Rapture [Ver. II] •SNEAK PEEKS INSIDE•

CAPITULUS III | NIGHTINGALE

He was wholly, entirely, naked.

Blood rushed in his ears, tinging his cheeks and neck with light fever as the embarrassment choked him.

The surgeon prodded at him unforgivingly, a great contradiction to his far more charming demeanor. The captive didn't quite know what to make of the man—who seemed incredibly kind, with a tender heart—especially by pirate standards. It wasn't clear to him yet what brought this young surgeon on board, but at least he was a reprieve from the more unapproachable of his peers.

They were nearly the same height—the ginger-haired doctor unceremoniously lifted his arm, which wavered uncertain in the air as the other examined him. "None o' your wounds are partic'larly concerning. That's all thanks to me, of course," he said, offering a bright, winning smile. "Hurt to lift your arm any?"

He shook his head, pursing his lips as the surgeon continued.

"Better than you were, then. Lemme see your eyes."

With hardly a second to blink, the other pulled his face close to his own, until they stood nearly nose to nose. He couldn't help it—he blushed from his toes to his ears. He could feel how warm his face was under the surgeon's hands, and more than that, he could feel the surgeon's soft breaths on his cheeks as the man in question turned his face this way and that.

"No yellow-lids, no enlarged pupils..."

The doctor had many freckles, twice as many as he himself possessed at least. His pale skin was smooth, and surprisingly well kept for a pirate. His lashes were long, fanning out from his bright, cool eyes—

The doctor's hands landed on either side of the captive's face before jerking his head down.

"Hey," he complained.

"Sorry," the pirate said—and he definitely wasn't— "Just gotta check you for bugs."

"For what?" His shoulders tensed. "Are you finding any?"

The doctor snorted. "No—now stop wriggling around like a worm on a hook. If you were a navy dog, they'd have your head shaved clean instead. Lucky the captain lets you keep it."

The captive stiffened, happy to endure this lesser offense. He couldn't quite tell what his hair looked like now, but Lee's was mesmerizing. The warm waves were decorated in a sprinkling of gold ornaments that shifted about as he turned this way and that. They matched the piercings in his nose, ears, and brow. Everywhere he looked, it was like he kept a piece of sunlight on him.

The surgeon let go of his face suddenly, and as he stood up straight, the door swung open.

Now, every muscle he had was strung taut as a bowstring. He could've moved to cover himself, but he had a feeling he'd never hear the end of it—pirates were very much about keeping face, weren't they?

But he recognized the pirate who stood in the doorway, arm swinging as he dropped a bucket of water and a torn rag at the entryway. "Soap an' water," Rory announced, cheeks pink with the effort.

"Thank you," Lee sang, before scooping up the clothes and tossing them carelessly at the other.

Rory caught them in one hand, a pant leg swinging about. His face contorted. "My god these smell."

The captive tensed again. "Sorry," he called—but Rory had already left.

Rory had left the door open—he had to stop himself from dashing to close it. It swayed with each tilt of the ship.

Lee fetched the bucket and rag, water sloshing over the sides and landing on the deck.

"Um...what's that for?" He asked.