nympheny

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If you asked the media, he was stuck up, entitled, and lacked work ethic. If you asked his coaches, they’d say he worked harder than anyone else and wouldn’t settle for just okay. If you asked his family, he’d protect them no matter what and was proud of his roots.

He never knew what to say to media, they always seemed to want a reaction out of him. They wanted to portray him as an angry boy- no, a man. His family always checked on him, the most they could do through texts and calls anyways.

His mom constantly asked if he was okay and the truth was that he had no clue. Pressure is a privilege but what do you do when everyone wants something from you that you simply can’t give. Even if he knew he wasn’t okay, he didn’t know if he’d actually tell his mom because then she’d just be worrying thousands of kilometers away- pointless.

His grandpa and his family had gone through so much more than him, he had to survive. He had to find a way to thrive despite it all, to achieve his dreams no matter how crushing everything was. It wasn’t just his game getting picked apart but himself as a person and he had to sit there and take it.

Maybe it would be easier to be a moody teenager, to give everyone what they wanted. At least then he would have a front that would protect him instead of everyone tearing apart the real him, it was too personal. Everyone already had an idea of him in their head and they’d contort anything he said to fit whatever that narrative was.

He’d keep practicing, away from his family because that’s where the rinks are. He’d post about his escapades in nature, the things that calmed him, connecting with his ancestors in a way. He’d get criticized for “not working” simply because he didn’t post every workout and every carefully planned meal.

If he was ever lost he’d always find a way back home with a reminder permanently etched onto his skin. He absentmindedly traced the wolf, his people. But anytime he talked about it the comments were flooded with people saying “he wasn’t actually indigenous” and “he just wanted government handouts” as if they knew anything about his family.

He was hard to truly piss off but the number one way to get under his skin was by disrespecting his family. At this point everyone knew that, he knew he needed to just ignore it but he couldn’t. His family were his everything and they didn’t deserve to be pulled into his mess. He wanted to make it, if only to give his family everything they could’ve asked for and to pay it forward to his community.

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It felt like hermit crabs were crawling all over his skin as Marc’s words echoed in his head. He had always known bad things would come due to his siren nature, but those words made him feel violated and exposed.

No matter what happened in this world, he would never be safe. Even the VR46 crew couldn’t protect him. He wanted to bawl his eyes out but nothing came.

The next day, everything went back to normal. Luca couldn’t pretend but the rest of the crew moved in harmony like they always had. They patched up the ship which had faired well enough during the attack. They bantered with each other but everyone could tell that Luca’s heart wasn’t really in it.

Luca had sat on the deck listening to the birds and the sea wishing for it all to ground him like it did in the past but his peace was disturbed by Pecco approaching his space. He wordlessly sat down next to Luca and pressed his head onto Luca’s shoulder.

“I wish you knew that you don’t have to pretend that everything is fine. I know you hate Vale’s coddling, but we are a crew and we all just want the best for you. We can’t help you if you put up all these walls. We love you,” Pecco’s voice drifted off with the last line.

A moment of silence went by, “It’s just hard. I want to be open but then every worst-case scenario I have developed in my head becomes a reality and I’m back at step one. Not to mention Vale breathing down my neck at a single mention of,” he still couldn’t make himself say the word ‘siren’ around anyone who wasn’t his brother.

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He knew it probably wasn’t going to be permanent but that didn’t stop the hurt feeling he got as Nick packed up his stuff to head back to the AHL and the Rockford IceHogs.

Oliver stood in the doorway pretending not to be bothered with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie watching Nick fold the same sweatshirt twice over. The apartment already felt wrong even though Nick was still right there.

This is part of it, Oliver told himself. This is how it works. He’d known that from the start. Call-ups and send-downs, goodbyes that weren’t really goodbyes but even with that reality, his chest still ached.

“I’ll be back,” Nick said, like he could hear Oliver’s thoughts. His voice was steady, practiced but when his eyes met Oliver’s, something cracked just a little, “Who knows, you could still get send back down too,” he continued in a lighthearted tone.

A small smile formed on Oliver’s face, “I am not letting that happen,” as he elbowed Nick, “I hate this part,” Oliver admitted quietly. From his own perspective, it felt ridiculous  yet here he was clinging like the world might end because the person he loved was driving an hour away.

