Ship: Mistshipping (Mako Tsunami/Ryouta Kajiki x Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi)

Lo and behold, the Castaway AU that absolutely nobody asked for! Also, I'm using Duke's English name but Mako's Japanese name. Also also, studies show that talking to yourself when isolated from other human beings is good for your mental health. In other words, I'm not crazy: I'm well-adjusted.

Stranded

The waves roared and crashed, over and around him. They burned in his lungs. He struggled to keep his head above. The water was strangely warm, but still his fingers shook where they were wrapping around a piece of debris. It was his only hope. The night was dark and the sea rough, but still above him stars twinkled. He choked on more brine, blinked it out of his stinging eyes. He wanted to yell, call for anyone else who may have survived. But his throat was sore, and he couldn't speak around the sea water he was absolutely refusing to swallow.

He could survive being adrift at sea as long as he didn't drink the damn water.

The sea was warm, but Duke was stone cold with fear.

He wasn't so sure he would survive at all.


He stepped along the shore. His bare feet pressed into the wet sand. The bottom edge of the sun had just cleared the horizon. It would only be a few hours before it would shine bright and hot, but the sea breeze always kept the air from being sweltering. He hummed, relaxed as the waves lapped at his ankles. He stooped down to inspect some debris that had washed up onto the shore.

It was always worth it to check what washed up after windy nights.

Hm. Metal siding. To a plane, or perhaps a boat. He dragged the piece further away from the water, so it wouldn't get washed away by the high tides. He'd come back to get it later.

He continued ambling down the beach. He could hear bird chatter, the huge flocks of seabirds that nested on the cliffs on the west side of the island. Several species used this island for nesting each year, and different birds nested for different seasons. If he was stealthy enough to steal eggs or birds, it meant a guaranteed supply of meals year-round (though he felt guilty for taking helpless eggs and brooding parents, his hunger always overpowered his morals).

The reefs just off the shore were filled with fish, bright and plump from the bounty of warm tropical waters. The forest was filled with snakes and lizards, even boars, sizeable enough to feed him but posing no threat (except for perhaps the boars). The palms lining the beach produced fruit throughout the year.

He supposed, with irony whose bitterness long since eroded in the sands of time, that he was fortunate in his bad luck.

After he adjusted to his life of isolation, he never once went hungry.

Hungry for food, that was.

Because he hungered for human contact every day.

Six years, all alone.

Six years, talking to himself to stave off that gnawing loneliness.

Six years, wondering what happened to his father. Did he die in that storm?

He shook his head slowly. There was no use wondering, now.

There was nothing he could ever do about it. Nothing he could do to learn the fate of his father. He learned long ago that there was no leaving this paradise that had become his prison. Boats crafted carefully from scraps and resources, failed launches, scrapes and cuts on coral and rocks. Nearly drowning in the wrathful whitecaps that suddenly appeared as if in response to his attempts at escape.

Perhaps it was his father's superstitions growing up that were whispering in his ears, but the creeping dread that lingered in his veins told him that this island wanted to keep him here, that the ocean wanted to keep him here.

And it was selfish of him to wish for it - that the ocean would be so merciful to at least deliver to him a companion, someone that he could talk to, instead of his own voice echoing in his ears as he tried to babble away the insanity that threatened to cloud his mind.

Perhaps he was already insane. Perhaps he'd lost any hope of remaining human a long time ago.

Perhaps there was no point to staying sane when he would be by himself until he took his last breath.

He kicked a pebble, watched it splash into an oncoming wave. The hissing roar of water folding in on itself, the sibilant whisper as it clawed onto the sand and lapped at his ankles again, over and over as he walked.

He turned his eyes back forward, and squinted at what he saw on the beach. A tangle of inky black rested on the tawny sand. It was surrounded by debris - another piece of some sort of vehicle, be it plane or boat, he still wasn't sure - and what looked to be (from this distance) scraps of fabric.

He frowned. It would honestly be a first if clothing washed up on the shore.

He approached faster, careful to watch his step lest he trip on the wet sand and twist his ankle (again). Yes, crash debris, fabric, and… and…

Hair?!

Those clothes were on somebody!

"Holy shit," he breathed, breaking into a run.

There was a person on the beach.

