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The sea waited for you for centuries. Patient. Longing. Tearful.

No soul had been born who could tame its ferocity. The times were divine, rushing to shore without coinciding with him could be a catastrophe. So it forced itself to endure. To tolerate the pain. To tolerate the desire to see him again.

It remained hidden under the wing of a specific family, protected by them on a remote island in Grand Line, for centuries without being disturbed. They passed the word down from parents to children, grandparents to grandchildren. That devil fruit, kept in a locked chest, with its peculiar conch shell shape that glowed in shades of blue and light blue, was not to be consumed.

The fruit would choose its bearer. Like no other, it would sing to attract whoever it desired, until it made them carry an unknown destiny. Anyone who coveted it wrongly would be punished.

And everyone learned to respect it.

You had always been curious. Why was your family the only one who knew about its existence and could take care of it, when there were so many others on the island? Why couldn't anyone else even get close enough to appreciate it? What was known about that devil fruit was passed on by word of mouth. Your aunt had told you about its appearance during a festival in the village, while dancing with laughter, one jump after another, to the rhythm of "don, don, don, don", but she didn't know if it was real either. Someone else had told her about it.

Your grandmother wouldn't let anyone near the old temple on the highest hill on the island. The task of caring for it was relegated to a few women in the family, those who had the gift of hearing. Hearing what? You thought it was nonsense. How could anyone hear a fruit? As a child, you couldn't make sense of it.

But curiosity kept you awake.

And you understood everything at the age of seven.

A festival to an ancient god was being celebrated in the village. Sitting on a bench —a tree trunk cut down by your father—, you admired those present. There it was again. That rhythm. That dance. It was fun, it was playful, it was free. The huge smiles on their faces were something that only that dance could give.

The dance of Nika.

They did it once a month, as if trying to call him, intending him to join in the fun if he saw them, and something inside you told you that this god would do just that. He would join them with a huge laugh. And the party would never end.

But what was happening here was more than just a party. It was a plea. The people of your village and your family believed that he would return to save them. And someone important would come with him.

You shook your head from side to side, playing with the fabric of your white dress when you heard it.

A melancholic voice sang melodies that pressed on your heart. You were too young to understand the longing behind that song, the pain of loss. Its slowness differed from the joy in Nika's rhythm.

You covered your ears, not wanting to hear any more. But it was calling you. It was making you get up from your seat against your will.

Under the watchful gaze of your grandmother, whom you could not see through the sea of people, you made your way towards the forest. The old woman heard the crying in that song, more intense than ever. It was different from what it always whispered to her. Now it was crying out for you.

You followed the path with a grimace. It was lit by small golden lanterns shaped like flowers. Despite your fear of being scolded for entering the forbidden area, you couldn't help but follow that voice. Its broken song gradually changed, becoming a little more cheerful. Enough so as not to break your heart. You wondered if this is what the song of the sirens sounded like, the ones you read about in your book, the ones who lived on gyojin island.

You stopped in front of the temple. How many minutes had it taken you to climb the hill? You had lost track of time while enveloped in those melodies.

Seeing it up close took your breath away. Tall marble pillars surrounded by ivy stood before you. A glass dome revealed the interior of the place, making your blood run cold.

A golden statue of a woman stood in the middle, surrounded by water. Would you sink if you approached it? Or would it be shallow, free to walk towards it? That woman looked up at the sky with her back to you, her arms outstretched, her fingers curved as if touching something.

Was she singing? Could a statue sing? Or was it...? You searched with your eyes until you found it. A chest rested at her feet, surrounded by vines. As if it had never been touched before.

But something in that voice asked you to. Something in that woman's position begged you for something.

You dipped your tiny feet into the water and a sigh of relief escaped from within you when the water only reached your hips. For an adult, it would reach their knees or lower.

You walked across the slimy ground covered in seaweed, pouting in disgust. Your grandmother protected this place, but it seemed she didn't clean it, given its condition.

The singing grew softer as you got closer. The moonlight made the statue look more beautiful, but its golden colour would shine brighter in the sun.

When you reached its feet, which were in front of your face, you raised your hands to the vines, pulling them off one by one. The chest, once freed, looked old. Conveniently, a key lay beside it. You shook your head in confusion. No one had stolen it in centuries, and you had made it there without anyone stopping you. What were they afraid of? It was silly to fear a fruit. Surely it had some foolish power, like the men on the reward posters that arrived every week. There were a few incredible powers, but there were also fruits that seemed bad to you.

You inserted the key into the lock, opening the chest carefully so as not to break it. You widened your eyes in amazement when you saw it. It shone in shades of blue and light blue, shaped like a seashell. So this was what the devil's fruit looked like. You took it in your hands, not knowing that you were being allowed to do so. Not knowing that your destiny was being forged.

Standing by the island's beach, with the celebration behind her, your grandmother smiled softly. The clock was ticking again.

He had already been born and consumed his fruit, and he had chosen you at the same time to accompany him.

With the sudden violence of the sea that night, the people dancing merrily and a little girl spitting in a temple alone, the old woman welcomed the goddess of the sea.

The "Hito Hito no Mi, model: Naia" had chosen its bearer.

Your growth since that night had been quite an adventure. Your grandmother had told you things, like the name of the fruit and where it came from. The reason why your family had protected it for generations and generations finally had an answer. You were direct descendants of Naia, but the goddess was jealous and refused to choose a woman before the time. You didn't know who she was waiting for, and the old woman didn't have a concrete answer. Only old beliefs that had been instilled in her, which she couldn't vouch for as being true.

But if you were there, in front of her, surrounded by fish that seemed to be talking to you, then there was a chance that he was also in another sea.

The longer you lived in the village, the more miracles happened. The famine ceased with the increasing abundance of fish. Your unconscious attracted large fish and beasts from the Grand Line, which were hunted to feed the villagers. They ate through tears, thanking the sun god for his help, without knowing who was really responsible.

Ships began to stop there. After four years, your voice began to attract sailors, bounty hunters, and pirates. With their visits, the families around you were able to support themselves. The imminent improvement in the standard of living among these villagers caught the attention of the world government. An island was rising and should not remain outside their hands, living according to their laws. Abiding by the rules was the best they could do.

However, no one could accept it. The hatred in their hearts consumed them alive. These people were not the kind who wanted to be protected by the marine or receive the light of the world government by paying tribute. No. These people had their beliefs, beliefs that those above despised. Beliefs for which they would seek to silence them.

Your grandmother knew that your devil fruit would bring trouble. If the legends were true, the search for your existence would be relentless.

A woman with the ability to control the sea was an aberration to everyone who admired her. A forbidden existence hidden like a myth.

But myths had an origin and, in turn, someone who tried to destroy them.

As a very young girl, you had no control over the sea. The strong emotions he was unaccustomed to sent him into a frenzy. Your cries stirred up hurricanes, impossible to stop until your heart was calm again. Your anger violently shook the waves, your sudden outbursts calling forth tsunamis.

Their frequency was not something that the world government —who kept their eyes on the island that was suddenly making a name for itself— could ignore. Marines disguised as sailors or ordinary tourists came and went, reporting what they saw. Was that island changing its magnetic field? After centuries of maintaining the same one? Or was something beyond their control happening?

It was after a huge earthquake and a subsequent tsunami, one that was out of the ordinary, with waves so big that they flooded the coast and left the island without a port, that your grandmother made the decision to expel you. CP0 began prowling the area when you were seventeen. They walked around looking at all the women, with instructions to pay special attention to the youngest ones.

Any who showed abnormalities. Any who seemed to interact unnaturally with the sea. Any who talked to fish.

The one who could be the woman the five elders wanted desperately.

Your grandmother, your aunt, and your mother did everything in their power. Sooner or later, those government agents would find the temple to the goddess Naia, confirming the suspicions of the celestial dragons. That temple, that golden statue facing the sun, was the only one in the world.

Those who knew her believed she had died, leaving no trace of her passage through life, a woman who would never set foot in such a rotten place again. But there she was, laughing in their faces, always hidden, always waiting for the right moment to return.

The three women in your family knew that news of such magnitude would not sit well. Everyone was in danger, not just you. And they were willing to face them as long as they could be reunited.

Your mother pulled you by the hand, all of them covering their mouths to stifle their tired gasps. The forest was the village's domain, illuminated in every corner, trees marked to indicate the paths back home. Your aunt carried a bag of clothes and your grandmother led the way.

They came upon a flooded coastline. Four villagers were holding onto tree trunks, pulling on ropes tied to the boat to keep it steady. They had placed two barrels of provisions inside. You looked at everyone in alarm, not knowing what to say, not wanting to leave.

This island was your home. Everyone had watched you grow up. Why did you have to leave everything behind? Just because of an ancient legend that no one knew was real?

The old woman placed her hands on your cheeks after your aunt had wrapped the bag around your body.

"You must flee, child." She whispered.

You shook your head, frightened. Yes, your devil fruit seemed to control the sea, but you had never sailed. You had never gone out into the world. And you would not be going out onto a calm sea. You lived in Grand Line, and out there were fearsome pirates, the yonko sailed those waters.

"It's for your own good. And for the good of the world." She tucked your hair behind your ear with trembling hands. "One day you'll understand."

"I don't want to go." You whispered, looking at your mother pleadingly.

"It is Naia's will." Your grandmother called your attention again. "You, Y/N, must continue living."

Naia, that mythical goddess again. What did it matter if you were her chosen one for something you couldn't understand?

"Lie. Don't talk about your devil fruit. Don't reveal it to anyone. That way you can survive." Your mother's words squeezed your heart.

"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine." Your aunt said with a smile.

"Destiny will bring the two of you together." Murmured the older woman.

Her kisses on your forehead, the calm sea as the villagers lifted you onto the boat, their hands waving in the distance, your uncontrollable crying.

You didn't know how long you had cried as the small boat sailed on its own course. The sea remained calm around you as it carried you as far away as possible from your native island. An island where government agents searched relentlessly for a young woman who fit the description, interrogating and silently murdering those who refused to cooperate.

At some point, your eyes closed after crying for so long, each tear altering the sea around your island, unknowingly embracing the lifeless bodies of many girls you called your friends, as well as those of adults and elderly women. Among them, your family.

All protecting a goddess who would help a new dawn arrive.

Usopp prepared his bait, ready to catch something. They hadn't put anything in the aquarium for days. Luffy had put another shark in, and it had eaten all the fish, leaving them without provisions, without meat. Their captain was more unbearable than ever, and he had only gone a day and a half without eating meat.

He cast his line, humming his song as he tapped his feet. The sun burned his skin, and the sea seemed particularly calm that day. Would he catch anything if no fish came near the worms he had stolen from Robin's garden?

Zoro left his weight on the ground, opening the window of the crow's nest.

"Oi, there's something shining in the water." He announced.

Usopp raised his fishing rod, looking for his binoculars. Nami and Robin put down their magazines and books and stood up.

"Something shiny? Treasure?" Nami asked, smiling.

"I want to see!" Luffy shouted, opening the kitchen door. His rubber arms stretched out to the deck railing, throwing himself towards it to get there faster.

Robin smiled as she watched him jump up and down excitedly. Soon the others arrived, crowding around the railing. Chopper was lifted up by Zoro, who sat him on his shoulder so he could see better. Sanji stood next to them, smoking.

"We have to catch it!" Said Luffy.

"Oi, Luffy, wait." Usopp murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. "First we need to see what it is from a distance."

"We can always throw it back into the sea." Added Robin.

"You're so scary!" Shouted Usopp.

"Luffy, bring that shiny thing over here." Ordered Nami to the rubber boy, looking excitedly at the glint in the distance.

The captain's arms stretched out as far as they could, pulling the small boat towards the Sunny Go at a speed that the sea offered no resistance to. Refusing to protect her from him.

"I see barrels!" Chopper shouted.

"Super!" Franky celebrated.

"Will they have food? I hope it's in good condition." Said Sanji.

"I hope it's treasure..." Nami said dreamily, clasping her hands together with a huge smile.

"I hope it doesn't kill us." Usopp lamented, thinking it was a trap.

"We can always throw it back into the sea." Robin repeated.

Luffy blinked, tilting his head to one side. Inside the boat was a girl, sleeping as if she weren't in the Grand Line. He pressed his lips together when he noticed the trail of tears on her cheeks. Her eyelashes were still wet, as if she had never stopped crying, even in her dreams.

"Chopper, we have to help her."

The seriousness in his tone alerted the crew. They looked closely, the sun no longer dazzling their eyes, revealing the figure trembling as she hugged a bag.

"We have to get her on board!" The crew's doctor ran to Franky after Zoro brought him down.

They all worked together without asking any questions yet.

There was a girl in their infirmary. A girl who had suddenly appeared amid those treacherous waters, sleeping as if she didn't care about the danger of her actions. A girl who was burning with fever while the little reindeer placed damp cloths on her forehead.

Sanji made tea for everyone while they waited for news from the doctor, curious about her identity.

"I checked her belongings. There was nothing with her name on it. Just clothes and food." Robin commented.

Nami tucked a strand of her short hair behind her ear and sighed.

"All we can do is wait for her to wake up."

"How did she survive?" Murmured Zoro, leaning against the kitchen wall with his arms crossed.

"It's a mystery. Falling asleep in Grand Line with all the pirates around who could have killed her..." Robin shook her head.

"Lucky we found her." Nami acknowledged.

Sanji was holding back, but the soft smile on his face and the multiple turns he made while serving tea told everyone how happy he was with the presence of another woman in the crew. The swordsman insulted him under his breath, earning himself a kick, and then starting a fight.

Everyone ignored them, accustomed to their behaviour. As the hours passed, uncertainty grew among those present. They continued with their activities while you were being treated. All that remained was to wait for you to wake up and tell them about yourself.

You opened your eyes slightly, looking around in confusion. It wasn't your boat. There was no captivating sky above you. There were no waves rocking your body to calm your crying.

You sat up a little on the examination table, leaning on one elbow. The two lamps that illuminated the area provided good lighting. On your left were two small shelves with bottles, their labels showing you the names of their contents. Medicines. Looking to your right, a single desk stood with more medical instruments. Laboratory tubes with different coloured caps, a stone mortar, many books and posters with drawings, from lungs to bones.

