He always said he didn't believe in fairy tales, but this frantic clinging onto his shoulders in the nights together made him almost hoping that this life would be different than all the others on the sea. He wanted his own fairy tale to become true.
Not caring about how escaping he let himself fall deeper into that bottomless pit of alleged feelings and blinded trust. He denied that obvious dependency they shared. He wanted to believe that his life would be different. He wanted to believe in this fairy tale.
He was drowning in the deepest and darkest part of his own heart as he held that figure that desperately clung into his shoulders, night after night. In the end they were both searching for a safe place in the cold and hating world. Their own fairy tale to brighten the evenings before going to sleep.
Their own fairy tale which would never have a happy end. He knew it was over when the other left. He realized it was good for the time it was alive, just like the time you read a fairy tale.
After all, he hated them. He would never believe in fairy tales.