"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken." -Fyodor Dostoevsky

Arthur Kirkland had always lived a small life, and so it was with his past regarded that he expected it to continue in the same manner. The inn he owned sat on a small dirt road in a relatively unknown fishing port. The people he serviced were few and far between. He kept his establishment open with the cunning placement of a bar and an open door to sailors and men of spirits alike.

So it was to his complete surprise that an enormous man slammed open the door of the inn one night and stomped into the nearly empty room, shocking both himself and the fisherman warming by the large stone fireplace at the other end of the room. In the night's snow, his silhouette looked bear-like.

His steps carried a saunter that spoke of the rough winter seas and his skin was weathered despite his young age. He had the look of a man who was not a stranger to hard times and little food. He was a sailor, there was no questioning that, not by the muscles that were built from heaving ropes and oars.

He was the strangest patron to walk through Arthur's ever-open door.

He wore glasses, things that Arthur had only ever heard of, and he carried no weapon, which Arthur thought was odd for a man who had so obviously seen the roughest of seas.

"Might I help you?" Arthur asked, his curiosity shown through his subtly raised brow.

"Aye," the man said, brushing some half-melted snow from his hair. "Rum and a room, if you'd be so kind."

"The rum will be a ha'penny."

The odd sailor nodded, and seemingly out of nowhere, procured a copper coin and tossed it at the inn keeper. Arthur wouldn't have been able to catch it had this not been the usual behavior of his clientele.

The inn-keeper tossed a bottle back at the large man, who grabbed it from the air without blinking. He uncorked his alcohol, and to Arthur's surprise, did not guzzle it down, but instead took a sip and turned his attention to the fisherman who was still staring at the overwhelming sight of a man as large as he.

"How are the waters, would you say?"

Arthur had no idea how the odd sailor knew that the shivering man by the fire was a fisherman, and therefore knew the sea. It wasn't as if he looked apart from anyone else in the village, although, with it being a fishing village, perhaps it was only safe to assume.

"Cold, I assure you," the man replied, through chattering teeth, his brow raising just as Arthur's had. "Not a favorable wind in sight. Y'should be docked for a while."

The man shrugged his large shoulders, but his eyes danced with something that didn't speak of blatant disregard.

The fisherman gave a light chuckle, his eyes coming to life in camaraderie. "Have you come with a crew?"

Arthur left the men (the ocean was of no concern to him) and returned to running the few chores left for the day. It was a long while before the fisherman left the sailor, and by the time he did, the snow was high enough to cover a man's boot. They had both indulged in enough alcohol to drop ten soldiers, and the fisherman wobbled when he walked out the door. The strange, large, ever-intriguing sailor did not share this detriment.

Be that as it may, he still reeked of rum when he leaned against the bar.

"What's that frown for, girly?" The sailor asked, empty bottle swinging in his hand, his face filled with blissful inhibition. Arthur dealt with drunkards on a usual basis, but insults were not something he would stand to tolerate, no matter the intoxication of the perpetrator.

"Girly?" Arthur squawked, all traces of previous formality leaving his posture. His hand tightened around the edge of the bar, and he glared hard at the large man across from him. The snow whispered from the door, a warning, a reminder. Neither bothered to heed it.

"Aye, you've got the look about you. From the swing of your hips to the twist in your nose."

Arthur felt the blood rise up to his face, boiling under his skin. His fists clenched, and the drunken sailor immediately ducked. He seemed to know this behavior.

"Girly!" Arthur repeated, the vein of his neck throbbing. "Who the devil do you think you are? You come to my bloody inn, and under no provocation, you insult me?"

The pirate laughed heartily, which did not go unheeded, and cast a wink towards the fuming man.

"Never meant to offend! The name's Jones." He crowed, his head falling forward onto the lip of his bottle. He peered into it, only to be disappointed at it's emptiness, and hopped off his stool, swaying.

"Now," he sighed, as if he'd just opened his eyes to dawn. "About that bed, eh?"

Arthur's grip slipped. His fist came up in a right hook and he took a battle stance. He was not the most muscled man in his village, but he was certainly strong. It would surely be a knockout.

Yet, before his arm had even reached the proper angle, his fist was stopped short. This jarred him, the bones of his right limb creaking.

"Oh-ho-ho!" Jones cried, his hand tightening around the inn keeper's fist. "My mistake, it seems that girly's quite daring!"

Arthur wrenched his fist back, pretending like his bones had not been crushed. "Crawl back to your rotting ship and freeze!" He shouted, enraged.

"By my word, you'll never find a bed in this town!"

"I do doubt that," said Jones, his mouth pulling down into the traces of pity. "Like I said, I never meant no offense."

Jones leaned down. His breath carried the foul stench of rum, yet nonetheless, his teeth remained white. Arthur noted again that he seemed to have no weapon.

As the man bent at his waist, a small silver key slipped out from under his shirt and sea-coat. It hung on a small piece of twine. Arthur's eyes went straight to it. For a moment, he forgot about his anger, he forgot about his throbbing hand. Instead he longed for the sea. He longed for the feel of waves on his cheek and salt in his breath. He wanted to chase the sun.

Jones' entire body went solid, and his breath caught.

They stayed that way, frozen, Arthur's eyes glued to the key, Jones' eyes glued to Arthur, until the sailor came to his senses and snatched the thing up. He tucked it behind his shirt, swallowing thickly.

The moment the gleam of the silver was out of sight, Arthur snapped back into his anger.

Jones had wide eyes behind his spectacles, suddenly sober.

"Never," said he, a quietness to his words, "did I think it could be someone like you."

Wow, hello everyone.

So I've had this story floating around my head (and this poor dismantled notebook) for ages. I'm very nervous to write it, because I really want to get it right! So if you have any critique, please let it loose, I've just got to know what I can fix!

However, be warned that updates will be wonky and displaced. And dialogue might be iffy...

This is merely the prologue, things will become clearer as we go along, but if you have any questions I will be happy to answer them.

Thank you so much for reading!

-Mallory

(P.S.

Sorry to those of you who read the stories I've neglected, I've recently become engulfed by new fandoms and school. I will update them again, but this is story is my priority.)

Thanks to thenamesiggykirkland for all the help with this story, it wouldn't be written without you.

Based of Chapter 28 of "Can't Help Falling In Love" by Somepatriot (me).