But what caught your attention most was the creature sitting in the chair. It looked like a stuffed animal. You had never seen anything like it on your home island.

"Oh! You're awake!" A shrill voice startled you.

Did that stuffed animal talk?

"What are you?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. "Can you talk? Where am I?"

"I'm the doctor for this crew." He climbed onto a stool next to you to examine you.

You seemed to be feeling better. Sanji could prepare something to boost your strength.

"A pirate crew?" You whispered fearfully.

The worst-case scenario was being captured by pirates. You mentally berated yourself for not being more careful. For falling asleep. For not begging harder to stay at home.

"Wait here." Said the little one, adjusting his tiny doctor’s coat as he left what looked like the infirmary.

You found him cute, but you weren’t going to admit it. You had to escape, not succumb to this creature. You found your sandals next to the examination table and put them on. You climbed down, making as little noise as possible, and opened the door again. You found yourself on the deck, its grass making you gasp, but you covered your mouth so as not to be discovered.

You had to survive. You had to hide. That's what your grandmother would have wanted. Your mother. Your aunt. They had all given you the chance to live. You just hoped they were all right.

You ran towards the deck in search of your boat, but growled when you didn't see it.

"Wait! Don't jump!" A female voice shouted behind you.

You turned around fearfully. A beautiful woman with short orange hair was approaching you slowly, careful not to scare you any more.

"I'm Nami. The navigator of this crew." She introduced herself with a sweet smile.

"Am I on a pirate ship?"

"We're not like other pirates." The woman assured you.

"We're good!" Shouted the doctor behind her. "And you shouldn't be out of bed. You could get sick again."

"My angel, allow this cook to be your slave and treat you like the princess you are." Said a man crouching in front of you with a bowl of soup. It smelled good. Did he say slave?

You blinked in confusion.

"Why don't you become my slave and, as your first order, jump off the ship?" Said a man with green hair and two katanas at his waist.

The blond's eyebrow twitched and he turned towards the swordsman, kicking him.

"You're going to scare her." Said a melodious voice. A woman with black hair and bangs looked at you with a sweet gaze.

"You're not going to kill us, are you?" Asked a man with a long nose hiding behind the black-haired girl.

"I thought you were going to kill me."

"Usopp is afraid of cockroaches. You could kill him with that before he tries anything." Teased the orange-haired girl.

"Oi, Nami, why are you telling her that!?"

You watched them interact for a few minutes. They were... funny. Like a little family. They didn't look like the pirates you read about in your books or in the newspaper. The dreaded Rocks D. Xebec, the mighty Whitebeard, the youngest yonko Shanks. They were all intimidating, with powerful crews, but these pirates were strange.

You smiled softly, unaware of the gaze of a certain rubber boy sitting on the lion's head.

His eyes, curious about the girl in front of him, tried to find something he had seen before. Some trace of those tears that soaked your cheeks, as if the pain you carried was greater than you wanted to show. What you hid inside you would one day explode, but until then, until you let him see it, he only wanted one thing from you.

"Join my crew!" He shouted from above. "That way you won't have to go on that little boat."

You looked up, and the air around you seemed unreachable, forbidding you to have it as you lost yourself in that smile, so bright as it melted into the setting sun.

It wasn't like you to trust so quickly. It wasn't like you to wander around with your eyes closed, without trying to figure out other people's intentions. But nothing in his gaze, in their gazes, showed you any hostility or malice. That young man who stood above everyone else as their captain had a calming aura. As if everyone would be fine by his side. As if even the greatest dangers could not disturb them with him by their side.

You knew you could have refused that day. Sailed alone until you found another island. But wherever you went, you would carry the danger with you.

And along with them, you discovered that the danger was represented by their captain.

On your first day after agreeing to join, everyone introduced themselves to you. The doctor was called Chopper, a cute blue-nosed reindeer who loved telling you medical facts, eating cotton candy, and hated the heat. He knew a lot about medicinal herbs and had an incredible dream.

The beautiful black-haired woman was Nico Robin, wanted by the World Government for being the only survivor of Ohara. She was an archaeologist and her knowledge of everything dazzled you. They told you that they had defied the World Government to save her life, and your heart beat faster.

If they knew that CP0 was after you, would they fight for you? Could you be that important to them?

The navigator, Nami, had been part of the crew from the beginning. She liked to buy pretty clothes and treasures. But what fascinated you most was her knowledge of the weather, her ability to anticipate the sea. You didn't need to announce the whispers of those waters if she could interpret them.

The long-nosed guy, Usopp, served as a sniper. His weapon confused you, forcing you to shut your mouth when you saw him use it. He never missed a single shot, always hitting the target. Nami and Robin would bet, and the short-haired girl always won because she trusted him.

The green-haired man was Roronoa Zoro, who had earned a reputation as a pirate hunter. He was serious and slept a lot, but when he laughed, he laughed heartily. He also had a strange obsession with annoying the blond man. The cook with the weird phrases and compliments, Sanji. His meals were a delicacy, and he had taken the time to ask you what your favourite was so he could make it and make you smile.

The man who only wore swimming trunks was the ship's carpenter, Franky. He had built the Sunny Go, and you considered it a work of art. You complimented the aquarium, and the area would possibly become your favourite.

And the captain, Monkey D. Luffy. That boy with his silly rubber devil fruit that made you smile. He was cheerful, playful, and funny. If everyone was here, he must be someone trustworthy.

Everything about him caught your attention.

As the days passed, you allowed yourself to feel comfortable around them. Perhaps this wasn't what your grandmother would have preferred, but if these people were enemies of the world government, then there was no safer place for you and your true identity.

No one could find a faceless girl with forbidden abilities, let alone imagine that she was now a pirate.

You told them what you could about yourself. Saying your name or talking about where you were born was not a challenge. These people did not judge you or pry into your past, not if it did not directly affect them. You discovered that they tolerated being mocked, but they did not tolerate anyone talking to or touching their friends. It was a silent respect for one another, a fondness that went beyond understanding. They were friends, they were where they needed to be. Where they belonged.

And just as everyone had their role in the crew, you couldn't really find yours.

They didn't force you to learn how to fight like an expert, but they wanted to teach you the basics so you could defend yourself.

You couldn't reveal the truth about your devil fruit. You had only mentioned that you had one, but you didn't know its powers. You had never used it to attack, as you had never been forced or needed to do so. You had never seen what it limited you to and what it promised you. With the "Hito Hito no Mi, model: Naia", you could only hear fish and sea creatures. And there was something else. Something you had discovered that embraced you in your darkest moments.

The addition of Brook —a skeleton who played various instruments and sang, which almost gave you a heart attack when you saw him— helped a lot to maintain a façade. His devil fruit had worked after he died. Everyone assumed that yours would awaken when the time was right.

Living day to day, joke after joke, disaster after disaster, was relaxing you.

You played with water pistols with everyone, shared clothes with Nami and Robin (and at night you spoiled each other with face masks and massages), you laughed at Sanji and Zoro's fights, rejected the cook's attempts to take you on a date, played guessing games about what was inside Chopper's laboratory tubes to make him smile, gave Brook ideas for songs while you drank tea together, joined in Franky and Usopp's shooting competitions, betting on who would hit the target. Always trusting the sniper, winning berries that you shared with Nami.

Luffy taught you your little training sessions to learn how to defend yourself. More than once he found you staring at him blankly, thinking you didn't understand how to throw a good punch, when in reality you were just mesmerised. Enchanted by his joy. By his smile. By his disposition. By his beauty.

"You have to bring one arm back and then push with the other! Like this!" He said, frowning in concentration.

Nami and Robin watched them, both leaning against the railing on the upper floor, outside the room the three of you shared.

"Luffy always gets like this when he decides to take on a pupil..." Sighed the navigator. "Luffy, Y/N isn't a kung fu dugong!"

The rubber boy looked at you.

"You're not going to make it?" He lamented, lowering his arms. "Zoro! Lend her one of your katanas!"

"No way." Muttered the swordsman without opening his eyes, trying to sleep.

Preparing your mind and body to improve your defence, those weak blows you used to deliver, was something you never imagined you would have to do when you lived in your village. Keeping up with your captain and the crew's cook was torture. Kicks to the head, hips, legs. Punches to the chin, stomach, nose. They were trying to teach you something you could use in a complex situation, if you didn't have time to hide. Which seemed silly to you.

Luffy's dream was to become the pirate king.

A noble dream. A dream for the brave.

He talked to you about freedom, about how the freest man in the world would be the one who became the pirate king, and you listened to him. He would sit next to you after training, when Sanji left them alone to prepare a snack at sunset. The rubber boy talked about everything and nothing. The words flowed from him as if from an inexhaustible source.

In a short time, you got to know his older brother, Ace, who, impressively, was the commander of Whitebeard's second division. A certain Dadan who raised them both alongside some mountain bandits. A young woman named Makino who always brought them clothes and taught them manners. His grandfather Garp, who served as a vice admiral in the marine and always wanted to force him to join. The yonko Shanks, who was the original owner of his straw hat, with whom he had a mission to return it when he surpassed him. And his brother Sabo, who died as a child and whom he missed madly.

Luffy talked and talked, filling your silences, smiling at you when you said something. Patiently waiting for you to talk about yourself. Eagerly waiting for you to open up. For your freedom by his side. Because that was what he wanted most for his friends. For them to be free.

But what chance of freedom could he give them if he was suffering so much?

His reality hit him like cold water. He was there, and yet he wasn't.

His world was falling apart.

He had lost them all in Sabaody. He believed he was strong, he believed he could overcome anything with enough courage, with enough confidence. If he had them by his side, he could overcome anything that came his way. He would fight for his dream, for the dreams of his friends, for the dreams of the people he met along the way.

He would do everything possible to put a smile on their faces.

So why were they determined to take his smile away? Why did they make them disappear before his eyes? Why did they let him smile broadly when he saved his brother, only to force him to hold him in his arms as he whispered his last words? Why did they have to kill Ace? Why?

Luffy was devastated. Those who were present when he awoke heard his cries of agony in the jungle. His pleas for Ace. His questions about his whereabouts.

He banged his body against the trees. His head against the rocks. He cried uncontrollably, asking, begging, pleading. A soft "thank you for loving me" repeated over and over in his mind, breaking him as he hugged himself.

It was Jinbe who pulled him out of the constant spiral his thoughts were caught up in. The doubts that gnawed at him were stagnating. Luffy wanted to be strong. He wanted to be strong enough not to lose anyone else. He wanted to be strong enough to carry his brother's will with him so that one day he could look up at the sky and smile at him, showing him that he had succeeded. He had become the king of pirates.

The news of Whitebeard's and his commander's deaths spread around the world. It received positive reactions from those who feared them and had been harmed by them. Fear spread throughout the territories that had been protected by this powerful crew. But those who suffered the most were the small family who had raised and watched these brothers grow up in Foosha.

Holding the newspaper in your hands, you read and reread the news. Just like everyone else in the crew, you wanted to be by his side. You could feel where he was. The sea whispered it to you, and you were impulsive. You never measured your actions. You never said enough to yourself. So you stole a small boat on that desolate island where you had ended up after their separation in Sabaody.

You let the sea guide you without a log pose, leading you to your captain. After a few days, you ignored the new newspaper announcing that Luffy had returned to the scene of the tragedy. Two years. You would all be reunited in two years. But you couldn't not go to his side.

You wanted to give him something to hold on to. Something that would give him calm and strength while everyone waited for their reunion.

The sea beasts cleared your path and escorted you somewhere. It took you three days to reach a jungle island. You got off your boat, nervously smoothing your white shirt. You trusted the sea. It wouldn't be wrong. But if Luffy was in this place, how would you get to him without being killed by one of those beasts growling in the distance? Sanji had taught you a few kicks, and your captain a few punches, but you were still weak.

This island was covered in vegetation. The trees stood proudly, as tall as if they were competing with each other to be the first to reach the sunlight. The plants with strange leaves were striking, to the point that something in your mind told you not to touch them. And in the distance, threatening to erupt, you could see three volcanoes.

You entered the jungle, startled by the sound of quick, heavy footsteps running towards you. You looked to your side and your scream echoed through the trees.

A larger-than-normal tiger was approaching you, baring fangs as long as your arm. You froze in fear, falling to the grass as you closed your eyes when it lunged to bite.

"Young lady? I don't know how you got here, but this is no place for beautiful girls."

You opened your eyes when death did not come, and instead there was an elderly man adjusting his glasses in front of you, smiling sideways. The tiger lay between you both, unconscious.

"Old man Rayleigh! Where are you?"

The speed with which you stood up impressed the man in front of you, whose name was Rayleigh. Rayleigh? You looked at him again. He closed his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, crossing his arms. You had read about him. You had read everything about the pirate king and his crew.

"Huh? Y/N?" You looked behind the dark king and there he was. Your captain, completely bandaged, looking at you in surprise. "Y/N!"

His movements were, all in all, normal. He didn't use his powers as he ran towards you and wrapped you in his arms. He seemed to be careful with his body, and he certainly needed to be.

"What are you doing here? How did you get here? How are the others? We were supposed to meet in two years!" His excited voice as he pulled your body close to his using what little strength he had devastated you.

You hugged him back, careful not to disturb any areas where the injury was more severe. You felt a slight tremor in his body as he asked a thousand questions, not giving you time to answer.

Rayleigh watched the two of you thoughtfully, Jinbe joining him at his side, having felt a sudden calling.

"I came by boat." You whispered.

"The little boat? That's dangerous." Said Luffy.

"Young lady, you crossed the Calm Belt and overcame all those sea beasts in a simple boat? You must be very strong." Rayleigh inquired.

"It's not that." Jinbe wanted to say, but the words reached no one but you in your mind.

Your eyes quickly found him, and he smiled at you.

"Oi, Y/N, Y/N, are you going to stay?" Luffy asked with a huge smile, capturing your full attention.

"No. I'd be interrupting whatever is going on here."

"You need to train, you're still weak." He teased.

"I'm not!" You complained.

