all who sail off the coast evermore {larry stylinson}

(will remember the sight of the ghost on the shore)

for nai <3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1FajYJfNNZRkq3h2hAJgzO?si=1a088ca67d7a4b97 listen to this for a better experience !!

TW // mention of su!c!de, homoph0bia
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this work contains a brief mention of su!cide and homophobia, so proceed with caution.

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"Fuck, this isn't gonna be pretty."

Harry mutters under his breath, nearly missing a wave larger than his entire boat. The thunder roaring louder than he'd ever heard, the frequent flashes of lightning illuminating the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, the Bermuda Triangle more specifically. He spots a colossal ship in the distance, probably a Royal Louis like the one embedded into his bicep permanently, looking a gust of wind away from tipping over and sinking to the ocean floor. His boat is not at such a risk, since it can barely even fit all the necessary rooms for it to be considered a house. Although it can get submerged under a wave, but Harry trusts his sailing abilities enough to not have to worry about that.

Sharks are highly unlikely as well.

Another round of lighting and thunder, the inseparable pair hits, and Harry looks back to where the ship was, only to not find it anywhere. He curses under his breath once more and turns the helm in the direction of where the boat was a minute ago, hoping to maybe save a few lives.

And he really wishes he wasn't right.

The sight most definitely was not pretty, Harry unable to hold in a wince at the scene.

The magnificent ship was in ruins, several planks of wood floating around being the only remaining proof of its existence. Harry leaves the pilot's cabin to go to the bow of the boat, gripping onto the barrier for dear life as the boat rocks on the choppy waves, wind whistling in his ears as Harry calls out for a sign of life anywhere.

Just as he was about to get back into the comfort of his aquatic home, he thinks he hears someone yelling feebly, chalking it up to it being his imagination, until he hears it again, that is.

He shines his flashlight around the area, it finally landing on a man holding on to a plank.

A very handsome man holding on to a plank.

Harry watches the guy's head go underwater a few times, and realises he isn't swimming towards him, so naturally, he takes matters into his own hands.

He peels his already soaked blue-and-white striped shirt off and dives into the ice-cold ocean, water feeling like thousands of tiny needles piercing into every inch of his body, numbing it as they go.

No wonder the poor guy can't swim, he probably can't even feel his body.

Harry reaches in record time, noticing upon up-close inspection that the mystery man's lips have already turned blue, but he looks beautiful all the same, sharp cheekbones and jawline way too attractive for the situation. The sky lights up again, allowing Harry to really look at the guy, and wow.

His eyes are the exact shade of the ravaging ocean around them, perhaps lighter and laced with panic and terror, the factors dulling them slightly.

Harry detaches the man's death grip from the buoyant plank, taking the shivering but otherwise unmoving body into his arms, using solely his legs to propel them back to the ship.

Once there, Harry heaves the guy onto his shoulder to climb the ladder, the rain and waves crashing into his boat the only sounds for miles on end. He rushes inside, desperate to shield the guy from rain and warm him up. Harry enters his living room, eyes darting around frantically, placing the man on his couch gently and scurrying off into the bathroom to retrieve a towel. He returns quickly, since there isn't much space to cover on the boat anyways. He comes back to the sofa to check on the guy, face void of colour and lips blue, shivering violently, but other than that the only thing moving being his eyes scanning the surroundings, consisting of random tourist gift shop trinkets from his voyages and a tattoo machine lying forgotten on the shelf.