clothes. 

He heard the tray collide with the wooden surface with a loud thud. Seonghwa flinched, sensory overload hitting him hard. 

“Fucking hell, Seonghwa,” Wooyoung cursed, rushing toward him, gripping his shoulders.

“Seonghwa, can you hear me?” Wooyoung cupped his face, trying to keep his head from drooping. 

“It’s cold,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice trembling, his body starting to shake violently. 

Wooyoung cursed under his breath, clearly in despair over what to do with him. 

He gently released Seonghwa’s head and stood up abruptly. 

“I’ll go get Captain,” he said, rushing toward the door before Seonghwa could object. He didn’t want him to see him in this vulnerable state. 

After what felt like an eternity, he heard the sound of heavy boots stepping into the brig. 

Seonghwa struggled to keep his head upright, but his body betrayed him, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. 

In those brief moments of daze, he glimpsed four figures standing in the brig. Wooyoung was one of them. 

The sound of boots on the lacquered wood was measured, too steady to belong to anyone else. 

When Seonghwa forced his heavy head to rise, he saw him. He’d recognize that silhouette anywhere. 

“Look what ye’ve done to yerself, Sugar,” Hongjoong whispered, bending down to take Seonghwa's chin in his hands. 

The touch was feather-light, barely there, but it burned Seonghwa’s skin, sending whirls of emotion surging in his gut.

He decided not to give in to those feelings. Instead of leaning into the touch, Seonghwa yanked his head away, making his dizziness worse. 

Hongjoong growled, gripping his chin harder this time, clearly challenged yet commanding. 

“Stop being so stubborn for once,” Hongjoong snapped. Seonghwa noticed that his usual pirate accent was gone. 

He had frustrated the Captain enough for that to happen. Wonderful.

“Bring him to my quarters. Call Yeosang. He’d know how to fix this mess.” 

Seonghwa heard him say firmly, letting go of his chin. He felt himself missing the warmth of that touch. 

He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination, but there was a hint of worry in the Captain’s otherwise nonchalant tone. Or perhaps it was the starvation playing tricks on his mind, making him hallucinate. 

Before he could process the two hands on him, he felt his eyes shutting, darkness swelling around him once again, heavy and insistent.

˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Seonghwa was disoriented. 

He felt the stillness of the room weighing heavily on his consciousness, stirring him awake. 

Blinking slowly, he leaned his head back against what he thought might be velvet. He could tell he wasn’t in the brig anymore. The world felt tilted, heat crawling under his skin like a fever. Even in his haze, he realized he wasn't below deck anymore. 

The room smelled like leather balm, charred cedarwood, a faint trace of citrus, exactly the kind of scent that clung to Hongjoong’s gloves when he passed too close. The smell of rot and dust was completely gone, and that was when it hit him.

It smelled like him.

Why did it smell like him?

Seonghwa blinked once again, trying to muster the strength to move. His whole body felt stiff, with his muscles prickling from disuse

He didn’t remember walking here. Someone must have carried him. The last thing he remembered was the Captain’s calloused hands on his chin, his voice scolding him.

His blurry vision caught glimpses of the space: tall arched windows veiled in thick navy drapery swaying gently with the sea breeze. A wide desk was scattered with maps and notes, yet nothing appeared cluttered. There was no chaos, Seonghwa noticed. Even the compass and dagger resting there seemed polished. A globe of the known seas stood near the corner, marked with ink and gold pins, charting things he wouldn’t understand even if he tried. 

And the bed. 

Gods, the bed. It was made of pure dark wood, with a carved headboard adorned with lines of ancient script. The sheets were black and scarlet, velvety in texture and tucked precisely. It was impossibly curated, and it unsettled Seonghwa. He was curled up on a chisel, his shirt clinging to him with sweat, and his wrists still red where the manacles had bitten. He could feel the wounds stinging, although they seemed rather clean. 

He was halfway through his inspection when he felt another presence in the room. 

He didn’t dare turn his head, knowing that if he did, he’d have to face him. 

What would he even say? That he was innocent, that he waited two years for them to finally come back to him, and that he might have a tiny itty-bitty crush on him?

To be fair, he didn’t comprehend his own logic for starving himself, either. He didn’t know whether he did it to protest or just to draw his attention. Both would be very pathetic reasons, given his circumstances. 

Before he could calculate his best course of action, the low, nasal voice interrupted him, throwing him off balance.

“Ye had a good night's sleep I’d wager.” He stated, tone neutral. 

Closing his eyes, Seonghwa swallowed. He was so screwed. 

Nervous, he turned his head slowly, meeting the Captain’s eyes. Hongjoong sat lazily in the high-backed chair before his desk, one leg slung over the other with careless grace. The dim lantern light caught the curved blade in his hand—a dagger inlaid with dark rosewood and studded with blood-red rubies, gleaming like dried garnets. He rolled it over his fingers lazily, his eyes focused. 

Dressed in his usual attire, Hongjoong wore dark tailored trousers tucked into polished leather boots, and a deep crimson waistcoat embroidered with thread finer than any coin could buy. The golden detailing caught faint light like fire along his ribs. A long black coat hung open over his frame, the collar high and flared like a storm cloud. His shirt beneath was unbuttoned at the throat, exposing just a sliver of ink where his collarbone met his neck. 

