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The Seaside Heaven departed from the port only an hour off schedule, due mostly in part to hoards of disorganized families coming in late and holding the departure time back slowly but surely. Already, Hux was having a terrible time. This cruise was his boss Pryde’s idea, the eternal asshole, and Hux was convinced that the “company vacation” was a punishment against his quick rise, because Pryde, that FUCKER, knew how seasick he got, and he purposefully planned out a whole cruise vacation for the company. Of course everyone praised him, but later - privately - Pryde had shoulder checked him.
“I would hope that you don’t… lose your nerve, and embarrass yourself on this cruise, Armitage. That would be so very unfortunate, ” he had whispered, and then moved on like nothing had happened.
So yes, this was war.
Too bad, then, that Hux couldn’t win against his dizzy spells and the constant urge to empty his stomach. He hadn’t eaten before the cruise, in anticipation, but still - it felt as if he was never going to survive this feeling.
And of course, no trips to the infirmary, no personal meds. Pryde would notice either, and frame it as addiction, or dishonesty, or both. Goodbye, promising career. So Hux grinned and bore it, even though he felt like absolute death.
Hours later, after lying in his quarters and on the floor listening to anti-nausea music, he felt very very slightly better, and set his mind on heading toward the dining area, if only to see if they had some ginger ale or perhaps a very soothing soup that would go down easy, like miso. The chances were low, but he could hope.
With a lot more determination than he felt (and his bluetooth headphones still connected to the music) he walked to the dining area of the boat, ignoring the foul-smelling food from the buffet and heading towards the soup section.
Please please please, not spicy, and not something gross, he silently willed.
Unfortunately, the soup section did not answer his prayers. Chilli Soup was the first option, and it smelled so strongly of onions that he almost cried. The second was an awful looking French Onion that looked more like brown goop with cheese than anything else. Not even a Chicken Noodle. He despaired.
It was late. He realized belatedly, looking at the time, that he must have been lying down for hours , and that was why practically no one was here.
He saw a little notice on the wall. “Want something we don’t have? Just ring this bell! This is your home away from home, and you deserve only the best!” - Management Team, Seaside Heaven.
Hux always felt bad for inconveniencing service workers, but he was truly desperate this time.
He gently pressed the bell, hoping that the kitchen at least had some leftover chicken stock. He would even be willing to heat it up in his microwave, if needed.
“WHAT! What the fuck do you want, you spoilt shit?!” a booming voice yelled out, causing him to wince. The source of the voice, a burly tall man - taller than him, which was a feat indeed - and wide, the buttons on his chef’s coat bursting; came crashing out of the ‘Employee Only’ doors, his black hair pushing out of every crevice on his hairnet in a comical fashion. He had a spill of nearly every color on him, and yet he still managed to look quite handsome. Control yourself, Hux mentally chided to his hind brain.
“I-I’m terribly sorry,” he said, trying his very best to not look pathetic and like he had not just spent the last couple of hours writing on the floor, willing his sea sickness away, “do you happen to have chicken stock? Or, failing that, dramamine?”
The man gives him a once over, and the anger seems to squeeze out of him like a sponge. He sighs, composes himself, and then gives a small smile.
“I have some beef stock left. My vegetarian cousin also packed me some miso with my meal that I haven’t eaten because fuck tofu, all my homies hate tofu.”
“I would literally kill someone for miso soup right now,” Hux spilled out, finding his filter a little off kilter. Ah, the music had calmed down the incessant voice in his head screaming for him to remain proper.
“...Ok… so, if I give you that, and some of the dramamine from sickbay, would you say you owe me?”
“I would literally give you anything. Carte blanche. IOU. The soul of my firstborn child.”
The man looks strangely satisfied.
“Alright. You and me, tomorrow night. Dinner, and more if you’re up for it.”
Hux feels a hot pink blush stain his pale cheeks.
“I - er - yes, I would be amenable. Uhm.. Mister Chef…”
“Kylo,” the handsome stranger offers.
“Hux,” he returns.
Maybe this could be the beginning of a true new adventure, he thinks hopefully, and then his stomach churns at a sudden movement in the sea, and he feels himself mercifully slip into unconsciousness, the last feeling he registers being strong arms around him.