Chapter 3: Communicating
The relentless Caribbean sun beat down on the polished teak deck, a week’s worth of salt spray leaving a faint, gritty sheen on the railings. Ash leaned against one, watching the endless blue horizon shimmer. The constant breeze off the ocean ruffled his hair – longer now, the shaggy brown locks falling past his ears in soft waves that felt strangely comforting against his neck. Emerald green eyes, startlingly vivid in the sunlight, scanned the water. He’d stopped questioning the color change days ago. Seeing the world with such startling clarity, every wave crest, every distant seabird, was worth any oddity. And the fruit… the thought alone made his mouth water. He’d practically become a fixture at the buffet, drawn to the vibrant colors and impossible sweetness like a moth to a genetically modified flame.
"What’s the plan for the shuffleboard tournament?" Will's voice cut through the peaceful lull of the waves and distant laughter. He appeared beside Ash, leaning on the railing a respectful distance away. A week at sea had softened the initial awkwardness, sanded down the sharp edges of their forced proximity. Will looked relaxed in a crisp white linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, his usual sharp gaze surveying the deck activities. "They’re pairing people up at the court in ten minutes. Apparently, it’s mandatory for the 'couples' package."
Ash groaned softly, pushing off the railing. "Mandatory fun. Great." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that felt different now, smoother, less fidgety. His own shirt, a faded band tee, clung differently across his torso – softer fabric meeting skin that felt perpetually smooth, almost delicate. He’d cinched his belt tighter again yesterday. "Guess we’re stuck with each other. Again."
Will shrugged, a half-smile touching his lips. "Could be worse. Remember the synchronized swimming debacle?" He shuddered theatrically. "Never again. At least shuffleboard requires minimal coordination and zero spandex."
A genuine laugh escaped Ash, light and surprisingly clear. "Fair point. Lead the way, partner." He fell into step beside Will, their strides automatically syncing. Ash noticed Will glancing at him, those piercing blue eyes lingering for a beat. Ash subtly sniffed the air. The cloying floral scent he seemed to carry was fainter today, masked by the salt and sunscreen, but underneath… was that a hint of Will’s cedarwood cologne? It was oddly pleasant. He shook his head. Weird thought.
The shuffleboard court was already buzzing. Cruise staff in bright polos herded passengers into pairs. Susan Cruz stood near the scoring table, her sleek blonde hair pinned back, observing with her trademark knowing smirk. Her gaze locked onto Ash and Will as they approached, a flicker of intense satisfaction in her eyes before she schooled her features into professional pleasantry.
"Ah, Mr. Miller, Mr. Thorne," she greeted, her voice smooth as silk. "Ready to defend your cabin’s honor? Or perhaps just avoid last place?" Her eyes swept over Ash, noting the subtle narrowing of his shoulders beneath the tee, the way the sunlight caught the rich highlights in his lengthening hair. She tapped her discreet tablet clipped to her waistband.
"Hey, we placed a respectable seventh in the trivia marathon yesterday," Ash protested lightly, his voice holding a warmth it hadn't possessed a week ago. He felt a strange buzz of confidence, likely just the residual sugar high from breakfast’s triple fruit portion.
"Only because you knew all the obscure 90s alt-rock lyrics," Will countered, nudging Ash’s shoulder with his own. The contact was brief, casual, but Ash felt a jolt of awareness. Will’s touch was firm, solid. His own skin tingled slightly where Will had bumped him. He rubbed the spot absently.
Susan watched the exchange, her smile deepening. "Well, channel that synergy here. Teams of two. You’re on Court Three." She gestured them towards the marked area.
The game was simple, a battle of sliding weighted discs down the smooth alley. Ash found himself enjoying it more than expected. The smooth push of the puck, the satisfying clack as it knocked an opponent’s disc out of the scoring zone. Will was surprisingly competitive, offering gruff pointers.
"Less wrist flick, more shoulder," he advised after Ash sent a puck skittering wildly off-course. "Like this." Will demonstrated, his movements economical and powerful. The puck slid smoothly into the high-scoring zone.