But you were. The right-hand man of the Pirate King and the first son of the sea smiled amusedly. One, knowing the whole story. And the other, having grown up with a legend.

The sun and the sea belonged to each other. And the sun and the sea were unknowingly facing each other.

"If you don't mind, I have a proposal for you, miss Y/N." Said the gyojin.

Luffy and you stopped arguing and looked at him.

"I would like to train you in gyojin karate."

"Gyojin karate? I'm bad with my fists." You muttered, embarrassed.

"That would be great, Jinbe!" Said Luffy, picking his nose. "But doesn't it only work with gyojin? Will she turn into a mermaid?"

"She'll make it work better than anyone else." Said Rayleigh, walking towards a campfire. "I'll give you a month to talk and for Luffy to recover. Then you'll leave with Jinbe. Is that alright with both of you?"

Luffy nodded, dragging you by the hand towards the campfire.

In a month, he and you grew closer. You discovered all kinds of beetles, a hobby of his that you loved. You made them fight, betting on which one would win, groaning in frustration when you lost. You could never beat him when he had the advantage of knowledge over you.

You fought over the food Rayleigh hunted, receiving teasing from the adult who quickly grew fond of you. In his eyes, you were a sweet girl who needed to bring out that hidden strength. Jinbe only scolded Luffy when he bit your hand before you could take some meat.

It caught your attention how in the mornings your captain was a cheerful boy, giving a huge smile to anyone, but at night he would break down. You slept separately. Rayleigh used to cover him with his cape, and Jinbe covered you with his. But when no one was looking, when they went to the island's shore to talk in private, Luffy would move.

He sought refuge in your arms. He didn't ask for permission. He didn't ask questions. He didn't speak. All you felt were his bandaged arms wrapped around your waist and his face against your chest. If tears wet your shirt and silent sobs shook his body, you said nothing. You stroked his hair silently until he fell asleep, and only after making sure he was, did you sleep yourself.

It was the morning after a nightmare woke him up that you made your decision.

You had done this three or four times in your life. You weren't sure you could do it, but that was the only reason you had visited Rusukaina.

On the shore, you took off your sandals and put your feet in the water. The weakness of seawater, which must bother all users of the devil's fruit, never bothered you. When they said it was an anomaly, this was why.

You stretched your hand out over the water and it rose just ten centimetres. You clenched it into a fist and opened it again. Fifteen centimetres. You closed it again and the water fell, splashing as it formed a puddle. A puddle in the sea. The water was mirrored, confirming your success.

"How can you be there if you ate a devil fruit?"

You looked up, frightened.

Luffy looked at you confused, his head tilted to one side and his lips pursed.

"You didn't eat one then?"

"Luffy..."

"I saw you lift the water."

"It must have been your imagination." You said, smiling nervously.

"No. Earlier on the Sunny Go, I saw you attract the fish. I thought it was Camie, but Camie doesn't eat her friends."

You remained silent.

"It must be great to be able to swim with a devil fruit!" He laughed as he approached you. "What were you doing with the water? Something like fium and splash!"

You scratched the back of your neck while the bandaged boy moved his hands in exaggerated movements. That was just how he was. And you were becoming more attached to him than usual. The way he explained things with the sounds they made made you smile.

"If I tell you, it will be a secret between us."

"Are you going to show me your treasure?" He asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Something like that."

You took his hand, pulling him close to you. You both looked out at the puddle in the sea, so much like a mirror.

With the end of the month and the promise to meet again in two years, you parted ways. The truth about your devil fruit was kept by your captain, who smiled happily at learning more about you. Happy at how little by little you were opening up to them. To him.

He begged you for different tricks with water, bursting into laughter when the sea water weakened him. He understood why Jinbe had to be the one to train you, eager to know how strong you would be in two years. He was saddened when, at night, he no longer had your warmth by his side and your caresses on his hair to soothe his pain and trauma.

But he took refuge in your gift.

That puddle you had created in the sea was trapped in a seashell. You had taught him how to take the enchanted water out and put it back in, with no limit on its use.

He believed it was the best thing in the world after his hat, his brothers, and his crew.

His lonely nights were filled with laughter by the sea. Laughter that had previously only existed in his memories, but which he could now hear and see. The puddle formed mirages, reflecting his memories.

He saw Ace. He saw Sabo. He saw the three of them running through Mount Colubo. Hunting, playing, fighting. He cried at everything he witnessed. Just hearing his brothers being happy, Sabo counting the points in their training sessions, Ace teasing him for being weak, his taunts at seeing his older brother embarrassed when receiving compliments from Makino. It all made his heart ache.

The two years passed more quickly than the crew had expected. The strength they had all gained, their new skills and their new appearances were something to be appreciated.

Your training with Jinbe on a remote island in order to hide your identity had been laborious. You were good at gyojin karate. Your devil fruit responded to you with ease now. You could defend yourself and attack without relying on others, but the adult had told you that you still had a long way to go. The Hito Hito no Mi would not stop there. You still had to awaken it. You still had to learn more with it, without limiting yourself. You could do anything you could imagine with enough determination.

You smiled amusedly when you saw Nami sitting at the bar, drinking alone. You approached her from behind, hugging her and whispering in her ear.

"Are you free tonight?"

The woman, now with long hair, shuddered when she recognised the voice and turned around with a smile.

"Y/N!" Her arms wrapped around you in a big hug. "It's been so long! You look amazing!"

"You look beautiful, Nami." You said, sitting down next to her with a smile.

"Ladies, would you like me to buy you a drink?"

You both turned towards the voice with disinterest, your expressions instantly changing when you recognised it. Usopp was smiling, looking more confident than ever. Nami and you rushed to hug him, starting to talk about everything the three of you had done in those two years. You talked a little about your training, saying that you were now good at karate, proud of your attacks.

As the minutes passed, you met up with the others again.

The Sunny Go was still in the same place you left it, without a single scratch. Seeing most of the crew filled your heart with joy. Those people who had welcomed you with open arms two years ago were finally in front of you again.

Franky whistled and complimented the beautiful women in front of him. His appearance had changed a lot since the past, but he was approached by Usopp, who looked at him excitedly and asked all sorts of questions. Chopper, wearing a new hat and looking cuter than ever, jumped around and hugged Robin excitedly. He had missed everyone dearly. Robin, more beautiful than ever with her long hair, talked about her days with the Revolutionary Army.

Everyone looked healthy, but above all, they looked happy. Happy to be back where they belonged.

But someone was missing.

And just thinking about seeing him again made your heart race wildly inside your chest, wanting to escape.

"I can't wait to see how much Luffy has changed since last time!" Usopp exclaimed with a smile from ear to ear. "I'm so excited to see him!"

"Me too." Said Robin.

You nodded silently, smiling fondly. When the assumption was made that he might have gotten himself into trouble, Chopper offered to go find the three remaining members. The moment the little one left, an irreplaceable presence fell from above.

Brook had left behind his life as a world-renowned musician to return to his beloved friends. They all welcomed him with smiles.

"And I thought you couldn't get any more beautiful…" Commented the skeleton, looking at the three women. "Well… Two years have passed."

He sat down on a barrel and a few strings of his guitar resonated in the air.

"Would you all be so kind and show me your panties?"

"No way!"

Nami kicked him away, while Robin and you laughed.

"Oi! Guys!"

You looked up just as his voice reached your ears. Your big smile matched those of the others, but the sparkle in your eyes hid the longing in your heart, those feelings that had blossomed when you spent a month together, completely alone, sleeping in each other's arms every night. Those feelings you tried to fight, repeating in your mind like a mantra that they would pass if you didn't see him, breaking down when you dreamed of his smile or when you thought of his reaction to seeing you again.

You stayed behind the others with a sudden blush on your cheeks.

You had never seen him without his multiple bandages. And now there he was, stepping onto the deck of the Sunny Go while greeting everyone, wearing an open red shirt that revealed that huge scar.

Luffy had gained muscle. He looked stronger. More confident. And yet, you could see that he was the same as always, that his strength and confidence were centred on the people around him.

The rubber boy looked for you, smiling when he saw you.

Neither of you spoke, at least not out loud, pretending that nothing had happened between you.

The journey to Fishman Island had been quite an adventure. Seeing the underwater world left you speechless. Holding onto the railing, you admired the different schools of fish that surrounded the ship from time to time, circling twice before swimming away. You wanted to reach out and feel them against your skin, but that would have exposed you. The sea water did not weaken you, and the crew knew you had an “unused” devil fruit.

"I think they're greeting you." You looked to your side, to that warm presence.

Luffy was looking at a school of pink fish that had come up to your face to look at you from the other side of the bubble.

"Yes?" You said, amused.

"We could eat them."

"Don't even think about it." You scolded him.

"But you're not a mermaid!"

"But they talk to me. They're friends."

"Friends aren't for eating." He muttered, pressing his lips together.

You giggled admiringly at the little pout he made as his stomach growled. That soft sound from you disturbed the sea animals around the Sunny Go, who were happily swirling around.

"Are there always so many fish? How cool!" Said Usopp, standing next to you.

You snuggled up to Luffy a little, pretending not to know anything. Luffy moved his mouth into a pout to one side, also pretending not to know.

"You're bad at lying." You whispered.

"I'm not." He whispered back.

You laughed, leaving him with Usopp.

Fishman Island was a dreamlike place. Your devil fruit seemed comfortable there, and the mermaids and gyojin looked at you excitedly.

The powerful goddess of the sea, Naia, stood before them.

The legend told for generations spoke of how she was always accompanied by a man. A clingy man who never left her side. A playful man who always made her laugh. A selfish man who never refrained from looking at her with love and wanting her for himself.

That man was the sun god.

They said that when they separated, the goddess cried so much that her tears disturbed the sea. The catastrophe caused by the forced breakup of their love made her sleep for centuries. And at some point, when the sun rose again, she would wake up.

Mothers and children never stopped talking about how they, the inhabitants of Fishman Island, would be the first to recognise her. After all, Naia was a kind of mother to that race.

Everyone wondered who the man accompanying you would be.

Nami and Robin watched amused as the little mermen, mermaids, and gyojin children clung to you shamelessly, asking you to play with them. You had no idea how to refuse. Throughout the banquet, you were here and there, performing water tricks hidden from your crew, entertaining the little ones who were excited by the slightest thing you did.

Jinbe, happy to see your progress and how you were doing in the water, smiled as he drank his sake.

Everyone was having a good time. Everyone except for a rubber boy who occasionally remembered that you weren't by his side and, capriciously, pouted. He calmed down again when they gave him meat, enjoying the party.

You sat down next to him, exhausted. You didn't know what other tricks to do for those children. You took a sip of sake, on the verge of spitting it out when another gyojin child came up in front of you.

"Oi, kids, she's mine for now." Said Luffy, frowning and taking a bite of meat.

You blushed, trying to drink the sake faster. Robin raised an eyebrow at his words, giving the orange-haired woman beside her an inquiring look. They both knew how possessive the rubber boy could be. His hat and his friends were equally important to him. But that phrase… That tone was different.

The impact his words could have on one's life or day was foreign to Luffy. Noticing that what he unconsciously said brought a revolution was not something he cared about.

He continued as if nothing had happened.

And so, his normal behaviour over the following days came as no surprise to anyone. The navigator and the archaeologist watched you both closely, knowing that there was something else going on between you.

Even though your captain sat next to you at breakfast, fighting with you over the portions you hadn't eaten yet (something he would do with anyone), there was something strange about it. The natural way you would slap his hand and growl at him. The way he would bite your hand hard, making you cry out. They did not remember the two of you being so close before Sabaody, two years ago.

You had not had time to develop such a friendship.

And it did not seem like a simple friendship.

One night, when you hadn't yet come to your room to sleep with them, they talked.

"Seriously, if those two are a couple and they didn't tell us..." Whispered Nami.

"I don't think they are. In fact, I think that's where they're headed." Robin refuted.

"If Luffy feels something for her, he won't notice." Growled the navigator, burying her face in her pillow.

The black-haired woman smiled as she sat on her own bed.

"We just have to give them time." She murmured.

"We have to keep an eye on them."

"Without interfering." Robin concluded.

Island after island you visited in the future, day after day that passed, both women decided to give you privacy, paying attention only during dinners. As if reviewing the day, looking for some sign of progress.

It was amid the heat of the flames and the volcanoes about to erupt in Punk Hazard that Robin noticed the first detail: Luffy talked to you like he didn't talk to anyone else.

The heat was unbearable, you could barely stand that kind of hell, ignoring that your captain now looked like a centaur and shouted excitedly that he liked having four legs. If you looked closer, you noticed that the ones at the back, which had just been attached, were barely working. They flew through the air because Luffy's legs did all the work.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead for the fourth time when the smiling boy approached you. He leaned over to you, whispering in your ear.

"Why don't you make something like a sphere of water and hydrate yourself?"

"I can't. There's no source of water nearby." You whispered.

"Your sweat."

You parted your lips, not believing what he had said. Use your sweat? And why was he looking at you like that? With his brow slightly furrowed, as if he had said the most serious, intelligent and obvious thing in the world. You smiled amusedly, patting his shoulder.

Robin noticed it again when all of you arrived on the other side of the lake, where the island became wintry. The small group was shivering from the cold, freezing after falling into the water. The archaeologist sighed as she felt her body warm up, turning to check that everyone was okay, raising her eyebrows briefly in surprise.

Her captain was wrapping a coat around your body, as if it were a practised movement. Neither of you knew that Luffy had actually watched others do this and wanted to try it himself.

Because that's what people who loved someone else did, right? Give them a coat so they would never be cold. Rayleigh had done it for him when they trained together. Hancock had lent him hers to get to Sabaody.

In his mind, if you cared about someone, you should give them a coat.

Although he knew very well why he only wanted to give it to you.

During the banquet, when you walked away to comfort Chopper, who was frightened by Trafalgar Law, the two women sat down to exchange information. Nami hadn't seen anything unusual, so she was surprised to hear about her captain's actions towards you.

The navigator became frustrated when she couldn't stay in Dressrosa, feeling like she was missing out on everything. Robin promised to keep her informed when they met again.

