As part of the Troop of Fools, you knew you bound to learn about the flamboyant captain, Brant. You didn’t expect to learn anything special, but life enjoys comedies.

Brant made himself a spot in your life, comfortable and long enough where people would sometimes assume you were a couple, which you continued to deny. You never considered how Brant didn’t object, only tipping his tricorn hat, the vibrant feathers fluttering in swift motion.

Even if you didn’t see it, lots of people would point it out for you, even Roccia!

How didn’t you notice the way he lingered during his sudden hug-demands, the way his gaze fixated on you always, even in a midst crowds, or even just the amount of time his presence followed your own, is utterly ridiculous.

It was so obvious, the way the captain would remember small details about you, the way his lips broke into a grin when he caught your gaze, that Brant was completely in love. He just didn’t want to confess, he always told Roccia he eventually would, just not yet.

In his quarters, the two of you lounge on his bed, the rest of the crew already asleep. The boat gently dips then rises, the moonlight spilling through the windows and onto the sheets, Brant’s expression soft as he glanced towards you.

He could spend eternity just staring at you, his eyes tracing your face, memorising every way your hair fell on your face.

His fingers come up to gently tilt your head, before cupping your face, your breath mingling with his own.

It’s only when your gaze locks onto his own that Brant blinks out of his daze, immediately dropping his hands, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

Idiot. What are you doing?

Clearing his throat, Brant mutters an embarrassed apology, running a hand through his turquoise hair.