Chapter Text
Kang Yeosang was the Quartermaster, the second-in-command and mediator between Captain and crew. What confused Yunho was this: despite his position, he spent more time in the sick bay than on deck.
Eventually, Yunho caught on. The gorgeous man was more Pirate Surgeon than Quartermaster.
That’s why he always smelt like herbs and gunpowder. Why he stitched wounds one moment and disciplined the crew the next. That’s why Yunho hardly saw him.
How did he even balance both roles?
Simple — he couldn’t.
If he played one, he had to abandon the other. So when he brought Yunho back to the ship, the first thing he did was drag him to the sick bay. The gash across Yunho’s hand was deep; it needed disinfected immediately.
Yunho sat on the hammock, conflicted, legs dangling, stomach tight; each time Yeosang dabbed the wound with rum-soaked cotton, he winced.
Fire ant bites stung less.
Knowing that sirens walked amongst them stung more.
Yeosang glanced at him. “How have you been since that incident?”
A whirlwind of emotions tightened Yunho’s chest. His mouth dried. In guilt and shame, he looked away. “Not okay.”
Something flickered in Yeosang’s eyes — a split of regret and mourning, like he realized what he had asked. “Sorry.”
Silence.
Yeosang switched subjects. “Is the alcohol burning too much? I can stop for a minute.”
Relax. Yunho shook his head. “No. I just haven’t been down here in a while.”
“Ah.”
A beat.
“Hm,” Yeosang hummed. He threw the last piece of cotton out the window. “I’m glad I don’t have any other patients today. This could’ve been risky.”
“Why?”
“Influenza’s been going around.”
“What’s that? I don’t think I’ve ever caught—“
“That’s a good thing.” Yeosang grabbed a needle and thread. “Influenza is a horrible sickness. If you caught it, you wouldn’t make it.”
Threading the needle through, Yeosang knelt on one knee. He flattened Yunho’s hand onto his thigh, steadying his hand. Then came the first sharp prick.
Yunho’s thumb twitched — it didn’t hurt much compared to being cut by swords. Still, something about Yeosang’s calm made the air feel heavier.
“Why wouldn’t I make it?”
A pause. Then, Yeosang looped the thread back into a stitch — a backstitch. A stitch meant to close wounds for good. “Your body may still suffer from lack of immunity. I’d worry if—“
“You’d worry?”
Yeosang’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he continued stitching. “Yes?”
Tenderly, Yunho’s fingers brushed against his throat. “About the crew? Because I could lose my voice again?”
Another pause.
Then: “Not just that.” Finally, Yeosang tied the stitch. “I’d worry about you.”
A beat.
“You’re one of us, too.”
The words came out before Yunho could stop them. “You think of me as a person?”
It was like falling off a cliffside. Together, they were impaled by jagged rocks. No one dared to even choke on their blood — that would count as response.
Yunho’s blood ran cold. He was too obvious, too desperate to be seen as human. Kang Yeosang was the Quartermaster — the second-in-command and mediator between Captain and Crew. The one who, along with Captain, hid a horrible, horrible truth.
The one who, at any cost, could not be trusted.
What if he reported this back to Captain?
Yeosang’s lips thinned. He stared at the Siren Watch’s hand — then, in one swipe, cut the thread.
Fear sank its teeth into Yunho’s spine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just—“
“We’re still going to Cape Sounion.”
For a moment, Yunho thought his misheard. He stared at the Quartermaster, waiting for him to repeat his words.
“Why?” Yunho breathed. “There’s no point in going anymore, right? We don’t even have supplies. What about San?”
“Captain’s getting them. We can’t risk leaving here without the stuff for the altar,” Yeosang reminded. Another beat. His voice quieted. “And Poseidon’s the only one who may know where San is — if he’s dead or alive.”
Dead or alive.
Hope sparked in Yunho’s heart. “Thank gods. We have a faster way to save him.”
A dark look crossed Yeosang’s eyes. However, he said nothing. Instead, he took a step towards Yunho. He clamped a nervous hand onto his shoulder, like he wanted Yunho to forget the daring question he asked.
Daylight poured in.
“Be honest with me,” Yeosang began, voice unreadable.