Nick laughed softly at the elbow, but it faded fast. He set the sweatshirt down instead of folding it again and reached for Oliver, fingers catching the sleeve of his hoodie like he needed the contact to hold it together.

Nick pulled Oliver in fully this time, arms tight around his waist. Oliver pressed his face into Nick’s shoulder, breathing him in, committing it to memory.

“I’ll call,” Nick murmured, “Every night. Even if it’s just five minutes and I’m half asleep.”

“You better,” Oliver said, voice muffled, “I’ll get Korch to bother you if you don’t.”

Nick giggled, “Damn, my own boyfriend doesn’t trust me.”

“Oh, I trust you. I just don’t want to take my chances,” Oliver broke out in a full-blown smile.

They stayed like that longer than necessary until the clock on the wall clicked over and reminded them that Nick did need to finish packing so he could leave. Nick sighed and rested his forehead against Oliver’s.

They rested in the position for a few seconds, feeling each breath the other took, “This doesn’t change anything, yeah? We’re still us, being split up doesn’t change that,” Nick said.

“I know, I know. It’s just the illogical part of my brain that’s already missing you even with you within arm’s reach,” Oliver tried to talk through his feelings, they never came out right.

Something open and tender crossed Nick’s face, unguarded. He kissed Oliver then, slow and deliberate, like he was sealing a promise between them. Oliver kissed him back with everything he had, hands fisting in Nick’s hoodie, grounding himself in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Nick rested his thumb against Oliver’s jaw. “I love you,” he said, like it was a fact.

Oliver swallowed past the lump in his throat and smiled, “I love you too.”

He watched Nick grab his bag again and continue packing up his stuff. He watched him hesitate at the door before turning back for one last look. Oliver didn’t pretend not to be bothered this time. He stood there, heart full and aching.

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Being away from his home hurt. The gnawing feeling was not the normal type of hurt but instead the hurt that turned his heart inside out. He chose this life for himself. He knew what he was giving everything up for but the feeling still haunted him.

A separate feeling also existed, a crushing feeling of disappointing everyone. His family, his community, his country, he was letting them all down. He wasn’t good enough no matter how hard he tried. Lofty expectations pressed down on his shoulders and he was faltering with the whole world watching. He was supposed to go first overall, he was supposed to repay everyone who sacrificed something for him to be where he was today. He was supposed to represent his indigenous community on the world stage.

He just wanted to curl up in the corner and die, wrapping the clinical sheets of the hotel around him to block out the world. He wanted to not care what they said but he cared much more than he’d like to admit. He shouldn’t have left home at twelve to pursue hockey over 1000 kilometers from his home.

Why did everyone else get to just exist while his world came crashing down?

His heart yearned for the comfort of his family, the ones who could always get him out of his head. But instead, he laid on the floor waiting for darkness to engulf him.

Sleep did not come easy. Every time his eyes closed, his mind began to race again. It provided him with images of scouts shaking their heads and reporters with dramatized headlines. He was a disappointment. He was a waste of resources. Why did his community bother to fund his hockey journey?

He tossed and turned but he felt like he was being watched. Guilt poured over him, the hide vest he wore last year was shoved into the bottom of his suitcase, untouched this year. Too afraid of what people would say this time.

No matter what he did, it was not home. He loved the Yukon and the great nature and great escape it provided him. No matter what happened, that would always be home. He would always come back there, no matter what.

The hotel was all wrong between the fake resh scent and the pristine condition it was kept in. It was nowhere close to the lived-in feel of their family home. It was even worse than his dinky college dorm and he thought at the time it could never be worse.

He wondered when the love of the game had started to feel like a debt.

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Quinn never meant to get good at hiding, it just kind of happened. It happened in the same way he’d accidentally gotten good at skating backwards before he could properly tie his skates without help.

Suppressants take care of his scent, practice takes care of the posture, and captaincy takes care of the rest- no one questions you if you’re the one wearing the C. It all just came second nature to him at this point. He hadn’t meant to keep up the charade this long but there was no way he could admit it now, not while being the captain. Omegas could not be captains, everyone knew that, so instead he pretended. Pretended to not to notice the shift in scents of the locker room, pretend to not be affected when his teammates got a little too loud, pretended to not be affected when he got boarded by other teams.

