A strong wind blew the earthy scent of hyacinth into his nose as Kid stepped off the charter boat’s gangplank onto the island’s tiny—and only—dock, and it nearly took his breath away. Sweet, and laden with something heavier. Nostalgia, perhaps. Strange, how something so familiar could make his heart and chest clench up like a fist was squeezing it. His grip on the little pack of supplies, all he had to his name nowadays, tightened just a bit.
Even the creak of the old wood underfoot was just the way he remembered it, each step along the dock measured and unhurried as he followed where the tiny scrap of white paper led him. He recalled tromping past the fisherman and shipwrights on his way to the town as a young upstart, barrelling and shoving aside anyone he needed to in order to be on his way just that little bit faster. Kid’s head shook as he mused on his own previous impatience.
The gravel path that linked the dock to the town wound through lazy, grassy hills. The hyacinths were in full bloom, dotting the area in their colorful pink and purple clusters, welcoming and nearly overwhelming with their scent. Once he reached the town itself—a ramshackle little village where the residents plodded about their days in that steady way that people unused to adventure did—the much less intense scent of baking bread settled in the air. His mouth watered instinctively, recalling a long-ago, distant memory of what those pastries in the bakery’s window tasted like.
Your favorite had been the sweet rolls, he recalled. You’d smiled as you offered him some, laughing in a way that still haunted his ears to this day. He hoped it sounded the same now as it did back then.
Worn boots thunked along the streets of equally worn cobblestone, eyes glancing down occasionally at the vivre card sitting in his palm. No one else around carried old, thick scars or were missing one of their arms. Kid expected stares from the people in the town as he walked along the main street, but received none. If any of them realized how prominent and dangerous a pirate he’d once been, they didn’t show it. It was…pleasant, the anonymity.
Memories came one after another, spotting paint-chipped, battered old signs hanging from the entrance of each business he passed. There was the tavern where you’d incorrectly assumed you could beat him in a drinking game. Kid felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
Then the blacksmith, where he’d spent hours in secret after dark working on trinkets and sculptures he thought you’d like. Figures of ships and animals, and anything else he could conjure up. Had you kept them? Did they mean as much to you as you had to him?
And the market. Well…the alleyways behind it more accurately, when everyone else was packing the streets during the summer festival. Kid swallowed, remembering the way your lips had felt against his, the softness of your fingers against his cheek, the way your eyes had sparkled up at him against the glow of the lanterns. He hadn’t slept at all that night, mind racing and thinking back to that first kiss.
A few more minutes of walking brought him to the other edge of the town, the countryside opening up again past it. More gentle hills and a dirt trail was his path forward, and so he went, eyes fixed down on the vivre card. There was no need to follow it so closely. He knew exactly where to go. But it was a comfort to watch the little paper scoot forward with each step he took. Closer and closer to you.
That tightness in his chest grew as he walked, passing distant houses set at the end of branching-off trails he ignored in favor of heading straight. Worries he hadn’t known he’d been harboring rose at the back of his throat, but still his steps kept steadily forward.
Would you remember him? After all these years, would you recognize the brash, angry, volatile young man he’d been as the older, wiser one he was now? And even if you did…well, it had been years. Time often wasn’t kind to those kept apart. Kid wouldn’t fault you if the promise you’d made so long ago no longer meant what it had at the time.
And, despite the fears that the place he’d longed to return to all these years wasn’t the fantasy he’d always hoped for, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of happiness when your home came into view. He was here.
He was here. Nothing could have prepared him for the shock, that moment of finally feeling like he was home.
For the first time, his feet stopped, struck at how nothing had changed at all. The cottage tucked away at the very end of the path amongst a copse of oak trees was quaint, painted earthy colors, the same little vegetable garden in front of the yard, stones carefully circling it. And despite the years of rain and outside elements having tarnished the metal, rusting and old, he would recognize the replica galleon he’d crafted as a young man anywhere, nestled beside the steps to the front door with care.
You’d kept them, after all. Kid swallowed, pushing aside the other lingering doubts long enough to approach the door.
He stopped in front of it, staring at the wood for a long moment. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, but with a resigned acceptance of whatever may happen next, his fist raised to rap several sharp knocks against the hard surface.
And then he waited, standing there with impending trepidation.
Time stood still or maybe it doubled. Kid couldn’t be sure. The wind shifted, the sound of the oak tree leaves rustling, a wind chime jingled from where it hung a few feet away from the door.
The knob turned, and not a moment later the door swung open a little to reveal a woman’s face peering out from behind it. Your mouth opened to speak in greeting, but not a word came out, hanging open as your eyes took in the sight of the visitor that had arrived at your doorstep.
Kid hadn’t prepared what he’d say to you when you finally met again, but he had a feeling it would have crumbled like ash anyway the moment he took in the sight of you, now older and somehow even more beautiful than he could have ever remembered. Your eyes, always so striking, expressed such surprise and yet such awe, he didn’t know how to properly comprehend it.
You stepped past the door and stood before him, looking back and forth across his face as if you weren’t certain you were seeing him properly. And those eyes, oh those gorgeous eyes of yours he couldn’t look away from, they began to well up and glaze over with the promise of tears. No one had ever looked at him like that.
You huffed out a breath, unsure of what to say, but a watery smile followed after it. And when your hand reached up to gently cup his cheek, he couldn't help but close his eyes at your touch. Your fingers were just as soft as that day at the festival. And when Kid opened them again, he saw tear tracks run a line down your face.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” you said, voice thick with emotion. With fondness and…maybe even more.
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