Ash mimicked the motion. His own push felt… different. Lighter, perhaps? But the puck glided straight and true, nestling near Will’s. "Hey! Not bad!" Will grinned, a genuine, unguarded expression that transformed his face, making his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. Ash felt an unexpected flutter in his chest. He ducked his head, focusing intently on the next puck.
Susan, observing from the scoring table, noted the ease of Ash’s movement, the unconscious grace in the slight sway of his hips as he leaned to push the puck. On her tablet, a discreet notification pulsed: Musculoskeletal restructuring: Phase 2 initiated. Subdermal fat redistribution nominal. She subtly adjusted a setting, increasing the ambient pheromone diffusion near the shuffleboard courts by 5.5%. Her gaze drifted to Will, noting how his eyes followed Ash’s movements more often than the game itself. Skeletal structure reconstruction was a painful process. But at the rate Susan had it at made it comfortable. She paid close attention to Ash’s height and his hips. She had a thin for wide birthing hips. And she could wait for Ash's to fully shape.
The satisfying clack of Will’s puck knocking Ash’s out of the scoring zone echoed across the court. "Point to Thorne!" the overly cheerful staffer announced. Ash grimaced, shifting his weight. A strange, deep ache had started in his hips, a dull throb that intensified whenever he twisted or bent. It wasn't sharp pain, more like the deep muscle soreness after a brutal workout he hadn’t done. He rubbed the small of his back absently.
"Getting creamed by the newbie," Ash muttered, attempting a playful scowl. He pushed his next puck with extra force, trying to ignore the nagging stiffness. It slid fast, but veered wildly off course, nearly taking out a potted palm. Will chuckled, a low, warm sound that briefly distracted Ash from his discomfort. "Easy there, Slugger. Finesse, not fury." Will’s gaze lingered on Ash’s face, a slight crease forming between his brows. "You okay? You look… tense."
Ash straightened up, forcing a smile. "Yeah, fine. Just… slept weird." He avoided Will’s probing blue eyes, focusing instead on the smooth wood grain of the shuffleboard court. The floral scent he seemed to carry felt stronger to him now, mingling with the salt air and Will’s cedarwood cologne in a strangely heady mix. He caught Susan Cruz watching them intently from the scoring table, her expression unreadable but her fingers tapping rapidly on her concealed tablet. The ache pulsed again, deeper this time. He needed this game over.
Susan noted Ash’s subtle wince, the slight hitch in his movement as he retrieved a puck. Perfect. Her tablet confirmed the skeletal adjustments were integrating seamlessly, the initial discomfort a necessary precursor to the wider pelvic structure forming beneath. Phase 2: Pelvic restructuring optimal. Ligament laxity increasing. She glanced at William Thorne. His posture was relaxed, but his attention was fixed solely on Ash, tracking his movements with an intensity that went beyond shuffleboard strategy. The subtle pheromone cocktail – Ash’s unique signature combined with the tailored environmental diffusion – was clearly hitting its mark. William’s pupils were slightly dilated, his focus razor-sharp on his cabin mate. Susan allowed herself a small, genuine smile. Fascinating. She adjusted a slider: Pheromone concentration +2%. Target W.T. receptivity: high.
"Okay, redemption shot," Ash declared, lining up his final puck. He concentrated, ignoring the persistent throb radiating through his lower back and hips. He pushed smoothly, focusing on the technique Will had shown him. The puck glided straight and true, sliding perfectly into the high-scoring zone, nestling beside Will’s best shot. "Ha!" Ash grinned, a flash of triumph lighting up his emerald eyes. The ache momentarily forgotten.
Will clapped him on the shoulder, the touch warm and solid, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. "See? Finesse wins." His smile was wide, appreciative, his gaze sweeping over Ash’s flushed face, the way his longer hair clung damply to his temples. "You’re a natural when you relax." Ash felt the heat from Will’s hand seep through the thin cotton of his shirt, a counterpoint to the deep, internal ache. He felt oddly flustered, a blush warming his cheeks beyond the sun’s effect.