He adjusts the tape on his stick with steady hands, even when his pulse is anything but. The room behind him buzzes full of alpha confidence, that rolling thunder of team energy that always hits right before they step on the ice.

His mind felt like mush, as if his brain was filled with cotton. He absentmindedly hums in agreement at jokes he barely hears, let alone processes. He keeps breathing through his mouth, slow and even, because if he doesn’t, everything will explode. The room was full of the smell of anxious alphas who were worried about winning the next match, it was overwhelming on even the best of days.

He must have looked bad because Elias wordlessly handed him a protein bar that Quinn readily accepted but it still got under his skin. It was harmless in reality but to Quinn it was a sign of his weakness, of everything he tried to suppress.

There was no reason he could come up with for his off feeling. It wasn’t because of their travel or the time he spent on the ice and it simply could not be his suppressants. He pressed his palms into his eyes, hoping to rub away the feeling.

“Eat,” Elias says simply, nodding at the protein bar Quinn still hasn’t opened, his voice was calm and low.

Quinn forces out a laugh, “Yeah, thanks man.”

Elias only hums, already lacing his skates, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he glances back up at Quinn. Quinn misses it, focused on opening the wrapper while his hands refused to fully cooperate with his mind. Everything was just sluggish and a piercing pain was building up behind his eyes.

He took a small bite hoping it would fix things, but it didn’t. And he pushed on instead, surely everything would just resolve itself in time.

Quinn tried to ignore everything else going on around him while the team continued to grow in their rowdiness. Alphas, he couldn’t help but think as they continued to rile each other up, whether it be intentionally or not. Sometimes they didn’t notice and it was up to Quinn to settle them down but he simply did not have the energy. He was a beta, he was a mediator, he was their captain.

The room buzzes- competitive, keyed-up alpha energy rolling off everyone like pressure before a storm. Even with suppressants, even with the posture he’s perfected over years of pretending, Quinn feels every bit of it scraping along the edges of him as he twitched uncomfortably in his stall.

Elias looked over again at him, “Headache?”

Quinn shakes his head, “Just tired,” maybe if he kept saying it, he’d actually believe it. Elias doesn’t call him out on the obvious lie, it didn’t take a mastermind for someone to see that Quinn was off.

Instead, Elias shifts half a step closer. Not touching him, not crowding, just enough for Quinn to feel the grounding presence. His scent settles near Quinn- calm, cool, and steady in a way that was intentionally controlled. It was an alpha soothing without being obvious but Quinn didn’t recognize it for what it is.

He subconsciously began rubbing his arm with too much force, rubbing the skin raw.

Before he can make it worse, a hand closes gently around his wrist. “Hey,” Elias murmurs, quiet enough that the noise of the room swallows most of it, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Quinn startles, he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. His skin buzzes, tingling in a way that feels too close to panic. He pulls his hand back immediately, forcing a shrug.

“Didn’t notice,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I know,” Elias says, voice still soft but matter of fact.

Quinn opens his mouth to apologize, to deflect, but the sound gets knocked out of him by a wave of scent from across the room as two of the boys start shoving each other, laughing too loudly. Another joins in a second later, tapping his stick against the lockers for emphasis, and someone yells about hitting the ice in ten.

The air spikes. Hot. Sharp. Pure alpha adrenaline.

Quinn’s breathing faulters for a second. He grips the edge of the bench with white knuckles and nails digging into the wood. He focuses on breathing through his mouth, shallow, controlled, but even that felt like too much.

He knew he looked pathetic, it was all he could think about. How omega he was. Thankfully none of the team members looked at him so he played it off as they went to hit the ice for practice.

It was only midway through practice that that feeling of wrongness hit him again, the pain behind his eyes amplified and everything felt like it was burning. One of the team members boarded him, any other day it would have been fine but today it led to Quinn stifling a pathetic whine.

It should have been clear to Quinn at this point what was wrong but he was choosing to ignore any signs that it wasn’t a head cold. He’s good at ignoring things.

He pushes himself back onto his skates, the cold of the ice biting at his palms through his gloves and forces himself into motion before anyone can look too closely. The sting behind his eyes deepens every time he blinks, and there’s a hot, uncomfortable feeling engulfing his body.

He tells himself it’s just fatigue. Jet lag. Nerves. Anything.