His feet slapped loudly on the sand, and he vaulted himself over a piece of driftwood. He skidded over the wet beach to a stop just before the debris.

He stood, stunned and panting, staring down at the figure washed up on the shore of his island.

Lithe and lean but masculine, clothes sopping with the water still washing up around his legs and matted with sand. That inky hair seemed endlessly long with how it was tangled up about the head and partially obscuring the man's face.

A bird cried overhead, and Ryouta startled in place. "What am I doing?" he hissed to himself before rushing to the stranger's side. He gently lifted the other man, put his ear to his chest.

He was still breathing!

Ryouta sighed with relief. He checked the stranger for any visible wounds - broken limbs, lesions, bruises, but it seemed he fared with mild injuries. Scrapes from some unknown accident, or perhaps from the rocks and coral when he drifted past the reef to come on shore. He pushed the wet, muddy tangle of abyssal black away from the man's face to check there, too, and he nearly dropped the unconscious man with a gasp.

A fine, nearly pretty - no, not nearly, a definitely pretty face peered back, and Ryouta's mouth immediately went dry. Clear, sculpted planes, high cheekbones and faintly pink shapely lips.

An angel had washed up on his island!

He touched gently that cheek, brushed away the salt and the sand that coated it in a fine crust. His hand looked so big and meaty and dark on this man's pale, elegant face. His own cheeks blazed in response, and he quickly pulled his hand away.

But just because this was the first time he had seen another human being in six years didn't mean that Ryouta had any right to touch him. With that in mind, he carefully scooped the stranger's lithe, sand-caked form in his arms.

A groan, low and pained, emitted from the man as Ryouta slowly stood.

Each step was more cautious than the last, and he carried the stranger into the shade of the palms, away from the danger of rising tide. Slowly, he lowered him back down.

He'd yearned for this moment for six years, but now, his heart was in his throat, frozen but pounding at the same time. He… he wasn't sure if he could even talk to this beautiful stranger.

But… he couldn't just leave him there, injured, most definitely dehydrated and even possibly hungry.

He looked up at the palm fronds, striping them in shadow.

He breathed out slowly.

He was pathetic.


He shivered, whimpering as he woke. The breeze was light, but his clothes were damp and chilled him to the bone. He was cold, but when his eyes blinked open, he was blinded by white hot sunlight.

He hissed, holding the back of his hand over his eyes. "Goddamn."

Roaring, hissing, splashing. Waves. The ocean.

And he remembered…

The night sea dark and rough, incessant bobbing, warm water rushing over and around him.

But there was no bobbing now, just the roaring of breaking waves, the hissing of… leaves, in the night. The air still smelled heavily of brine, but under it was the thick, heady scent of lush foliage.

He was… he was on land.

Shielding his eyes from what light he could, he looked around.

A beach stretched out before him. Cerulean waves lapped at the tawny sand. Green fronds above him striped him in shadow. The sturdy trunks of the trees swayed subtly in the breeze. He slowly sat up. His head was pounding, and the movement made it worse, but he couldn't just lay there all day.

He lifted a hand up to touch his face, but realized there was fabric wrapped around his forearm. A make-shift bandage.

Frowning, he checked himself over. There were other wounds, but they were all bandaged up in pieces of cloth. He recognized some as his own clothing, from his torn pants and sleeve.

Someone… dressed his wounds.

He looked frantically side to side. Someone was here! He moved to get up, set one hand in the sand, when he noticed what had been set next to him.

Berries, shaved coconut meat, a smoked fish, even a bird's leg. They were piled up on some sort of long, waxy leaf. Next to them, a peach-colored conch shell. Inside, water. Fresh water.

He picked that up first in careful hands. The shell was nearly the size of his head.

He took a few careful sips. He once heard that too much water too fast when one is dehydrated could kill you. He came this far without dying; he wasn't going to fuck that up. Someone had obviously left the food here for him to eat, and he decided to trust their judgment.

The berries were small and dark and firm, but when he bit into them, they burst with bittersweet juice. He pierced one with his thumbnail. The juice was a dark, dark purple. It almost looked black. He licked it off his thumb.

The coconut meat was moist and firm, though somewhat bland, but Duke wasn't going to complain. Next, he ate the roasted bird's leg. Juicy, meaty, but more oily than chicken. It reminded him of duck or goose. Perhaps some sort of water fowl.

