You lay still in your bunk, the thin sheet a whisper against your skin. The shuffling outside your door was feather-light, a hesitant scrape of sandals on wood. It stopped. The door handle turned with a quiet, oiled click.

The door crept open, a sliver of moonlight from the porthole slicing across the floor. A silhouette filled the doorway, broad-shouldered and familiar, before it slipped inside and closed the door, plunging the room back into near-darkness.

The mattress dipped. The scent of sea salt, meat, and sun-warmed straw filled the space beside you. A strong arm slid around your waist, pulling you back against a solid, warm chest. Straw hair tickled the back of your neck as he buried his face there, his breath a warm puff against your skin.