When guys collide in a puck battle, the scent spike rolls across the ice like a physical wave, and Quinn’s knees buckle for a split second. He straightens automatically, posture perfect, jaw set. Captaincy armor snapping into place even as his pulse races hard enough to make his vision blur.

Elias glides over, tapping Quinn’s stick to get his attention, “You good?”

Quinn nods too fast, “Yeah. All good,” he spits the words out despite him being uncharacteristically out of breath. “I think I’m just dehydrated,” Quinn manages, doubling over slightly, palms on his knees.

“That’s not dehydration,” Elias says, not unkindly.

Quinn flinches, guilt and fear twisting together. He doesn’t know why those words hit him so hard. Doesn’t understand why they make his skin prickle.

“Let’s get you off the ice,” Elias says, voice low but firm.

Quinn straightens quickly, shaking his head, “No, no, I’m fine. I need to run the next rotation.”

Elias’s eyebrows furrow together, “Quinn-”

“I said I’m fine,” Quinn snaps- too sharp, too panicked, too unlike him. The entire bench looks over and Quinn freezes.

For a heartbeat, shame swallows him whole. The heated flush crawling up his neck feels like a spotlight. Everything was just hot.

“Fuck,” Quinn exclaimed as his mind finally caught up and began to process what was happening. He skated off the ice in a quick and ungraceful manner, heads turning towards him. Elias slowly skated after him just a few paces behind as to give Quinn some space.

One he got back to the locker room, Quinn started tearing off his gear in order to get out as quickly as possible. So no others figured it out.

When Elias walked in, he got the brunt of Quinn’s anger, “Why didn’t you say anything? You knew and you let me go out like this!”

“You’re fine Quinn, you’ll be alright,” Elias responded softly but in an understanding tone as if he was trying to talk down a feral cat.

Quinn scoffed, “Yeah right. Now you’re going to go tell everyone and have my team taken away from me. Everything I’ve ever worked for, gone. That is the exact opposite of ‘all right.’ Don’t you understand?”

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His head was pounding so hard it felt like it’d burst and he was hot, which wasn’t totally abnormal but it was too much. He stumbled before hitting the ball back and taking the set point. He just needed the match to be over with, his body had felt off all day and it was annoying him to no end. This was Wimbledon, he needed to stay focused.

Carlos stared back at him across the court with a questioning glance at him while Jannik ignored it. He just needed the match to be over with so he could curl up with all his blankets and pass out. Just one more set. He just needed to ignore how off he felt for now, he could be sick after the match thank you very much.

He continued one, fervently ignoring any concerned looks he got from seemingly every person on the court. He needed it to be over, he really didn’t want to deal with a 5th set.

He had done it! Jannik raised his arms in victory as the normally quiet crowd erupted into applause. His head was spinning but he did not care, he had won. There was a fire in the bottom of his stomach but he did not care. He won and no one could take that from him.

One he got to his hotel he took a cold shower to cool himself off but he still felt like he was on fire and could not stop sweating. He ignored it and chalked it up to his adrenaline still going. He unconsciously arranged the blankets and pillows into the most comfortable and soft position before promptly falling asleep with ease.

If only that peace lasted through him waking up as well.

Oh, that’s what his body was telling him. He wasn’t just sick of sweaty, he was in heat! He had just won Wimbledon finals in pre-heat, oh god that was embarrassing. He was on a very specific schedule of suppressants, this was not supposed to be happening.

It wasn’t even like he got the worst symptoms, he mainly just felt ill and lonely but even that was too omega. Everything was better when he could ignore that one fact.

When he got up, he wobbled before going to the bathroom, opening up the cabinet to find his suppressants, and to swallow five of the pills dry. Logically, it was a stupid idea but hopefully it’d be worth it and when he woke up again it’d all be gone.

Sufficed to say, his plan did not work and instead just added to his pounding headache which got even further agitated by the knocking at his door. He really just wanted some good pasta and to go back to bed but the knocking persisted so eventually he got the door.

Jannik started talking before even looking at the person in front of him, “What do you want from me?”

“Wow, couldn’t even pretend to be happy to see me?” Carlos smirked as Jannik’s expression changed.

