In Every Life I've Lived: (1) Shipshape

[hermiones]

Title: (1) Shipshape
Fandom: JE
Pairing: Yamapi/Jin, mild Shige/Koyama
Rating: R
Disclaimers: Well, fuck. I don't even know where to start. This started out as a bit of a joke, really. Nanowrimo: AU fic featuring Japanese boyband members. Only, a plot interfered and it got really serious, and...well. I don't know. It's actually quite a depressing read. I realise that this is rather hysterical, given that I'm writing AU fic featuring Japanese boyband members, but eh, what can I say. This is the kind of stuff I come out with when I don't edit as I go along? :D
Warnings: Supernatural, some disturbing content, scenes of frottage.



In Every Life I've Lived
(1) Shipshape


“Goryeo,” the man says. “Goryeo is where they're all going. If you want to feed yourselves over the winter. That's where you want to set your sail for.”

“Goryeo,” the taste of the word on his tongue, strange and bitter. He's heard of it, his father once mentioned it. This was before ships advanced, crews increased, when the idea of raiding the Korean Dynasty was a mere dream. “I've heard that they're in the capital, too.”

The man looks around. “I don't know about that, but there's talk of it. Some of the ships were even spotted in Pyongyang. So they say. It's all talk, you know how the drunken idiots talk. Wouldn't that be something, lad. You young ones, you're making history.”

“Making history, huh,” he says. “I'd settle for making money. Grain. The crew...they're getting antsy. Long trip for no pay-off.”

“Well,” the man says. “Best head for Korea. They say that those who go there, they'll eat for a year on what they take. Grain, and men too. Some women,” the man winks, nudges the drunken idiot slumped beside him. “If you catch my meaning.”

“Appreciate the tip-off,” he says, slips a small coin into the man's pocket. They leave, then. They haven't got the money for drinks. The crew stay behind, drowning their sorrows in the little alcohol they can afford.

They walk onto the seafront. It's all dark and the boats rock to and fro, like sinister dolls. Pirates like the dark, mostly. It provides protection and disguise. But Yamapi doesn't: it makes him feel gloomy. Claustrophobic. Then again, being on land is often like that. He's been on the sea for so many years that it feels strange to be on still ground. Everything is quiet, until Jin stops, watching the stars.

“What do you think?” he says, rolling his shoulders.

Yamapi shrugs. “It's as good an idea as any we've come up with.”

“I wonder if there'll be anything left for us,” Jin says. “He said that everyone's out there.”

“How many ships go missing, find other territories? Get distracted, shot down? It won't be as busy as he thinks. I doubt there's more than a dozen other ships there. Look on the bright side: if there's too much traffic headed that way, at least the journey will be peaceful. We don't have the means to fight.”

“We should put the word out, boost the crew a bit. I don't want another almost-mutiny,” Jin says. “I can't believe you threw him overboard.”

“Safest thing,” Yamapi says, kicking at the ground. “Didn't trust him. Captains aren't supposed to trust anyone.”

“You trust me,” Jin says. Then, he looks up.

“I have to. You're my quartermaster,” Yamapi says. “And if I didn't trust you, I'd be-”

“Who's that by the ship?”

Yamapi doesn't know. The two of them exchange glances, then make swift work of the harbour.

“That's private property,” Yamapi calls out. “Reveal your identity. We're armed.”

Jin looks at his empty scabbard, sword stolen three days ago. He hopes that the stranger doesn't feel like testing them. Not tonight.

The man turns, and he's a woman. An old woman, at that. Yamapi visibly baulks, looking with a white face at her palm on his ship.

“Who are you?” he says. “Take your hand off my ship. Don't you know that women are bad luck?”

The woman laughs, but she does as he asks. “I could be the best luck you've had in a long time,” she croaks. She's wearing layers of fabric, not inexpensively turned out. There's silk in there, around her withered neckline. Her inner robe is scarlet, but in the dark it looks like cranberry. Her outer robe is white, bright as the moon. It's a bad omen, Yamapi thinks. A female wearing death. Can't be a good sign.

“I hardly think so,” he says. “Years and years of tales-”

The woman scoffs. “How many women have been on one of your ships? The minute one walks onboard, you men start crossing yourselves. I've never heard a grain of truth in your supposed tales. I'm telling you: I may be the best luck you've had in months. Do you want to hear it, or do you want to insult me?”

Yamapi looks at Jin, who shrugs. Despite himself, he's curious. “Go on,” he says. There's a coin left in his pocket. “Be assured that we'll reward any useful information you have.”

“It's not information, so much,” she says. “As a bit of a tale. You like tales, don't you?”

Yamapi rolls his eyes, but Jin nods. “Pirate ships are nothing without a few good tales.”

“Well,” she begins. “It starts the same way as most ghost stories start: with a man who thought he could cheat death. A man who ultimately became a victim of death's vengeance. They say that he was a young man, a young captain of a vessel somewhat similar to yours in size. Cocky, they say. He lived when there weren't so many of you pirates around and so he became richer with each passing year. It wasn't enough.”

Jin is nodding, thinking of Yamapi, a bit. Yamapi's father wasn't a good pirate. He lived through countless mutinies and battles, so he was a good survivor, but he wasn't good at looting, rape and pillage. Yamapi is made of tougher steel. And his ambition, too, is steely.

“He heard a rumour about a cavern filled with endless treasures, exotic food, precious jewels. That you empty the cave of its riches, that you could pack a ship full of it, and when you returned it'd be as full as it had been the first time. If you found such a cave and kept it all to yourself, there'd be no need to loot anymore. It appealed to the man. He'd never been the fighting sort.”

“Does the cave exist?” Yamapi says. The magic seems to be working on him, too.

“Nobody knows,” she says. “But I like to think he wasn't mistaken. Otherwise, his short life was wasted. They say that he searched for it for many years without success. That he indulged in all sorts of practices to uncover its location, even black magic.”

“What happened to him?” Jin asks. “This isn't one of those ghost stories where it ends: 'he was never seen again', is it? I hate those.”

“No, they say that his life ended tragically. They say that he found the cave, that he broke through the vines and the knotted plants that covered its entrance. Years of abandonment, you see. He sliced through these obstacles in a heartbeat, and walked into the cave. Only that wasn't the end of the story. There were no treasures. The cave was empty.”

“So he went home and gave up piracy?” Jin says. “That's even worse.”

“You like interrupting, don't you?” she says. “You'll ruin the story if you hear the end before you should.”

Yamapi is staring at her, hard. “If the cave is empty, it doesn't matter whether it exists or not. This information is useless.”

She stares back, unflinchingly. “They say that he was swallowed by the same vines that he chopped up. That he was strangled. There seems to be something about the place that's dangerous. Some form of magic. Perhaps it wasn't his destiny, and he forced it. Nobody knows.”

