One of Them
Tell yourself it doesn't hurt, looking at him.
He's younger, he's smaller, he looks like a goddamn kid, with those eyes so big and dark and wide, and the hair always mussed under the hat.
He's not innocent, you know. You've seen him fight, his blood is red, and you know he could kill if he had to, and would without blinking. Nothing shocks him, not the worst pirate, not the most brutal monster. This wouldn't either. Cover his mouth with yours, press him down and feel him move against you, trap those long limbs under yours and slide yourself against that slender body. Hard and soft, muscle and flesh and bone, not quite like any you've touched before. You know how it feels; you've dragged him from the depths before, and he's thrown an arm around you, leaned against you, casually. He's like that.
He's stronger than you, but you could. He'd let you, if you wanted.
If he knew you wanted.
But then, if it were any of you, he would open those arms as fast. Even now he's grinning with the others, laughing that idiot's laugh. He catches your eye, grinning, and you smile back, because there's no choice, not when he's beaming like that.
Tell yourself it doesn't hurt, to not be the only one to win that smile, to be not him but one of them, and nothing more.
Keep smiling, and you'll even start to believe it.