Chapter Text
Sharp, icy daggers of fear puncture Eric’s heart. This feeling wasn't anything new. But as he saw an eight-foot behemoth creature duck under the door frame into the mansion, Eric felt a fear he never has before. Icicles were suddenly blasted with fire as cold tendrils drip down his body only to freeze once more.
Eyes wide and hands shaking, the horrified man starts to hyperventilate. Sweaty hands kneed together under the meeting room table. An already nervous heart hammers loudly in his skull.
The man was huge with rough features and arms that could throw him across an entire football field. It was all so overwhelming. How was this looming man a new ego? Why did he smell like sushi? And how was he so big? He was easily two feet taller than all of the other egos. Eric couldn't know any of these answers. All he did know was he was about ten seconds away from wetting himself.
All the other egos start to introduce themselves, the more naïve ones practically crawling over one another to meet him first.
Dark and Wilford were the ones that let the man in, standing like perfect hosts. The patriarchs were looking at the younger egos like they were their disobedient children. Google stares angrily at Bing as he and the Jim's fight one another for dibs. Bim and Host were waiting their turn, looking creepy and foreboding as always. Eric wasn't sure where Yancy and Illinois, the formerly newest egos until this moment, happened to be.
The new ego -apparently some sort of gigantic, sinister pirate- surveys the chaotic room around him. Then his eyes settle on Eric.
All coherent thoughts cease. Time stops and speeds up like an out of control train. Everything seems to invert itself. Those dark eyes were sharp and intimidating, piercing his soul.
The eye contact lasts only a second, but it was a second too long.
Blabbering foolishly, the frightened prey shoots up from the table with a meek excuse no one hears, running out the other doorway with a determination to beat all others.
He doesn't stop until he makes it back to his quarters. Safe. Secure. Alone. He triple-checks the deadbolt and chain on his door before heading to his comfortable bed. Eric sits on the edge, heart still pounding.
He knows it was rude; can feel the shame from running away creeping in.
'No one will even notice I'm not there,' Eric tells himself sadly.
The young man makes a pained noise, mostly emotional, partially physical. The new prosthetic legs are starting to feel uncomfortable. Doctor Iplier helped them fit better, but only so much can be done.
A choking sound escapes him as he slips them off, the freedom a relief, the pain of wearing them all day dulling the satisfaction.
Carefully leaning toward his bedside table, Eric takes some prescribed ointment and rubs it on the sore spot where the rest of his two limbs used to be. His face screws up in a pain that comes from more sources than even he can recall anymore.
Glancing at his phone tells him it's not late enough to go to sleep. He takes off his shirt and pants to lie down anyway. In just his boxers and undershirt, he slips under the covers and sighs happily. A soft, cozy blanket wraps around him, protective and warm.
His phone casts a soft light against his face as he scrolls through social media. It's calming to see the hustle and bustle of the day from the comfort of his own bed. The outside world is filled with new things that intrigue and mortify him. Eric's content to stay in his room and dream, never daring to try anything new himself.
After a few minutes he ends up on a blog about puppies, grinning at his phone. The adorableness assaults him.
There's a ting and a vibration he's embarrassed to say makes him to jump. The message pops up, simple yet angry. It's from someone he knows all too well, yet somehow not at all.
"Where are you?" is all Dark wrote, but it's enough to cause a panic attack.
'Oh, god,' Eric thinks to himself. 'He noticed.'
Eric's hands wring around his bedsheets. He had just up and left a meeting. And a special one too. They have a new ego and he just took off without a coherent word. Dark was going to castrate him.
Eric curls into a ball, fingers grabbing the sheets like a lifeline. The muscle pain from gripping so tightly is the only thing keeping him sane.
The new ego surely already hated him. It was inevitable. His siblings had barely tolerated him. His father wished he had perished with his brothers. The other egos steered clear. Eric knew everyone despised him. And, most of all, Eric hated himself. So, it wasn't worth the new ego’s time to even be introduced to the mousey man.
His shivering figure rocks back and forth, panic radiating off his small form. Quakes of anxiety tremble through him. Eric knows he should put his prosthetics back on, march out there and introduce himself.
But he can't. He just can't. Of everyone in the house he's the weakest. He knows it. Among his siblings and peers, he always was. Nothing has changed. He was feeble. There wasn't even enough courage in him to text Dark back.
Desperate, Eric turns off his phone and sets it on the nightstand. It sits there, mocking him. Like even it knows ignoring his problems won't make them go away.
