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Lull

by Dove

 

Fandom: PoTC RPS    Rating: G    Pairing: none    Full Header

 


’cause I remember how we drank time together, and how you used to say that the stars are forever

Johnny steps out onto the deck cautiously, as though he’s not sure if the morning light will harm him. It’s quiet, quieter even than dawn on the boat usually is, especially after last night’s revelry. It feels strange to be the only thing moving in this early morning stillness, and it seems to take longer than it should to cross the deck.

Orlando’s at the railing, staring out at the sea, or the sky, or something. Maybe nothing at all. He’s motionless, too, and this, above all, adds to the air of surrealism that pervades the morning. Johnny hasn’t known Orlando all that long, but he’s never seen him to be still. On set, Orlando hums, bounces, shifts from foot to foot, and generally flits about enough to look like a poster child for ADD, even next to Jack Sparrow. At publicity events, he’s always laughing, teasing, flirting, moving from one person to the next with a practiced air that belies his lack of experience.

It strikes Johnny, suddenly, that this is the first time he’s ever seen the private Orlando. Maybe, he thinks, this is what he’s like, away from it all. He can feel his movements cutting through the stillness around him, and feels awkward in his body as he steps to the rail and drops his arms onto it, mimicking Orlando’s posture. Orlando doesn’t say hello, doesn’t turn to look at him. He stands, unmoving, staring out over the horizon like he’s waiting for a sail to appear.

“Coffee’s hot,” Johnny ventures. Orlando blinks and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. The corner of his mouth twitches like it had expected him to respond, but he doesn’t say anything. Johnny tries again, “Keira and Jack are still asleep,” and this time there isn’t so much as a twitch. Johnny turns to face him, and something about the way Orlando’s looking at nothing makes him think Orlando’s specifically not looking at him. He wants to ask, wants to say something, but all he can come up with is, “Orlando?”

“It’s beautiful. It is, really, it’s like… it’s like a tropical paradise, or something, you know?” Orlando’s voice is quiet and unexpectedly defensive. The way he says it, like Johnny had disagreed with him, makes something click over in Johnny’s head.

“It’s not New Zealand, though, is it?” He asks softly.

Finally, Orlando turns to look at him, and there’s something nameless in his eyes that makes Johnny turn away, his turn to stare, unseeing, at the horizon. He feels, more than hears, Orlando move across the deck and back inside, and then he’s left alone, still, looking out over the water at nothing.
 

 

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