Matt- The Storm Chasers

The storm warnings blare over the Team Aqua comms, category four, seek shelter immediately, but Matt just grins at you, his Sharpedo already thrashing in the churning water.

"Last one to the reef buys drinks!" he yells over the wind, and you don’t hesitate.

You leap onto your own Sharpedo, its rough hide vibrating under your palms as it rockets forward, cutting through waves taller than the Lilycove gym. Salt stings your eyes, the wind screams in your ears, and Matt’s laughter rings out like a challenge, wild and unguarded. This is stupid. This is perfect.

A rogue wave slams into you, and for a heart-stopping second, you’re airborne, then plunging into the black. The current drags you under, your lungs burning, until strong arms wrap around your waist and haul you up. You break the surface gasping, Matt’s chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck.

"You trying to drown?" he pants, but his hands don’t let go.

You twist in his grip, your nose brushing his, the world reduced to the space between your lips-

Then lightning cracks the sky open, illuminating the sheer terror in his eyes.

"Shelter. Now," he orders, and for once, you don’t argue.

The emergency lights flicker as the hatch groans shut behind you, sealing out the hurricane’s roar. You and Matt collapse against the bulkhead, seawater pooling at your boots, lungs still burning from the ride back.

Then, silence.

The kind that makes the hair on your neck stand up.

"Well, well."

Archie’s voice cuts through the dim like a cutlass through rigging. He lounges against the far wall, one boot propped on a supply crate, his gold tooth glinting in the lamplight. "If it ain’t me two wayward sea dogs, come crawlin’ back from Davy Jones’ locker." He pushes off the wall, his coat swaying with the roll of the ship. "Tell me, mates, was it worth it? Riskin’ yer necks for a bit o’ saltwater thrill?"

Matt stiffens beside you. "Boss, we d-"

"Ah-ah!" Archie’s hand snaps up, his grin sharp as a Scyther's blades. "Let me guess. Y’thought, ‘Aye, let’s dance with the tempest!’ Maybe ‘Why not ride the eye o’ the storm like it’s some tavern wench?’" He steps closer, the shadows deepening the scar across his cheek. "But not once did ye think, ‘Maybe Archie’ll have me guts for garters if I scuttle his ship.’"

You swallow hard. Matt’s knuckles whiten around the edge of his vest.

Then, Archie laughs, loud and sudden as a cannon blast. "Hah! Calm yer hides." He claps a hand on your shoulder, shaking you like a ragdoll. "Y’know what really frosts me barnacles? Ye made it back alive." His grip tightens, his voice dropping to a growl. "And that, me hearties, is the mark o’ true sea dogs."

Shelly, lurking behind him, looks ready to keelhaul you both. "They wha, ?!"

Archie waves her off, still chuckling. "Save the fury, lass. These two bilge rats need patchin’ up before we toss ‘em to the deep." He winks at you, all teeth. "Ain’t that right, storm riders?"