A pair of footsteps made their way up the wooden staircase, led by the ghost of memory. With each step, the worn planks let out a creak of agony, the ones particularly precarious were carefully avoided. Only the faint glow of a lantern provided any source of light through the thickening fog. It clung to your skin like dewy cobwebs you wished you could shake off, and you hated it. How it made your skin clammy from the humidity.

But, it didn't matter. None of it mattered when he was still lost.

Perhaps lost wasn't the right word. Missing maybe, but lost? No, he knew better than that, even if the rest of the port believed so. It was a night not unlike this one.

When the tides crashed against anything and everything unlucky enough to cross its path. When the shape of the shores shifted indecisively, incessantly. When thunder clouds marched in from every direction and carried billowing winds that ran all surfaces rampant.

It was nautical mayhem, and yet, he demanded he go. Because his crew was still out there, he said, he needed to go and bring them back. And no one could redirect his compass once it was set. So he left to do just that, and for weeks, there was no sighting of any of them.

Strong and faultlessly calm, like the eye of a storm. Yes, he was.

So your faith would be too. Despite the masses believing he was swallowed by the sea, you believed otherwise.

You could still picture his shining smile and the ambition glinting in his eyes that never failed to dazzle in your memory. "Call me captain," he'd always say, "I'll do it for my crew."

He was the one who led you here. The one who walked you through which steps were safe to cross and which were likely to give way in this deserted lighthouse. The one who pointed out to you which clouds meant bright, sunny days and which foreshadowed a raging storm. The one who taught you how to work the old, rusty light structure into a working beacon.

The beacon, now coated with dust from years of inactivity. But it still made a suitable backrest for the wait that lay ahead of you. You sat with your knees huddled to your chest, icy fingers clutching a thinly woven blanket around your shoulders. When you sighed, a wisp of breath materialized that soon joined the fog. It would be another long night, not that you weren't used to it, although admittedly the weather had gotten colder recently.

Your gaze was cast far into the fog. Somehow, the curls of the fog unturning, unfurling against each other was entertaining enough for your eyes to rest on for hours on end. It almost felt... mesmerizing, the way it steadily regressed back into the heart of the sea.

Away from the shore, back into the sea, just as the first thunderclap sounded, and it began to pour. Wait, was it the fog that was retreating or-

It seemed like your eyelids were frozen open at this point, so you couldn't have missed it. You blinked rapidly and rubbed them again. Your feet struggled to get a foothold on the slippery surface of the gallery deck outside, and you collided into the slick railings. Still, there was no way you missed it. You squinted into the now raging storm, scanning the waterfront for any sign of...

The hull of a ship. His ship. For once, it wasn't a mirage. He's back. Dear lord, he's back, and his ship was nearly capsized by the crashing waves.

From where you were, the ship barely looked the size of a seagull being tossed around like the sea was playing ball. And it didn't look like an easy passage through the jagged rocks jutting out across the harbour. Lightning flashed overhead, and you were struck with an idea.

You scrambled back into the lantern room where the beacon begged to be used. Well, now it was time. You immediately dusted off the glass and flipped the switch. Somehow, you hadn't taken into account that you were standing right in front of the light and got momentarily blinded.

But the light was on now. The beam shone through the storm like a second, flashing moon. The beacon spun around in rotation. Sure enough, the tiny bouncing ship headed towards the direction of the harbour. Now all you needed to do was guide it through the maze of rocks.

It wasn't easy, that was for sure, but you kept in mind what he'd taught you before. His guiding voice served like a whisper in your ear, and now it was time you helped in return. The ship swerved and dodged the hazards obedient to your beam.

And it neared enough for you to spot the little figures dashing across the deck. All eight figures, including their captain, who was proudly holding his own against the downpour that was trying to tear his ship asunder. He stood at the helm, shouting commands through the gales. The sails were worn and torn, and the hull showed clear signs of damage, but still, he never faltered.

Closer, and you could see the sea-ravaged, curly hair strewn about. The smell of saltwater already pierced your lungs in the hour that you were outside. You couldn't imagine what his condition would be like, but that barely concerned you.

Because at that instant, the only thing you were focused on the radiant grin on his face. How long its been since you didn't have to imagine it. Because he was here, the sea swallowed him up and he came back up as brilliant and luminous as ever, no matter how lost he might've been in the process. Finally, he came home.

Something he used to say rang in your head. As loud as a bell, bright as a beacon: "My precious team is my compass."

.....

A/N: I know I never posted a proper birthday imagine for him then, and I still feel sort of guilty for not doing do. I was busy with midterms but I just, I don't know, I feel like I have to when it comes to our best leader. And I actually quite liked how this turned out so maybe it's worth the much overdue time.

For this one, I really wanted to develop a proper atmosphere and setting. And initially I had a pretty different ending for this idea, but I thought this was more fitting. I played around with a lot of literary devices so that was pretty fun, even if it did take longer to write than usual.

Also, I have very little knowledge of how lighthouses work so please excuse any inaccuracies.