“Nobody knows who the destined person was?”

“Nobody knows,” she says. “But you could do worse for a destination. Word has it that everyone is Korea-bound, these days.”

“How do you know all of this?” Yamapi says. “Little old woman. How do you know this? Did you have a son, a pirate son? A brother? It seems that you have connections, and I'd like-”

She is gone before he can finish the sentence. He swears under his breath and Jin laughs, pats him on the arm. “It was a good story,” he says. “I think she embellished it a bit.”

“You think?” Yamapi shakes his head. “We've bigger things. I'm going to bed. Round up the crew, put the word out that we're recruiting tomorrow. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

“That'll upset them,” Jin says. “They've just got here. Everyone's restless.”

“The sooner we're back on the water, the sooner we'll find somewhere to loot. Anyone who isn't with me can stay behind. You know how it goes.”

“I know,” Jin says. “Be good if we could find that cave.”

Yamapi snorts. “With what? She didn't even give us directions. At least we didn't pay her. Crazy old woman.”

Jin smiles, as the moon escapes the clouds. His face is illuminated temporarily and Yamapi is struck by it. It's not something he gets to consider very often, these days. He's lucky to have Jin by his side. He scrunches up his face, boards the ship, waves a grumpy goodbye. Jin laughs, mostly to himself. Whistling a tune, he heads back to the inn, intending on scraping the crew up from the floor.

There's a coil of smoke beside the boat, and it rises slowly behind Jin's back. The ship rocks backwards and forwards in the night and the white gas seeps in through the black portholes.


The crew are hungover the following morning. The morning is bright and cheerful, which doesn't help. It's unusually beautiful for autumn, though, and Yamapi's grateful for small mercies. The crew stand beside the hopefuls and peek at them out of the corners of their eyes. For all that Yamapi is moreorless penniless, his reputation precedes him. He rarely has trouble amassing men to crew his vessel. Jin stands at the forefront of the line, hitting the man beside him as he's falling asleep where he stands.

Certain people Yamapi dismisses on sight. Some are too young, others too weak. Some are too old. One is a woman. He's grown ruthless through years of experience and he knows on sight who will come in useful and who won't. He picks five or six people for deck work, strong as oxen and bull-headed. He can see it in their faces, that they'll work themselves to death for a cut of the takings. Then, he picks a couple of people for cooking, a couple for book-keeping. A navigator. The last one went missing, presumed drowned. Yamapi hopes for better luck this time around.

They board, and Jin puts them to work. He's testing his limits with the new crew, something he does each time around. He works out the slackers, is tough on them from the outset. Yamapi is lucky to have Jin. Jin whips people into shape, creates in them a sense of loyalty, a determination to serve a captain who is cold and unresponsive. Jin is warmer, more fluid. Something of a shapeshifter. At times, he lifts the mood on the coldest days, the longest nights. At times, he has a edge on him that makes Yamapi want to throw him overboard. He's harsh but fair. Just, a bit naive. That's Jin's only problem.

Yamapi's lucky, all the same.

“The harbour is there,” Jin says, nodding overboard. “If you're going to bail, do it now. Less chance of drowning. It's hard work. You'll suffer. But most of you haven't a thing better to do, or any money to do it with. So make your decisions, and make them final. We'll sooner chuck you overboard than suffer traitors.”

It works: nobody moves. There's a sense of purposefulness, of pride. Yamapi heads below deck with his new navigator, who unsurprisingly agrees with everyone else in Tsushima province and thinks they should head for Korea. They study the map, which is more faded than Yamapi remembers it being. He assures the navigator that new maps will be provided at the earliest opportunity.

“If you go with this route,” the man replies, navigating with fingertips. “You'll bypass the key danger areas. See, there. That's where some of the less brave pirates hang out, hoping to come across a ship making for Korea. If we go around the other way, we'll miss them.”

“It'll take-”

“It'll take longer,” he says, firmly. “But we've less chance of being blown to bits.”

Yamapi studies, thinks. “Good work. Stick with me, kid, and you've a future. What did you say your name was?”

“Shigeaki Kato,” the man says. “My father was-”

But Yamapi is gone, without another word. Shigeaki Kato nods to himself, slumps in his seat. He's not sure what he's got himself into. His father was-, there's no words to even end the sentence, anyway. He takes up the map in his hands, grasps it hard to shake off the memories. Surprised, he drops it, looking at his hands. It's covered in a film of white foam.

“Cap-”

On second thoughts, no. He wipes his hands down on his trousers, shaking his head and the thought from his mind. There's noise from above deck, and he concentrates on that, instead. It's easier. For his father the peace and quiet of a silent, small room on a silent, small ship. For Shige, something different. The best way to end the sentence and summarise his entire life: his father was- different. His father wouldn't serve this man, not on this boat, not with this foamy, faded map. His father was- different.


Yamapi is awake most of the night, as are the crew. For such a pleasant day, the night is horrifying. The sea is almost possessed. It's certainly an introduction for the new crew, and Jin keeps them in order. By morning, things look better. The sea is calm again, and everyone feels too ill to eat so there's more food in the long run. Yamapi sits with Jin, they both eat. They're used to this.

“I didn't see the navigator last night,” Jin says. “You don't want him above deck?”

“No,” Yamapi says. “I want him rested, able to concentrate. There's plenty of people to do the labour. If he gets it wrong, we'll be in Heaven only knows where. Leave him be.”

“What do you think of him? Traitorous, do you think?”

“No, I don't think so. Naïve. Rich family. But not traitorous. What about you? Planning to throw anyone overboard?”

Jin thinks on this, grins. “For the first time in five years, not one of them. How about that?”


Yamapi is quite tempted to throw Shige overboard, when he bursts into his cabin. Shige isn't long awake, but his back goes rigid and his face honorific at the mere sight of the captain. It'd be a good sign, but the condition of the map is more pressing.

“What did you do to it?” Yamapi hauls Shige from his chair, presses him against the wall. “What did you do?”

Shige looks over Yamapi's shoulder. “I can't se- I don't-”

“The map is gone,” Yamapi spits. “If that clarifies things any further.”

“Gone?” Shige repeats. “Stolen? I was...nobody came into-”

“No,” Yamapi says. “Gone. Vanished. There's a blank, white canvas on the table. What have you done? What sort of black magic do you know? Who sent you here?”

“Nobody sent me here! I don't know black magic, I swear! I don't know what happened. Please, you have to believe me. I didn't do anything. I wouldn't do anything!”

“You can't explain how it came to be that twelve hours ago, the map was here, and now, it's not? You can't come up with a single explanation?”

“It...yesterday night. It'll sound stupid, but...it was foamy. The map was wet.”