Seonghwa felt himself flush. 

Yet he decided to sulk instead; defending his actions never took him anywhere with this man. 

“goin’ against me orders ain’t gonna turn out so good for ye. Ye already know that Sugar, don't ye?” Hongjoong said, attempting to sound neutral, but his overly even tone betrayed traces of anger. 

“I didn't go against your orders, Captain. I exercised my autonomy as a human being. I'd fathom you'd have a problem with that, since you wrongfully convict and falsely imprison people.” Seonghwa replied cheekily, sensing that he had already gotten under Hongjoong's skin. 

At that, Hongjoong slammed his dagger into the table while maintaining eye contact. Seonghwa flinched at the gesture. 

“I'm done with your antics, Seonghwa. It’s in your best interest to follow my orders on this ship. That starts now. Eat your fucking food.” He growled. Once again, the usual accent was missing, and Seonghwa couldn’t help but notice how appealing that sounded.

Appealing or not, Seonghwa was keen on standing his ground. He didn’t know why, but making Hongjoong lose his composure gave him immense satisfaction. “What if I don’t, Captain?” 

Hongjoong suddenly rose from his chair and walked over to him. Stooping down, he caged Seonghwa with one hand placed on the headboard and the other hand on his tilted hips, nonchalantly. 

It was probably the first time Seonghwa had been in such close proximity to him, or to anyone. 

He jerked his head back, trying to create distance, his breath catching in his throat, his heart throbbing. But to no avail; Hongjoong leaned in even further, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. 

“I’ll make ye, Sugar. That ain’t a request.” 

Seonghwa felt himself turning red. Unable to hold his burning gaze any longer, he stole a glance at the sheets, suddenly finding them interesting. 

Hongjoong waited in the same position, his eyes glinting playfully. 

“Didn’t quite catch that, Love. Louder.” The Captain spoke with finality, already knowing he had won this round.

“Yes, Captain.” Seonghwa whispered. 

“Good boy.” He said before retreating. 

Seonghwa…Seonghwa felt something ignite within him . He didn't know what it was, but hearing that praise from him, it made something hot coil in his belly. He wanted to hear those words more often.

Hongjoong shattered that warm train of thought, reminding Seonghwa of why he was here. 

He placed a tray of food on Seonghwa's lap. The bowl was steaming faintly, containing what looked like Tallow Candlelight, with a crust of bread leaning against its rim. 

Seonghwa reached for the spoon placed beside the bowl. Knowing he had no other choice but to comply, he scooped a spoonful of the broth and put it in his mouth. It was light and greasy yet warm, exactly what he needed after days of starvation to soothe his hunger, ensuring it would settle without protest.

Hongjoong, stood there, watching him carefully, as if searching for any signs of discomfort.

Seonghwa tried paying him no mind, focusing on finishing his food instead. 

With the last bite finally settled and the sigh of contentment escaping him, the captain finally returned to his desk.

What he said after that made the after-taste of his meal turn to ashes in his mouth. 

“We’re headin’ back to Tortuga soon, but first we make port at Rishan and then Isla Mona to restock,” Hongjoong said in a low tone, his back turned.

“I don’t trust ye, Sugar, and I want ye off me ship the moment I can manage it. But I ain’t tossin’ ye back in the brig, not yet. You’ll be stayin’ in my quarters, sugar. I’ll be keepin’ an eye on ye meself. Don’t want ye near my crew. lay a hand on any of ‘em, and I’ll feed ye to the sharks, piece by piece.”

He glanced over his shoulder, the edge in his voice enough to gut Seonghwa. His tone was cold, dangerous.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. Ye’d do well to follow orders and keep that pretty nose o’ yours outta trouble. We’ll have Mingi find ye a task. If ye aim to stay aboard the Precious, ye best earn yer place. Be that understood?”

Seonghwa’s stomach churned, the food threatening to come back up. They were going to return him to the same place he had tried so hard to escape.

He didn’t want to go back to that hell hole. 

“Yes, Captain.”

“Alright then, Sugar. Wooyoung’ll be settlin’ ye soon enough. So make yerself comfy in the captain’s quarters while ye still can.” HongJoong said cheekily before heading out, as if he didn’t just threaten to kill him.

Seonghwa sat there, gaze unmoving, staring into nothing. His condition was good enough after a hearty meal for him to think clearly, but that didn’t make things any easier. 

Not only did Hongjoong not trust him, but he also still believed he was a rat. To make matters worse, he was going to drop him off in Tortuga. 

The thought twisted his stomach, but it wasn’t fear that gnawed at him. No, it was something colder: the possibility of being abandoned again. Tortuga wasn’t a home; it was a graveyard with no mercy for its inhabitants, a place that shattered those who stumbled within its filthy streets. 

He swallowed hard as bile rose in his throat, and for a moment, the walls of the room seemed to close in tighter. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to try his best to change their minds—his own mind. 

There was no way he would go back there, even if it meant throwing himself overboard. 

He leaned back against the headboard and sighed. His plan to change their minds could wait for now. 

A nap sounded much better.