He saved the fish for last. While he enjoyed the taste of fish, it seemed too much of a hassle to pick the bones out.

But there were no bones in this filet - the fish had been carved by an expert hand. He hummed appreciatively.

Thirst quenched and hunger sated, he looked about for his savior. But there was no one. Only lapping waves and hissing palms and thick, shadow-dappled jungle.

From far away, he heard the squawking cries of sea birds.

He sighed, slowly stood up. "Ugh," he groaned, distributing his weight cautiously. He ached all over. And he was still gritty from sand and salt that had dried on his skin.

The instability of the sand was enough to make him step cautiously out onto the beach. He waddled just close enough to the surf to feel the waves nip at his toes.

He stared out at the waves crashing with their foamy white caps out on some barrier islands. The water closer to the shore was brilliantly clear, blue-green, almost. The strong sunlight sparkled off of it in a dazzling display.

He sighed, rotated in place, one hand at eyebrow-level as he scanned the beach. There was scattered debris on the beach. He wandered closer.

He sucked in his breath.

Some of it looked like it was from the crash that marooned him here.

He glanced back to where he had awoken. Teeth wheedled anxiously at his lower lip.

He didn't feel comfortable moving too far away; someone else was here, and he didn't want to get himself lost where the person couldn't find him.

He'd explore, but he'd stay close.

He furrowed his brow. "Hello?" He called. He strayed closer to that spot in the shade of the palms. "Is anybody here?"

The breeze, distant squawking, the hiss of the waves.

But no human reply.

He was sure his savior would return to him eventually.


The bright afternoon sunlight faded into the oranges and reds of evening, but there were still no other signs of human life, no signs of the person that had dressed his wounds and provided him with food and water.

He settled down under the shade. If it weren't for his makeshift bandages and the conch shell, he might have convinced himself that he imagined it all. He tried to stay awake, tried to wait for his helper to come and find him again, but he was so, so tired, and it wasn't long before he was laying in the sand, asleep.


In the penumbra of dusk, Ryouta crept closer to the beach. The stranger had fallen asleep at the edge of the palms, right where Ryouta had left him that morning.

He was on his side, black hair spilling out around him in a tangled heap. His fine-boned hands were close to his face as he breathed softly. A cool breeze wafted in from the sea, and he shivered, gooseflesh raising up along his bare arms.

Ryouta reached under his arm to grab the rolled-up material he was holding there. It was a blanket, weaved from dried palm fronds and carefully peeled and picked vines. It was rough, and it wasn't the most comfortable blanket ever, but it did help to shield one from the sometimes chilly oceanic breezes.

Carefully, he draped it over the stranger's form. He slowly crouched down and opened the hand-woven basket strapped to his back. He pulled out berries, fruits, all wrapped in banana leaves, and then a hollowed-out coconut containing fresh water. Guilt ate at him for waiting this long to bring more food and water, but the stranger had made sure not to stray too far from this spot - which only made Ryouta feel even more guilty.

That and the anxiety bubbled and curled in his chest and churned into a breath-stopping concoction, and he hurried to put his basket-backpack on.

A breathy sigh, rustling - the stranger stirred in his sleep, and Ryouta glanced down at him again.

His body had curled tighter under the cover of the blanket, only his closed eyes and wildly mussed hair sticking out from it.

A faint smile twitched at Ryouta's lips, and he slowly stepped back, back, though he couldn't take his eyes off of that sweetly angelic sight.

crunch

He wasn't sure what he stepped on - a plant, a crab, and he didn't have the time to check when the stranger visibly started. He turned on his heel and darted into the darkened jungle. And though his heart pounded in his ears, he still heard the stranger calling to him.

He didn't stop running until he reached the path to his cliffside cave.

He bent over, gasping, his hands on his knees, sweat slicking his skin.

When his heart rate and breathing slowed, he cursed and slapped himself on the forehead.

"Idiot!" he hissed.

He wasn't sure if he was mad at himself for not watching where he was stepping…

… Or for running away.


Duke blinked. He still couldn't stop staring at the jungle that had swallowed his visitor whole. He'd seen him, just for an instant, as he was running away. But it had all happened too fast - and Duke had been too tired - for any of it to retain any clarity in his mind's eye.