Yamapi releases him, goes over to touch the map. “The ink ran?”

“No, more...it was like a film of foam. But the colour didn't run. At least, I don't think it did.”

“You didn't think to inform me of this?”

“I didn't want to bother you, I thought-”

“In future,” Yamapi says. “I'm to be informed of anything strange. Anything. Whether I'm in the middle of a storm or otherwise. What you did tonight was neglectful, and I don't forget easily. Find a way to recover the lost information, or I'll drop you at the next port I see.”

Shige nods. “Understood.”

“Be glad I believe you didn't do anything underhand, or I wouldn't bother finding a port.”

“Yes. Yes, captain. Understood. I'll get to work right away.”

When Yamapi returns to the deck, the crew are mainly napping. The boat is slowly pacing, Jin standing by the wheel. He quirks an eyebrow when he sees Yamapi.

“Don't let on,” Yamapi says. “But we're cursed. I knew that woman was a bad omen. I knew it.”


Shige works, silently, trying to recover the route from his notes. He's still not used to making the sort of thorough notes his father tried to instill him in. There's enough, though, to allow him to construct a rough draft of the intended route. He looks at the map, colourless and empty. He's cursed. The very first voyage he's ever been on, and within a day everything has gone wrong. Maybe his father was right. Maybe the seas just aren't for him.

He's about to take the papers to the captain's cabin in the hope of restoring some favour when he notices it. The map isn't entirely colourless and empty. A large grey area has appeared. There's an arrow next to it, in darker grey. No labels or words, just a spot and a direction. Shige takes up the map in his hands, stares at it.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asks. “Why?”

Obviously, the map says nothing. Shige sighs, closes his eyes. He makes his way to the captain's cabin with a heavy heart.


The cabin is empty. The two of them are on the deck. Jin is eating an apple, feeding Yamapi sections he slices off with an old knife. They're close. The relationship between captain and second-hand man is, of course, but they're unusually close. Shige hasn't seen anything like it before.

“Captain,” he says. Yamapi looks over and Jin takes the wheel from him.

“You have the directions?” Yamapi asks.

“Yes, but...”

“What now, boy? You're unusually troublesome for someone so inexperienced at life.”

“Yamapi,” Jin says. “The map.”

Shige nods, hands over the canvas. Yamapi stares at it.

“I'm going to have to put someone in your room to keep an eye on you,” he says.

“I promise you, I didn't do anything! I don't know why this is happening!”

“I believe that,” Yamapi says. “But it's only happening when you're present. And I want to know why. Jin, find someone who'll sit with him. Someone trustworthy.”

Jin nods, scanning the crew. “Alright,” he says. “Are we going to this place, then? It looks more interesting than Korea. Hey, maybe it's the place the woman-”

“What woman?” Shige asks, his eyes wide.

“Not your concern,” Yamapi says. “Can you draw me up the best route to the spot on the map? We may just have enough supplies to make it. I'll make my decision as soon as you can put that in my hands.”

Shige nods, removes the papers. He understands the importance. The woman, she preys on his mind. His father always said that women were cursed, bad luck for ships. In a way, it comes as a relief. Maybe it isn't him, after all. At the same time, though, if there is a curse on the ship, chances are this will be his only voyage. Either way, it amounts to the same thing: his father was right.

Most of the crew sleep, two or three stay on watch, just in case. Night owls, they say, they don't sleep much, never have. Yamapi retires to the cabin, takes Jin with him. Shige's scroll sits on the desk and Yamapi wants Jin's advice. He lies down, puts his hands beneath his head. He's suddenly exhausted.

“If we get there,” Jin says, fingering the map. “And there's nothing there, we haven't enough supplies to get back. Or to reach Korean land. To reach any land. We'd have to sail until we found another ship, hope for the best.”

“Yes,” Yamapi says. “They're not good odds. We have nothing to prove that that cave exists. And would you bet lives on it? Would you tell me to bet lives on it?”

“Including your own?”

“My own is the least of my worries. I can't haunt myself, after my death. God only knows what karma I'd amount, sentencing this entire ship to starvation, death.”

“But if the cave does exist,” Jin says. “We'll be richer than any other pirate. We'll control the seas. The men will go home richer than noblemen, richer than the court. The treasures never run out, that's what she said, that woman. We'd have more wealth than anyone in the country.”

“Why,” Yamapi says, voice gruff. “Do all dilemmas have to swing between money and death? Why is that?”

“I don't know,” Jin says. He looks impish, rolling up the scroll. “But it makes me glad I'm not the captain.”

“Are there any more apples?” Yamapi asks. He's waving towards the windowsill, where he sometimes keeps them until they're almost orange with wasted life. Jin brings one to him, one that looks reasonably fresh. The colder weather is helping to keep them cool. He takes the knife out of his pocket and slices it into sections, sitting down beside Yamapi's bed to steady his hands.

“If it were just us,” Jin says, passing sections to Yamapi and feeding himself in the interim. “What would you do?”

Yamapi looks at him. Their eyes meet, boyish, excited. “I'd go for it,” he says. “You know I would. It's not the kind of thing you can turn down, is it?”

“Then go for it.” Jin says. “I think that old hag was right. I think there's something in it.”

“You always think that,” Yamapi says. “And if there's not? If we all have to die a long and painful death? Will you take the blame?”

Jin shrugs, chews on apple. “I'll say that at least we died well. Korea. As if everyone doesn't go there. At least we'd be doing something different.”

“I think searching for a non-existent supernatural cave counts as a failure, regardless of it being different,” Yamapi says, moving over in the thin sheets to make way for Jin. Jin is tired, too. He never sleeps well, the first few nights. It's as if transition takes time to settle on him, like a layer of snow. Jin turns over, finds a comfortable crook in Yamapi's arm.

“If we find it,” he mutters. “If we find it, we'll go down in history.”

“We're already in history,” Yamapi says. “For believing the story in the first place. Gullible, that's what they'll call us. Good Ship Gullible.”

“But if we find it-”

“If we find it, you can go in first. If we don't, I'll let them eat you.”

Jin snorts. There's silence, for a long time. Yamapi stirs over the things he wants to say, in that moment, that he hasn't had an opportunity to say before. This life is full of random occurrences, unpredictability, a lack of time for anything but the next voyage and the next target. Battles and diseases and long, open seas full of anything and everything and nothing. There isn't the time that noblemen seem to have: to court women, to foster relationships. Their life is full of other things and sometimes, Yamapi regrets the swallowed moments that they've lost. By the time he finds the right moment, Jin is asleep.


