Do Not Seek Absolution 𓇼 Seungin

6 𓇼 Ever Picked Up a Sword, Pretty Boy?

According to everyone, they were under an estimated two week's journey from Miroh. If the winds were behind them, filling the sails with strong headwinds, that journey would be fairly quick and a steady glide across otherwise calm straits of the sea. But it would be a miracle for them to suddenly catch a strong westerly current to bring them into the ports of Miroh.

Sike. They didn't need miracles.

They had Changbin, the warlock.

Who, after enough convincing from Chan and a fairly large meal that downed most of their rations that day (Who knew casting magic would be that taxing?), Changbin's tattoo thingies turned their rich hue of indigo, bringing the winds in their direction to give them the speeds they needed. Meaning, with the gusts coming directly behind them now, there wasn't much else to do around the galleon besides occasionally bracing the sails every multiple hours. Leading to an unusual amount of downtime on the ship.

Aong with unusual amounts of downtime, came with it unusual amounts of boredom. With unusual amounts of boredom, came unusual amounts of odd conversations that Jeongin had the pleasure of listening to from the other crew mates.

Most were stories. Tales from beyond the seas, on the lowland shores they rolled from. Some songs. Turns out sea shanties were universal (Literally) and the crew had their own versions they'd chorus together when doing any sort of remedial task. There was one he liked listening to in particular. He didn't know what it was really called, but he liked to call it "Ancient Stones", and the only reason he preferred it was because that seemed to be Seungmin's go-to. More a hymn, or a lullaby, than a shanty, but Seungmin's voice when he sung it was so soft and warm that it had Jeongin freezing in his spot every time to listen to him. Which lead to a few awkward moments, accidentally being smacked by ropes because he wasn't paying attention.

Truthfully, the only sea shanty Jeongin ever knew was Wellerman, so it's not like he could've sung with them if the songs were the sam—

Aw, shit. Now that damn song is going to be stuck in his head. Fuck TikTok trends.

Anyway, back to the topic. Weird conversations.

"Could I beat Seungmin in a sword duel?"

"No."

Jisung reached over, slapping a hand against the naga's bare chest as he protested, "Why don't you encourage me, huh?"

"Because, first, he's Seungmin—A swordsman. You couldn't pull that cutlass of his from his cold, dead, boney hands, even if you wanted to," Minho leaned back against the quarterdeck stairs. Half laid, half draped across the flights while his elbows supported him from slipping down entirely, beside him, where Jisung sat on one of the scrunched ledges that Minho didn't occupy with his splayed out body (Not to mention, nearly shirtless too, that day had been unusual warm and it resulted in the naga nearly undoing his shirt completely to keep himself from overheating in the warmth, only the udone laced in the front and the shirt that barely hung off his shoulders in sleeves keeping him from being striped). He pulled his eyes off of Seungmin, turning back to Jisung as his tongue hissed, "Second, you'd cry when you cut him, you hate the sight of blood."

When Jisung shot a glare to Changbin leaning himself  over the quarter deck railings above them, hoping that the warlock would take his side in the argument instead of Minho's with the pleading of his eyes, he only got a weak smile in return. Throwing him under the bus as well. The selkie hunched over his knees, looping his arms around his legs as he huffed out a protest, "I'd like to try anyway."

"Where did you learn?" Jeongin spoke up from his spot slumped against the doorway to the officer's room, directing his attention back to where Seungmin was. Where the first mate had been leaning back against the walls of the main deck cutting into his lower back, where his hand gripped gently at the oak to stabilize him with the rocky troughs of the calm ocean bumping them up and down in rhythm, the other busy with chewing away at an apple that stuffed his cheeks. Where the breeze had combed back the auburn strands of his hair when his eyes drifted to the bow of the galleon, catching and tugging the loose shirt he wore that day, around a body that Jeongin knew how to trace with a guilt bundling in his throat, the cutlass by his side and the serenity softening his eyes, he was so fucking gorgeous. What the fuck.