And so she did.

You had signed up with him for the coliseum tournament, wearing one of the many gladiator outfits. Luckily, you had been placed in a different block from Luffy, saving you from a difficult fate. It wasn't time for your competition yet when Zoro came looking for the two of you.

The urgency with which you began searching for the exit made you anxious. Outside, it would soon be chaos, but the thought of Luffy abandoning one of the few physical reminders he had of his brother made your heart ache. You wished you could get it for him, but he had forbidden you to do so. If he left, you would go with him.

You stopped in your tracks for a few seconds when you realised there was nowhere to escape. Encountering Bartolomeo and Bellamy only confirmed your suspicions. It was all a trap and you were trapped in the coliseum, only he knew the way out.

"Luffy senpai, what will happen to the Mera Mera no Mi?" Asked the green-haired man, staring at the wall.

"The lives of my comrades are more important."

You bit your lower lip. A physical reminder of Ace that he couldn't have. A physical reminder that would give him a glimpse of his time in the world, something that would show him that he was there. You could stay in the coliseum without any problems. Win it, take it away in its chest, keep it safe, and run away with it until you could give it to Luffy...

Luffy tugged on your little finger without looking at you to pull you out of your thoughts. Bartolomeo talked non-stop, still facing the wall, about how he had always planned to win it for him. Because he admired him. He admired the whole crew and would do anything for any of you, but especially for the young man next to you.

You turned to look back when approaching footsteps interrupted you. You frowned at the man. He was dressed like a noble would be. And he wore a custom hat.

"I won't let you keep the Mera Mera no Mi, Straw Hat Luffy."

"What are you talking about, idiot?" Bartolomeo growled, walking towards him. "I don't know who you think you are, but to you he is Luffy senpai. Respect him!"

The green-haired man continued talking, trying to intimidate him, but that man was not fazed. He was calm, not taking his eyes off the boy you loved. You began to frown.

"I've known all that for a long time." Said the man, pushing Bartolomeo away.

You stood in front of Luffy, trying to protect him when he started to approach. Your right hand took a familiar gyojin karate stance, and something in the blond's gaze seemed to sparkle in recognition. The rubber boy stood in front of you again, hating that you were protecting him.

But what happened next was something neither of you were prepared for. You stepped aside, your lower lip trembling, unable to interrupt them.

You could only watch your rubber boy crying as he hugged him. His sobs were loud, letting out more than he had allowed himself to do at your side. He apologised. He repeated to the blond that everything was fine and that he shouldn't apologise. The older one thanked him for staying alive.

And you were broken, thanking whoever for this joy in his life.

Living two years of his life believing that he had lost his two older brothers must have been the greatest torture.

In Zou, despite the situation they had to face in Big Mom's territory, Nami and Robin made a space for themselves.

"So, his brother is the second in command of the Revolutionary Army?" The navigator whispered.

Robin nodded. She had kept that secret for two years.

"Sabo noticed something too."

"What?"

"I don't know what happened between the three of them, but when Luffy and Y/N were sleeping after the battle..."

"Separately?" Whispered Nami.

"Yes and no. Luffy was in bed and Y/N was holding his hand, sitting on the floor."

The navigator nodded thoughtfully, waiting for her to continue.

"Sabo said he liked his little brother's girlfriend."

Nami's eyes widened in surprise.

As if Zoro and Franky hadn't heard the revolutionary's conversation too. Now you had two more pairs of eyes watching you from afar.

As night fell, you yawned relaxed in bed. You couldn't be at peace for long. Your stomach churned at the thought of Luffy going to the territory of a yonko without you. It calmed you to think that the friends he was going with were good and trustworthy. Bringing Sanji back was essential.

You couldn't imagine your days without him in the kitchen, occupying every corner and filling the room with his twists and compliments.

The blanket was lifted carefully and arms wrapped around your waist.

"Luffy?" You whispered.

"Mhm."

Your heart skipped a beat. Should you put one hand on his hair and the other on his back like you used to? Should you tell him to go back to his room? To his bed? And not feel his warmth. Not feel his heartbeat. Not comfort him in silence. Since you saw each other again, you hadn't slept together.

"Y/N?" He whispered, resting his chin on your chest. "You must stroke my hair."

His demanding tone, trapped in a pout, made you giggle. He relaxed under your touch. He hadn’t wanted to bother you when you saw each other again, but he had missed this. Your fingers in his hair, the gentle circles traced on his back, waking up without you leaving him.

You had stolen his heart in a month, and he wasn't doing anything about it.

"Sorry." He murmured, his cheek resting on your chest. His tone didn't seem to regret whatever he was regretting in the slightest.

"Why are you apologising?"

"I gave Sabo your gift. The seashell." He whispered without looking at you. "I thought he would need it more than I did."

You smiled, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead.

"It’s okay. I can make you another one if you want."

Luffy didn't say what he was thinking. He knew you would make those magical pools for him if he asked, without needing a seashell. Next time, he wanted to show you everything he had to show.

But that would have to wait.

Wano was unlike anything you had ever seen before.

The suffering of the people in this village made your blood boil. Poor people had nothing to eat, and their water was contaminated. Seeing them live dehydrated, with sick children and rumbling stomachs, pushed you to your limit.

Hiding your identity would be difficult in this country. They needed you, so you allowed yourself to do something in secret. The gentle touch of your hands began to purify the water of the river of Ebisu, the pollution seeping into your bones. You didn't mention it to anyone, it was an experiment. You wanted to know your limits.

The flowing water was clean, perfect for the children, elderly and adults in the area. It was the little you could do while enduring the pollution. You had to find a way to expel it from within you without causing havoc. Throwing it away and contaminating plants, the land for future crops or the sea itself disgusted you.

But maybe, enduring it was your mistake.

Perhaps if you had gone against your principles and stopped trusting Luffy's words, those that promised to save this country, you would not be suffering now. But it was impossible for you not to do so. It was impossible for you not to trust him. You knew he would succeed, because he never lied. He worked hard for what he set out to do.

He was like sunshine in the lives of those who knew him.

You tolerated the contamination in your bones during the battles in Onigashima, but weeks had passed since you received it and your body began to take its toll at the worst possible moment.

You could only hear Nami and Usopp's screams when you stood in front of them. The three of you had a little girl with you. Otama was Luffy's adoration, and putting her in danger was something you would never forgive yourself for. The powers of your devil fruit did not respond in time to counter the threatening attack of the yonko Big Mom, an attack that was aimed at your friends.

The "heavenly fire" struck your body, its impact propelling it and slamming it against the walls. That homie, Prometheus, pushed your body wall to wall, breaking them one by one as if he were on a mission. As if he wanted to kill someone from the straw hat crew.

You spat out a little blood when the fire became more intense. It was burning your torso and arms. If you moved your fingers slightly, you didn't have the strength to call on the sea water, nor to send Prometheus backwards.

A song reached your ears. You opened your eyes slightly, meeting the gaze of the homie, so threatening and sinister. You smiled slightly, knowing you would be safe.

That soft intonation, almost as if a mother were tucking her beloved child into bed, could not be heard by anyone else present on Onigashima. Naia's song was exclusively for you, only heard on special occasions. The first time you heard it, you consumed her fruit. And this time, everything was a mystery.

"Y/N!"

Was that cry from Usopp or Nami? You couldn't see them. You could only watch Prometheus rage at your smile.

A gasp escaped from within you as the force of his attack tripled. The other homies joined him, Hera and Napoleon, carrying you through the hard rock wall.

A beep stunned your ears.

Your body fell from a height impossible to calculate. The abyss drew you into its darkness, and you could do nothing but embrace it.

The severity of your injuries left you with no strength to scream. To call for help. To call out to anyone.

Luffy, your friends, the people of Wano who trusted you. Was this your end? Was this Naia's will, for which you had been expelled from your native island? Did you really have to die like this?

The water engulfed you as you hit hard, sinking you to the depths.

"Announcement to all of Onigashima!"

Bao Huang's shout echoed in every corner. The fighting didn't stop, but everyone was paying attention. Something had changed.

"A member of the straw hat crew has been defeated!"

Usopp growled, wiping away his tears in despair. He felt useless. He should have taken the attack, not let you cover him. He couldn't do anything because of the fear. He couldn't do anything to stop you from falling. Nami hugged Otama, sobbing hard, apologising to Luffy over and over again even though her captain wasn't in front of them. How could she explain to him that she let the woman he loved be killed right in front of his eyes? Everyone's friend? Another straw hat.

"Y/N has been killed by Big Mom-sama!"

At different points on Onigashima, the crew was moved. Different reactions crossed their faces. Anger, sadness, regret. Some, like Chopper and Brook, shouted through their tears that you couldn't have died. That Bao Huang was lying. Others, like Zoro and Sanji, silently continued to fight. You were just as stubborn as Luffy, whatever had happened to you, you wouldn't stop there. Jinbe stopped dead in his tracks as Robin hugged Chopper, looking for something to hold on to before her thoughts consumed her mind.

Luffy's heart scratched at his chest as he was forced to hold back.

He wanted to run to the edge of the terrace. He wanted to look down. He felt the need for his longing to become one with the sea despite his inability to swim. And he felt you. The soft beating of your heart, how weak your pulse was, and how calm the waves were. Could you drown if you were the sea itself? Could your wounds condemn your soul to an irreversible fate?

He clenched his fists, unflinching. One mistake, one moment of weakness, would end everyone's life.

For some strange reason, the news from Bao Huang did not affect him like it did the others, who were crying incessantly.

Luffy trusted you, even when his observation haki could no longer sense your heartbeat.

You had spent a month together. You had slept together. You had shared and fought over food. You had cared for his mind and his nightmares without him asking. You had listened to his whole story and his dreams, while opening up about yours only to him. You had been one of the reasons he was standing there today, fighting.

He trusted you. He trusted that you would be okay.

If your origin was the sea, then you would return to it. And the sea would do its thing to bring you back.

Because you belonged by his side, in a silent agreement that neither of you would break.

In the depths, hundreds of fish and sea creatures surrounded your lifeless body, giving you space, shy to be near their goddess. Your outstretched arms allowed them to see you. The burns on your torso and neck continued to bleed, despite the water's attempts to soothe them. The pollution tolerated for weeks drained away little by little, oozing from your body until it gathered into a sphere.

"Nika, you've got yours!"

"Oi, Luffy! That's my food!"

The voices, clearly reproachful, echoed among those present under the sea.

"Naia! Come jump!"

"Y/N, let's play something!"

A heartbeat.

"Nika, stop moving, you're annoying."

"Luffy, I can't sleep if you move around so much. Go to your bed."

Another heartbeat.

"Naia is mean."

"Y/N is mean, she wouldn't let me eat her food."

Fire ravaged Onigashima. Everyone began to gather in one place, desperately searching for a solution. The captain of the straw hat pirates continued to fight Kaido, filling the atmosphere with anxiety. No member of the alliance wanted to hear any more bad news.

"Even if Straw Hat-ya wins, we'll all die in the fire." Said the captain of the heart pirates. "We have to find a way to put it out."

Nami took a few steps towards the centre, standing next to Marco as some surfaces began to give way.

The sudden tremor in the floor frightened everyone. Several fell to the floor, breathing heavily amid the flames and two powerful presences fighting on the terrace. The navigator held Otama tightly in front of her.

"An earthquake? How is that possible up here?" She said, confused.

"This isn't normal. Something's happening." Robin drew some minks towards the centre with her powers.

"Is Straw Hat provoking it?" Kid growled.

"No..." Law said. "He's still fighting Kaido."

"I sense another presence-yoi."

"It’s not Luffy or Kaido? What’s going on? Robin!" Chopper hugged the archaeologist, crying.

"There’s something in the sea!"

The scream of one of the beast pirates alarmed their opponents, with Law being the first to look into the hole you had made in the wall before dying. His crew had been on the Polar Tang at the moment you fell, but according to their reports, it was impossible to reach your body. A blue sphere surrounded you and the sea beasts threatened to attack them. They could have killed his friends, but something was holding them back. The waves battered his submarine, sending it away every time it approached where you were supposed to be.

One by one, they took clumsy steps to look through the hole, at a considerable distance, afraid of falling. Most of the straw hats did not want to see what was left after your death. The pain in their hearts could not be revealed, and their tears could not be shed. Not until it was all over.

The waves crashed into each other with fury, their directions unnatural. Not even the weather in the New World could explain something like that. Nami left Otama next to a sleeping Zoro, holding onto the wall to get a closer look.

"The water is receding." She whispered. "Everyone, stay in the centre!"

"Oi, oi, Nami, the waves can't reach up here, why are you worried?" Asked Usopp.

"Because of that thing that's taking shape."

The metres receded by the sea rose up in a wave. A wave almost two thousand metres high, immovable. And in its centre, there was a figure. A woman created from water, rivalling a giant in size.

"We won't get out of here alive." Cried Usopp.

"Robin-chan, Nami-swan, I'll protect you."

"Sanji! Me too!" Chopper whimpered.

"She looks like..." Law whispered.

"That's Y/N!" Jinbe shouted.

The entire crew's eyes widened before they began screaming and crying.

"Monster!" Usopp exclaimed upon seeing the figure.

"What is that thing, it's scary!" Nami cried.

"Y/N-chan had that kind of power all along?" Sanji shouted, leaning further out of the hole.

"I'm glad she's alive, yohoho!"

"It's a super miracle!" Franky sobbed.

"What a peculiar shape..." Robin murmured thoughtfully. "Do you know anything about it, Jinbe-san?"

The gyojin smiled broadly.

Naia had returned.

"I would recommend everyone stand in the centre and hold each other. Y/N is going to do something."

You cupped the water in your hands. Just as you had practised for two years, you had no reason to be nervous. Your body felt healthy and light as you became the sea itself. The burns would still be there once you broke this form, but now it was enough. Jinbe had trained you relentlessly so that you could achieve his hikishio ipponzeoi.

You prepared your attack and, without hesitation, half the sea was thrown towards Onigashima.

The flood was unprecedented.

