Sunrises (Scopper Gaban x Reader)

Days Three and Four

Day Three.

Some of the crewmates talk to you here and there, and you decide you preferred it when they ignored you. It's not quite disdain they speak with, but it's certainly not respect. You don't have the guts to stand up for yourself, but you end up not having to. Every time you get talked down to, Scopper appears over your shoulder, telling the offending crewmate to get bent. You don't know how he always seems to know when it's happening, or how he finds you wherever you are on the ship. All you know is that Scopper's way of 'making it up to you' seems to be by assigning himself as your bodyguard.

It's a bit embarrassing, but does wonders for your sanity. His once-nerve-wracking presence rapidly becomes comforting, although there's still a skip in your heartbeat when he's close by that you can't chalk up to anxiety alone. He's attractive, not just in the physical sense, but in the way he grins at you, and in the sound of his voice when he tells you not to fret over something (a sweet, if not pointless reassurance.) He probably mistakes your apprehension around him for fear, which is fine; you really don't need him to know how he makes you feel. That would be another layer of stress on this trip you'd rather not have.

A sizable group of men are hanging out in the mess room late in the afternoon, some playing cards. The captain, first mate, and Scopper are all present, so you don't feel nearly as antsy, though you still politely decline to join the game. It turns out to be a wise decision: A crewmate named Doringo is caught cheating, and the one sitting next to him, Erio, becomes so enraged that he pulls a knife, attempting to stab Doringo's hand to the table. Thankfully, he misses, but that plus the ensuing shouting match has your blood pressure soaring. You shrink back in your chair, hands shaking as more men join the argument.

Scopper, sitting next to you, nudges your arm. "Hey, it's okay. They won't hurt you."

You shove your hands under your thighs to still them and acknowledge Scopper with a curt nod. Verbal consolation has never done much against the staggering intensity that is your nerves, so all you can do is wait it out. Leaving the room is an option, but you feel safer around the captain and Rayleigh and Scopper, even with the conflict currently taking place.

It reminds you of an incident on the Marine ship, the day before the pirate attack. Two young Marines got into a fistfight, and you had been similarly alarmed. Except those two had been separated by the crew and then disciplined by their superiors. Roger just lets the crew duke it out, not even looking up from his conversation with Rayleigh.

"Fuck this!" Spencer slams his fists on the table and stands abruptly. "I'm going to start dinner. You dumbass bastards can keep fighting, for all I care."

Spencer heads for the galley, his path taking him past your seat, and he pauses before you. "Y/n, right?"

You look at him owlishly. This is the first time he's spoken to you. "Yeah...?"

"What's your favorite food?"

Around you, the crew gets suspiciously quiet.

There's a gleam in Spencer's eye you can't figure out. Your thoughts start racing: Why does he care? Is he offering to make it? What are the odds he'll even have the right ingredients on hand? What was with this change of heart?

"Oh, don't–it's fine," you say. "You don't need to–"

"Just tell me," he presses. "Your favorite food is...?"

You scramble to think of an answer, social anxiety somehow bad enough that you instantly forget what your own favorite is due to the stress of expectation. You pick something random. "Sesame chicken?"

Spencer smiles impishly. "Well, you're getting grilled cheese."

The room erupts into laughter, leaving you confused and self-conscious. Did you miss something? When you can't figure it out after a minute, you realize it must be an inside joke. It doesn't stop you from feeling embarrassed, though.