They finished a respectable third. As they collected their participant ribbons – flimsy strips of blue satin – Will nudged Ash again. "Not bad for mandatory fun. Drink? My treat. The Sunset Bar’s got those ridiculous umbrella drinks." He gestured towards the nearby bar area, its thatched roof offering shade.
The ache in Ash’s hips surged, a sharp reminder. He craved the cool smoothness of the buffet’s mango slices, their impossible sweetness promising a familiar, calming buzz. "Actually," Ash said, shifting uncomfortably, "I think I’m gonna hit the buffet. Fuel up. That fruit…" He trailed off, realizing how often he mentioned the fruit. "Just… really good fruit today."
Will’s smile faltered almost imperceptibly. He masked it quickly with a shrug. "Suit yourself. More rum punch for me." But his eyes followed Ash as he walked away towards the lido deck entrance, noting the subtle change in his gait – a slight, unfamiliar sway where before there’d been a lanky stride. Ash moved with an unconscious grace that seemed new, fluid, despite the stiffness he tried to hide. William watched until Ash disappeared into the shaded corridor leading to the buffet, the floral scent lingering faintly in the air where he’d stood. Will frowned, staring at his empty hand, the memory of Ash’s surprisingly soft shoulder fabric vivid. He ordered the punch, but his gaze kept drifting towards the buffet entrance. He shook his head at the lack of pheromones. "What's up William. Hes a guy c'mon man" he whispered to himself walking to the library
William pushed open the heavy library door, the scent of old paper and leather enveloping him. He found a secluded armchair near a porthole overlooking the churning sea, sinking into its plush depths. "Guy," he muttered again, pulling a thick thriller from the shelf, forcing his eyes onto the page. The words blurred. He kept seeing Ash’s victorious grin after that perfect shuffleboard shot, the way his new green eyes had sparkled, the unexpected grace in his movement, the strange, almost floral scent that clung to him now. The feel of Ash’s shoulder beneath his shirt, soft fabric over surprisingly smooth skin. Will shifted uncomfortably. Focus on the damn book.
Ash navigated the bustling buffet like a homing pigeon. His hips protested with a deep, persistent ache as he walked, a stiffness that made navigating the crowded lines awkward. He ignored it, his focus laser-sharp on the gleaming fruit display. He piled a plate high with ruby-red strawberries, golden mango chunks glistening with juice, and the cool, pale flesh of honeydew. The ache flared as he reached for a particularly plump strawberry. He hissed softly, shifting his weight.
He found his usual corner booth, bathed in warm afternoon light. The first bite of mango was pure bliss, the impossible sweetness flooding his senses, instantly soothing the sharp edge of the ache to a dull throb. He ate slowly, savoring each piece, the world narrowing to the vibrant colors on his plate and the gentle hum of contentment buzzing beneath his skin. His shirt felt slightly loose around the shoulders again; he’d tightened his belt two notches just yesterday. Weird cruise laundry.
Susan Cruz observed Ash on her feed, a single eyebrow arched. His subtle wince as he sat hadn't escaped her notice. She accessed the SAP interface. Detailed skeletal schematics glowed – ribs subtly tapering inward, pelvic structure widening incrementally, femoral head angles adjusting. A notification pulsed: `Primary Skeletal Restructuring: Rib Cage & Pelvic Ilium Complete. Femoral Neck Angulation Adjustment Ongoing. Estimated Completion: 168 Hours. Height Reduction Protocol: Initiated.` A week. Perfect timing. She activated a low-level endorphin release specifically targeted to Ash’s skeletal stress receptors. Just enough to take the edge off, keep him functional, keep him eating the fruit. She watched him pluck another berry, a serene expression smoothing his features. "Blossoming beautifully. Buuuuutt. Thos hips got to be wider. She mumbled to herself and increased them another 10%"
Susan leaned back, the ship’s rhythmic vibration humming through her chair. The confirmation ping on her tablet was soft, green, and absolute. Ten percent wider. Ash’s skeletal structure would accommodate it, eventually. The endorphin drip she’d initiated would blur the worst edges, keep him moving, keep him eating. She watched the live feed: Ash had finished eating and made his way back to the cabin, where he just went to sleep in his bunk, face relaxed under the dim nightlight, oblivious to the silent revolution within his bones. William slept soundly across the small room. Perfect conditions. She minimized the screen, the glow reflecting coldly in her eyes. "Let the architecture settle," she murmured, already plotting the next subtle shift. Musculature. Fat distribution. She needed Ashley to move with effortless grace.