Eric makes a soft, pained sound as he covers his head with the no-longer-comforting blanket.
'I'm such an idiot! Dark probably doesn't even want me there, he just wants to keep up appearances. He doesn't like me. No one does.'
What he doesn't know is Dark very much disagrees with him. The older ego always thought Bing and the Jim's were the weakest links, and he wasn't afraid to admit that. The glitchy greyscale being always had a secret soft spot for Eric. He reminded him of himself when he was younger: soft, sweet, and believing in the best in everyone, even when they didn't deserve it.
Dark wasn't the only one who took a liking to Eric, but none of the other egos were great at expressing their feelings either. So, all things important became unsaid and unheard.
When a knock comes upon the door, Eric has no way of knowing it’s the ballistic one with the massively chaotic energy.
With a sniffle, Eric speaks.
"Pl- please leave."
"Open the door, Eric," comes Wilford's voice.
It sends him careening back to his childhood home, his father screaming at him through his bedroom door. Afraid to come out. Afraid to move. Knowing there would be consequences either way.
Trapped and helpless, Eric grips the sheets tighter, unable to force the memory away. Nothing can save him now.
"Ple- please go away."
Of course, instead of listening, a bullet shoots through the door, bursting the wood into splinters on the carpet.
Eric screams like any normal person would do. Electrified, his body shoots up, blanket covering his body like a flannel shield.
Wilford stands outside in the hallway completely unfazed, shotgun in hand. He shows no emotion on his face except annoyance.
"Where were you? Dark'll be furious if you don't come out here."
That definitely doesn't help Eric's guilt.
What Wilford said wasn't entirely true, though. Dark wasn't furious with Eric, he was just at a loss with the captain.
Wilford himself was tired of trying to entertain the man. He didn't understand any of his jokes. The other egos had said their goodbyes already and it left Wilford and Dark alone with the captain and the Jim's.
Since they were the heads of the household they were stuck being gracious hosts. Both of them were honestly quit shit at it. They hadn't been good at connecting with other people since the 1920s. And all the twins kept doing was ask a million questions and offhandedly call him dummy thicc. That turned into a ten-minute conversation with them poorly explaining internet culture to a man who didn't know what the internet was.
So, long story short, Dark was murderous and Wilford was close to letting him be. But he figured the Jim's worked in the same building Warfstache Tonight was filmed in, and if they died it would be really awkward at work. So, Wilford figured bringing out Eric would keep Dark from going postal. And most importantly keep him from having to write two eulogies.
After Eric had calmed down a little, Wilford stepped over the broken shards and into the no longer oasis of his room.
"I... I'm sorry," Eric gasps, scrambling for his legs.
Wilford puts up a hand.
"Believe me, you dodged a bullet."
By the looks of his door, Eric figures he dodged two.
"But it would mean a lot to Dark if you would introduce yourself, blah blah blah, I don't care." Wilford makes a hurry up signal with his hands. "Just get ready and go say hello to the captain."
"C- captain?" That piqued his interest. "He's a captain?"
A man with respect. Power. Dignity, perhaps. That was hard to find in the manor. Eric would be lying if that didn't intrigue him.
Wilford must have caught on. He wiggles his eyebrows and elbows him in the arm, gaining an "ow" from the fragile man.
"Why, you got a thing for men in uniform?"
Mortified, Eric puts his hands up and stutters.
"N-no, wh- why would you say that? I'm... I'm not-"
Putting up an understanding hand, Wilford shakes his head.
"It's fine. Really. I get it. They’re hard to resist."
A surprisingly tender hand rests upon Eric's shoulder. Eric looks at it, then up into Wilford's eyes. A warm understanding meets him.
"How many times do I have to tell you? We don't care that you're gay. Hell, we practically embrace it here. You won't be judged for it. I'm definitely not straight. Dark's..." Wilford pauses, mustache wiggling in thought. "I don't actually know what Dark is, but he's certainly not straight either."
The suggestive tone makes Eric wonder exactly how Wilford knows that.
Ignoring the way Wilford reminisces to himself, Eric looks away with a fragile happiness in his heart. Eric had never actually admitted his sexuality to any of the egos. Wilford was much more perceptive than people gave him credit for.
He's not used to people accepting that he's gay. It certainly didn't go over well when he told his family. And it wasn't long after he came out that the... tragedy happened.
Eric feels himself swirl into panic, but he doesn't have a chance to get caught in his own thoughts long. Suddenly he's being lifted.