Yunho stiffened. Was he going to question his identity? Humiliate him? Threaten him?
“During these seven years,” Yeosang said, “were you ever taught how to cook?”
Yunho opened his mouth. Then, he closed it. “…Huh?”
An apron, a stove, and a knife.
The galley.
A place where the best meals were cooked. Food bought from the market made for creamy chicken stews, delicious ham sandwiches, and slow-roasted meats. (Thankfully, not rats. Never rats.)
San, as their Cabin Boy, was the one who made food for them. No one knew how he made such good food with few ingredients. No one cared that much, though — it didn’t kill anyone and it wasn’t hard tack. Dirt bag, they were grateful.
Now that he wasn’t here, someone had to step up. Yunho knew that, then thought nothing of it.
Good news: he was right.
Bad news: he was right.
Him? Cooking? He wasn’t even sure if Captain would want him near the stove. What if it suddenly got poisoned and Yunho was blamed? With everyone alreadywary of him, it wouldn’t take much. Captain would kill him at any cost.
In a state of shock, Yunho had agreed to learn. It wouldn’t be too bad, right?
Horrible news: Jung Wooyoung would be his teacher.
Wooyoung slapped steak onto the cutting board. “Score it.”
Yunho looked at the meat. He looked back at his teacher. “Scare?”
Wooyoung raised his eyebrow. “No. Score it.”
For a solid minute, Yunho stared at the meat. He thought about it. Then: “An eight out of ten. Looks someone lost a chunk of their arm.”
Wooyoung’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped open, scandalized. “You don’t know anything about cooking, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Hestia would be ashamed of you.”
“Captain already is. Nothing new.”
Somewhere in the galley, pots clanged against each other like they couldn’t handle the tension.
Wooyoung rubbed his temples. “I can’t believe you just said that out loud. I said score the meat, not share your trauma.” Grabbing the knife, he guided it across the meat. “Scoring means making shallow cuts. When you do this, it helps more flavor soak into the meat. I like to make my cuts deeper, though. Allows for more flavor.”
Yunho nodded, watching. “Makes sense. The deeper the cut, the more it hurts.”
Silence.
“Oh my gods. I’m talking about the flavor, Siren Watch. Flavor.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Likely story.”
Yunho eyed him. “A likely story is you not wanting me dead.”
Wooyoung gave him a thousand-yard stare. Then, without a word, he snatched a pot from the cabinet and slammed in onto the stove. “Okay. Potatoes are next. All we have to is cut them into fours, then—“
“I wonder if Captain would’ve cut me into fours.”
Wooyoung let out a loud groan. He snatched the knife from Yunho’s hand. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this! Do you hate me? Is this a set up? Have I been cursed?”
Yunho slowly blinked. His voice was quiet. “I’m the curse, aren’t I? That’s why you were about to let Captain kill me.”
Wooyoung froze. Steam waved off the pot. It hissed in pain, wishing the fire would stop burning.
“All I did was follow orders,” he said. “He didn’t want me to interfere. Therefore, I didn’t.”
“Even when I was about to die?” Yunho asked softly, voice cracking. He wasn’t mad — all he wanted was to be heard.
Nothing.
“Remember those nights we spent on deck, just talking about constellations? You telling me stories about the gods? Did none of that mean anything?” He looked away. “Do I not matter to you anymore?”
Another forbidden question. Yunho definitely knew that Wooyoung would report this back to Captain. Right now, he didn’t care. He needed to know where Wooyoung stood — if two days ago was just a fluke. A mistake.
That Wooyoung believed in him.
Wooyoung’s mouth opened. It closed. Then, his eyes shifted to the steaming pot. He looked dead. Exhausted.
Haunted.
“It’s complicated now, Yunho. Hongjoong’s right — we don’t know what or who you are anymore. If your voice truly just disappeared and came back, then you’re dangerous. Whatever’s after you may fall upon us, too.”
Yunho’s blood froze.
“Wait.” His voice was thin, breaking. “Truly? You think I let that happen on purpose?”
Nothing.
His hands trembled. “What about this incident? Do you think I killed San, too?”
