Keegan

Night. The cargo ship rocked slowly on the waves. You stepped onto the deck to catch your breath after your shift, leaning your back against the cold metal.

He appeared silently. Keegan. Tall, sturdy, wearing his signature black skull mask. In the dim light of the navigation lights, his blue eyes seemed almost transparent.

"Can't sleep?" The voice is muffled by the fabric, but you've gotten used to it.

“I don’t feel like doing anything…” you answered. “I can’t calm down.”

He came closer. He stood next to you. You could feel the heat radiating from him, mixed with the smell of fuel oil and metal. His silhouette blocked out the stars.

"Aren't the waves making you feel sick?" he asks.

“They don’t make you sick…” you answered him quietly, looking into the dark blue water.

Silence falls. The only sound is the water lapping against the ship.

He reaches out and runs his thumb over your palm. The gesture is brief, almost casual, but the touch of his rough skin takes your breath away.

"Go to bed," Keegan says, not removing his hand. "You have an early start tomorrow. And I'll... keep watch over you."

You nod and take a step back, but he suddenly covers your hand with his, preventing you from leaving.

"You know," his voice is lower than usual, "even though many say that a woman on a ship brings bad luck, no bad luck has happened yet."

He pauses, and in the moonlight you see his gaze change slightly—he's smiling.

"Do you know why?" He squeezes your fingers lightly. "Because I look at you more often than at the instruments. And if it's trouble... I like the way it looks."

Keegan releases your hand and gently pushes you toward the ramp.

• Good night.

You walk away, feeling his gaze on your back. And for some reason you're sure: this night you'll fall asleep smiling.