Yamapi dreams of waving his father away, of being too young to understand. A cloudless day, a large ship. A gaggle of women in fine clothes, waiting somewhere in the distance. Men milling about, carrying objects that smell smoky. Dirty clothes, the odd rat, and mountains of food. He dreams of being on the ship, of being seasick. Scrubbing the decks. Being on night watch. And meeting Jin – he dreams of meeting Jin. He dreams of Jin's father, who died too young. He dreams of his father, who died too old. He dreams of the name of the ship, his ship, fading away under years of mistreatment and neglect.

He dreams of what they will call them, himself and Jin, in the years to come. And then he dreams of the life they could have had, in a different time, in a different place. A mountain of treasures fall down across these lives: gold, jewels, apples. Treasures fall and a thousand Yamapis and a thousand Jins stretch across time and space to reach to them.


The crew aren't happy. It takes Jin a lot of work to convince them of the path Yamapi wants to take. In the end, Yamapi strides onto the deck, and informs them that:

“I don't care whether you're happy with my decision. It wasn't yours to make. It was mine. You made a promise, you swore an oath. I am not leading you into destruction on a careless whim. If you have faith in the beyond, as every man of our country should, then you'll understand that this is something we should grasp with both hands. This is a chance to make something of your lives.”

“And to make you richer!” the men call, and there's murmured agreement.

“When we reach our destination, it'll be every man to himself,” Yamapi says. “The woman prophesied that the treasures would never run out. You must take whatever you want for yourselves. I'll take nothing from you. And if we fail, then I'll carry that through whatever is to come. You can rest assured that I took this decision heavily. And if you won't be assured, then I have no further time for your disloyalty. I am not asking agreement. I am not demanding agreement. But I am demanding loyalty. Those not prepared to give loyalty have broken the oath they made, and should be punished accordingly.”

“I think-” Jin begins.

“Jin,” Yamapi interrupts. “Make them ready. We've a great ground to cover.”

Jin nods. One of the crew stops him, as he shouts instructions, gets everybody into place.

“Has he gone mad, the captain?”

“Save that talk,” Jin snaps. “I won't hear it. He's as sane as he ever was, which is to say that he's just insane enough to be brilliant. You are lucky to be here.”

“He's going to kill us all!”

“Not if I do it first,” Jin says. “I want every man in his place. I want you all to consider your faith. I want you all to consider the chance of having something more. And most of all, I want you all to keep your mouthes shut, because it isn't your place to open them.”

Their greatest hope is a fast journey, Jin knows this. He sets them all to work, a little harder and a little speedier than Yamapi asked. It might save them a day, perhaps a bit more, in case-.

Well, just in case.


That night, Yamapi has the cook prepare something a little special, using spices he and Jin bartered for some months ago. They are Indian, or so it is said. They paid a small fortune for them from some Chinese merchants, believing them to have healing properties. For them, they exchanged a large, blue stone. It would easily have made them money in the town, a wedding gift for a noble lady, perhaps. A love token. Plenty of places to offload a trinket like that. It came at a crucially wealthy time in the course of Yamapi's command, though, so they didn't do that. They took the supposedly-Indian spices, hoping for longevity and good health. Jin had been feeling unwell for some time.

Of course, they didn't provide longevity or good health, but they tasted so good that neither of them felt disappointed with themselves. Indeed, as much as they didn't feel their lives had been extended, nor their happiness enhanced, nor their health vastly increased – Jin seems to perk up, after months of eating little and with some disgust, the promise of a good meal that great.

The crew cheer up in a similar way. It's partly because the food tastes unusually edible and partly because they're aware of the expense Yamapi went to to procure it. After the morning's difficulties, it eases tension, and those on watch go to their positions with lighter steps. The rest head for a little sleep, and Yamapi sees fit to join them. When he retires, he finds that Jin is waiting for him. He's looking at the maps, staring at the route. And then he turns, leans against the large, wooden desk in the captain's cabin.

“There's no apples tonight,” he says. And, true enough, no treasures fall down from the sky. There's just Jin. Just one person, one old, familiar face. One familiar body. Yamapi looks at him and that's enough, so that he can taste him. That old, familiar taste. It's been a month, perhaps more. And yet, the taste is so strong that he tries to swallow it down, to capture it.

“No,” Yamapi says. “But something is ripe, right enough.”

He makes short work of the cabin floor, where he presses Jin up against the wooden frame until the breath seeps out of him and his chin tilts up. Yamapi's just a bit taller, it helps. When he kisses him, it's like coming up out of water and breathing in. It's hard, desperate, shot through with need. His head swims. He can't believe that it's been a month. Jin's lips are soft, wet, and his hands are on Yamapi's face and their hips are together. They shove about, shift awkwardly, trying half for friction and half for comfort. Yamapi's leg slips between Jin's thighs and Jin grunts, pushing down, flexing. There's heat, hardness.

Ripe isn't the right word. Nothing is the right word. For this, Yamapi wouldn't trade anything. Not for all the treasure in the world, or all the Indian spices, or all the large, blue stones. Not for anything. Not for anything at all.

Their hands meet in the middle, flustered and colliding. Yamapi tries to dig his hands into Jin's trousers, Jin's hips moving forward to meet his fingers. He's tangled, so he yanks Jin's shirt out, first, and Jin reciprocates. Yamapi leans out, kicks the door with his foot to check that it's securely fastened. Jin pulls back, then, breathing hard. His eyes are positively enormous. He leans in again for a kiss that's slower, capturing a moment, stirring a memory.

There's no real time for it, not now. Yamapi's hand delves and grasps, and Jin's mouth falls open with a stuttered 'yes'. It takes a moment for him to reciprocate that, and Yamapi is glad of it: he likes to watch thought and concern ebb out of Jin's expression. It's the sort of peace he never feels and he is glad to see it in somebody else. And then Jin comes back to him, breathing hard, and digs down with a timid hand. They pause a moment, legs move, Jin shifts back so that he's half on the desk.

“Is that okay,” he says. It's not so much a question as a slice of vulnerability, and Yamapi leans in. Their chins brush together.

“Yes,” he says.

So Jin starts to move his hand, and 'yes' moves from whisper to grunt. Yamapi takes his lead, relishing that their clothes are still on, relishing the sway of the sea, relishing the salty smell of Jin's collarbone. Everything that he's ever known, everything that's home. And Jin's hand, and Jin's thumb, wet and welcoming and far, far too good.

And his own hand, harder and rougher than Jin ever liked it, but he got used to it, and it works, now. Jin's touch soft, Yamapi's hard. Their eyes are closed, their foreheads together. Small cries and harder grunts come between them, mingling, a strange sense of them both together. Yamapi's hand blurs, and Jin reaches harder, faster, responding to the unfurling red mist inside of himself. Yamapi doesn't dare open his eyes. Too much can happen in that one moment, that one dangerous moment.