“Carlos! You owe me cuddles and pasta for winning, nothing less,” Jannik requested with a huge smile on his face and a flush across his cheeks. If it was anyone other than Carlos, he probably would have sent them home but Carlos was just the thing he needed.

Carlos subtlety moved them back towards the bed allowing Jannik to rest against it as Carlos combed through the room service menu. “So would you like tortellini or carbonara?”

Jannik wrapped his arms around Carlos’ neck and leaned against his shoulder, “Tortellini, always. You know that,” he mumbled.

“Well I thought giving you a choice was a good idea, I guess not then,” Carlos moved to grab Jannik’s waist.

Jannik let out a small, tired laugh as Carlos gently tugged him closer, their bodies now fully pressed together. He buried his face in Carlos's shoulder for a moment, letting the comfort of his presence wash over him. The steady rhythm of Carlos’s breath was grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaotic pounding of Jannik’s head.

"Yeah, not really feeling the ‘choice’ vibe right now," Jannik mumbled against Carlos's skin. "Just need the food and the quiet. Also some cuddling, don’t forget the cuddling.”

“I would never forget.”

Carlos chuckled softly, his hands moving in a slow, soothing rhythm on Jannik’s back, the sound of their breathing the only noise filling the room now. He didn’t say anything at first, just holding Jannik close, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them. He could feel the tension in Jannik’s body, the subtle tremors that betrayed how much he was still struggling, between the heat and the touch match.

Jannik’s voice broke the silence first, muffled against Carlos’s skin. "I don't even care about food right now, I just need you. And I need to sleep."

Carlos’s smile softened as he adjusted his position, his hands finding their way to Jannik's shoulders to pull him in even closer. "I know, I can tell you're not doing great. But food is coming, at least," he said, his voice warm and calm, “You just have to hang on for a bit longer.”

Jannik’s head rested on Carlos’s chest now, his eyes closing as the warmth and comfort of Carlos’s embrace began to dull the sharp edge of his headache. For a moment, the world outside the room didn’t matter, only the steady rhythm of Carlos’s heartbeat beneath his ear, the feeling of safety wrapping around him like a blanket.

“I just feel so stupid for feeling so bad when I’m alone. Thank you for coming here, I just needed someone but I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t you, I would have thrown them out,” Jannik mused.

“No matter what your brain tells you, you’ll never be stupid,” Carlos hustled his face into Jannik’s neck.

Carlos's voice was a low hum against Jannik’s skin, gentle in a way that made everything sting a little less. “You just went through the finals and pre-heat alone. You’re not stupid, Jannik. You’ve been been pushing yourself too hard for too long.”

Jannik didn't answer at first. His arms tightened slightly around Carlos, like he was scared that if he didn’t hold on tight enough, this moment might slip through his fingers. He knew Carlos was right. He was tired in a variety of ways.

“I hate this part of me,” he whispered finally, “The one that wants to be held. The one that needs someone else.”

Carlos pulled back just enough to look at him. His brows were furrowed in concern, “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

Jannik blinked up at him, eyes glassy and pink around the edges.

“You’re allowed to need things, Jannik. Even if it’s not what people expect of you. You're not weak for wanting comfort. You're not weak for being an omega. None of that has even been or will ever be true. I love you, every inch of you including your ocasional clinginess.”

“I love you too.”

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The deck above was not much better off, full of the crew fighting out what Luca assumed were Marines. Vale was single-handedly taking on two separate men while Bez and Cele tag teamed a group. Franky was fending off the ship from anyone else seeking to jump onto their ship.

Smoke stung Luca’s eyes as he and Pecco emerged from the hatch. Everything was so loud and bright as steel clashed against steel and boots pounded against the ship’s floor. Every instinct in Luca screamed to sing again, to end this in one terrible breath, but he forced it down. He couldn’t, he had used up most of his energy down below. No matter how much his body screamed, he needed to stay silent like a good boy.

“Stay behind me,” Pecco said automatically, shifting so his body was half in front of Luca’s.

“I can fight,” Luca snapped, though his voice still rasped from earlier.

“I know,” Pecco shot back, not even looking at him, “That’s not exactly what I’m concerned about now.”

A marine lunged toward them, blade flashing. Pecco moved without hesitation, knocking the man’s sword aside and driving his dagger into the soft gap under his ribs. Luca flinched at the wet sound, then forced himself to stay steady as the body fell.

