𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩-𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨 || ʲ. ʰᵒˡˡᵃⁿᵈ

_ten_

          The bracelet was heavy in your wrist as you stared in growing horror, your breath shaky and unsure as your other hand tugged and twisted and picked at the clacking rocks.
         
          Gods. . .you were never getting better, were you?
         
          It was like you were being haunted as Calliope stood in Jacob's place, not knowing what to make of the voice that switched from his to hers in each word asked of you. 'Are you okay Y/N?', 'what's wrong, pearl?', 'do you need a minute, Cruick?', 'answer me, Y/N!'—the names switched constantly and at one point you were sure that she was actually, physically still there, throat giving out on you as you all but slammed your hands in your eyes and tried to rub away the hallucination. Calliope was dead, and you knew it! She was dead, she was dead, she was dead, she wa—
         
          "Y/N!" Your eyes only opened when hands you knew to be too large to be hers gripped your arms, the light shake to your shoulders being what you needed to be anchored as you stared at Jacob's face with wide, teary eyes. Gods, when did you even start crying? It felt like reality as you knew it was collapsing around you in real time.
         
          "Hey, hey, hey, wake up! What's wrong?" Your bottom lip trembled as your eyes darted around his face, almost analyzing it as if to make sure it wouldn't disappear or change. It stayed consistent with each blink, and it took you more shaky breaths and a barely felt nod of your head before you spoke again.
         
          "I'm. . ." His eyes raise bit by bit in relief as you were at least sort of responsive, slowly easing his grip on you as you swallowed an annoying lump in your quickly drying throat. "I'm. . .I'm sorry, Jacob I don't. . .I don't know what. . ." The blond takes a step back to give you more space, your trembling hands reaching and hurriedly wiping away stray tears. "I'm sorry. . .it's not your fault, I swear, it's just. . ."
         
          He watches in quiet empathy as you raise your head trying not to cry even more. "That doesn't matter, Y/N. Are you okay?"
          
          . . .
         
          "Yeah no, no, I am, I'm fine, I promise." It felt terrible having to lie to him, managing to force a laugh and an unconvincing smile. It made him frown. "It's just. . .I'm sorry, really I. . .can we talk about this tomorrow?"
          
          . . .
         
          His frown eases as he sighs. "Of course." You smile, then nod, and then sort of awkwardly gesture to the way down. He understands pretty quickly, taking a step to the side as you wasted no time reaching for it. Despite your attempts of trying to lighten the mood, he wasn't at all convinced, but knew better than to ask you something that seemed so personal. At least. . .well he assumed it was personal. You froze up and paled like you just saw a ghost when you kissed him, he was bound to assume that there was a story there.
         
          Before you could disappear down the steps of the rope ladder you pause, and grin at him despite the tear stains down your cheek. "Don't worry, you're not a bad kisser."
         
          His worry disappears quickly and it's replaced by embarrassment, stammering for a response as you were out of his sight before he could even form a noise.
         
          . . .
         
          Gods, it was just like you, huh? Get yourself through something bad, not explain the full extent of whatever trauma was had from that experience, and then proceed to change the subject when it got too serious with a joke. Someimes it irked Jacob to see you act like nothing in your life mattered, but at the same time knew that this was somehow some weird way of how you coped with things.
         
          Most of the time it takes prying before he could even begin to know more of what happened and help you through it, but he's done it enough times to know that he shouldn't do it so soon. It's better to rub salt on a wound that's close to healing than when it's fresh.
         
          . . .
         
          He leans on the railings of the mast and groans, running a hand down his face. Sometimes he hated how he had to even rub salt in the first place.
         
          . . .
         
          . . .
         
          . . .
         
          Jacob wasn't sure how long he stayed there doing practically nothing, overlooking the lively village as faint cheers and singing came from the many drunks. It was maybe around late eight, early nine, and it was certainly too early for him to go to bed, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to do much other than overthink what the hell just happened, he sort of didn't have much of a choice.
         
          You're not a bad kisser.
         
          He groans in embarrassment as your reassurance plays in a loop in his head, a part of him feeling guilty at the fact that he sort of. . .whatever it was that happened to you was bad, and you were going through something, he knew that, but. . .well he was a kind guy, but he was human, and he felt disappointed that whatever it was stopped you from kissing him
         
          It was a terrible thought to have, and he knew it, so he decides to just go lay in his bed and hope that he'd fall asleep fast enough to not have to think about it some more.
         
          He goes to head down but once again trips, thankfully a lot milder compared to earlier as the perpetrators remained to still be your boots. It took him a moment to fully comprehend what he was staring at, but when it dawned on him that you were currently walking around barefoot in bandages with wounds that barely healed, he could do nothing but sigh with all the gray hairs of a man with children.