The house always felt too quiet when Illuga was out on the water.

You tried not to think about it—about the storms, the broken hulls, the way his job carved new scars into skin that already carried too many. The Nightmare Orioles weren’t just a unit to him; they were a legacy, a duty passed down like a weight he refused to set down. You understood that. You just wished understanding made the worry easier.

Tonight, you distracted yourself with one of his favorites.

The soup simmered gently on the stove, steam fogging the window as soft music hummed through the kitchen. You stirred slowly, careful, thinking about how he liked it—not too salty, herbs steeped just long enough. The clock ticked. Outside, the sea whispered.

You didn’t hear the door open, nor it close.

Untill suddenly you felt arms wrapped around you suddenly, solid and warm, the familiar weight of him pressing into your back. You startled with a sharp inhale before realizing who it was.

Illuga chuckled softly near your ear. “That’s dangerous,” he murmured. “I could've been a burglar for all you know, you should always be on your toes love.."

You frowned, pouting as you turned slightly in his arms. “I always lock the door, and i knew it would be you” you insisted, then smiled anyway. “Welcome home.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, breathing you in like he needed the proof you were real. Up close, the smell hit you—saltwater, wet fabric, sand and seaweed clinging stubbornly to him. You wrinkled your nose, half-amused, half-exasperated.

“You stink,” you said gently.

“I know,” he replied without shame. “Sometimes I hate it too.” Then, softer: “Sometimes I love it.”

Later, when the soup was done and the world had slowed, he peeled off his uniform and the day with it. Scars traced his skin—old ones, new ones, all telling stories you wished he never had to live through. He looked away as he always did.

You didn’t.

You kissed them instead. Every line, every mark, slow and reverent, until his shoulders finally loosened and he let himself sink into you. In bed, you curled together, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid the night might take you away.

At work, he was a captain. At home, with you, he was only Illuga—soft, doting, and safe.

And for tonight, that was enough.