A low groan escaped Ash’s lips before he was fully awake. It felt like someone had replaced his pelvis with ground glass overnight. Every slight shift on the thin mattress sent jagged lines of pain radiating from his hips down his thighs and up his spine. He clenched his teeth, stifling another sound. Dim, pre-dawn light filtered through the porthole, casting long shadows. Will’s rhythmic breathing came from the other bed. Ash lay perfectly still, afraid any movement might shatter him. The deep, grinding ache was unlike anything he’d ever felt – not muscle soreness, but a profound internal shifting, deep within the bone itself. He pressed his palms flat against the mattress, trying to push himself up slowly.
Sharp agony lanced through him. He gasped, collapsing back, sweat beading on his suddenly cool forehead. His hips felt alien, bulky, like they didn’t belong to the rest of his frame. He tried rolling onto his side, seeking relief, but the pressure was excruciating. Panic fluttered in his chest. What was happening? Was this some bizarre seasickness? A slipped disc from yesterday’s shuffleboard? He remembered the lingering stiffness then, the way Will had noticed. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing shallowly through his nose. The pervasive floral scent seemed stronger trapped in the still cabin air, cloying and oddly nauseating now. He focused on it, a strange anchor, while the deep throb pulsed relentlessly.
He must have drifted, because the next thing he knew, weak morning sunlight filled the cabin, and William’s bed was empty. The sharpest edges of the pain had dulled, settling into a deep, heavy ache that made every movement stiff and careful. Sitting up was a monumental task, requiring him to brace himself on the nightstand, swinging his legs slowly over the side. He hissed as his feet touched the cool floor. Standing felt precarious, unbalanced. His center of gravity seemed… off. Lower. Wider. He took an experimental step towards the bathroom. His gait was hesitant, shuffling, lacking its usual lanky stride. He caught a glimpse in the mirror above the sink as he passed – hair tousled, face pale, eyes wide and startled, emerald green against the pallor. He looked scared. He quickly looked away.
A hot shower offered scant relief. The water pressure on his lower back was good, but touching his hips directly was too much. He dressed with agonizing slowness, pulling on soft sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, anything loose and forgiving. Cinching his belt felt impossible; the familiar notches were meaningless now. He left it undone, the tails of his hoodie hanging low. Moving like an old man, he ventured out towards the one place that promised comfort: the buffet. He needed the fruit. Its sweetness was the only thing that might blunt this relentless ache.
The walk felt endless. He navigated the corridors slowly, leaning against walls when the ache spiked, acutely aware of the occasional passenger glancing at his stiff, shuffling progress. The vibrant, sun-drenched atrium felt jarring, the cheerful clatter of breakfast plates like needles in his ears. He bypassed the hot food entirely, heading straight for the gleaming oasis of the fruit display. His hands trembled slightly as he piled a plate high with mango, papaya, berries – anything bursting with color and that impossible, addictive sweetness. He found a secluded corner booth, collapsing into it with a sigh that was half relief, half suppressed groan.
The first bite of mango was a revelation. The explosion of flavor, the familiar, comforting buzz spreading through his veins, instantly dulled the deep bone-ache to a manageable thrum. He ate methodically, focused, the world shrinking to the textures on his tongue and the lessening pressure in his hips. He was halfway through the plate, the sweet haze deepening, when a shadow fell across the table.
"Rough night?" William stood there, holding a coffee mug, his piercing blue eyes scanning Ash with open concern. His gaze lingered on Ash’s hunched posture, the pallor of his face visible even in the bright light, the way he seemed folded in on himself within the hoodie. He pulled out the opposite chair without asking, sitting down. "You look like you got run over by the shuffleboard puck."