With a pitiful squeal he grabs Wilford's shoulders as the older ego hoists him up. Eric stammers as Wilford carries him easily out of the room.
"B- but I'm not wearing my prosthetics! What- oh god- w-what will the new guy think?"
With a frustratingly calm shrug, Wilford answers.
"Doesn't matter. He won't care."
"He... He won't? Why?"
"Because he's just like you," Wilford throws out casually, as though anyone has ever said that about Eric before.
"He won't… care?" The hopeful elation stops Wilford dead for a moment. "How is- how is he like me?"
"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised," says the cheeky man while flashing a sunny smile.
After that Wilford drops the conversation.
Oodles of possibilities run through Eric's head, but nothing prepares him for what's about to come.
When Wilford saunters them toward the meeting room Eric sees Dark first. He's gritting his teeth so hard he's glitching all over the place. He can faintly hear the Jim twins talking, barely heard over Dark's angry buzzing.
Wilford kicks the door open, holding a very frightened Eric. Every eye snaps to the eccentric ego and the very nervous one before realizing it was just like every other Thursday. Their attention soon goes back to the new ego.
Everyone was looking at the captain, but the captain had his eyes on one person and one person alone.
Eric gulps hard, mouth filled with sand. He watches as the man looks at him, those eyes so warm yet fierce. It does something to Eric that he just couldn't explain. It shook him to the bone.
When the captain's eyes scour his body, Eric wants to leave immediately. But Wilford would never let him.
The captain's curious eyes end up on Eric's legs. Panicking, Eric withers in Wilford's grasp.
"Lad, you... you don't have legs."
Eric blinks away impending tears, embarrassed and ashamed. He tries to speak but all that comes out is an embarrassing sob. Eric grips Wilford's shirt, about to cry.
The captain gives him a look of concern before hoisting up his legs. With a loud smack the captain throws his legs onto the table and points.
"'Tis alright. No need to be sad. We match!"
Sniffling, he cautiously glances over. The captain had pulled up his pant legs. Just below his knees is wood and nothing else. No flesh.
Eric stares in wonder. He's telling the truth. The man doesn't have any legs, just like him. As usual, Wilford was right. The captain doesn't care. Eric is in awe.
'We match.'
The words echo and bounce around his head, sparkling with joy.
The captain gave a hearty laugh that fill Eric's heart until it overflows. Chest fluttering, Eric swallows down whatever he was feeling. He'd never felt so instantly drawn to someone in his life. Eric can't believe it. Another ego with prosthetics? It's such a breath of fresh air. He's never known anyone else with the same physical struggles as himself. People thought they understood, but they just didn't. Everything was more difficult when you had a disability. Everything. Having another ego to talk to about that sort of thing, someone who could understand his pain and frustration and sadness... It was a miracle. For the first time in a very long time, Eric felt genuine excitement.
"You..." starts Eric with no set destination in mind.
“Aye. Lost ‘em in a freak garroting incident. I didn't see the cannonball coming. Next thing ye know I'm bleeding out in the ocean. I grabbed a barrel an' rode it to shore, bandaged meself up with me shirt and I've been this way ever since."
He said it so matter of fact. Like it didn't bother him anymore. Like he wasn't ashamed.
Quietly elated, Eric could feel admiration for this man grow tenfold. The captain must sense the approval because he gives Eric a sweet smile.
"What's yer name, lad? I bet it's beautiful, a handsome young man like yerself."
'Did... did he really just say that?'
Eric turns a bright crimson. Wilford finally has the good taste to set him down in a chair. Dark clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable but glad to finally have a good, albeit awkward, excuse to flee.
"Well, we'd better leave you to it. Jim's, leave, now."
"But Dark-" they start, two whiny children.
One look from the angry father figure and the twins were gone.
With an air of dignity, Dark stands, fixes his jacket, and looks at his old friend. Wilford gives him a wink. Dark rolls his eyes. He extends his hand to the captain, the much larger man taking it with more softness than a person his size should be able to have.
"It was nice to meet you, Captain. Eric, I trust you'll be fine on your own?"
Eric nods with a soft smile from his chair. Dark gives him a strained one back. It's the best he can do after dealing with those damn Jim's.
He turns to Wilford and the two walk out together, Wilford whispering as they go.
Then they're all alone.
Eric nervously realizes he has no idea what he's doing. He doesn't know how to talk to people. Half the time he doesn't even know how to talk to himself.