The fire was completely extinguished. The devil fruit users weakened. The few gyojin who were there saved everyone from being swept away by the waves. Nami carried Otama, Usopp saved Robin, Sanji held Zoro, Franky grabbed Brook, and Jinbe put Chopper on his shoulder. Everyone in the crew smiled as they looked out to sea, where your figure stood in all its grandeur and splendour. To say they were surprised would be an understatement. They had so much to ask you. Two wanted to apologise for everything you had been through. A certain swordsman would seek you out to train when he woke up and heard the news. The archaeologist wanted to know everything about your devil fruit and its rarity.

You were something that transcended the unnatural.

"Shishishi!"

You looked up at the island's roof. Luffy, in a strange white form, floated in the air, reclining with his arms behind his head. His beautiful pink eyes looked at you fondly. And amid all that radiant happiness, you could see tears threatening to escape.

"Thank you for coming back, Y/N."

The land of Wano made headlines worldwide. The bounty posters were updated. The crew now belonged to a yonko, straw hat Luffy.

It made you happy to see how he was getting closer and closer to fulfilling his dream. And, in turn, how you were now one of the members with the highest bounty.

You held the poster in front of your face, grimacing from time to time as you felt Chopper's hooves on your burns, applying an ointment that he claimed was excellent. You would be left with scars on your neck and chest, but you couldn't dream of leaving that country without a scratch. You didn't regret defending your friends.

Although Nami and Usopp never left your side, the sniper crying and hugging you every time you passed by him, and the navigator offering you berries (something she wouldn't normally do with anyone) and multiple strokes on your hair.

You paid attention to your photo on the poster. It was you, from head to toe, every little detail, every tiny imperfection, but all loved by the sea. The sea goddess you had awakened had been captured and everyone admired her. For some she was terrifying, for others magical.

You smiled dumbly. You couldn't always use such a powerful attack, but being immortalised like this was nice. You traced the numbers with your index finger, curious about the insane sum.

Why was your head suddenly worth 1,000,000,000 berries? You had only died, come back to life, and extinguished the fire on Onigashima. Perhaps you had also purified all the water in Wano, and Trafalgar Law had used his devil fruit to remove the pollution from inside you. But that was not something others could know.

You never got a straight answer to that.

Egghead was about to be a disaster. CP0 was on the island with clear instructions. Your boots echoed on the floor as you stepped aside to wait for Luffy. You were supposed to take him back to Labophase, but he was more interested in facing an old enemy he had encountered again.

You looked up, entranced. His Gear 5 was mind-blowing. Everything he could do with his devil fruit, the ease with which his brain came up with new ideas, it all made you laugh. Not to mention the floor, which now made you bounce.

Vegapunk hurried over to the monitors.

"Have the white and blue warriors appeared yet?" He asked, his eyes shining as he caught sight of Luffy laughing. "Tell me about those transformations. The white one from Straw Hat and the young girl on her wanted poster."

"We don't know, to be honest." Said Nami. "Luffy's is the Gomu Gomu no Mi, but Y/N's is unknown to us."

The scientist pressed his lips together, holding back a smile.

"There is no fruit with that name in the devil fruit encyclopaedia!"

The crew gasped, unable to comprehend.

"What? That's impossible!" Exclaimed the navigator.

"Luffy always says gomu gomu when he attacks." Added Usopp.

"Look how beautiful he is! I'm sure she is too!" Rambled Vegapunk, raising his hands. "It's fate! I didn't expect to meet them like this."

"If you know anything, tell us. Y/N-chan doesn't talk much about herself." Sanji requested.

"What happened to those two?" Franky asked, approaching the screen to look at the two of you.

Luffy was still floating there laughing, and you looked at him with a sparkle in your eyes.

"They look like gods."

The cook choked on his own words, unable to believe it.

"Luffy a god? He's an idiot!" He shouted. "Y/N-chan is a goddess, that's true."

Robin looked at Vegapunk in surprise.

"Are you saying that those appearances we saw are those of gods?"

"Yes." Said the scientist, his expression turning serious. "The warrior of liberation. He who plays the fool and brings smiles to all. The sun god, Nika!"

The few crew members present were surprised. The answers that no one else could give them were in the brain of this man who stared at the screen excitedly. Eager to talk. Eager to educate the world.

"And the goddess he loves, the one capable of punishing everyone for him. The goddess of the sea, Naia."

Nami shook her head, approaching Vegapunk.

"Nika and Naia? I've never heard those names."

"Of course not. Their names were erased from history." The scientist said abruptly. "Nika and Naia were inseparable."

The revealed legend left them speechless. In the end, the archaeologist was right.

It was best not to interfere.

The sun god felt a deep longing for the sea. Seeing it every day made him feel free, and he wanted to reach it more than anything else. Then, one day, he met its goddess. He thought she would help him help. If he could make people laugh, then she could give them freedom.

Naia was closed off, only willing to care for those she loved: the gyojin, the mermaids, the mermen. Opening the doors of her heart to let Nika in went against her principles. He knew how to make her laugh effortlessly with a joke or a silly expression. He fought with her over food, hitting him every time he wanted to eat a fish. He invited her to have fun jumping with his friends. He asked her to do water tricks for him.

Falling in love with each other was natural. Nika always admired her foolishly, his gaze never leaving her. He loved her loudly with his actions. He loved her silently with his words.

Naia always looked up, because he loved to float. He shone in a way that only he could. Her love was protective, ensuring that he never lost his smile. That he never shed a single tear.

For him, she was freedom. And for her, he was.

Someone feared their powers together, the ease with which people became attached to and trusted them, asking them for things they could give them. So, under false pretences, he murdered the sun god.

The two lovers agreed to meet again when destiny required it. When the time came. First, Nika would return, accompanied by a man who shared his ideals of freedom. Then, Naia would notice him. Her living love.

That devil fruit that had eluded the world government for centuries, and that devil fruit that was believed to be non-existent, would wait to be reincarnated.

Nika would choose who would bring a new dawn to the world, and Naia would take into her sweet arms the one who would support him on his journey. A mystical love, a destined love. Unconsciously, their successors would love each other just as they had.

Because their souls resonated. Their souls yearned for each other. Their souls waited.

And that statue that had been looking —alone, hidden from everyone with its arms outstretched— at the sun for centuries, would finally be able to feel his skin under her fingers once again.

The house smelled faintly of sugar and butter, sweet and warm, like something out of a memory. Ara had insisted on helping you bake. You’d given her the smallest mixing bowl and let her pour in the chocolate chips while she hummed to herself, bunny tucked under her arm. It wasn’t really about the cookies. You knew that. It was about the distraction, the normalcy. It made things feel less complicated.

You were just pulling the last tray from the oven when the knock came.

For a split second, you froze, oven mitt halfway off. Then you took a breath, set the tray down, and went to the door.

When you opened it, Jisung stood there, looking hesitant like he’d been rehearsing this moment in his head and forgot the lines.

His hair was still slightly damp, his jacket unzipped. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, uncertain.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” you replied, the warmth in your voice surprising even you. “Come in.”

The smell of freshly baked cookies hit him immediately. You saw the way his shoulders dropped, the subtle way the tension melted off him just a little.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, stepping inside, trying for casual but still a little stiff.

“Cookies,” you said with a small smile. “Ara and I made them earlier.”

His eyes softened. “You made cookies?”

“She made cookies,” you corrected, laughing under your breath. “I just… tried not to let her burn herself.”

Ara peeked around the corner at the sound of his voice, eyes lighting up.
“Jisung!” she chirped, bunny still clutched in her hand.

He crouched down immediately, grinning. “Hey, kid. You made these?”

She nodded proudly, holding out the plate like an offering. “Try one! They’re yummy. I helped.”

You bit your lip to stop the laugh threatening to escape as Jisung obediently took one, biting into it dramatically, eyebrows lifting in mock surprise.

“Oh wow,” he said through a mouthful, placing a hand over his heart. “This might be the best cookie I’ve ever had.”

Ara gasped, beaming. “See, Mommy! I told you he’d like them!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart softening as you watched her. “I guess you were right, huh?”

She nodded firmly, then turned her attention back to Jisung, clearly proud of herself.

He smiled back at her, and for a moment, the house felt full, warm in a way you hadn’t realized you missed. The sound of Ara’s giggles, the smell of sugar in the air, the sight of Jisung crouched in your living room, it was too easy to picture what it would be like if things had always been this way.

He straightened after a moment, brushing the crumbs from his hands.
“You said you wanted to talk,” he said, voice quieter now.

You nodded, the smile fading slightly. “Right.”

Ara looked between the two of you curiously, like she could sense the shift.

“Ara,” you said gently, kneeling down to her level. “Can you go watch your cartoons for a bit? Mommy and Jisung need to talk, okay?”

She pouted for a moment but nodded, clutching her bunny and heading toward the living room.

You waited until she was out of earshot before you turned back to him.

Jisung looked nervous, more nervous than you’d ever seen him. His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You could almost feel the worry radiating off of him.

He thought this was it. You could see it in his face, the expectation of bad news, of another goodbye.

But that wasn’t why you’d asked him to come.

You took a breath. “I wanted to ask you something.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Okay…”

You hesitated for just a second, then said it:
“Can you watch Ara for a few hours tomorrow?”

His reaction was immediate, confusion flashing across his face. “Wait—what?”

You smiled softly at his expression, the way his guard had dropped for the first time since he’d walked in.

“I need to go to the city,” you explained. “Just for a bit. Errands, paperwork, all that. I thought she’d get bored, and…” You hesitated, your voice gentling. “I thought it might be nice for you two to spend some time together. Just you and her.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“You—you want me to—”

“Yes,” you interrupted softly, your tone sure. “If you want to. Only if you’re comfortable.”

He blinked at you like he was making sure he’d heard right. “You’re serious?”

You nodded, arms folding loosely across your chest. “I trust you, Jisung. She loves spending time with you. I think it’ll be good for her.”

He didn’t even realize how tightly he’d been gripping his jacket until his fingers loosened. The relief that washed through him was so strong it almost made him light-headed.

All that tension, all those anxious thoughts, gone in an instant.

You weren’t sending him away. You weren’t angry. You were trusting him.

“I—yeah,” he said, still half-stunned. “Of course. I’d love to.”

You smiled, genuine this time. “Good.”

You could feel his eyes on you for a long moment after that, warm, searching.

And maybe it was foolish, maybe it was premature, but you felt it too, the quiet sense of something healing, of a bridge being rebuilt one plank at a time.

When Ara came running back in moments later to ask if she could show Jisung the new episode of her favorite cartoon, he bent down beside her again, smiling easily now.

You leaned against the counter, watching the two of them, your chest swelling with something you didn’t have the words for. Trust. Hope. Something dangerously close to love.

-

The morning light was soft when you and Ara arrived at the shop, the kind that turned everything gold for a few fleeting moments before the day truly began. The air still smelled faintly of motor oil and the sharp tang of metal, the steady hum of machines echoing faintly from the back where Seojin was already at work.

You’d texted Jisung the night before, letting him know what time you’d drop Ara off, but still, you could tell he hadn’t quite believed you’d actually go through with it.

So when he looked up from behind the counter and saw you standing there, Ara clutching her tiny backpack, bunny tucked under her arm, he froze mid-step, his eyes softening instantly.

Ara didn’t hesitate for even a second.

“Jisung!” she squealed, voice ringing through the garage as she dashed forward, the soles of her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

He barely had time to react before she launched herself into his arms, and instinct took over. He caught her, lifting her up easily as her laughter filled the space around them, bright and alive.

“Whoa—hey, I missed you too,” he said, chuckling, his tone warm and teasing.

You stood a few feet away, smiling despite the small knot in your stomach, the kind that came with trusting someone with your entire world. You knew Ara was safe with him, but still, it was strange to stand in this place that had once been so tied to the past and see your daughter wrapped up in it too.

“She’s been excited since last night,” you said, stepping closer, setting Ara’s little backpack on the edge of his desk. “Couldn’t stop talking about what you two were going to do today.”

Jisung set Ara back down, brushing a few strands of her hair out of her face. “Yeah? I hope I can live up to the hype.”

Ara grinned, eyes wide. “You will! You said I can help fix a car, remember?”

He laughed, glancing your way. “She’s already got big plans.”

“She always does,” you said with a smirk. Then you pointed a finger gently at both of them. “Okay, ground rules before I go. No sweets until after she eats her vegetables.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “You think I’d spoil her?”

You gave him a look, the same look you used to give him years ago when he said something you didn’t quite believe. “Absolutely.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Fair enough.”

“And,” you added, turning to Ara, “no ice cream if you misbehave, got it?”

Ara puffed her cheeks out dramatically, crossing her arms. “I never misbehave.”

That made both of you laugh, a soft, shared sound that came too naturally.

You crouched down to hug her, your voice lowering. “Be good, okay? Listen to him, and don’t touch anything he says not to.”

“I will,” she said earnestly, wrapping her arms around your neck and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

When you stood again, you caught Jisung’s eyes on you, a quiet gratitude there that he didn’t put into words. He didn’t need to. You could see it in the small way his shoulders relaxed, in the faint smile tugging at his mouth.

You exhaled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Okay then. I’ll be back around three?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, nodding. “Take your time.”

You smiled at that, just a small one and started toward the door. Behind you, Ara was already tugging on Jisung’s hand, bouncing lightly on her toes.

“What do we do first?” she asked, eyes wide with curiosity, looking around the shop like it was the most fascinating place she’d ever seen.

He crouched beside her, gesturing dramatically to the wide open garage. “Well, first, I think we find you some safety goggles.”

She gasped like he’d just offered her a crown. “Do I get my own?”

He nodded solemnly. “Of course. Every good mechanic does.”

You laughed quietly, standing by the door for a moment longer than you needed to. You couldn’t help it. Watching them together, her unfiltered joy, his gentle patience, it filled a space in your heart you hadn’t realized was still empty.

Jisung looked up once more before you left. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice steady, almost playful. “I’ll take good care of her.”

You nodded, your throat tightening just a little. “I know you will.”

And with that, you finally turned and walked out, the sound of Ara’s voice echoing behind you as she asked Jisung question after question about the tools on his desk.

