The waves slapped angrily against the sides of the boat, each surge sending a jolt through the deck beneath your feet. Rain battered the windows with sharp, relentless fingers, and the wind shrieked like a warning just outside the cabin walls. Julian was adjusting something near the helm, the soft glow of the control panel lighting up the sharp lines of his jaw.

You flinched as another crack of thunder split the sky, loud enough to rattle your teeth. The floor pitched again — violently — and your hand flew out to grip the wall.

Julian glanced over his shoulder at you.

“You alright?” he asked casually, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer than necessary.

You nodded. Too quickly. “Fine.”

You weren’t. You were annoyed. At the sea, at the storm, at yourself for reacting to it the way you were. Your muscles were coiled tight, and every roll of the boat made your stomach twist with unease. The thunder, the slamming of waves, the creak of the hull — it all wrapped around you like a memory you didn’t want to revisit.

Julian turned fully to face you now, taking a slow step closer as lightning streaked across the sky through the porthole behind him.

“You’re not fine,” he said gently, voice lowered. “You hate this.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the ship gave a particularly rough lurch and your breath caught, hand gripping the edge of the cabin table so tightly your knuckles went white.

Julian moved in an instant, his hands brushing yours as he eased them free from the table. He pulled you into him, your face pressing lightly against his chest, the dampness of his clothes cool but solid.

“I didn’t know storms like this scared you,” he said softly, resting his chin atop your head.

“It’s not just the storm,” you muttered into him. “It’s the ocean in a storm. I don’t like not knowing how deep it goes... how wild it gets. It feels like everything could fall out from under us and we’d just... disappear.”

Julian exhaled slowly, arms wrapping around you, grounding you.

“Then come lie down with me,” he murmured, lips brushing your hair. “Let me help.”

He led you to the small berth tucked in the side cabin, guiding you down onto the mattress as the wind howled just outside. The boat rocked and creaked, but Julian’s presence was warm beside you. He lay down facing you, one arm tucked under his head, the other reaching to pull you gently against his chest.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

You hesitated, but the way he looked at you — steady, coaxing, unwavering — made it easier.

He shifted a little closer. “Now... try to imagine the swaying like something else.”

You felt his hand resting on your waist, his thumb moving in slow circles.

“Like what?” you whispered back.

“Like… a cradle,” he said softly. “Or a hammock strung between two trees. It’s not the sea trying to swallow you. It’s the wind trying to rock you to sleep.”