Jin comes first, it's what he always does. He takes the periods of abstinence harder than Yamapi does. Even though Yamapi's grip is stronger and more forceful than he'd like, he still leans forward, a haggard head on Yamapi's shoulder, and cries out just behind his ear. It doesn't last long, but Yamapi savours every second because he knows that, very soon, he won't hear or feel or see anything at all.

When he comes, there's a moment of white, endless nothingness. Purity more than isolation. Where everything becomes clear and all of the petty concerns and the niggling trials fade away. It's what he imagines the afterlife may be like. There's just himself, and Jin, and nothing else matters. No treasure, no gold falling from the sky. The sky is white, like clouds or snow, and when he opens his eyes he only meets Jin's face. Nothing more. Nothing less.


Shige sits, writing a letter by candlelight. The other man sits in the corner of his room, just watching. He doesn't even look tired. Shige doesn't understand this one bit. Then again, he's tired and not sleeping, so maybe it's not that strange after all.

“Don't you need sleep?” he says. It comes out ruder than he intended it to.

“No,” the man says. “I don't sleep much. I used to. Every time I was on a ship, I'd go to sleep when I was supposed to. Habit, you see.”

Shige is starting to regret asking. He pauses in his writing, not wanting to ruin the letter by writing down what the man is saying, rather than what's in his heart.

“But then, every time I went to sleep, there'd be a reason to wake up. You know, a raid, or an attack, or a storm. Every time. I think I just learnt not to sleep much. I catnap, you know. Never did me any harm. I suppose that's why they picked me to watch you. Because I don't sleep. Only, you don't sleep, either. You'd think that you could watch yourself, really.”

“Yes. Sorry about that. I'd like to, but things keep...happening.”

“That happens to me, too. Strange things. There was always something, whenever I went to sleep. I could be cursed, for all I know!”

Shige whips around, then. “Don't say 'cursed'! It's bad luck.”

“Sorry,” he's sheepish, the man. Too talkative, but it could be worse. There's a lot of crew members Shige wouldn't dare speak to. “I'm bad luck. My presence is-”

“I think the ship is, you know.” Shige says. “C....you know. What you just said.”

“Oh,” the man nods. “Has the captain said so? It's bad luck, that.”

“No,” Shige says. “But strange things keep happening.”

“Sometimes, that's good luck,” the man replies. “World's strange like that.”

“You trust him? The captain?”

“I do,” the man says, with definite certainty. “Be a fool not to. He's protecting our lives, isn't he? No point doubting him. It'll do no good if he means ill, as worrying gets you nowhere. And if he means well then you'll only feel guilty for disloyalty. Might as well trust him.”

“And the quartermaster?”

“He sees the captain too well, without a doubt, but I like him. I think he tempers things. The captain is a little unpredictable. The quartermaster, he's clear as day. I'm not sure about this plan of theirs but if they believe it, then that's enough for me to wake up feeling cheerful.”

“I wish I had your spirit,” Shige says.

“Well, if you go around writing love letters all day, you will feel sad,” the man says. “Common sense, that. Why not write a happy one. There's plenty to be thankful for.”

“It's not a love letter.” Shige says, quickly. Then, “what's your name?”

“Keiichiro,” the man says. “Call me Keiichiro.”


The first few days of sailing go well: clear, crisp air and sea as calm as the captain's mood. Yamapi cheers up when there's nothing around him but sea, Jin's noticed. And Jin, Jin is happy whenever Yamapi's happy, so the mood on board is good. The crew work hard, there's enough food to go around, and everyone is looking forward to finding the magical cave. Shige's confidence in map-reading improves, as does his friendship with Keiichiro. Sometimes, they're even trusted to man the wheel. Things are well.

On the fourth day, Yamapi and Jin man the look-out nest, mostly to give the two who usually do it a break. The nights are cold and there's not much sleep going during the day, so they're grateful for the break. Yamapi takes some alcohol and some blankets, and he and Jin sit and look at the stars. It's like sailing past a vast, black planet, nothing to be seen but a cold glassy surface and thousands upon thousands of silver speckles. “Stars,” Yamapi says. “Not to be trusted.”

Jin reaches out his hand, as if to touch one. “Beautiful,” he says.

“Know anything about stars?” Yamapi shouts down to Shige, who holds the wheel in excited hands.

“A little,” Shige shouts back. “My father...was a believer. I'm not sure, it's a bit of an inexact science.”

“Told you,” Yamapi says, to Jin. “Not to be trusted.”

“They probably drove my father mad,” Jin says.

Jin's father was marooned, with only a small rowing boat for company. Supposedly, he rowed and rowed, for weeks on end, but never found land. It's possible that he was going around in circles. It's said by some that he drowned in a storm, by others that he starved to death. Jin hasn't ever been sure, but he's aware that the stars must have made lousy company for a lonely man.

Yamapi leans his head on Jin's shoulder, his hand on Jin's leg. Jin smiles.

“I like them,” he says. “You have your storms and your thunder. I like stars. They're quiet.”

“I don't like storms,” Yamapi. “I don't like them. They just make me feel small.”

“Stars make me feel small,” Jin says. “I feel like they're watching us. Like I should be quiet.”

“Don't be silly.”

“What are you most afraid of?” Jin says, suddenly. They don't often have a chance to talk like this.

Yamapi thinks about it. There's lots that scares him: failure, hunger, losing a battle, death. Most of these, he thinks a life in which nothing means anything to him, that'd be the scariest. So, he answers very simply:

“Losing you.”

Jin laughs. Probably doesn't believe him. Typical. “You?” Yamapi asks.

“I don't know,” Jin says. “I've never really thought about it.”


The next day is scorching, unusual for the winter season. Nobody can understand it, because the night was freezing. Yamapi consults Shige about the water temperatures, but Shige assures him that they are roundabout where they should be. The crew seem to enjoy the weather, just not so much working in it. Jin doles out water where he can, making sure that everyone's working as hard as they can. As Yamapi and Shige talk about directions, Jin gets his hands dirty. The good thing about Jin is that he doesn't believe he's above the crew. He believes that Yamapi is, and he makes them believe it, too, but he himself, he's one of them. It makes the crew respect him.

“What are you hoping to find in the cave?” the Mate asks. He's doing routine checks, which Yamapi has asked for because of the strange conditions. The crew are abuzz with the idea that the voyage is cursed, and many of them are focusing on the destination rather than the journey.

Jin thinks about this. “I'm not sure,” he says, carefully. “Don't get me wrong. Riches and food and supplies, that's what I'm hoping to find. But to be honest, I'm more excited about the prophecy coming true. If the cave is there, that'll be enough for me.”

“I'm hoping for gold,” the Mate says. “Lots and lots of gold.”

“Cooler weather would do it for me,” Keiichiro says. “Lots of cooler weather.”