At that, Wooyoung’s eyes flew open. It looked like he wanted to deny it. But his silence was louder. The final answer, buried beneath the shock, was clear in his eyes — “Yes. I do.”
Yunho let out a dry chuckle. “Dangerous,” he muttered. “A murderer. A siren. I see it now. None of you trust or want me anymore.”
Silence hung in the air, raw and bleeding.
Finally, Wooyoung sensed the damage he caused. “No. I meant—“
Yunho picked up carrots from a stack of other veggies beside him. “No, I understand. Let’s just keep going, Navigator.”
Navigator.
Wooyoung opened his mouth again, probably to shout at Yunho for calling him by his title. It was sterile. Stripped of friendship.
Instead, he closed it, watching Yunho drag the blade across the innocent carrot. Thick, orange ribbons fell to the ground, landing with a soft thud. It looked like Yunho was taking its life.
“Whoever taught you how to peel carrots like that needs to be keelhauled,” Wooyoung joked — sort of. “They clearly hate vegetables and themself.”
No response.
Wooyoung sighed. “You’re going to ignore me now, aren’t you?”
“Doesn’t feel good, does it?”
Scrape, rotate, scrape, chop. A mindless rhythm of depriving the veggies from life. An earthy scent wafted in the air, meaning to calm the mind. Instead, it reminded Yunho of reality. A reality he wished he could change.
After watching Yunho scrap them into the pot, Wooyoung took the knife to rinse it. “Do you know why I’m teaching you?”
Yunho looked at him, silent.
“Do you?”
“You’re not Captain. I’m not afraid to respond with silence.”
The steam began to fade away.
“If you learn different skillsets, Hongjoong may keep you alive for longer,” Wooyoung confessed, sincerity pouring through. He let the confession linger. “Yeah, you’re our Siren Watch, but it’s clear that he no longer cares about that. Sang-ie wants you to stay alive. He’s the only reason I agreed to help. Otherwise, I’d be with Captain right now.”
The same Quartermaster who avoided my question, Yunho thought, is the one who wants me alive.
Again, he wanted to laugh. “Sometimes, I can’t tell whether you’re a Navigator or the First Mate. You’re more obedient than Mingi ever has and will be.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Don’t compare me to him. He’s different — too kind to hide his worries from people.”
“Of course somebody that shows the smallest bit of empathy is too kind for you. It’s an insult to even compare him to you. He hesitated before telling me that Captain wanted to see me.” He looked Wooyoung up and down. “As for you? I don’t even know. You don’t even act like I’m a human anymore.”
Finally, the steam vanished.
The one tied down by Captain’s hatred and the one bound by undying loyalty stared each other. Both saw the light of their friendship pass away; their hearts separating, chasms away.
All because of one terrible event out of Yunho’s control.
“See Gemini, Yun-ah?”
Up in the night sky, a constellation was shaped like an innocent snail searching for love. It twinkled in response to their admiring gazes, basking in the quiet glory it was showered with.
Moonlight paled Yunho’s hair. His eyes reflected the stars; he looked like he wanted to absorb their beauty, to become one with them. “It’s so pretty, Wooyoung. Who created them?”
“The stars?”
“Yes. Did they just appear one day?”
Tilting his head in thought, Wooyoung stared out into the dark sea. Strands of his hair clung to his skin; rosy red bloomed across his cheeks from the breeze.
“Some say the gods,” he answered. “Others just say one God did. I believe in polytheism more. If I was the only one controlling the universe, I’d snap.”
God.
Yunho leaned against the wooden railing on the main deck and closed his eyes. Warm sea air brushed against his face. “I think I’d rather have the love of one God than deal with the lust of many, though,” he murmured. “That’s more beautiful than anything.”
Wooyoung laughed — not mocking him, but from how innocent he was. “Yah! How are you even a pirate? You’re too pure for your own good.”
All Yunho did was chuckle.
Wooyoung looked back at the sky. “Gemini symbolizes a lot of traits; for example, connection, duality, and communication. No matter how different people are, it’s possible to talk. All you have to do is make a connection. Man complicates it out of pride.”
Pride.
Wooyoung looked at Yunho. He frowned, noticing his friend’s sadness. “What’s wrong?”