“Either you let me fight or I become a liability to everyone else,” Luca complained.

Pecco sighed and Luca could imagine he was rolling his eyes, “Okay, fight then!”

Another came from the side. Luca reacted before Pecco could, slamming his shoulder into the man and sending him sprawling across the deck. He brought his dagger down, hands shaking but determined, and the marine didn’t get back up.

For a moment, they were back-to-back, breathing hard, the space between them tight and unspoken.

Pecco huffed a strained laugh, “I think you’re terrifying in about six different ways.”

Luca almost smiled.

Vale caught sight of them then, eyes flicking over Luca too quickly, checking for blood, for injury. Once an older brother, always an older brother. When he saw Luca still standing, relief softened his expression for just a fraction of a second before he went right back to swinging his blade. “Pecco!” he shouted, “We need to push them off the port side!”

“On it!”

Pecco grabbed Luca’s wrist and tugged him toward the port side, weaving between fallen bodies and clashing blades. The deck pitched violently beneath their feet as another cannon boomed from somewhere out at sea, rattling Luca’s bones.

They were almost there when Luca froze.

At first, he thought it was just another marine-another faceless uniform, another enemy-but then the man turned, light catching on sharp eyes and a familiar, cruel curl of a smile.

Marc.

Fuck. Luca’s stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world. Of all the ships.

Pecco noticed the way Luca’s grip tightened on his arm, “Hey! What is it?”

“That man,” Luca whispered, barely loud enough to hear over the noise, “By the rail. The one with the scar on his arm.”

“You know him?” Pecco asked, dread creeping into his voice.

“He’s a hunter,” Luca said, panic crawling up his spine, “Not just navy. He hunts things, things like me.”

Pecco’s blood went cold with the realization of what Luca meant.

Marc leapt over a fallen body and landed lightly on the deck, sword slick with blood, “Well,” he called in a sickly sing-song voice, “isn’t this my lucky day?” His eyes never left Luca’s frame.

“I was hoping I’d find you again, little songbird,” Marc smirked.

Luca froze. His body was numb. Everything around became background noise to Marc and his mind. Every instinct, trained or innate, told him to move or to do something but his body would not move.

Marc took another slow step closer, boots crunching on splintered wood. Around them, the fight raged on but Luca barely heard any of it as all he could see was Marc’s smile, sharp and knowing, like he’d already won.

“Relax,” Marc murmured, tilting his head, “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be screaming.”

Pecco bristled beside him, blade raised, “Back away from him.”

Marc’s eyes flicked to Pecco, unimpressed, “You must be one of the crew. You don’t even know what you’re standing in front of, do you?”

Pecco did know Luca’s secret, he had made that clear but it was more advantageous for him if Marc thought no one knew. Gave Marc a semblance of more leverage than he had in reality.

“Don’t,” Luca rasped, fear scraping raw against his throat, “Don’t say it.”

Even though Pecco knew though, the rest of the crew, minus Vale, had no clue and Luca wanted to keep it that way. Everything was safer that way with less people knowing.

Marc’s grin widened, “Oh, I won’t. Not here.” He tapped two fingers against his lips, mockingly thoughtful, “Wouldn’t want to ruin the fun. Your captain wouldn’t appreciate it, either. Or your little pirate friends. Such a fragile thing, your secret.”

Luca felt sick to his stomach.

Marc leaned closer just enough for Luca to hear him over the chaos, “But make no mistake, I know exactly what you are. Next time we meet, you’ll do what I ask or everyone on this ship will learn why sirens are hunted.”

Pecco took a step forward, fury flashing in his eyes, but at that moment a cannon from their ship roared, sending a violent shockwave across the deck. The navy ship alongside them lurched, ropes snapping and boards cracking.

Marc laughed, stepping back. “Looks like my ride’s leaving.”

He retreated toward the boarding ramp, moving with infuriating ease. Before he turned away completely, he shot Luca one last look. It was cold, possessive, and victorious.

“Sing pretty for me when the time comes,” he said softly, “I’ll be listening.”

Then he was gone, vanishing back onto the navy ship as it began to pull away, its crew scrambling to disengage.

Only when Marc disappeared from view did Luca realize he was shaking.

