He woke to the sound of waves gnawing at the rocks.

Light bled slowly through the slats of the shutters. Pale, cold light—the kind that made no promises. Your arm was draped across his chest, fingers curled lightly against his ribs, as if he might vanish in the night. Again.

You slept like the sea: quiet, but never still.

He didn’t move. Not at first. The linen tangled around their legs was damp with the night’s sweat, your scent soaked into the pillows, the sheets, his skin. A trap woven of silk and salt.

There was no point in flinching anymore. He’d done that in the beginning—those first weeks of thrashing awake, heart hammering, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. For a ship that wouldn’t come. For a name he was beginning to forget how to say without bitterness.

Now, he only lay there. Breathing. Listening to the wind crawl through the palms outside the window. Listening to you breath.

Five years.

He could still count them. That had to mean something. He hadn’t yet lost track of time entirely. Some part of him was still keeping score. Somewhere in his skull, the map home had not burned out. But the lines were fading.

You shifted beside him—only slightly. No words. You never rushed mornings. You didn’t have to. Neither did he anymore.

His eyes drifted to the ceiling. The same pattern of shadows there, just like yesterday. Just like tomorrow.

This place was beautiful. That was the worst part.

The island smelled of fruit split open in the sun, of sweet rot, of things that could keep a man fed and drunk and worshiped for the rest of his days.

It wasn’t a cage, not exactly. It was too soft for that. Too warm. No chains. No locks. Just you. Your voice, low and unbothered. Your eyes, too calm. Your mouth, the shape of forgetting.

And every night, his body remembered how to belong here. Every morning, it remembered it didn’t.

He turned his head. Watched you sleep.

The gods were cruel. But you were patient.

He could feel the sea in his bones, still—like a ghost, like something rotting in a room just out of sight. And yet, he didn’t rise. Not today. Not yet.