The embarrassed young man rubs his neck, chuckling awkwardly. His mouth opens several times as if to say something, yet nothing comes out. The captain just watches him patiently. Surveys him. Like he's an interesting piece at the MET and he's trying to decipher what was going on in the artist's head.
After a few awkward seconds, Eric still doesn't know what to say. He puts his hands in his lap, surprised to find skin. When he looks down he's mortified to see he's still only wearing a tank top and boxers.
"So, yer name’s Eric, huh? A strong name. It suits you"
"Oh, I'm... I'm not very strong, though," Eric interjects, his hand nervously rubbing his neck.
The captain blinks before swiftly recovering.
"I think yer not giving yerself enough credit, lad. Strength isn't all in muscles."
Eric doesn't expect that philosophy from such a behemoth of a man, but appreciates the sentiment.
"What's your name? If- if I may ask."
The captain takes off his hat and tips it respectfully.
"Captain Magnum, at yer service."
The hat settles back onto his head atop a yellow bandana.
"So, whaddya like ta do in yer spare time?"
"Uh, well, I- I like to read."
"What genres?"
Excitement bubbles up between his ribs. Eric loves any and every chance he gets to gush about his interests.
"Any type, really. Mystery, romance, Sci fi, adventure-"
The captain perks up at adventure.
"Aye, I love me a good adventure."
The captain pauses, eye contact so unwavering it starts making Eric uncomfortable. He's just not sure in what way exactly.
"What do ye do for a living?"
"Well, sometimes I do- I do commercials for my dad's company."
The captain slams his hand on the table in triumph, making Eric jump.
"That's wonderful. You're an actor! I dabbled in the arts meself. Not for me, but it was a lotta fun, I tell ye."
Honestly, Eric was a little ashamed to admit he couldn't act to save his life. Instead of correcting him, he powers through, curious to know more about this mystery man.
"What about… What about you?"
"Oh, sailing the seas mostly. Finding treasure. Drinking with me mates. Normal pirate things."
Eric has to admit that sounds pretty fun.
"Can I tell you something, Captain?"
The captain nods, eager.
"I've never actually drank before," he confides.
The captain let's out a laugh and slaps his knee. It fills Eric's soul with a golden glow. Usually Eric felt like people were laughing at him, not with him. Not with this man. He was different. Special somehow. Eric couldn't be happier that Wilford dragged him out here.
"Yer kiddin'?" he asks amused.
Eric nods his head, an unsure smile curling at his lips.
"Well, we'll have to change that, won't we?" The captain pauses, worrying at his lip. "If you’d like to, of course. If it's a choice thing, I completely understand."
Eric let's out a breath he doesn't know he’s been holding hostage.
"I'd love to, actually. I just never really had friends to go out with. And... drinking alone doesn't sound very fun."
Though he hates to admit not having friends, the captain doesn't seem to judge. Instead, he surprises him in a way that Eric isn't prepared for.
"Well, you've got one friend here who'd love to."
'A friend. I have a friend?'
Eric hopes his expression isn't too telling, because he swears he's never felt happier.
xxoxx
The next couple hours went by like a warm breeze on a summer’s night. The two men chattered on about anything in particular. The captain grabbed them a couple drinks, sitting more relaxed in the meeting room than anyone probably ever had.
Eventually the captain brings up what should be a simple topic. It definitely isn't.
"What's yer family like?"
Eric chokes on his soda. The captain gets big eyes and walks over to Eric, sitting next to him.
"Ye alright, lad?" chances the captain, slapping his back in case he's choking. Eric nods, but he's not okay at all.
Understanding, the captain puts a sturdy hand on his shoulder which Eric leans into instinctually.
"I come from a large family, b- but the only ones left are my dad and me. My mom, she... well. My brothers, they, um..."
How could Eric explain this to someone? That they were all dead? That it was all his fault? Everything was always his fault. Every living being he ever got close to always died tragically, leaving Eric alone, ashamed, and frankly a little suicidal.
"’Tis, fine. You don't have to tell me. I understand. My family's gone too."
The captain pulls him in for a sideways hug. Eric wants so badly to bury his face in that wide chest and forget about the world. He's not sure what this feeling is, and it scares him enough that he refrains.
Instead he chokes back the tears, not wanting to open that wound in his heart again.
"What about a special girl in yer life?" the captain hesitantly implores, probably afraid to ask. "Are ye courtin' anyone?"
"Not in a long time. I dated someone once, but it didn't..."