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*authors note: I'm so sorry to anyone who cares about this work. It's hard to find the time to write with college and on top of that finding the motivation and ideas needed to write anything of substance. I cannot promise any updates in the near future but do note that this work is one I want to come back to when I have the chance. I have not forgotten about this work. Please be kind and as always I love hearing your thoughts <3

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Unfortunately, their sailing didn’t go as smoothly as planned. Yes, they were pirates but overall the VR46 crew tried to avoid other pirate ships and to an even higher degree, those from the navy. The navy ship they had come into contact with was spotted too late for any avoidant action to have occurred, instead the crew had to be prepared for combat.

Vale shouted orders from the helm, his voice cutting clean through the sea wind, “Brace yourselves! Gather your weapons! If we’re fast enough, we don’t have to outgun them- just outmaneuver!”

The ship lurched as Bez and Cele scrambled below deck for gunpowder, while Franky and Pecco readied the cannons and their daggers.

Luca moved to help, but Vale caught his wrist as he passed, “No,” the word rang sharp, final, “Below deck. I mean it.”

Luca’s jaw clenched, “I’m not helpless you know.”

“No,” Vale agreed, his voice low and urgent, “but if they board and hear your voice or catch a glimpse of anything that ticks them off, they have someone to take care of that. Siren hunters are not kind men.”

Luca hated it. Hated being the secret no one could afford to spill. Hated that his power was a weapon they couldn’t use and one that simultaneously put him out of commission. But he listened, just like he always did.

Below deck, the air felt heavy. Every crash above, every shift of the floorboards rattled against his boyd. He could hear Pecco’s voice faintly giving short commands, across the ship. And then a boom- a cannon, too close, shaking the entire hull. Dust rained down from the beams above. Despite being hidden away, he was on edge and prepared to fight if needed. Not only did he have a dagger but also the thing no one could take away from him, for better or worse, his song.

The creaking of the ship grew more frantic. He could hear shifting around that meant someone else had come aboard. The clash of swords above, the shouting, the thunderous crack of another cannon- it all blurred together in his mind. But it wasn’t until he heard the slam of the hatch and the thud of heavy boots on the lower stairs that his pulse truly spiked.

They were coming below. They were coming at him.

Luca pressed deeper into the shadow between crates, heart hammering in his throat. His hand closed around the hilt of his dagger, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. The worst thing he could do was be too loud, too fast.

The lantern light wobbled at the top of the stairs. Then the sound of boots coming down rung heavy on his ears. A figure descended slowly into the hold, arifle slung over one shoulder. His uniform was scuffed, stained with smoke and saltwater, but unmistakably that of a navy soldier. His steps were deliberate, cautious. This wasn’t someone looting, it was someone searching.

Luca pressed his back tighter against the crate, trying to make himself smaller, quieter. But the boards beneath him creaked slightly under the tension in his body, and the soldier’s head snapped in his direction.

“Who's there?” the man called, voice echoing through the hull.

Luca’s breath caught.

He didn’t move and didn’t speak, knowing any noise could give him away at any second.

But it was too late. The soldier advanced with his gun raised, steps cautious, yet closing in fast, “I said show yourself,” he growled.

Luca hesitated, calculating. If he sang, even a note, he could drop the man—but the shouting above had quieted. What if others heard? What if more came down?

Another step, and the lantern’s beam landed directly on Luca.

“There!” the soldier shouted, and before Luca could act, another thud echoed from the stairs. Two more navy men burst into the hold. One grabbed Luca’s arm before he could slip away; another slammed the butt of his rifle into Luca’s side, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Pain exploded through him, his dagger clattered to the floor.

“No!” he gasped, trying to twist free, but strong hands shoved him face-first against the wall.

“Got one!” someone barked, “Looks like a kid.”

“Don’t matter,” another said, tying his wrists tight with rope. “Orders are to search for stowaways and any signs of magic.”

Luca’s blood went cold. Magic.

One of them tilted his head, peering into his face. “Pretty one, huh? Almost too pretty.”

“Don’t look at me,” Luca hissed, panic rising within his chest making it difficult to breathe. He desperately did not want to find out where those comments would lead to, his mind filling in all the infinite awful scenarios.

The soldier leaned in, inspecting him, “You one of them freaks, aren’t you? Those sirens,” his voiced was laced with venom.