“Do you believe in it, then? The woman's prophecy?” The Mate is a skeptical man. He's not sure what to make of the supernatural, on the whole. Working on a ship where so many put such store in it, that'd been something of a challenge.

“Yes,” Jin says. “I don't believe we're cursed. I believe that strange things are happening, but not that we're cursed. Strange things tend to happen around me.”

“And me,” Keiichiro says. “And me.”

“And the captain, too,” the Mate says. “He told me. Strange things happen when he's on board.”

“Strange,” Jin says. “Normally, he doesn't believe in all that.”


The next day cools off again, and despite their tanned skin, the crew breathe sighs of relief.

The day after, though, icicles start to appear on the rigging, and nobody is in the mood to feel relieved.

The day after that, the day after mutinous talk begins to circulate, is the day they reach their destination.


They're sailing through thick smog, rather like clouds, when it happens. Shige is on deck, unusually, assisting Yamapi at the wheel. Jin is keeping an eye on the crew, who are downhearted and cold. There's murmurs going around that they're nearly there, but nobody believes them. Everyone wants to go home. Most wish they'd gone to Korea, after all. There's not another ship in sight, one of the men points out. There must be a reason for that.

“We should be here,” Shige says, deliberately keeping his voice quiet. “This should be it. Roundabout. Give or take a-”

“There's nothing here but smoke,” Yamapi says. “We could be anywhere.”

“I haven't been able to account for the weather conditions,” Shige says. “I've never seen anything like it. Four seasons in a matter of days. I mean-”

“When do you think the smog will clear?”

“I don't know,” Shige says, honestly. “Maybe we should go on further, try and get a better view of where we are.”

“I don't want us to hit an iceberg,” Yamapi says. “Weather suggests we're in iceberg territory.”

“This spot isn't noted for it,” Shige says.

“I bet it isn't noted for being this cold, either, and yet here we are.” Yamapi says. “I'm not taking chances. We'll wait until the air clears up.”

He instructs the Mate to lower the anchor, and they wait. They wait for six, seven hours. Some people sleep, others are too cold. Yamapi gets more and more tense by the minute, and Jin feels claustrophobic. After ten hours, Jin suggests to Yamapi that they proceed forward.

“I don't think that it's going to clear up,” he says. They study the map.

“See, maybe the map isn't faded. Maybe the white bits are the smog. The cave is right there. Maybe if we just push forward, we'll find it. It's worth a try. It's better than sitting here, listening to that lot grumble.”

Yamapi isn't sure. “If we had better visibility-”

“I don't think we'll get better than this,” Shige says. “Er, with all due respect. This isn't right, for this area.”

“There's supernatural stuff in the air,” Jin says. “I know it.”

“Supernatural stuff?” Yamapi scoffs. “You go and tempt the crew with your 'supernatural stuff'. Idiot.” But he's smiling.

“Just trust me,” Jin says. “Just trust me.”

“We'll wait until morning,” Yamapi says. “If it's still smoggy, we'll proceed. I'm not about to crash this ship into something on a whim. God only knows what's about us.”

Jin looks at him. “You won't trust me?”

Yamapi looks back. “I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that enough?”

Shige politely excuses himself, rushes back to his cabin. “Fighting again,” he says to Keiichiro, by way of explanation.

“Means one of them is right,” Keiichiro says.

“Or neither,” Shige says, gloomily. “Quartermaster thinks we've arrived, captain thinks we haven't. What if both of them are wrong?”

“How can they both be wrong? Either we're here, or we're not.”

“Because if we are, then we're going to sit here until the smog goes, which it won't. So we'll all die. And if we aren't, then we're going to die trying to find something that doesn't exist.”

Keiichiro thinks about this. “Captain will come around,” he says. “You're depressing. Finished that love letter, yet?”


Yamapi and Jin compromise: they agree to proceed halfway between night and morning. They don't tell the crew. They make slow progress around the early hours, Yamapi cursing every time he feels a slight rock in the boat. The smog still present, the night's darkness makes things even more treacherous, but Jin's refusal to go back keeps them both going. And then, after an agonising half-hour that feels like a half-day, the bow of the ship taps something solid.

“It's either a berg and we're about to sink, or this is it,” Yamapi says. Jin grins, showing teeth. He runs the length of the ship, lets down the rope and slides carefully down until his boots touch something solid. He crouches, runs his hand along the ground and cries, triumphantly, “It's land! Not ice, land!”

The crew wake at that, as if the word 'land' is some kind of internal alarm clock. No longer sleepy, they gather themselves and their clothes and follow Jin down the rope. Yamapi takes up weaponry, some supplies, and pushes Shige on in front of him.

“Do you think this is it?” Shige says. He's holding the map. “Do you think this is really it?”

Yamapi looks at him. “I think so,” he says, gruffly. “We've been tested enough for it.”


Jin leads the way by candlelight, the smog dispersing as they progress over the wet ground. It's as if the rock has risen out of the sea. Its surface is covered in a film of foam, something Shige recognizes but doesn't dare point out. The rock itself is dim in colour, not thick black, brown or red. Almost grey. It has to be it, Yamapi thinks. It has to be it.

Jin is thinking about all of the wondrous treasures that might be inside. Good food, money, peace at last. He's seen enough of piracy to know that unless you're lucky, it doesn't get you anywhere. He wouldn't be sorry to say goodbye. It's either that, or end up like his father. Making history is one thing. He'd settle for letting history make itself. He's done with it.

Yamapi is thinking about Jin, and whether this will change anything. He's not sure about the future. He's not sure about anything, really, except that this had to be it. If it isn't it, if it's all a trap – well, there's so much he hasn't said. So much he hasn't done. He's not ready to give up. He's not ready to give in. His hand is by his side, fingering his sword.

After some time, the rocks stop progressing horizontally and move vertically. Jin rests his hand, palm flat, on the wet, grey rock of what seems to be the cave itself. The crew turn around, looking for danger, in human or animal form. Supernatural form, even, at the end of the day. The air is thin with smog, still. There's not much to see, just rock. All around them is grey. Just as the map suggested it would be. Shige stares at it once more, almost unable to believe it. His other hand is by his pocket, fingering the letter within.

Yamapi walks through the crowd to stand beside Jin. He puts his hand next to Jin's, and both of them feel the vines that they were warned about.

“We can't cut them,” Jin reminds Yamapi, and Yamapi nods.

“I wonder what the trick is,” he says. “There must be a trick.”

Jin shines the light over the vines. They twist and turn in all directions, but at their core is a small, round hole. Through it, the path within can be seen. It's clear, brilliant in colour, different from the muted overtones of the outside. But no treasure can be seen. Only the path and its illumination, tempting and deep.

“It's there to entice us,” Yamapi says.

