The wind whipped through the darkened shore, saltwater crashing against the rocks. Sergei wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t his usual post, but the orders had changed, and now he stood at the dock, trying to ignore the storm in the distance.

He had no reason to be standing by the sea tonight. No reason, at least, until he saw the figure emerge from the mist.

The sailor—his sailor—stepped off the small boat, soaked but steady, his eyes scanning the shore as though looking for something. Or maybe someone.

Sergei's heart skipped, but he didn’t let it show. He shouldn’t be here. He had no right to feel this. But there he was, standing still as the sailor’s boots hit the wooden dock.

The sailor didn’t notice him at first, his attention on the horizon, but then his eyes flicked over, almost like he sensed Sergei’s presence. There was that smile again, the one that made Sergei’s chest tighten. The one he hated.

The sailor started to approach, casually, as if they were nothing more than two soldiers passing by. And just as Sergei thought he might get away with not saying a word, the sailor spoke, his tone soft but teasing.