Luca was overcome by his panic, his brain felt like mush as he tried to determine any way to get himself out of the situation. His body ached, no choice was without its risks. He let out a guttural scream, one infected with his siren’s song. One so desperate, it overcame his instinct to keep all things siren hidden.

The men’s eyes became distant before they fell to the ground, surrounding Luca with bodies. Luca staggered back against the crates, his throat raw from the sound that had torn out of him. His pulse thundered in his ears, louder than the chaos above. He stood there, gasping, surrounded by the navy men.

Luca’s chest heaved. He hadn’t meant to do that in the slightest but when you treat him like a wild animal he acts like one. He goes on pure instinct, survival mode.

He wiped at his mouth with shaking hands, feeling the rasp in his throat where the song had clawed its way out. They’ll know. Someone had to have heard that.

Bootsteps above made his heart leap into his throat. Another squad? More soldiers? He scrambled for his dagger, snatching it from where it had fallen, and looked at the three men lying unconscious around him. He couldn’t leave them like this. If anyone came down and found them---

But he didn’t have time to react, the hatch opened again.

“Luca!” Pecco’s voice cut through the smoke and chaos, filled with urgency.

He appeared in the stairwell, dagger slick with blood and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His eyes swept over the scene- the crumpled navy men, Luca standing in the middle of it, chest heaving. For a moment, his expression faltered, “What did you do?”

“Do not ask,” Luca croaked with a harsh sense of finality to his words. He did not want them to know that he lost control like a cornered wild animal. What he was willing to do to save himself and his secret. “Hurry, they’ll wake up soon enough and they need to be off this ship by then.”

Pecco didn’t move at first. His knuckles tightened around the hilt of his blade, eyes fixed on Luca like he was seeing him for the first time, or maybe like he’d finally stumbled across the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the groan of wood and the chaos of battle above.

“Pecco,” Luca said, voice low, frayed at the edges, “please.”

That broke him. Pecco blinked, jaw tightening, and with a sharp nod he crossed the room. He didn’t question again, didn’t linger on the way the air felt charged, didn’t look too long at the men sprawled across the floor with vacant eyes. Instead, he sheathed his dagger and bent to grab one of the soldiers by the collar. “Help me,” he muttered, already dragging the body toward the far hatch.

Luca obeyed without argument, his hands still trembling as he hauled another man by the wrists, ignoring how his head lolled lifelessly. They worked quickly, shoving the three soldiers through the open storage hatch that led to the open sea.

When the last body disappeared into the dark, Pecco slammed the hatch shut, braced his hands against it, and turned back. His chest heaved, sweat and soot streaking his face, his gaze sharp and searching. “Luca,” he started, but stopped himself. His lips pressed into a thin line, as though he knew that whatever words he chose would matter too much.

“I told you not to ask,” Luca whispered, throat aching.

Pecco studied him a moment longer, then let out a sharp breath. “Fine,” he said. “Not now.” His hand gripped Luca’s shoulder, steady and firm, pulling him toward the stairs. “But you can’t stay down here. If more come, you won’t have the strength to-“

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

Luca tried to yank free, but Pecco’s grip held, not unkind but unrelenting. “Vale told me to keep you safe,” Pecco said, softer now, almost pleading, “and I don’t care what secrets you’re hiding, you’re not dying down here.”

Luca bit his lip, “For the record, I do not need help. My brother needs to stay out of my business, you got that?

Pecco’s grip eased at last, though his hand lingered on Luca’s arm, “You’ve been saying the same thing for a while now. And not that I don’t believe you, but maybe you should evaluate why you feel the need to keep proving that. Letting people in isn’t a weakness, we are a crew. We are meant to help each other,” he took a deep breath, “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I will always be here for you. I swear by it and I bet the rest of the boys will too.”

Luca opened his mouth to respond but Pecco continued, “Now you have to stand by us. Let’s see what all is going on up there, go it?”

A smile slipped onto Luca’s face, one he tried to suppress due to the circumstances, “Yes sir.”

They climbed up the ladder and opened the hatch to go help their friends, their family, no matter what was ahead.

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*authors note: Okay I'm finally back! As you might be able to tell from the long break between the last chapter and this, I had (and still have) really bad writers block. Please be kind and as always I love hearing your thoughts <3