Eric gulps. God, what a depressing life. Will the captain even want to be his friend after all this negativity? Surely he'll catch on quickly that everyone around him meets a horrendous demise.
"Didn't end well?" suggests the captain, bringing Eric back to Earth.
Eric nods in agreement, chewing on his options. The captain sighs sadly, squeezing his arm.
He wasn't sure if he should tell him the truth. He could react like Wilford, or try to beat him within an inch of his life like his father. How was he going to tell him that his first and only partner wasn't actually a girl? People usually didn't have a good reaction when he told them he wasn't straight. If his brothers hadn't hauled Derek off of him Eric's pretty sure he would have met his mother in the afterlife that night. It was still a defense mechanism for Eric to fib about these sorts of things. Could he trust the captain with the truth?
He was too afraid to test the waters.
The captain must sense the anxiety through his sloped shoulders and curled in body because he decides to speak.
"I know how ye feel, laddie. I've had plenty o’ partners on the sea, and some never made it back to land. One was me first mate. Got shot in the stomach, bled out in my arms. 'Tis never easy."
Eyes glossed over from old yet always fresh loss, the captain gives Eric's shoulder a squeeze. Eric was both relieved and horribly saddened. He has a feeling he’s telling the truth. That being a pirate meant losing a lot more than just basic hygiene.
Twiddling his thumbs, Eric took a deep, wavering breath.
"I'm sorry about your first mate."
The captain pats his arm then removes his hand. Eric instantly misses the contact.
"And I about yer girl."
Eric gulps. Now was a good time to come clean. It was now or never.
"Actually, m- my partner was a boy. I didn't- I didn't know if you'd be okay with the fact that I- I'm..."
Eric tries to admit his sexuality, but he can’t say it. He hasn't said it out loud since he told his father. He'd called him a terrible slur and pushed his face to the ground. So, Eric bottled it up, took his father's advice to try to fix himself, and never outwardly told anyone again. Even though he knew the egos were all very chill about homosexuality, and most of them weren't straight either, it was still hard to take away more than two decades worth of anxiety and internalized homophobia.
The captain took a second to piece together the dots into the very straightforward line.
"Yer gay?"
Eric huddles into an even smaller ball.
"Is- is that, I mean, is that... okay?"
Eric waits for the rejection. It was coming. His new friend would be repulsed by him. Tell him he was disgusting. Against God. He should repent. Force himself to be straight. That he shouldn't exist. Everything they always said.
Eric wants to cry.
"Course it is. Besides, that means I have a chance with-" The captain cuts himself off.
Eyebrow raised, Eric’s about to ask what he was going to say when the captain looks pointedly at his pocket watch.
"Oh, look at the time. We must be getting our beauty rest. Well, I be. You don't need a wink."
Eric couldn't grasp what that could possibly mean but the blush above the captain’s beard and the way he looks away means he must have said something embarrassing. Usually the butt of every joke, Eric surely wasn't one to embarrass him. On purpose, anyway. So, he drops it.
When he goes to get up he realizes painfully that he can't. There was no way. He unwillingly left his prosthetics in his room. Now he was trapped here, helpless. Eric starts to hyperventilate, hand digging in his pocket for his baby blanket to no avail. He remembers that his pants are in his bedroom and he's half naked. That just makes it worse.
Disgusted with himself, Eric stares painfully at where his lower legs used to be. He can still feel them, but now there's a vast nothing.
The captain gave him a funny look, growing more worried by the second. Eric wants to scream. Everything had been going so well, now he was fucking it all up by having an anxiety attack.
Groaning angrily, Eric's hands grip the table. It hasn't felt this way in years. Flashes of the hospital assault him. Of the long, painful physical therapy. Trying on prosthetics for the first time and falling on his face. His father's face when he looks at him now, like he wishes anyone else had survived but him.
Stomach boiling, Eric wants to scream. To flip the table and stand up like he used to. To walk without thinking about it. He wants his fucking legs back.
A soft touch settles upon his shoulder. Eric turns to see it's the captain’s large hand, his rugged face peering down concerned and understanding.
"What ails ya, lad?" the captain leans over and whispers.
"Just that I don't- I don't have my prosthetics a- and I'm not sure how I'm gonna get back to my room."
The captain stands with some wobbliness yet succeeds nevertheless.
"Ah. I understand. No worries, my boy."
Still deflated, Eric perks up a slight bit, realizing that he actually does understand.