But he'd been there - Duke's savior - and he'd left presents.

Duke finally looked down, down at where a blanket - woven from plant matter, had settled around his waist. Little leaf packets of food had been set at his side as well as - he picked it up - a coconut filled with water.

He frowned off into the forest. If it weren't for the heavy soreness of his body, he would have chased the other man. (And it was a man - that much Duke knew.)

He was shy…? Afraid, maybe?

Duke wasn't sure. But, at least he seemed to have the best intentions.


The trend continued for a couple of days. Whenever Duke woke up, or whenever he came to that spot after his brief excursions, he would find food and water set out for him. Even additional blankets, and, on one afternoon, a comb, hand-carved from some sort of seashell.

It was beautiful, delicately crafted. And Duke used it, though with the utmost caution (he didn't want to break it), to untangle his mess of black hair.

His healing wounds itched, as did the sunburns he collected from his time here thus far. But it could be so much worse - he wasn't starving, nor was he dehydrated, nor was he sick. The aches of his sore body gradually faded, but he was still stiff from lying on the sand (or recently, an extra hand-woven, mat-like blanket). He'd stretch and walk about in the morning, and as the hours passed by, he got braver and braver, and strayed farther and farther from his palm-shaded abode.

Like today, he ambled slowly down the beach after consuming his breakfast. No matter how hard he tried, or how early he woke, the stranger was long gone. Duke would doubt he visited at all if he didn't leave food and water behind each and every time.

The coastline was beautiful - the sea such a deep blue-green it seemed like it jumped right off of some tacky-but-tantalizing postcard. Farther out, the beginning of a reef darkened the white-sanded sea bottom. From the variety he received each morning for breakfast, Duke was sure it was teeming with sea life.

He sighed and walked farther along, half in the striped shadows of the palm fronds, and kicked at the sand wistfully. Some meter ahead a small crab scuttled away to duck under plant debris. The waves hissed, and still, miles away, birds continued to squawk and cry.

He looked back out to the glittering sea, then ahead where the coast belled out in a convex curve.

He had no idea where he was, or even what this landmass upon which he washed was. He hoped that it was attached to some sort of mainland, but, worse case scenario, this was an island in the middle of the ocean.

He hoped it wasn't, but all signs pointed to it.

Besides his shy helper and the occasional debris washing up on shore, there was no sign of any other human beings (though there might be some in the jungle, which Duke had not yet worked up the courage to explore - he had no idea what sort of animals lurked within, and, with his luck, he'd get bitten by a venomous snake and die a slow, agonizing death. He doubted that any people in the forest would completely ignore the bounty of the sea, anyways).

He followed the curve of the beach, around a cape of some sort, and a peaceful, picturesque lagoon awaited him on the other side.

He paused a moment to admire the glittering of the jewel-like waters, the swaying of the palms, the visible flocks of seabirds in flight far beyond. Serene, the lapping of the waves and the call of the marine waterfowl. But then he noticed another movement - over on the other side of the lagoon, a figure stood on a rock, one of several that spanned like massive stepping stones out to sea.

He gasped.

A human!

And based on that muscle-bound silhouette, it was his mysterious helper, too.

He was too far away to see properly, but Duke ducked into the trunk of a palm tree to hide and observe what he could.

He was broad, though his height was hard to discern from this far away. Duke could only see the man's back - his broad shoulders, darkened by the sun, and his dark hair that fell down damn near his ass in wild, tied-back locks. He crouched down, thick thighs and calves flexing beneath the dark material of some sort of loincloth - or maybe shorts, it was hard to tell from this far away.

He reached into the water, turning just slightly so Duke could see the vague suggestion of a face, and he stood, some type of net hauled up in his thick hands. Several fish flopped about in the trap. The man pulled them onto the rock, and proceeded to… sort through them? He seemed to be letting most of them go (gently cupping them and lowering them into the water), perhaps because they were too small, or maybe even inedible. Duke knew that many tropical fish had defense mechanisms that rendered them toxic to the human system. When there were only two fish left, the man picked up a stone that was at his side - and proceeded to give his prey a swift death.

Duke flinched, but he supposed it was better than letting the fish asphyxiate to death.

