Chapter Text
Hongjoong's life has always been on a boat. He was taught to hold a fishing rod before he could sit up on his own, taught to read the stars and measure the tide before he learned hello and goodbye. It's not a life he dreamed of because he was never allowed the space to dream different. There was no pain is not knowing.
His father, however, had dreams of his own. He dreamed of his boat taking him somewhere far away; away from his life and away from the harbor. He dreamed of peace in a world where a poor man could find none, so his dream would never become reality. For that, he would blame Hongjoong.
In those times of unease, Hongjoong trusted the sea.
The waves could be rough, the surge could threaten to overturn his boat, his home, his whole life, and he would still never lose that trust. It was unwavering - blind, naive, desperate, foolish, and any other word that his father used to describe him in that moment of drunken stupor, hand at his neck and Hongjoong's head under the water.
He trusts the sea because the sea is what saved him. The sea is what swept his father away, dragging him under its current and far, far away from Hongjoong. The sea hid his father’s screams under crashing waves and a crack of thunder, leaving Hongjoong with the picturesque view of the full moon up above, smiling down at him and extending a hand.
He took it. Days later, when the sea finally handed his father back, blue and gray, Hongjoong finally decided on a dream of his own. Not a life at sea, but a life with the sea; a captain of his own boat, as small as it may be, with peace found in every kiss of the tide to the shore. And the sea, for everything it is worth, gave it to him.
"-offer you half price for it."
"Sorry?" Hongjoong snaps out of the fog that had descended upon him after spotting the familiar, yet elusive, black hooded man passing through the bustling harbor crowd. Hongjoong blinks a few times, focusing back on the older woman leaning over the wooden railing of his small fisherman boat.
The woman's face pinches in displeasure when she realizes that Hongjoong hadn't been paying her any attention. "I said that the best I can offer you is half price. These fish are just too small."
Before Hongjoong can assure her that he is more than willing to barter down for a purchase, too desperate to pass up any kind of sale at this point, the woman is already launching into a spiel about everything wrong with Hongjoong's fish. Too small, too skinny. Not worth the time to debone. Better suited to be fed to stray cats.
However creative her language gets, it's still not the first time he's heard it. He's fully aware of the state of what he's selling. It's been this way for months. The surrounding water seems to have been combed out of anything over three pounds, leaving him and the other fisherman with nothing but slim pickings.
Pickings don't sell. Pickings won't keep his spot on the harbor. And if Hongjoong can't pay his dues, then he doesn't know what will happen. It's too much to express to the woman, so he doesn't. His eyes return to the crowd, drawn to the site of the hooded man making his way up Hongjoong's side of the dock.
Even from a ways away, the sight of him causes heat to wash over Hongjoong.
The mysterious man is clad in thick and woolen layers to fight the fast approach of winter. There's a bag slung across his body, filled with wrapped vegetables and herbs. His hands are kept in his pockets, hood pulled low, and his eyes don't flicker up to meet Hongjoong's so much as once as he passes his boat by.
Helpless, Hongjoong returns his attention to the woman.
"I'm not willing to go any higher," she reiterates, tracking Hongjoong's wandering gaze.
"I'll take half," Hongjoong amends, too tired for this continue much longer. Still, "For a discount on your spices."
After a few seconds of deliberation, the woman agrees. They exchange the agreed upon notes, dropping coin in each other's greedy palms, before trading over a few jars of spices for a barrel of freshly caught - albeit small - fish. It's a successful sale, even if Hongjoong's coin purse is lighter than he would prefer.
The woman leaves, barrel passed off to her young son who is waiting by her side. With the both of them gone, Hongjoong is allowed a moment to himself. His head tips back, knocking against the hollow wall of his cabin, and his eyes fall closed.
As the wind passes by, thoughts of his precarious situation follow. Worries for winter, fears of the unknown, of money and debt, pass with it. It would be relief, if the lack of knowing didn't feel just as suffocating.
Someone clears their throat. Hongjoong's heart bursts into a frantic pitter-patter before his eyes even open to see the black hooded man standing across from him.
Hongjoong knows him as Seonghwa, the man that has recently begun frequenting the harbor Hongjoong docks at to sell. His name is as far as they have gotten to having any real conversation, but Hongjoong still holds that information tight.
"A case of fish, please." Seonghwa says, voice ringing like wind chimes. Inky black waves frame a tanned, smooth complexion. Dark eyes peak out from behind a curtain of black, red lips pressed tight in something akin to displeasure.
Up close, Seonghwa smells like an oncoming storm. Salt from the sea, the headiness of humidity. It rings with rain, buzzes with electricity. Somewhere, close, not far, Hongjoong can hear thunder.
Hongjoong immediately gets up to fetch a case of mackerel, as if commanded to. "Getting ready for winter?" He asks, desperate to hear more from him.
Seonghwa's answering hum is a melody. His eyes briefly catch Hongjoong's before dropping back down to the floorboards. "It's early this year."
Their conversation, if you could call it that, falls into silence. The bustling of the market continues around them. All Hongjoong can focus on is Seonghwa. The sheer presence of him, tall and foreboding, feels like a threat of something more to come. Without his mind, Hongjoong welcomes it.
Cold coins are folded into Hongjoong’s palm, his fist closed with long, nimble fingers. It jolts him with heat, despite the chill of Seonghwa's skin, and his thoughts quickly scatter like birds. Numbly, he hands over the basket.
There's a smile under the shaded rim of Seonghwa's hood. "Thank you, Hongjoong."
A crack of thunder sounds overhead, suddenly far closer than before. The smell of rain teases the senses, reminding Hongjoong that he needs to tie his sails and drop his anchor before the storm starts to rattle the waves.
"See you soon?" Seonghwa asks. A flash of something dangerous in his friendly stare.
Tongue-tied, Hongjoong can only nod. He dreams of a day where he could entice Seonghwa to stay longer. Just for a moment, just to hear another song.
Today is not that day. Seonghwa turns, basket in hand, and threads back into the boisterous crowd. His lithe figure gets lost in the river of villagers, not to be seen again until Seonghwa himself desires it.
The urge sits right under Seonghwa’s skin. It grows in severity with every glimpse, every passing moment of his obsession. Torpor tugs at his limbs, dragging his feet, which somehow always lead him back to where he started, and pulling his eyelids down so they never stray far from the object of his desire.
It was the sweet smell of him that brought Seonghwa to the harbor. The rest followed suit. Conversation, passing glances. His ears picked up on every flutter of the man’s heartbeat, every stutter of his breath, and something dark and carnal inside of Seonghwa craved to hide him away.
The last weeks before winter usually leave him laconic and taciturn, saving his energy for more important things, but he has found himself unable to bite back another greeting, another excuse to say the name he only dares to whisper in the dark when alone.
A hum threatens to roll off his sharp tongue, nails aching for something to dig into. It would be so easy to pull him under, so easy to take control.
He holds himself back, but only just.
“Good night, moon,” Hongjoong says, leaning out the window of his cabin. The rain has settled to a gentle downpour, tickling the dry air with the scent of petrichor. His eyes are out to the horizon, gentle and kind, full of trust and adoration that runs deeper than the currents underneath.
Seonghwa leans onto a post under the dock, water sloshing up his bare waist. His skin pebbles with the unwelcomed chill. He whispers his response into the passing breeze, even if he knows that Hongjoong’s words were not meant for him.
Soon, but not yet.