Ash forced a weak smile, swallowing a mouthful of juicy papaya. "Feels like it." His voice sounded thin. "Just… woke up stiff. Really stiff." He gestured vaguely towards his lower body with his fork, avoiding William’s eyes. "Probably slept weird on that awful mattress." He stabbed another piece of fruit, the action requiring more effort than it should.
William watched him eat, his brow furrowed. "Stiff’s one thing. You’re moving like you’re ninety." He took a sip of coffee, his gaze thoughtful, analytical. "Hips? Back?" He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "You were favoring your left side walking in here."
He hadn’t realized Will had seen him. A flush crept up his neck. "Yeah, hips mostly," he admitted, the lie about the mattress feeling flimsy under that perceptive stare. "Deep ache. Like… deep." He shrugged helplessly, popping the fruit into his mouth, seeking its chemical solace. "Weirdest thing."
William was quiet for a moment, studying Ash. He noted the sheen of sweat still on Ash’s temples, the slight tremor in his hand holding the fork, the way the hoodie hung differently – draping over shoulders that seemed narrower, softer, yet somehow accommodating a wider frame beneath. The floral scent was distinct now, mixed with the
"If you like it can give you a message. I am after all a licensed misuse." Will asked "oh no home though" he chuckled.
"Another time," Ash chuckled too, and declined the offer. "Really appreciate it, though." He took another bite of fruit, the sweetness almost overwhelming, but it was the only thing that dulled the relentless ache in his hips. "Maybe when the cruise is over. Or at least when I can walk without looking like I’m about to topple over." He tried to laugh it off, but the effort sent a sharp jolt of pain through his lower back. He winced, setting the fork down.
William didn’t miss the wince. He leaned back in his chair, his coffee mug cradled in both hands, his eyes tracing the subtle shifts in Ash’s posture. "You know, back home I used to help out at my buddy’s massage parlor. Not the seedy kind," he added quickly, noting Ash’s raised eyebrow. "Im good. Thanks though." He started to walk out. "Hey... you.. ah want join me at the buffet? Im aloud to have one guest whenever I go to it." Ash asked hesitately .
William arched an eyebrow. "You want me to join you for lunch? At the buffet?" His tone was amused, but the invitation was genuine.
Ash nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "If you don’t mind. I might need help carrying the plates." He gestured vaguely to his hips, a self-deprecating smirk tugging at his lips. He was trying to play off the pain as a joke, but the grimace that followed betrayed him.
William chuckled, a warm, low sound. "Yeah, I’ve seen you try to carry those plates. Sure. Why not. I feel like i can eat like a stuffed hog."
Ash chuckled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a genuine smile. "Between the fruit and the ice cream, I'm a walking milkshake."
William grinned, taking a sip of his iced tea. "You do have a one-track mind when it comes to food, don't you? But hey, who am I to judge? I just finished my third helping of those loaded waffles." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. The ship rocked gently beneath them, the rhythmic hum of its engines the backdrop to their conversation.
"So Ash, we have really talked. But what is it you do. I mean I know you won this cruise. But what is it that Ash does or likes?" William asked.
His brows furrowed, genuinely surprised. "You know what? We’ve been roomies for a week now, and I don’t think we’ve ever really talked. What do you do back home, Ash? I mean, aside from winning cruise tickets and kicking my ass at trivia."
Ash blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. "Oh, um," he stammered, surprised at the realization that they’d indeed been in such close proximity without actually connecting. "I was actually let go from my job right before this cruise. Company downsizing, they said. So, I’m kind of in limbo right now." He shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal, but the thought of his current unemployment still stung.
William’s expression softened, a hint of concern in his blue eyes. "That sucks, man. Sorry to hear that. What did you do?
Ash paused, a hint of embarrassment tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was a graphic designer," he admitted, his voice dropping slightly. "Something I’ve been doing since college. But the market’s tough, and I guess my portfolio just wasn’t strong enough to keep me afloat." He shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the slight hitch in his voice betrayed him.