He stayed crouched, putting the rock aside, and instead picking up what seemed to be a knife. Soon enough, the water around him was stained red with fresh fish guts. He returned the pieces he didn't want or need to the sea, where they were sure to be eaten up by their brethren. Then, with the gutted and fileted fish on the end of a spear, the man, with surprising agility for his size, stepped and hopped across the rocks back to the shore, his net stowed over one shoulder.

Duke resisted the urge to approach. He was certain that the man would flee once again.

He sighed. He would just have to be patient.

He turned back the way he came.


Ryouta looked over his shoulder when he reached the shore, and blinked with surprise when he saw a figure melt from the shadows of a palm. It was the stranger, but he didn't approach, instead heading around the cape, presumably to go back to the area that he had claimed as his camp.

Guilt gnawed at Ryouta's stomach.

It was no wonder the stranger didn't come to greet him - he hadn't been the most welcoming host so far.

But he was glad that it wasn't stopping the stranger from accepting his help. He still ate the food and drank the water Ryouta left like offerings at a shrine, and a warm bubble formed in Ryouta's stomach when he saw that the stranger was keeping his hair combed.

Ryouta had given him the comb he had carved for himself - he couldn't bear the thought of cutting his hair short enough not to worry about it - but it didn't take him long to find a suitable shell to carve as a replacement. The stranger's hair was finer but curlier than his own, and he hoped that the comb didn't tug too hard. Hair like that was probably hard to upkeep…

He sighed, and continued his way towards his home. Hopefully the stranger wouldn't mind smoked fish for dinner again… He hadn't wanted to go away for too long and too far, just in case something happened. Some albatross sounded good, though. Maybe he'd work up the courage to go catch one the day after tomorrow.

He pressed his lips tight together. It seemed like he had to work up the courage to do a lot of things lately.


Duke forced himself to stay awake, even though his eyes were closed and his breathing even. Exhaustion crept around the edges of his mind, and he found himself drifting off more than once, but he managed to reel himself back in.

He was going to try to make contact tonight.

If the stranger ever returned.

It was surely on the darkest edges of dusk, but tonight was a full moon, and the man seemed to know these jungles well enough to navigate them in the dark.

Duke wanted to sigh, but he kept his breathing under control, at a sleepy slowness that threatened to pull him under the waves of unconsciousness. He focused on the sounds around him, on the waves lapping at the shore, at the wind through the fronds. He hoped he would hear the man coming, but he was surprisingly stealthy - save for that first night, Duke was never awoken by the man's comings and goings.

So, he waited, drifting in and out, until suddenly, he heard it. The hiss of leaves brushing together, but out of rhythm of the wind. Every muscle in his body wanted to instinctively tense, but he forced himself to remain relaxed beneath his woven blanket. The hissing and brushing of a body on leaves continued, and, if Duke focused enough, he could hear the man step so cautiously each time.

Closer and closer, just a foot away, and then he stopped.

Quiet sounds as he unloaded food and water for Duke, and then the sound as he slung his basket onto his back and moved to stand.

Duke whirled and grabbed gently onto the other man's thick, hot wrist. It immediately tensed under his hand. He could feel the man's pulse thundering away.

"Please don't leave me," he whispered, and he took a moment before he looked up into the other man's face. His breath caught in his throat. Despite the other man's build, he had a boyish face. He was handsome, with his strong jaw and dark eyes, which stared down with wide surprise.

Chapped lips parted, thick, calloused fingers trembled as they set over Duke's own hand.

The stranger didn't say anything…

… but he didn't run away.

Duke gave a small, friendly smile.

And the shaky smile that was returned was answer enough.

"I'm Duke," he whispered.

"R-Ryouta," the man stuttered back.

Duke's smile grew.

Ryouta seemed shy, but Duke was eager to spend more time with his new acquaintance, hopefully.

Little did he know that the bond between them would grow far past acquaintanceship, beyond even the bonds of friendship.

But, that's a story for another time…

END PART

So, I was going to write more for this, but I realized it would've gone on far longer. But if you want more, don't be afraid to request a sequel, and I'll just add it onto Hatshipping at a later date.

Next Ship: Menteeshipping (Duke Devlin/Otogi Ryuuji x Bonz/"Ghost" Kotsuzuka)