"It'll be okay. The ol' captain will take care o' ye. If you'll let me."
The captain puts out his arms in askance. Not having much other choice, Eric nods. At least he had the tact to ask first. Wilford was another story. But, honestly, Wilford was always another story.
When the captain picks Eric up there was no grunt, no pain, no discomfort. Just lifting him up like he weighed half a pound. It startles Eric how quickly he flies up into the air.
He grabs onto the captain’s shoulders for dear life, instinctually burying his face in the crook of his neck. The captain jolts, breath escaping like pain.
Mortified he's hurt him, Eric detaches so fast the captain almost loses his grip. Muscles tensing, Eric's sure they'll topple forward like a sad sack of potatoes. Gladly the man was damn strong and holds them steady.
"I- I'm so sorry," Eric stutters, mortified.
The captain gives him a small smile like it's nothing.
"Don't be," the captain soothes. "There's no need to apologize, lad. Just hold on tight. Don't wanna drop ye."
They start to move down the hallways back to Eric's bedroom. When they get to his quarters Eric let's out a frustrated groan. His door was still in tatters strewn about the floor. How was he supposed to fix this?
"Um..." the captain starts, neither having any idea how to fix such a mess. "I don't want ye to think I'm judging ye, but... is yer door usually like this?"
"No, it- it just happened before I came to the meeting room."
"What the hell happened to it?"
"Wilford," explains Eric in one word.
"Ah," the captain says. Apparently he’s already figured out Wilford's dramatic personality in that short time of knowing him.
Not knowing what else to do, the captain steps over the door, wood crunching easily under his weight. He takes Eric over to the bed and gently lays him down. Eric smiles sweetly up at him, surprised when the captain looks quickly away. He scratches his neck nervously and looks around his bedroom. There's not much there to look at.
"This is yer room, huh?"
Eric's a little embarrassed to have a man in his room. Even if he has no chance with him whatsoever. He hopes it doesn't make a terrible first impression regardless.
"Uh huh. If you, uh, ever need anything, Google is on that side of me," Eric points in front of him; "and the Host is on the other. Dark and Wilford are across the hallway in the master bedrooms."
Being the oldest, just like with his brothers, Dark and Wilford got the bigger rooms. Not that it mattered. Eric didn't need much. He had a TV and could stream videos and music if he chose. He had an old Gameboy from when he was a child to play videogames, plenty of books on his bookshelf, board games, a deck of cards, a magic kit shoved in the closet he never got good at. Marvin said he would teach him but never had. That was basically it.
Reading was his favorite hobby and what books he didn't own he could get on his Kindle, or Dark had in his office. No one else but Wilford was allowed in there. Eric heard that started when the Jim's moved in. He’d even installed security cameras in his office because of their shenanigans.
But Eric was given a free pass since he was so quiet and handled the books with more care than the greyscale man himself. Sometimes he'd sit in a cushy highbacked Victorian chair while the other man did paperwork or read on his own, just sitting in silence and enjoying the quiet company. Eric liked to hope that Dark didn't only tolerate him then, but actually kind of liked him. And Eric would be right. He likes most egos, and most egos like him back. Even if he refused to believe it.
Bim and Host were a tad weird. He usually steered clear of them out of self-preservation. Sometimes Google could be a colossal prick and hurt his feelings, but Bing would cheer him up with his goofy smile and dumb jokes. The more social android would tell Google off, make him apologize even if he didn't want to, and that made it more bearable.
"So..." starts the captain, pulling him from his own mind. "I'll see ye in the mornin’, ey? For breakfast?"
Eric smiles wider.
"I'll see you there, bright and early."
"Well, I dunno about early, it's already two."
"What?" sputters Eric, glancing at his phone still sitting on his nightstand. Since he’d turned it off a black screen meets him.
The captain chuckles, stirring something inside Eric.
"I'll see ye. Goodnight Lad."
The smile he gives him is too soft, too understanding. Gulping, Eric chokes out a goodbye before he thinks too hard. Before he feels something he'll regret.
"Goodnight Captain."
Momentarily, the captain dawdles, like he's about to ask something. An unforeseen force stops him. Thinking better of it he smiles one last time before exiting the disaster of a room.
For a few loudly silent minutes Eric just lies there, wondering why memories of the night won't stop overturning in his brain.
He decides to turn himself over and get some of that shut eye the captain was talking about. When he does fall into peaceful slumber he dreams of open seas, warm salty breezes, and a strong figure holding him at his side.