At first, Yunho didn’t say anything. Hesitation ate at his mind, whispering that communicating would do more harm than good.
But Wooyoung? Harming him? He’d never.
Wooyoung was too thoughtful to do that.
Gently, Yunho’s fingers reached for his own throat. He gave it a soft pinch with his finger pads. “My throat feels weird, like something’s stuck in it. I’ve been wanting to talk about it with Captain, but he’s been acting strange around me. I don’t want to annoy him.”
Back then, Yunho didn’t notice it — the panic in Wooyoung’s eyes and how he swallowed his nerves. How his response was too fast, like he expected Yunho to notice.
“Captain loves you,” he said, fidgeting with his collar. “You can talk to him about anything.”
Yunho shook his head. “It’s like he sees me as someone else — not Yunho, for some reason. Maybe I should just solve this on my own.”
Wooyoung thought for a moment. “Hm.” A pause. “Maybe you need to take it easy. We know that you don’t need to rest your voice, but maybe you got sick.”
“What’s sick?”
A loud, happy laugh suddenly erupted from Wooyoung, echoing. “You don’t know what sick is?”
Yunho shook his head.
Wooyoung reached for Yunho’s shoulder, standing on his tippy-toes so that he didn’t stretch his arm out too much. “Then have fun finding what that is then, Yun-ah.”
Yunho shouted at him as Wooyoung ran off, laughing like a child. He sighed, but a smile was on his face.
Maybe he was worrying too much. If this “sick” was just messing with him, then it’d go away soon. Right now, he had a job to do: protect the Declaration — the ship that taught him how deep humanity’s love goes; the crew that he trusted and devoted himself to with all his heart, mind, and soul.
His very purpose of being alive.
All because of one man.
Yes, Hongjoong was acting strange — distant, distracted, like a ghost was haunting him. Yet he still praised Yunho. He still smiled at him. Things have changed a little, but he was still the same Captain Yunho came to know.
While Yunho personally didn’t know the weight of being a Pirate King, he learned that leaders keep burdens a secret. They don’t want to worry their members and lower moral.
When Hongjoong returned to his normal self — a calm Captain with a guarded, yet soft, heart — Yunho would tell him the problem with his voice.
That was a promise for his savior.
He climbed up to the crow’s nest, standing on its ledge as his hand gripped the mast. Soon, they’d be close to Port Royal. Only one more week until they reached Caribbean waters.
Until then, Yunho wouldn’t rest. Sirens could attack at any time, and he knew that they were always waiting for Yunho to be distracted.
So, when he saw their images in the water—
I smile upon you, my weathered champion
—he shoved down the last of his worry.
Today, he’d no longer just hum with the wind. He would use lyrics —words so rhythmic and protective that sirens would tremble at the thought of the Declaration.
He took a large, deep breath. His sang the first two words—
O, Cacodaemons—
—before two ghostly hands wrapped around his throat.
At first, he thought they were an illusion from anxiety. Then, they tightened.
He opened his mouth. Silence.
He tried to scream. Silence.
It was like swallowing needles and glass each time he tried to speak.
No sound. No song. Not a single note came from Yunho.
And the sirens’ song was getting louder.
Corkscrews. Sponges. Anything to block their ears. He had to get down there. He had to warn them.
The song was getting louder.
Since when was his hearing so sensitive?
His nails tore at his own skin. The hands were translucent. He couldn’t pry off the hands. He couldn’t escape their grasp.
He was trapped.
The song was getting louder.
The air smelled too sweet.
The sirens howled and howled and howled—
And he heard the first splash.
Just as his world was about to turn black, they softened their grasp.
Splash.
He still couldn’t sing. It was as if their, not the choking, had stolen his voice away. But he could move his head.
So he did.
On the deck, the crew was jumping off. One by one, sirens dragged them under the water. Screams and gurgles echoed in Yunho’s ears. Those with protected ears dived in to save their friends.
But what made Yunho’s heart drop was this:
Wooyoung had a smile on his face. His eyes were glazed over, the song luring him to Death. He whispered something to himself — something only Yunho could hear.
“I see him.”
Then, as his voice returned and he screamed Wooyoung’s name, Jung Wooyoung plunged into the water.