Od Naberiusa – μαλακία

μαλακία (mălăkíā, /ma.la.kí.aː/) - noun, f., 1st declension (genitive μᾰλᾰκίᾱς); ancient greek;

        1. softness, delicacy, effeminacy;

        2. a dead calmness of the sea

The sea is a blank slate today.

There's always been something disconcerting about looking at the surface of water from above; Naberius never quite got used to the feeling that they're on the wrong side, like being stuck outside of your own house and forced to lurk in the shadows, looking in through the window, watching other people make themselves at home. It's a curious feeling that comes and goes much like the tide that bore them, sometimes barely noticeable, other times so strong it almost makes them keel over with the force of pure, unadulterated longing. It bores down into their bones, takes residence in their veins, parasitical in its persistence. They've gotten better at ignoring it over the years, at noticing the first signs of the pain rearing its ugly head from the closet they've surreptitiously stuffed it in, at the fine art of distracting themselves, making themselves busy with their weaving, putting their hands to use on the ship as best they can, but it never truly goes away.

Perhaps it's impossible to rewrite the innate wiring of your own brain, to carve out the sea water from your blood, without leaving yourself an empty husk, like a fish gutted and left to rot on the sand.

Perhaps you simply aren't strong enough, whispers a nagging little voice at the back of their head. It sounds like someone they've known and would rather forget, but the permanently raw, tender spot on their hip where three scales should be won't let them.

Perhaps you haven't tried hard enough. Perhaps you don't deserve the peace of mind. Perhaps it's what you've earned for yourself: stagnation. Never able to go back, but always called to look over your shoulder, your feet unmoving, your eyes searching for something you'll never reclaim, your ears filled with the barely-there song of your ancestors.

Is the price of betrayal too high for you, now that all is said and done?

"You alright, sweetheart?"

The question cuts through them like a bolt of electricity, splitting their world in half. It often does that when Naberius is like this - unsettled, unsteady on their feet like a foal still learning to walk; like themself years ago, on the slick wooden deck, naked and tail-less for the first time in their life. The humiliation burns low in their belly and high in their cheeks much the same now as it did back then.

This, too, they've learned to keep hidden, like a thief guarding his treasure in fear of being found out.

"I will be," they say, turning from the railing, from the gunmetal grey waves, facing the pirate. Their pirate. The one person they've grown to think of as a safe harbour, the calm place amidst the ever-raging storm of their heart.

Cain smiles at them, and Naberius knows this smile, has traced over it with their fingertips more times than they can count. Their chest tightens with a sudden rush of affection and they walk, unceremoniously, straight into their partner's embrace. The pirate's arms around them are a welcome weight, calming their nerves, the wild fluttering in their stomach; a shield between them and the rest of the world, one they've never been able to resist and are too selfish to even try, anymore. So they don't. Instead, they close their eyes, breathe in the smell of salt breeze and clean skin that gathers in the hollow of Cain's throat, and allow the world to fade away, until only the two of them remain.

"You're fine," Cain whispers. They can feel his warm breath over the sensitive, iridescently purple scales on their neck, right below their ear, and a shiver runs down their spine. A pleasant one. Something stirs in their belly, warm, low, not urgent yet, but with just the right potential to turn into a blazing fire later on, once they're in the captain's cabin, alone, with much less clothes on than right now.

"Yes," they whisper back. They circle their hands around their pirate's waist, keeping him close, away from anything that could take him away from them. The ship rocks gently beneath their feet, like a mother trying desperately to put a restless child to sleep, and Naberius fears the moment they'll inevitably have to let go. But for now, their world is small. Intimate. Trapped in the space between two bodies, full of unspoken promises, shadows of words exchanged in the silence of early morning. It's safe. It's good. It's enough.

And yet still, the water sings.