for jollyboat: anywhere you go

[whisted]

He doesn't quite fit.

Horatio had known, of course, that he wouldn't. Even if he had managed to make his way onto a ship years ago, everyone would have known he was odd. Perhaps it's for the best that he's clearly just a bit skittish, just a bit uncertain of himself unlike the other young men his age. Perhaps that would distract the human mind from looking to see just why, exactly, this one didn't seem to be quite entirely right.

It was, nonetheless, one thing to know and another thing to live. Being bundled in heavy unfamiliar fabric is surprisingly uncomfortable. The uniform is far more restrictive than the clothing he had forced himself to become accustomed to while hovering around the port. The sensation of being on a boat, despite the familiarity of the sea, is throwing his stomach through something of a loop. He can't shift and change direction. He can't twist along with the waves, comfortable and easy, or cut through below the discomfort of breakers tugging in the wrong direction. It's unnatural, here on a warped version of the surface. It's twisting something uncomfortable in his shoulders, almost dizzying as he tries to find his feet under him.

This is what he wanted, and it doesn't quite fit.

For the most part, feeling his skin in the sack slung over his shoulders is reassuring. His fingers can worry against the familiar softness with each odd rush of discomfort. This, after all, is the back-up plan. This is the fail-safe if everything falls completely to pieces and he needs to throw himself simply back into the sea. This is the piece of himself which will always fit properly, no matter where he is.

That's why it's resting at the top of his sack as he scrambles up properly into the ship. That's why, in the bluster of humanity, the young selkie doesn't notice that his skin has spilled out onto the deck.

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[jollyboat]

“You think they’ll— let me talk to them, too?”

He’d like that.

[whisted]

"I do."

Every single one he had spoken to since meeting Archie had been fascinated by the idea of the other young man.

"You're..."

There isn't a good word in the language of men. Everything comes off too possessive and greedy.

"...part of this, now."

[jollyboat]

It's the perfect thing to say, if the bright smile that makes its way across Archie's face is any indication.

"That's-- wonderful."

What a gift, to be considered even a small part of the sea and all her secrets.

[whisted]

This isn't the time or place to laugh, but something bubbles up contentedly into the hum that ultimately escapes his throat.

"...it is."

Even moreso because Archie thinks that it is.