The first time you laid eyes on Brant, it was undeniable. A spark, a sudden warmth, a feeling you quickly dismissed. After all, you were many things, but "in love" with the confident, overly dramatic captain?

Absolutely not.

Yet, Brant, with his uncanny ability to perceive the unsaid, noticed. He caught your gaze lingering a moment too long, the faint flush that crept onto your cheeks when the two of you stood just a little too close. Whether it was unfortunate or fortunate remained to be seen, but he definitely noticed.

One evening, as the last vestiges of sunset painted the sky in hues of fiery orange and soft violet, you found yourself on the ship's deck. The rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull was a familiar comfort, and the salty breeze played with strands of your hair as you leaned against the railing, lost in thought.

“You’re smitten, aren’t you?” Brant’s voice, a low rumble that always managed to cut through the sea's whispers, pulled you from your reverie. He moved to stand beside you, his presence a warmth against the cool evening air, and a calloused hand settled on the railing just inches from yours.

You scoffed, a quick, dismissive sound. “You’re utterly delusional, Captain.” Your gaze remained fixed on the endless expanse of the ocean, refusing to meet his knowing eyes.

He chuckled, a rich, melodic sound that seemed to vibrate through the very deck beneath your feet. “And I’d say you’re practicing a masterful art of denial.” Slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushed against yours on the cold metal, then gently intertwined, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. His gaze, warm and intensely curious, lingered on your face, a silent challenge in its depths.