He watched you go, the door closing softly behind you, then turned back to the small whirlwind of energy at his side.

“So,” he said, hands on his knees, smiling down at her, “what do you want to learn first?”

Ara’s eyes darted around the room, full of possibility. “Everything!”

Jisung laughed, a real, full laugh that filled the shop. “Everything, huh? Alright. Guess we’d better get started then.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but as he followed her tiny steps across the garage, as she pointed curiously at everything from wrenches to car lifts, he couldn’t help the thought that came next: It was going to be a long day. But easily, the best kind of long day he’d ever have.

At first, he tried to keep her close hovering, worried she’d trip over something or get too close to the cars, but it quickly became clear that Ara wasn’t just there to watch. She wanted to help.

She’d stand beside him, her little hands on her hips, watching intently as he leaned under the hood of a car. Every time he muttered that he needed something, a wrench, a rag, a socket, she’d take off running before he could even say which one.

“Got it!” she’d call, sprinting across the floor with her bunny tucked under one arm and a tool in the other.

Half the time, she came back with the wrong one, a screwdriver when he needed a wrench, a hammer when he needed pliers, but it didn’t matter. Jisung always played along.

“Perfect,” he’d say with exaggerated approval, taking it from her and pretending to use it like it was the most vital tool in the world.

Her grin would stretch from ear to ear, proud and radiant. “I helped!”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he’d answer, and she’d giggle, brushing her hands together like she’d just saved the day.

Seojin, of course, found the whole thing hilarious. From across the garage, he’d watch Ara scurry around with tools twice the size of her arm, and he couldn’t resist teasing Jisung.

“I’ve got competition,” Seojin called out with a smirk. “Might as well give her my job.”

Jisung shot him a look but couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. “She works faster than you do, so maybe I will.”

That made Ara laugh, the kind of pure, bubbling laugh that made Seojin join in too, even as he went back to his own work.

Jisung hadn’t laughed like this in years. Not the half-hearted, polite kind of laugh he gave to customers or friends, but the kind that reached deep, the kind that loosened something tight inside him.

By midday, Ara had claimed her own little stool beside his workbench. Her bunny sat propped up next to a small pile of clean rags and tools she insisted were “hers.” Jisung made her a name tag out of masking tape and a marker “Mechanic Ara” and stuck it proudly to her shirt.

She gasped like it was the greatest honor she’d ever received.

“Now you’re official,” he told her, crouching down to meet her eyes.

She nodded seriously. “We fix cars together now.”

Jisung’s heart swelled at the word we.

It was ridiculous, really, how much joy he found in something so small, the sight of her wiping a bit of grease from a car part, the way she scrunched her nose when she tried to tighten a bolt that was too heavy for her little hands. She was curious, stubborn, and so incredibly alive.

And for the first time, he didn’t just see her as your daughter. He saw her as his.

He’d missed so much, the first time she spoke, her first steps, her first everything, but here, in the grease-stained quiet of the shop, he got a tiny piece of it back.

When the afternoon came, Jisung decided they’d earned a break.

“Alright, mechanic,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “You hungry?”

She gasped and nodded quickly, her braids bouncing. “Can we get ice cream?”

He grinned, pretending to think about it. “Hmm… did you eat all your vegetables?”

She crossed her arms and gave him the most serious glare a five-year-old could muster. “Mom’s not here, you can’t tell!”

He laughed, loud and unrestrained and finally gave in. “Alright, you win. Ice cream it is.”

-

The small ice cream shop down the block was quiet when they walked in, the bell over the door chiming softly. Ara’s hand clutched his tightly, her eyes wide as she peered up at the display case like she was choosing the fate of the world.

Jisung watched her with quiet amusement, the way she bounced on her toes, biting her lip as she scanned every single flavor.

“Which one?” he asked.

She pointed, then changed her mind. Twice. Then again.

“Maybe chocolate,” she said seriously. “No, strawberry. Wait—what’s that one?”

He bent down to read the label. “Cookies and cream.”

Her eyes lit up. “That one! It has cookies!”

“Excellent choice.”

They ended up sharing a table by the window, Ara’s small cup beside his larger one, both of them laughing about nothing in particular.

At some point, Jisung reached out and tried to wipe a smudge from her cheek, but the grease from earlier had set deep, mixing with a tiny streak of melted ice cream.

He chuckled softly. “You’re a mess, kid.”

Ara giggled and pointed at his shirt. “You’re messy too!”

He looked down, sure enough, a faint streak of oil crossed his sleeve. “Guess we match then.”

She laughed again, and that sound, that unfiltered joy filled his chest with something that ached and healed all at once.

Looking at her like this cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, little braids slightly undone, he couldn’t help but think how perfectly she fit into the picture he’d never thought he’d have.

No noise from the past. No bitterness. Just this little girl and her ice cream, her laughter softening all the sharp edges of his world.

He leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself.

Yeah. It had been a long day.

But the best kind of long day he could ever imagine.

-

By the time you pulled into the parking lot near the shop, the sun had already begun to dip, washing everything in that tired orange haze that made your eyes feel heavier than they were. The drive back from the city had been long, and all you could think about was getting Ara into your arms, that grounding warmth that made the exhaustion fade for just a second.

You’d texted Jisung an hour ago, telling him you were running late, but when you stepped into the shop, the silence immediately made your stomach twist.

“Ara?” you called softly, glancing around, half-expecting her bright little laugh to echo from behind one of the cars. Nothing.

The pit in your stomach deepened. You looked toward the office, empty. The workbench, empty. The stool where Ara usually perched, empty too, the small rag she’d been using folded neatly on top.

You were about two seconds from panicking when Seojin came from the back, wiping his hands with a rag and grinning when he saw you.

“Oh—hey,” he said, casual, like you weren’t about to lose your mind. “They slipped out a little while ago. Said they were going to get ice cream.”

You froze, letting out a shaky exhale you didn’t even realize you’d been holding.

“Ice cream?” you repeated, half relieved, half amused, the corners of your lips twitching.

Seojin nodded. “Yeah. Ara said she ‘earned it.’ Whatever that means.”

That made you laugh, soft, genuine laughter that eased your shoulders. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

You thanked him quietly, waving as you stepped out again. The moment you got into your car, muscle memory took over. You didn’t even have to think about where they’d gone.

There was only one place nearby that sold decent ice cream, the one tucked into the corner of the same old plaza you and Jisung used to go to years ago. The same place that still had faded pastel umbrellas out front and little round tables that wobbled on uneven legs.

And as soon as you pulled up, your heart squeezed a little too tight.

Through the wide glass window, you saw them.

Jisung was sitting with Ara in the corner booth, the same one the two of you had claimed as “yours” years ago, both of them laughing about something only they knew. Ara was swinging her feet beneath the chair, her small hand holding her spoon like a sword, cheeks flushed, the faintest smudge of chocolate on her chin.

And Jisung he looked so at ease. His head was tilted slightly toward her, his laugh soft and unguarded, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that used to make you melt. He looked lighter. Happier.

You stood there for a moment outside the window, watching the two of them, a quiet smile tugging at your lips before you caught yourself. The sight of them together, your little girl and the man you once loved it hit you like something you weren’t ready for. Not painful, but overwhelming. Nostalgic. Like a memory trying to bloom again.

When you finally opened the door, the little bell above it chimed softly.

Jisung was the first to notice. His head lifted, his expression flickering surprise first, then that small, nervous smile he always gave you when he wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t say anything, just nudged Ara gently, waiting for her to turn around.

And when she did, her whole face lit up.

“Mommy!” she squealed, jumping off her chair and running straight into your arms.

You caught her easily, the weight of her small body grounding you immediately. You pressed a kiss to her cheek, her skin still cool from the ice cream. “Hey, baby,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Did you have fun with Jisung?”

Ara nodded so hard her braids bounced. “We fixed cars and I helped and then we got ice cream and I was so good, Mommy, I didn’t spill!”

You laughed softly, smoothing your thumb across her cheek. “You didn’t? That’s amazing.”

“She’s a natural,” Jisung added, standing and stretching slightly before leaning against the edge of the table. “Best helper I’ve ever had. Might have to hire her full-time.”

Ara giggled proudly.

“I told you, I’m really good at fixing things!”

You couldn’t help the way your chest warmed at the sight, at how natural it all looked. Jisung’s soft grin, Ara’s happy rambling, the little half-finished cups of ice cream on the table. It almost felt like a snapshot from another lifetime, the one where you never left, where you’d grown together instead of apart.

But as comforting as that fantasy felt, you also knew it was dangerous to linger there too long. You had to remind yourself that this, this quiet, happy moment was about Ara. Not about the past. Not about what could’ve been.

When Ara yawned, rubbing at her eyes, you smiled knowingly. “Looks like someone’s ready for a nap.”

Jisung chuckled softly, glancing at her with affection that made your throat tighten. “Yeah, she’s had a pretty busy day. Might’ve worked her too hard.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I doubt that. She’d stay here all night if you let her.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a small smile. “She’s kind of unstoppable.”

You adjusted Ara in your arms, her head already drooping against your shoulder. “Well, we should probably get going then. Thank you, Jisung. Really.”

He nodded once, quiet but sincere. “Anytime.”

You smiled and took a small step back, waving faintly with one hand while holding Ara with the other. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice softer now, eyes lingering just a second too long. “Drive safe.”

As you turned and walked out, you could feel his gaze on you through the window, watching as you buckled Ara into her seat, her tiny hand lazily waving out the window before she finally surrendered to sleep.

Jisung stood there, still watching until you drove away, before finally lowering himself back into the booth. The small, half-melted puddles of ice cream glistened under the light.

And though you were gone, the ghost of your laughter still lingered, soft and familiar and for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn’t feel so empty.

-

The shop was quiet when Jisung returned, the kind of quiet that only hit after a long, busy day, the faint hum of the overhead lights, the tick of the clock above the door, the ghost of laughter still hanging in the air. He dropped his keys onto the counter, still smiling to himself as he replayed Ara’s giggles in his head.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that sound, the pure, unfiltered joy of it. He’d heard kids laugh before, sure, but nothing like hers. Ara’s laugh had that same spark you used to have. That light that always made everything else feel a little less heavy.

He moved toward his desk to grab his phone, and that’s when he saw it, the soft shape half-hidden behind the chair. Ara’s bunny.

He picked it up carefully, brushing off the light dust that clung to its ears. The fabric was well-worn, its stitched smile slightly faded, the kind of toy that had clearly been loved, really loved. He turned it over in his hands and couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

“Of course,” he muttered, shaking his head with a small smile.

He could’ve just texted you. He could’ve snapped a photo, sent a message saying he’d keep it safe for tomorrow. You probably wouldn’t even have minded. But as he stood there, the weight of the little bunny in his hands, he found himself thinking about how Ara might wake up from her nap, confused, searching for it. He thought about her small voice asking, “Mommy, where’s Bunny?” and the tiny frown that would crease her face when she couldn’t find it.

And before he could stop himself, he was already grabbing his keys again.

He told himself it was for Ara because it was, mostly. But deep down, he knew there was more to it.

He just wanted to see you again.

The drive over wasn’t long, but it felt longer than usual, his fingers drumming nervously against the steering wheel the whole way there. The bunny sat in the passenger seat, its head bobbing slightly with every bump in the road, as if silently judging him for how eager he was.

He didn’t even know what he was planning to say. Hey, I found Ara’s bunny, or maybe You looked really happy today. Or maybe he’d just hand it over and pretend it was no big deal, even though it kind of was. Because it wasn’t just a toy, it was another reason, another tiny thread pulling him back to you both.

When he parked in front of your house, the porch light was already on, soft and yellow against the darkening sky. It looked exactly how he remembered it the first night he’d shown up again, warm, lived in, safe.

He hesitated before walking up, taking a deep breath as if that could settle the jitter in his chest.

The door opened after a single knock.

You stood there, hair tied back loosely, sleeves of your sweater pushed up, that same gentle tiredness in your eyes that he’d always found endearing. You looked surprised but not shocked. Almost like a part of you had expected him.

“Jisung?” you said softly, brows lifting.

He held up the bunny like an offering. “She, uh— left this at the shop.”

The smile that bloomed on your face made the trip completely worth it.

“Oh my god,” you said, laughing quietly, relief flooding your features. “I was just about to text you. I was wondering where that went. She’s going to wake up and realize it’s missing and have a meltdown.”

He laughed too, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “Yeah, figured I’d save you from that crisis.”

“Well,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, your voice softer now, “you’re a lifesaver. Really.”

Jisung shrugged a little, trying to downplay the way his chest swelled at your words. “Just doing my part.”

You smiled again that small, knowing kind of smile that said you could see through him even when he pretended to be casual. You stepped aside, nodding toward the inside of the house. “Come in. You might as well. She’ll want to see you when she wakes up.”

He hesitated for a second, the familiar war in his head flickering again between wanting to keep his distance and wanting to stay. But then he stepped in, the warmth of your home wrapping around him like something he hadn’t realized he’d missed.

He followed you quietly into the living room. Ara’s crayons were scattered on the coffee table, her drawings left half-finished, little stick figures of three people holding hands, suns with smiling faces, flowers with uneven petals.

He smiled, looking at one of them. “She’s really good at this,” he said quietly.

“She gets it from me,” you said, teasingly proud.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure.”

You turned toward him then, your expression softening, and before you could stop yourself you said it, the words that had been sitting quietly on your tongue since you saw him at the ice cream shop.

“She really likes you, you know.”

Jisung froze for a moment, his eyes flicking to yours, unreadable. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. She talks about you all the time. About the cars even how you pretend to use the wrong tools just to make her laugh. She looks up to you.”

He exhaled, his voice low when he finally spoke. “I don’t know how to explain it, but… I just— I’m really happy you trust me with her. I know it probably wasn’t easy. But I mean it when I say… I want to be there for her. For both of you. I don’t want to miss any more years. I want to see her grow up, even if it’s slowly.”

You didn’t say anything right away, your throat felt tight, your hands fidgeting against the edge of the couch. But then you smiled faintly. “Then don’t miss them.”