“Or maybe it's a lock,” Jin says. “Find the key to fit the hole, and we're in.”

“It's not lock-shaped,” Yamapi says. “What key is that size?”

“I don't know,” Jin says. “Shige, does the map say anything about locks, or keys?”

Shige shakes out the map, but nothing.

“Maybe it's the map!” Yamapi says, suddenly. They pass it to him and he rolls it into a thick roll. Pushing the roll through the slot, he waits for something to happen, but nothing does. After a minute or two, Yamapi sighs with disgust and removes it. He tosses it back to Shige.

“Can you see anything around?” he says. “Anything large enough to fit into that hole?”

The crew search. Nobody finds anything, other than small rocks and water and the gnarled ends of vines. Everyone is restless, and Yamapi leans his face against the cold, wet rock.

Shige looks down at the ground, the map folded under his arm. He takes it out, to check if he's missed anything, and that's when he sees it.


With your heart's desire, you can only look
Through the lock at possibility untook.
That vessel of desire will unlock the door
After that, you may do more.


“I hate riddles,” Keiichiro says. “I hate them. Why does everything have to be so complicated?”

Jin takes the map, stares at it. “And so full of rhyme,” he adds, bitterly. “I hate riddles, too.”

He passes the map to Yamapi, who studies it for a few moments. “It says that we want what's in the cave. We desire what's in the cave. And with that desire, we can only look through the hole. To unlock the door, we have to fill the hole with a heart. After that, we can take what we want.”

Jin looks stupefied. “But whoever gives his heart will be dead. He can't do more. He can't do anything.”

“That's what it says.”

Everyone wants to turn back. The crew look amongst themselves. “Whose heart does it want?” the Mate asks.

“The one with the most desire,” Shige says, mournfully. “That's the one that'll open the door.”

Yes, the map says. Everyone looks towards Jin. And Yamapi looks at them, looking at Jin, and he wishes they'd never come.



When he thinks back on all the things they've done, he sees a sea of adventures. From the moment they met (Jin fell off the pier and Yamapi had to drag him out, they were six or seven) until the moment they're standing by the awful cave, all they've done is have adventures. To be fair, it was all they ever dreamed of doing. It was all any boy ever dreamed of doing. To have pirates for fathers, the certainly of eventful lives – Yamapi can't regret that. He can't wish for something more mundane, more uninteresting.

The problem is that he doesn't crave adventure anymore. He's used to it because it's all he does, and he enjoys it because he's with Jin, but he doesn't need it. He doesn't need any part of it. He needs Jin, but Jin isn't adventure. Jin is what happens between adventures, the familiar, the mundane and the uninteresting. It doesn't make him a bad thing. It just makes him rounded. The parts of life worth living. The everything, Yamapi supposes.

If they'd lived in the town, with simple jobs and a simple set of earnings, things would have been different. They'd have had to have kept their relationship secret, obviously. Here, the crew know. It's not something anyone talks about, but they know, all the same. And yet Yamapi doesn't feel that secrecy would be such a sacrifice. Not for all the time they'd get together. All the mornings in bed and the sex, and the security. This life isn't secure. It isn't safe. It isn't quiet, or still. They snatch moments of quiet and still, but they don't expect them. It's exhausting.

The crew leave them alone: suddenly find things to do. Some of them have mistresses, wives, they know the value of attachment. They understand the brevity of Yamapi's dilemma. A few days ago, Yamapi thought this was about deciding between money and death. That's what he'd said to Jin. Now, he realises that there are greater and more horrible decisions: those between death and death. They haven't enough supplies to make the journey home. The only way to gain them, is to sacrifice Jin's life. Death versus death. And whilst Yamapi would sacrifice himself or Jin's life, Jin is ever-aware of the rest of the crew.

“Why do you think that woman led us here?” Yamapi asks. “I thought she was a good spirit. She seemed like a good spirit.”

Jin shrugs. “I think she wanted a heart,” he says. “Maybe she isn't a spirit. Maybe she isn't even dead. Just...missing a heart.”

Yamapi snorts. “You believe in too many ghost stories. Too many fantasies.”

“They exist, don't they? We're in one.”

“Believing is what brought us here, Jin. If we'd just gone-”

“If they need my heart, if you need my heart, take it. It's me or everyone, isn't it? That's what it says. I'm not prepared to have everyone die, out of stubbornness. I'm gone, anyway. If we do nothing, I'm gone. The only difference is, if we get it over with now, you have a chance.”

“A chance of what?” Yamapi says. “Of nothing? There's just...nothing.”

Jin shrugs, again. “You could give it up. Get married. Do something bigger than this.”

“I didn't want to do it without you.”

“No,” Jin says. “I didn't see it that way, either. But things change. I led you here. I'm prepared to do this. There's no other way, is there? At least it's a better end than my father had.”

They're silent, for a long while.


The one regret Yamapi holds, apart from not going to Korea, is that he never got a chance to say goodbye. You may face dilemmas between money and death but you never know when death is imminent. Even when you choose money, you can never choose the moment where death must be faced. Had Yamapi known, this morning, that he would live and Jin would die – this morning would have been different. They wouldn't have argued. They would have lain in bed and said goodbye.

Perhaps because they'd have known, it would have been sad, and awful. Perhaps it's better to go out as they lived: bickering and dreaming. Yamapi fulfilled Jin's last wish, which was to come to this horrible place. That's all he can think about, at the end of the day. It's all that it's sensible to think about.


Shige stands well away, trying to force his mind to leave him be. Keiichiro stands by, even though he's not under obligation to keep watch. Shige rubs his face from time to time, and Keiichiro comes closer.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he says.

“What?” Shige asks. He wipes his face with the back of his letter, which he feels like throwing away, now. “What's what I want?”

“This life,” Keiichiro says. “You can never guess it. Never predict it.”

“I told them to come here. I translated that awful, awful map. I did this.”

“You didn't do anything,” Keiichiro says. “They make their own decisions. They always did, always will. Pirates are like that. Offer them enough money and they'll try and cheat death. They got caught. I'm sorry for it, but it wasn't your doing.”

“I don't think this is what I want,” Shige says. “I just-”

“There's nothing else.”

“No. I can't do anything else.”

Keiichiro looks back, over his shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.


When the crew return, Yamapi looks drawn and Jin looks almost as if the colour is fading from him. Yamapi has drawn his sword, and his dagger. The mate looks withered, guilty.

“I just want to say,” he says. “It was an honour. To serve under-”

“Thank you,” Jin says. He almost doesn't want the platitude. He wants what his father had: silence, nothingness. Too many people about and it makes him want to run back to the ship. He's not completely selfless, after all.

“Keep watch,” Yamapi says. “Turn your backs and keep watch.”

