Trope: Stranded together • one bed (kind of) • enemies-to-flirting-to-confession
Pairing: Yuma x Taki
Setting: A storm-wrecked island somewhere off the pirate charts

🌊 Scene One: The Shipwreck

The storm hit fast.
Lightning. Fire. Screaming wood. Salt on the wind like spit from the gods.

When Yuma woke up, he was alone—sand in his mouth, bruises on his ribs, and the sky a blinding gray.

Taki washed up hours later.

Face-down. Still breathing.

Unfortunately.

🌴 Scene Two: Day One

They argued. Of course.

Yuma wanted to build a shelter.
Taki wanted to look for supplies.

Yuma found leaves. Taki found a half-shattered compass and a knife too dull to be useful but too sharp to be ignored.

"Congratulations," Yuma said. "Now we can stab each other in the general direction of northeast."

"Don't tempt me."

Still, they worked side by side.

Still, neither of them left the other's line of sight.

🔥 Scene Three: The First Night

The fire barely lit.

The palm leaves weren't enough.

They lay back-to-back on the sand under their sad excuse for a roof, trying to pretend they didn't notice the way their legs kept brushing.

"Stop shifting," Taki hissed.

"You're radiating cold like a corpse."

"You'd know."

"I'm trying to sleep."

"Then stop breathing like you're haunted."

Yuma exhaled hard on purpose.
Taki kicked sand at him.
Yuma laughed into the dark.

It was the first time they smiled on that island.

🏹 Scene Four: Hunting, Banter, Flirting (Badly)

Taki was surprisingly good at spearfishing.

Yuma was not.

But he was excellent at commenting.

"You look like a tragic sea god."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Not when you're wet and scowling."

Taki missed the next throw.

"That was your fault."

"Because I exist?"

"Exactly."

They ate fish. They fixed the shelter. They shared stories around the fire like they weren't listening too closely.

And at night, they lay back to back again—but not touching anymore.

Because touching felt like temptation.

🌧️ Scene Five: The Kiss

On the fifth night, it rained.

The shelter held—barely.

Taki stood outside, soaked, arms crossed, pretending he didn't mind.

Yuma joined him with a piece of tarp over their heads, holding it between them.

Too close.

Too quiet.

"You don't have to stay here," Taki muttered.

"Yeah," Yuma said. "I want to."

Taki looked at him.

Just for a second too long.

And Yuma leaned in.

The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't dramatic.

It was real.

Salty. Wet. Mouths open like secrets. Hands gripping too tightly. Taki didn't pull away. Yuma didn't let go.

When they finally stopped, the rain did too.

"That... doesn't mean anything," Taki said, out of breath.

"It meant everything," Yuma replied.

Neither of them looked away.

🚢 Scene Six: Rescue

They were still sitting under the tarp when the rescue ship's flare split the sky.

Taki blinked.

"Seriously?"

Yuma grinned.

"Timing's never been our strong suit."

The crew found them like that—too close, too quiet, pretending the fire in their eyes was just from the storm.

Later, as they stood on the deck of the rescue ship, someone asked what kept them alive.

"The knife and the compass," Taki said.

"And him," Yuma added.

Taki didn't argue.

⚓️ Scene Seven: Back on the Ship

Yuma leaned against the railing of the upper deck, watching the sea roll beneath them.

Taki stood ten feet away, talking to the quartermaster like they hadn't just kissed in the rain on a deserted island.

No one else seemed to notice.

Yuma did.

Taki's hair was dry now, tied back. Clean clothes. Straight posture.

And that same expression he wore when he was avoiding things.

That night, someone tossed a blanket at Yuma's hammock below deck.

"He said you forgot this," a crewmate mumbled.

Yuma stared at it.

It was the tarp. From the island.

Folded. Neat.

Taki hadn't said anything himself.

Coward.

Yuma tucked the blanket beside him anyway.

🌘 Scene Eight: Infirmary Silence

It happened because of a stupid fever.

Yuma caught it two days later—probably from the rain. Maybe from the fish. He wasn't sure.

He was running hot, mumbling half-lucidly into his pillow about wet rope and Taki's stupid perfect jawline when someone slid onto the cot beside him.

Cool hands.

A familiar voice.

"You're a disaster," Taki whispered.

Yuma cracked one eye open.

"You say that like it's new."

"You scared me."

That wasn't like Taki.

Not in daylight. Not ever.

"You're not good at this," Yuma rasped, smiling weakly.

"I'm trying."

He was.

Taki looked exhausted.
His jaw was clenched.
But his hand was still on Yuma's.

"I didn't want them to find me if you weren't with me," Taki said suddenly.

The words came out too fast, like he'd been holding them in too long.

"It felt wrong. To survive without you. It still does."

Yuma blinked. He was too warm. Too tired.

But he knew that look.

He reached for Taki's sleeve.

"Then stay. Just stay."

Taki didn't answer.

But he didn't leave either.

He curled into the chair beside the cot, hand still holding Yuma's.

And he stayed until morning.

Yuma woke hours later, fever faded.
Taki was still there.
And when their eyes met, neither of them looked away.

🛶 Scene Nine: The Joke That Doesn't Land

Their ship docks just after sunset.

The port's quiet. Lanterns glowing. Their sea legs still not quite steady.

They're given a shared room above the inn—small, salt-scented, barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side without brushing shoulders.

Inside: one hammock. One shared chest for gear. A cracked window. A sea breeze that somehow smells like the island they just left.

Yuma tosses his pack down.

"One hammock. Classic."

Taki doesn't answer.

Yuma glances at him. Sees the tension in his shoulders.

So he says it—casual, sharp-edged.

"Just promise you won't kiss me again. I'm fragile after fever."

A pause.

Taki turns, slowly.

"You're still making jokes about that?"

Yuma shrugs.

"What else am I supposed to do with it?"

Taki steps forward, eyes steady.

"Maybe don't pretend it didn't mean anything."

The air goes still.

Yuma opens his mouth. Closes it again.

Taki sighs, turns toward the window.

"You kissed me like you meant it."

"I did," Yuma says, too fast.

Now it's Taki who freezes.

🌙 Scene Ten: One Hammock

Neither of them brings it up again that night.

They're both shirtless by the time they crash. Salt still in their hair. Skin still sun-warmed.

They try to argue about who gets the hammock first.

They fail.

And end up sharing it.

It creaks under their weight. Every movement tightens the space between them.

Yuma's breath tickles the back of Taki's neck.

Taki's hand accidentally brushes Yuma's waist and lingers too long.

"You still awake?" Yuma murmurs.

"Unfortunately."

"We're not going back to normal, are we."

"No."

Yuma exhales, soft and shaky.

"I didn't mean to fall in love with you on that island."

"But you did?"

"Yeah."

Silence.

Then—

"Good," Taki says.

And he shifts—rolls to face Yuma.

Their noses almost touch.

There's no kiss this time.

Just the weight of two people who survived something impossible and came out holding each other a little too tightly.

🌊 Final Line:

In the dark, Yuma whispers,
"If I fall asleep like this, I'm going to dream of the storm again."

Taki answers,
"Then I'll be there, too."

And he is.