He blinked, taken aback. “What?”

You looked at him, really looked and said, “If you want to be part of her life, then be here. I’m not going to stop you.”

Something shifted in the air then. Not loud, not explosive, just quiet understanding. The kind that didn’t need much explanation.

You both sat there in that soft silence for a while, the sound of Ara’s slow breathing faint from her room down the hall. Jisung placed the bunny carefully on the couch beside you.

When he finally stood to leave, you walked him to the door. He turned before stepping out, his voice quiet, almost tender.

“She’s lucky,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Who is?”

“Ara,” he murmured. “She has you.”

You smiled small, tired, but real. “She has you too now.”

And as Jisung stepped back into the cool evening air, the door closing softly behind him, he realized something he hadn’t dared to let himself believe before.. He was finally home, not quite yet, not completely, but close enough to feel it.

You sat across from Jisung at the kitchen counter, your elbows resting on the cool surface, the soft hum of the fridge filling the pauses between your conversation. Ara’s bunny was propped on one of the chairs, almost like a tiny silent guest.

He was mid-story, hands moving animatedly as he spoke, a grin spreading across his face the longer he talked.

“She was unbelievable today,” he said, still half-laughing as he leaned back in his chair. “You should’ve seen her running around the shop. I’d ask for one wrench, and she’d bring me three different ones, none of them right but she looked so proud every single time. I couldn’t even tell her no.”

You couldn’t stop smiling as you poured him another drink, sliding the glass toward him. “That sounds exactly like her,” you said, amused. “Let me guess. she’s learned how to tease Seojin now too?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t even get me started. She told him his hair looks like the brushes we use to clean the oil trays. I thought he was going to lose it.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh, nearly spilling your own drink. “Oh no, poor Seojin. She’s definitely learning that from someone.”

Jisung raised a brow. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You,” you teased, pointing at him with your glass. “You’re teaching her all your bad habits. The sarcasm, the teasing— she’s basically a mini-you already.”

He grinned. “She’s got the charm to pull it off. I just looked grumpy when I did it.”

You both laughed, the kind of laughter that came easily, the kind that felt like breathing again after years of holding your breath. It was comfortable. Familiar. But there was something else beneath it now, a tenderness that hadn’t been there before, or maybe had always been there, hidden under old arguments and unsaid apologies.

When the laughter faded, he took a slow sip of his drink and leaned forward a little, his voice softer now. “What about you? What’d you do today while we were busy being mechanics?”

You leaned back in your chair, swirling what was left of your drink between your fingers. You could’ve just told him the truth, that you ran errands, bought groceries, stopped by the florist because Ara liked the smell of lavender. But something mischievous in you stirred instead.

You wanted to see. To test him.

You tilted your head, your tone casual. “Oh, you know… went on a date.”

The reaction was immediate and exactly what you were hoping for.

His easy smile froze, the color draining just slightly from his face. He blinked, once, then again, his glass hovering halfway to his lips before he set it down carefully.

“Oh,” he said, too quiet. His voice was even, but you could see the way his shoulders stiffened, how he tried and failed to keep it casual. “That’s… nice.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. The silence stretched, thick and awkward, before he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, uh— I should probably get going then,” he said, standing abruptly. His voice was soft but his movements sharp, almost clumsy, like he needed to leave before the air got any heavier.

You reached out quickly, fingers wrapping around his wrist before he could step away.

“Jisung—” You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “I’m kidding.”

He turned, brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard.

You grinned up at him, amused by the way his jaw clenched. “I didn’t go on a date. I ran errands. That’s it. Relax.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter again. “You’re— you’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You laughed, letting your hand fall from his wrist, teasing, “Why? Did you get jealous?”

He scoffed immediately, eyes narrowing in mock offense. “No.”

“You so did.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did,” you said again, smirking. “Your face said it all.”

His lips twitched that familiar, dangerous mix of irritation and affection. And before you could say anything else, his hands were on your cheeks, warm and steady, pulling you toward him.

The kiss happened so suddenly it left you breathless.

It wasn’t hesitant this time, or unsure, it was something deeper, something that had been waiting for the right moment to spill out. You could taste the faint sweetness of the drink on his lips, could feel the way his hands trembled just slightly against your skin as though he was afraid you might pull away again.

You didn’t.

You moved closer instead, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady, quick rhythm of his heart beneath your palms. His arm slid around your waist, tugging you nearer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, slow, full, and dizzying in the quiet of your kitchen.

For a fleeting second, it felt like everything had finally clicked back into place.

“Why are you kissing Mommy?”

The small, sleepy voice broke through the air like a bell, freezing both of you instantly.

You jerked back so fast you almost tripped, Jisung’s eyes wide and guilty as he turned toward the source. Ara stood at the edge of the hallway, her bunny now tucked under one arm, hair tousled, rubbing at her eyes.

Neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening for a beat then both of you burst out laughing. Breathless, awkward, mortified laughter.

“Ara—” you started, covering your mouth.

Jisung was red to the tips of his ears, his hand flying to the back of his neck as he struggled to find words. “Uh—, it’s— we were just—”

She tilted her head curiously, frowning. “Just what?”

You looked at Jisung, cheeks flushed, and couldn’t help but laugh again. You took a slow breath, your voice soft but sure when you finally spoke.

“I think,” you said, meeting Jisung’s eyes for a long moment before turning back to Ara, “it’s time we tell her.”

Jisung nodded quietly, still pink in the face, but there was something else in his expression now calm, certain, almost ready. Because whatever came next confusion, questions, explanations it was time. It was finally time.

Ara stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, clutching her bunny like it was her emotional anchor, still blinking sleep from her eyes. The confusion on her tiny face was so earnest it made your heart ache brows furrowed, lower lip slightly jutted forward in a pout.

“Tell me what?” she asked, her voice small but firm, the kind of tone she used when she felt left out of something important.

You and Jisung exchanged a look, one full of quiet panic but also unspoken understanding. This was it. The moment neither of you had rehearsed for, but somehow knew was coming.

You crouched down to her level, brushing your fingers over her hair. “Hey,” you said softly, “come here, sweetheart.”

You lifted her into your arms, her little hands automatically wrapping around your neck. She was warm and sleepy against you, her cheek pressing into your shoulder. You carried her to the counter, setting her down carefully so you could look at her face, those wide, curious eyes that reminded you so much of him.

You took a slow breath, trying to steady your voice. “Remember how you always ask about the man who fixes cars?”

She nodded immediately, smiling. “Mhm! That’s Jisung!”

“Right,” you said, exchanging another glance with him. Jisung smiled faintly from where he stood, hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets.

“Well…” You hesitated for a second, choosing your words. “Before you were born, Jisung and I were really, really good friends.”

“Best friends,” Jisung added quietly, stepping a little closer. His voice was gentle, almost nervous. “We used to spend all our time together.”

Ara blinked between the two of you, clearly trying to imagine that. “Like me and Haneul at school?”

You smiled. “Exactly like that. But we weren’t just best friends.” You paused again, feeling your throat tighten. “We also used to be… together.”

Ara tilted her head, confused. “Together?”

Jisung scratched the back of his neck, trying not to laugh at her innocent expression. “It means we used to love each other very, very much,” he said softly.

You smiled faintly, correcting him in a whisper, “Used to?”

He caught the tease in your tone but didn’t push. Ara still looked puzzled, so you continued gently, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “Something happened a long time ago, and we got really sad and… we stopped talking for a while.”

Her little face softened, her brow knitting in concern. “You stopped being best friends?”

You nodded slowly. “For a long time, yes.”

She pouted. “That’s sad.”

“It was,” you admitted quietly, your eyes flicking briefly toward Jisung, who looked down at the floor as if reliving that pain. “But then, you met him again, remember? When we went to get your bunny back?”

Ara nodded quickly, her bunny squished in her lap. “He saved it!”

“He did,” you said, smiling. “And since then, we’ve been spending more time together again. But there’s something else, something really important we wanted you to know.”

You took a slow breath, and Jisung stepped closer, resting one hand gently on the counter beside her. His voice was steady but soft. “Ara… do you remember how you said you don’t know your dad because he lives far away for work?”

Her big eyes looked up between the two of you. “Mhm…”

He smiled, the gentlest one you’d ever seen. “Well… he’s not far away anymore.”

Ara blinked, her face scrunching in confusion before realization began to dawn, slow and cautious. She looked at him, then at you, then back again, her mouth parting slightly.

“You mean…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You?”

Jisung nodded, his eyes warm, shimmering faintly under the kitchen light. “Yeah, sweetheart. Me.”

She stared for a few seconds, processing, and for a terrifying moment you thought maybe she’d cry or run, or say she didn’t understand.

But then her little hand reached out and grabbed his, small fingers curling tightly around his calloused ones.

“You’re my daddy?” she asked in a quiet, awed voice.

Jisung swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and when he nodded, it was shaky, emotional. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough. “I am.”

Her lip trembled, and you could see the confusion flicker briefly again, the kind that only came from the weight of something new before it melted into something else. A shy, tentative smile.

She didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she just looked at him for a long time, as though trying to memorize his face, before whispering, “Why didn’t you or Mommy tell me before?”

You exhaled slowly, feeling your chest tighten. “I wanted to make sure it was the right time, sweetheart,” you said softly, cupping her cheek. “It wasn’t because we didn’t want to tell you. We just… wanted to make sure everything was okay first. That we could all be happy when you found out.”

She looked down at her bunny for a moment, thoughtful, and then back up at both of you. “So… you and Daddy were sad before,” she said, piecing it together with her little hands gripping the edge of the counter. “But now you’re happy?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, tears pricking your eyes as you nodded. “We’re getting there.”

Ara seemed to think about that for a moment longer and then, just like that, she smiled.

“Okay,” she said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. She wrapped her arms around Jisung’s neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Hi, Daddy.”

Jisung froze, completely still for half a heartbeat before he melted, hugging her back tightly, his face buried in her hair. His eyes closed, his voice barely holding steady when he whispered, “Hi, baby.”

You stood beside them, a soft hand resting over your mouth to keep yourself from crying outright, your heart swelling so full it hurt.

When Ara finally pulled back, she giggled, looking between the two of you. “Does that mean we’re a family now?”

You looked at Jisung, and for the first time, neither of you hesitated.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile trembling but sure. “That’s exactly what it means.”

Ara didn’t move when Jisung lifted her off the counter.
Her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her face buried in his chest as if she’d been doing it her whole life as if the truth had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to surface.

You could only stand there, arms crossed loosely, a soft, aching smile spreading across your face. The sight of them, her nestled into him like she belonged there, and him holding her so carefully, afraid even his breathing might disturb her, it was almost too much.

A heavy wave of emotion pressed against your ribs. Regret, warmth, and relief tangled together in your chest until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. You’d spent years imagining what this moment would look like if it would ever even happen and now that it had, it was everything and nothing like you expected.

Ara’s little fingers played lazily with the fabric of Jisung’s shirt as her eyes fluttered sleepily. Her voice was a murmur, muffled against his chest.
“Daddy?”

Jisung hummed softly, his voice steady but quiet, his hand smoothing down her back. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Can you stay?”

You caught the subtle tremor in his breath, a small pause that said more than words could. He looked over at you then, hesitant, almost asking silently if that was okay. You nodded once, your throat too tight to speak.

“Yeah,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, okay?”

She nodded drowsily, her grip loosening just slightly as she blinked up at him, eyes glossy with sleep. “Okay.”

He smiled and rubbed small circles on her back until she finally sighed, that deep, trusting kind of sigh only a child gives when they feel safe and you both carried her upstairs together.

You pushed her door open quietly, the warm light from the hallway spilling across the little details of her room, the stuffed toys arranged neatly by her bed, the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered on the ceiling, the faint scent of her lavender shampoo lingering in the air.

Jisung lowered her carefully onto the bed, taking extra care to keep her bunny tucked under her arm. Her lips parted as she mumbled something incoherent, already drifting into dreams. He sat there for a few seconds longer, just watching her, his eyes tracing every feature of her face, her cheeks, the curve of her lashes, her tiny hand still clutching his shirt.

You leaned against the doorframe, your chest tightening again at the sight. It was bittersweet, watching them like this. You thought of all the nights he’d missed, the ones when you’d been alone with her, when she’d woken up crying from nightmares and you’d been the only one there to hold her. All the birthdays, the milestones, the quiet little moments. You’d done your best to fill both roles, but now, seeing them together, you couldn’t help but feel guilty.

When Ara’s breathing finally steadied, you stepped in, brushing her hair back gently and whispering goodnight. Then you both slipped out of the room, closing the door halfway behind you.

The house was quiet now, the kind of silence that felt both heavy and comforting. You walked down the stairs together, side by side, neither of you saying anything until you reached the kitchen again. The air felt different, softer somehow, like the tension that had been there for years had finally started to lift.

Jisung was the first to break the silence.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, leaning against the counter.

You looked up at him, surprised by the question. “What?”

He gave a small shrug, his eyes never leaving yours. “You looked… I don’t know. Upset. When I was holding her.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You noticed that?”

He nodded. “Of course I did.”

You exhaled a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I wasn’t upset. I mean… maybe a little. But not in the way you think.”

He tilted his head slightly, waiting. You leaned back against the counter opposite him, the distance between you filled with unspoken things. “I just—” You hesitated, your voice trembling slightly. “I regret not telling her sooner. Or telling you sooner. I feel like I made such a mess of everything. I thought I was doing what was best, but…” You trailed off, your eyes finding the floor. “Maybe I was just scared.”

He took a small step forward, his voice low but steady. “Hey,” he said softly, “don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.”

You shook your head. “How can I not? You missed everything. Her first word, her first steps, her birthdays. All because I—”

“—did what you thought you had to,” he interrupted gently. “And you were right to protect her. I don’t blame you.”

You looked up then, your eyes meeting his. “You don’t?”

He smiled faintly and shook his head. “No. I’m just… grateful I know now. Grateful she knows. And I meant what I said.. she’ll have me in her life from now on. I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in the way he said it so calm, so certain it made your chest ache all over again, but this time in the best way.