Jin meets his eyes, a silent 'thank you' right there. He wants them to be alone. And Yamapi wants to say so many things, that have been lost over the years. He feels like all the things he ever wanted to say are raining around them and there's nothing he can do, now. There's a storm of lost words and he can only hope that Jin knows a fraction of what he feels. He can only hope that Jin's getting a little bit wet.

He holds out the sword in one hand, the dagger in the other. Jin rests his hand on the dagger. They look at each other, but say nothing. Yamapi takes the dagger, but puts his hand in Jin's.

“I am so sorry”, he says. “You can't-”

“I know,” Jin says, strangled. “Just do it. Please.”

Jin turns his head and focuses on the path that lies before them. He closes his eyes and memories flood the whites of his eyes: the time he and Yamapi first met (he fell off a pier, he thinks, or perhaps Yamapi did), their first loot, the first time they worried they'd never set off, they had so much treasure aboard. Bartering, drinking, their first kiss. And the sex, lost things said in the dark. Feelings not vocalized. Life not lived. He thinks, hard, about where Yamapi can go now. The possibilities that lie before him. He focuses on that. The treasure that will buy him the kind of life he and Jin always wanted. Happiness. Peace.

He takes a deep, hard breath as he feels the blade, and waits for life to ebb away. Waits for the memories to ebb away. Smoke rises, his skin is hot. That's when he opens his eyes. The dagger is trailing smoke. Yamapi's eyes are wide. Wet, too, but mostly wide. The skin isn't pierced, but a white outline remains. As Yamapi moves the dagger point around the place where Jin's heart lies, a shape is drawn in white foam. Yamapi swallows up his courage and completes the shape, then, looking at Jin with a fearful expression, draws the dagger back. The air leaves Jin's lungs, then, and Yamapi's tempted to stop. Just to stop, to go back, to let everyone die, it's not that important-

“Put the dagger in the hole,” Jin says, choked.

Yamapi fumbles it down. Jin struggles to breathe. The white foam remains on his chest, burnt in. Yamapi almost doesn't want to touch him. The door is starting to smoke. The vines are aflame. Yamapi steps back, pulling Jin with him. The vines curl and retract, blackening into short twists. The passage is open. They have done it.

Yamapi looks at Jin. Jin looks back at him. He's alive. He's alive.

The way that he holds him, it's too hard, too rough, too forceful, and Jin's half-laughing, half-choking, but he doesn't care. They came through this and lived. They came through this and lived.


“Shige,” Yamapi says. “Does the map say anything now?”

Shige's hands are shaking. He unfolds the map.


Naive heart you have given me,
In order to do more than see.
Have no care in what you take,
Treasure will not a heart remake.


Yamapi doesn't want to think about what that might mean, though a part of him knows already, he thinks. Jin doesn't get the rhymes, he never does, but he's happy just to be alive. So Yamapi pushes the words to the back of his mind, and leads his crew down into the cave. Just around the corner, there's a long, wooden table. Highly polished, covered in candelabras. And food, food piled high almost to the roof of the cavern. Sitting at the table are seven men, made of smoky substance. One is brighter and sharper than all the rest. They do not talk, or move. Until, that is, Yamapi and his men turn the corner and stop, dead.

“Who are they?” The Mate asks. “Are they. They're not.”

Jin's eyes are like dinner plates. Yamapi can't think of a single thing to say.

The smoking man at the head of the table raises his face, which is wicked and triumphant. He is the strongest, brightest of them all. Yamapi and Jin head up their men, reaching for weapons. As if that'll help, to fight against a ghost.

“Thought I was a woman, did you,” the ghost says. “Hah.”

Yamapi is struck dumb. Jin's jaw drops open. “What?” he says.

“I did tell you,” the ghost says, to the ghost on his right. “Little old women, more believable than old psychics. Idiot. Idiot.”

“You took my heart,” Jin says. “Didn't you?”

“Yes,” the ghost says. “I'll get stronger by the minute. Right now, it's happening. I don't mean to harm you, don't worry. Couldn't harm you. Not after what you did for me. Please, help yourself to food.”

“Why did you take my heart?”

The crew don't move. It's partly loyalty, and partly fear.

“Because I need to live,” the ghost says, simply. “Do you know what it is, just to exist and watch things happen around you? I want to feel. To have experiences. To know what it is to love, and hate. To feel anger, joy, pain. I want to feel. Don't you understand that?”

Jin understands that.

“Yours is a good heart,” the ghost says. “I'm glad to have it.”

Yamapi's face is wretched. “What do you mean?”

“It's full of feelings. Full of words that never got said. You stored them up in here, Akanishi Jin. There's plenty of warmth, here. It's a good heart. Full of love that never got used. It's so warm. Such a good heart. Such a good, good heart.”


The letter reaches Shige's father some months later. The postmark is obscure, not something he ever remembers seeing. He looks at it under a magnifying glass, but can't make it out. He recognises the writing on the front, though, which makes him pause with his letter-opener.

It's been a long time since he saw Shige off on his journey. He was never ready. This letter could contain anything. But his father is prepared for the worst. He takes the letter into his study, sits down amongst his charts and his globes and slowly opens it.

The paper is thin, the handwriting varies between neat and uneven. The ink, a deep purple. Not a single word is scratched out. The letter has taken a long time to write, he thinks. It is honest. There's a feeling of dread building within him as his eyes scan the first page.


Dear Father,

By the time you get this letter, I may be dead. You may never read it, I don't know. I'm making voyage for a cave, told to the crew in superstition. It's not something you'd approve of, I know. Superstition isn't science. But then, neither are stars, and you loved them, so I hope you can understand.

I don't know if the cave exists, or what will happen if we do find it. There's talk of treasure, endless gold and things. If we find the cave and the riches, I'll bring some back and maybe then you'll be proud of me. My first voyage bringing back a haul, wouldn't that be something? Maybe then, I'd be something other than your failed son.

I'm not writing to you out of anger, or pain, or...bitterness. Just confusion. Just, I'm learning all the time that what you taught me about life is wrong. Life isn't science. Human feelings are inexact. Forgiveness and understanding aren't weak because they're immeasurable. They're strong because of that.

I know that you loved me, and my mother, in the best way you knew. I think that I'm falling in love, too. And I hope to do it in the best way I know how: without fear, without regret, without limitation. Without science. Life isn't measurable. It's what happens when you're not thinking, or watching, or doing that makes it worthwhile.

I hope to see you again. But if not, I hope that you get this. I want you to know it. Not to hurt you. I just wanted you to know. You once told me that when I got older, I'd understand some of the things you said. I hope that now that I am older, you can understand some of the things I say.

Your loving son,
Shigeaki Kato.


“Idiot,” Shigeaki Kato's father says, gruffly. Gently. “Idiot.”