William noted the subtle change in Ash’s demeanor, the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, the hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it," he said, his voice gentle, compassionate. "The creative field can be brutal. I’ve seen plenty of talented people get the boot for no good reason. It’s not a reflection on you or your skills." He leaned forward, his gaze intent. "So, what’s your dream job?
If you could do anything without worrying about the market or competition?" William asked, his voice softening to encourage Ash to open up. The buffet’s hum of chatter and clattering silverware provided a gentle backdrop to their conversation, the ship rocking gently beneath them.
Ash looked up, his eyes meeting William’s with an intensity that surprised him. "You know, I’ve always felt like I’m meant to do something more creative, more… expressive. I’ve dabbled in sketching and illustration, but never really pursued it because, well, it seemed too risky." He paused, his gaze drifting to the brightly painted murals on the buffet wall. "I’ve always wanted to be an author, a storyteller. But that feels even more out of reach, you know?" Ash giving details of his made him blush and stomach flutter. No one has actually showed interest in him before. Out of instinct moved some hair from his eye in a flirtatious way. The two continued to talk about stuff getting to know one another.
Susan watching the camera as the sat in the buffet table and talked. A smile broke out as she seen the flirtatious gestures Ash was doing while they were talking. On her tablet she typed in a few commands and sent them off. She hasn't noticed Ash giving off a floral scent but she had given Will a whiff of that floral scent in the vent that leads to his cabin. She smiled and decided to try a new recipe. She switched her screen to the SAP interface. Pheromone concentration +10%. receptivity: high, Target A.T. attraction: high. She smirked as she sent the command to the ship's environmental system.
Ash and William sat across from each other, their conversation flowing easily despite the awkward initial greetings.
Ash found himself opening up more than he had with anyone in a long time. He talked about his love for reading, his favorite authors, and the stories he’d always wanted to tell. Will listened intently, his blue eyes reflecting genuine interest. He shared stories of his own, his travels, his passion for adventure sports. The more they talked, the more Ash felt the tension melting away. He even found himself laughing at Will’s jokes, something he hadn’t done in a while.
Their plates were piled high with fruit, but neither seemed to mind. Ash found himself popping grapes into his mouth, enjoying the sweet burst of flavor.
He was surprised at how much he was enjoying talking to Will. It felt natural, easy. He hadn't felt this way with anyone since... well, since he could remember. Will was asking him about one of his favorite authors, a fantasy writer known for intricate world-building and complex characters. "Yeah, his books just transport you, you know? You can practically taste the air in his worlds, feel the textures. It's like he's not just telling a story, but painting a whole universe."
Will nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That's amazing.
I've never thought of it like that before. You make it sound so real," Will said, his voice reflecting a genuine curiosity and admiration. The clattering of plates and the hum of conversations around them faded into the background as they became lost in their dialog.
Ash felt his cheeks warm slightly, pleased by Will's interest. "Yeah, that's the beauty of it. When you read a book that's really good, it's like you're right there with the characters. You feel their emotions, their struggles, their triumphs. It's like being part of another world."
Will’s eyes gleamed with intrigue.
"You should write your own stories, Ash. The world deserves to experience your imagination." Ash felt a warmth spread through him, a flush of pleasure and unexpected longing. He had never had someone look at him like that before, like they saw something valuable, something worth pursuing.
Their plates were cleared by a bustling server, and Ash glanced at his watch, surprised by how much time had passed. "I should probably get moving," he said, though he didn't want the conversation to end. "I need to stretch these legs before they seize up completely."
Will nodded, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I've seen your shuffleboard skills. I don't think we can afford to have you turning into a human statue just yet." He stood up, offering Ash a hand to help him up.
"Come on, let's walk it off. You know, fresh air, sunlight, all that good stuff the doctors talk about."
Ash hesitated, his hand hovering over William’s outstretched one. The deep ache in his hips flared at the thought of moving, the memory of the sharp pain from earlier still fresh in his mind. He bit his lip, trying to hide his discomfort.
William noticed the pause and the slight wince that followed. "Hey, if it’s too much, we can sit back down. No pressure." His gaze softened, genuine concern flickering across his features.
Ash took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable pain. "Ill be good"