You looked at him quietly, eyes soft. “You really mean that?”

He nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. “Forever.”

You breathed out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re really not going to let me feel guilty about this, huh?”

He stepped a little closer, close enough that his voice dropped to a low murmur. “Not when I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.”

Your heart caught in your throat at that, at the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t just talking about Ara, but about you, too.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t feel the weight of regret anymore. You just felt… whole.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers through your hair. “She’s lucky to have you, you know.”

He grinned, his voice gentle. “No. I’m lucky to have both of you.”

You didn’t reply, you couldn’t. Not with your heart pounding the way it was. You just smiled, small and quiet, before glancing toward the stairs where Ara slept.

The dim glow from the kitchen light spilled faintly across the counter, illuminating the half-empty glasses you both had forgotten about. You leaned against the sink, arms loosely crossed, your body finally relaxing for the first time in hours.

Jisung stood across from you, hands in his pockets, his eyes soft and a little distant as if he was still replaying the last few hours in his head. You could tell he was overthinking, you could always tell. The way his fingers fidgeted, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek.

Finally, he looked up at you.

“So,” he said, his voice breaking the quiet. “What happens now?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?” you asked, even though you already knew exactly what he meant.

He gave you a flat look, one brow lifting. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you teased, the corner of your mouth tugging upward.

He huffed, rolling his eyes in that way that made him look far too boyish for someone who had just spent the entire evening holding his sleeping daughter. “You know what I mean.”

You smiled, soft but playful, pushing yourself off the counter to stand closer to him. “Maybe I do,” you said, your voice low, “but maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

He let out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “I’m just—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t know where we stand now. With… us.”

That last word came out a little fragile, a little uncertain like he was afraid to even say it out loud.

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him. The distance between you wasn’t much, just a few steps, but it felt heavier somehow, charged.

“I think,” you said slowly, “that we’re okay.”

He looked at you skeptically, like he didn’t quite believe that could be true after everything. “Okay?”

You nodded, your lips curving faintly. “Yeah. I’m okay with… this. With going slow.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Slow?”

You nodded again, stepping a little closer. “Mhm. But,” you added, your tone shifting, playful and warm, “I’m also okay with you coming over whenever you want. Spending time with Ara. And maybe…” You paused just long enough for him to raise his brows in amusement. “Maybe with me, too.”

He chuckled, his voice low. “Maybe?”

You grinned, pretending to think. “Maybe even kissing.”

That finally pulled a full laugh out of him, the kind that made his shoulders relax, his eyes light up again. It was that same laugh you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much.

“Maybe, huh?” he repeated, smirking faintly. “I can work with ‘maybe.’”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “Don’t get cocky.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “No promises.”

The teasing softened then, the air between you growing quieter, heavier again, but in a way that didn’t feel awkward anymore. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the kind of closeness that had once been so familiar it hurt to remember.

He took a small step closer, close enough that his fingers brushed against yours. “So,” he murmured, “if I kissed you right now…”

You pretended to think about it, eyes flicking to his lips for just a second before looking up again. “Then I guess we wouldn’t be moving too fast.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

He leaned in slowly, his hand finding the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone before his lips met yours, softer this time, less desperate than the last, but no less charged. It was careful, steady, like he was testing the weight of what it meant now.

You smiled into the kiss before pulling away, your hand still resting lightly on his chest.

“See?” you whispered. “Not too fast.”

He chuckled, his forehead resting against yours, his voice barely above a murmur. “Feels just right.”

You laughed quietly, your heart light for the first time in a long time.

Maybe it really could be simple this time, maybe love didn’t have to be rushed or perfect, just honest. He stepped back finally, eyes still soft on you. “So I can come by tomorrow?”

You grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t even have to ask anymore.”

He nodded once, satisfied, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “Good. Because I probably would’ve shown up anyway.”

You laughed as he headed toward the door. “I figured.”

When he turned back one last time, his smile was smaller, gentler, but it carried something deeper. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jisung.”

And when the door closed behind him, you stood there for a moment, fingertips brushing your lips, still tasting the warmth of his kiss.
You didn’t know exactly what would happen next, but for the first time in a long time, that uncertainty didn’t scare you.

The smell of motor oil and metal had become strangely comforting again, maybe because every time you stepped into the shop, you were met with the sight of Jisung’s smile.

You and he were together again properly, fully this time. Not just a fragile maybe or a slow rekindling, but together.And somehow, everything felt like it had finally fallen into place the way it was always meant to.

Ara had practically made the shop her second home.
After school, she’d bounce through the front door still in her little uniform, her backpack swinging from her shoulder and a juice box in hand. She always swore she’d do her homework there, and though you knew that was a lie, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop her. She just wanted to be near Jisung to help him, talk his ear off, hand him tools and distract Seojin every five minutes.

Every evening, when you’d pick her up, she’d smell faintly of the shop, a mix of oil and sweetness and chatter the entire ride home about how “Daddy let me help with the tires today!” or “Daddy said I’m the best helper ever!”

You’d only smile, your heart swelling every single time she said it. Daddy.

It had taken years, tears, and patience but now, there it was. Natural. Easy. Hers.

And now, your family was growing again.
You rested a hand on your round, nine-month belly as you walked through the shop doors one afternoon, the sound of Ara’s laughter and Seojin’s groaning still echoing faintly from earlier. Jisung looked up from under the hood of a car the moment he heard the bell above the door chime.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he called out, already wiping his hands on a rag and walking toward you with that half-scolding, half-worried look he’d perfected over the last few months.

You rolled yourself over to him on a rolling chair that was clearly too small for you now, grinning. “Shouldn’t you be happy to see your very pregnant wife?”

He gave you that look, the one that was a mixture of exasperation and love. “You’re nine months, babe. You should be resting. At home. In bed.”

You sighed dramatically, resting a hand on your belly. “I get lonely at home. You’re here all day, Ara’s at school… it’s just me and baby girl. She doesn’t exactly make great conversation.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down to peck your lips before straightening back up to grab his clipboard. “She’s giving you a hard time again?”

You nodded with an exaggerated pout. “Always. She moves nonstop. I think she’s trying to fix cars from the inside.”

That made him laugh harder, the sound echoing in the shop. He leaned his hip against the counter, scribbling something down while glancing over at you every few seconds still half worried, half amused.

You leaned back in the chair, sighing heavily, pretending to be bored. “You’re no fun anymore,” you teased. “Remember when we used to have fun in this shop?”

He smirked, not looking up from his notes. “Yeah, I also remember how that fun got us here in the first place.”

You laughed out loud, shaking your head. “Touché.”

He grumbled under his breath, heading back to work, though his eyes flicked toward you every few seconds like he didn’t quite trust you not to suddenly go into labor which, ironically, you’d joked about at least a dozen times in the past week.

You’d done it when he came out of the office, when he was under a car, when he was halfway through his sandwich.
He was done falling for it.

So when you sat quietly now, watching him work from across the shop, and suddenly felt something warm and unmistakable gush down your legs, you froze. Your eyes widened.
Your hands immediately gripped the armrests of the chair.

“Oh no,” you whispered.

From across the shop, Jisung’s muffled voice called out, “You okay over there?”

You hesitated for a second before saying it out loud. “Uh… my water broke.”

He snorted from under the car. “Yeah, right. Nice try, baby. You’re not getting me again.”

“Jisung,” you said, your voice firm now. “I’m not joking.”

Still, he didn’t even look up. “Mhm. That’s what you said last week too. I’m not falling for it.”

“Jisung!”

He groaned, finally pulling himself out from under the car and wiping his hands with his rag as he approached you. “You’re seriously obsessed with this joke—”

And then he stopped.

His eyes dropped to the small puddle beneath you. His entire face went blank.

“...oh my God.”

You gave him a tight, nervous smile. “Told you.”

He blinked. “You’re serious?”

You nodded. “Very.”

And then panic.

He spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, shouting for Seojin, who rushed in wide-eyed.
“What?! What happened?!”

“She— her— baby— water— hospital— now!” Jisung stammered, grabbing for his keys, his jacket, his phone in that exact order and then all over again because he couldn’t seem to remember what he was doing.

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing. “Calm down, Sung— I’m okay!”

He turned to you, frazzled and pale and completely undone. “You’re not supposed to be okay! You’re supposed to be— we need to go!”

“Then help me up,” you teased.

He rushed over immediately, one hand on your back, the other on your belly like he could somehow keep everything together by sheer willpower. “Okay, okay, don’t move too fast. I got you.”

You smiled up at him through your nerves, and he looked down at you terrified, breathless, but beaming all the same.

“Guess it’s time,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft, awe-struck. “It’s time.”

And as he helped you to the car, still muttering frantic instructions to himself, you couldn’t stop smiling. This was it. The moment everything came full circle. From that first heartbreak to forgiveness, to rebuilding a family that had once been broken and now, growing.

You reached for his hand as he started the car, your fingers lacing together.
He squeezed back, glancing at you with a grin that was half panic, half pure joy.

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” he muttered.

You laughed breathlessly. “Not a chance.”

And as he sped toward the hospital, your laughter filled the car, the same laughter that once filled the shop, the same one Ara always called her favorite sound. Now, it carried something else too, the sound of everything beginning again.

-

The sun filtered softly through the hospital curtains the next morning, painting the room in pale gold. Everything felt quiet, almost sacred, the kind of quiet that came after a long storm. The kind that held peace, exhaustion, and a strange kind of joy all tangled together.

Jisung hadn’t slept. Not really.

He’d spent most of the night sitting in the chair beside your bed, watching both of you sleep, you, finally resting peacefully for the first time in hours, and the tiny bundle in the clear bassinet by your side, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. Every little sound she made every soft sigh, every squeaky yawn sent a pang of awe through him. He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been staring until you stirred awake and caught him.

You smiled, voice still soft from sleep. “You’re staring again.”

He grinned sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Can you blame me?”

You shook your head, amused, before turning your gaze toward the baby. “She looks like you when she sleeps.”

Jisung laughed quietly, but the sound was thick with emotion. “I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to something that perfect before.”

The peaceful moment didn’t last long before the conversation turned practical. You were trying to convince him again that it was time for him to go pick up Ara. He’d been dreading it all morning.

Not because he didn’t want Ara to meet her baby sister, he wanted nothing more than that but because every time he looked at you, pale but glowing, and saw the baby sleeping beside you, his chest clenched at the idea of walking away even for an hour.

“I can go later,” he’d said for the fifth time, running a hand through his messy hair. “You should rest. I’ll just stay a bit longer.”

You gave him that look, the one that meant he was being stubborn again. “Jisung,” you said softly, “we’re okay. Really. You won’t even be gone that long.”

He frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “What if you need something while I’m gone?”

“I’ll call the nurse,” you replied with a small smile. “And besides, Ara’s probably bouncing off the walls right now. She’s been waiting all night.”

He groaned quietly, rubbing his face. He knew you were right. Ara had been calling every hour since last night, first asking if her baby sister was born, then if she could come “right now,” and then asking what her name was, all while your sister tried to convince her to get some sleep.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised again, reaching for his hand. “Go get our girl.”

He squeezed your hand gently, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then one to the baby’s tiny head. “I’ll be fast,” he murmured.

You laughed. “Go, Jisung.”

It took everything in him to finally walk out the door.

-

Ara was already waiting by the front door when Jisung pulled up to your sister’s house. Her little backpack was slung over her shoulder, and she was practically bouncing in place, hair half-tied and face glowing with excitement.

The moment she saw him step out of the car, she sprinted toward him with a squeal.

“Daddy!”

Jisung crouched down just in time to catch her as she launched into his arms, giggling breathlessly. He held her close, heart swelling at the sound of that word, Daddy. She’d been using it more often lately, and every time she did, it hit him like the first time all over again.

“Hey, princess,” he said softly, smoothing a hand over her hair. “You ready to meet your baby sister?”

Ara nodded so fast he thought her head might fall off. “Yes! I even made her something!”

She pulled back proudly, rummaging through her backpack before presenting a folded piece of paper that looked like it had been colored within an inch of its life. Jisung unfolded it carefully and the second he saw it, his throat tightened.

It was a drawing, one of her little family pictures she always made, full of uneven stick figures and hearts.
Only this one was different.

It used to just be you and Ara, two little figures holding hands under a big yellow sun. Then she’d started adding him, always drawn a little taller, with brown hair and a big smile. But this one…

Now there were four.

Ara. You. Jisung. And a tiny baby in your arms, wrapped in a pink blanket.

He stared at it for a long moment, the lump in his throat growing too big to swallow. “You drew this?”

Ara nodded proudly. “Last night! Auntie said I had to go to sleep but I wanted to finish it first. It’s us now. All of us.”

Jisung blinked hard, his vision blurring a little. He couldn’t even find the words for how full his heart felt.

He ruffled her hair, smiling through the emotion that was threatening to spill over. “It’s perfect,” he said softly. “She’s going to love it.”

Ara beamed, clutching the drawing to her chest as they got in the car. She talked the entire way to the hospital about how she was going to hold the baby, and how she was going to teach her to draw and share her crayons, and how she’d help change diapers. He laughed the whole time, letting her excitement fill the car like sunlight.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, Ara nearly tripped over her own feet running down the hallway. Jisung had to grab her hand before she darted into the wrong room.

“Slow down, Ara,” he chuckled, “your sister’s not going anywhere.”

“But I’ve been waiting forever!” she whispered loudly, making a passing nurse smile.

And when they finally stepped into your room, all that endless energy paused.

Ara froze by the door, her little hand still gripping Jisung’s.

You were sitting up slightly in bed, the baby nestled in your arms, wrapped in a soft blanket. The moment Ara saw her, her whole face softened.

“She’s so tiny,” she whispered, eyes wide with awe.

You smiled, motioning her closer. “Come say hi, sweetheart.”

Ara took slow, careful steps toward the bed, her small hands fidgeting nervously. Jisung stayed back, just watching, heart full to the brim.

You shifted the baby slightly, letting Ara see her better. “This is your baby sister.”

Ara peered closer, her little face glowing with wonder. “Hi, baby,” she whispered shyly, brushing her fingers gently over the blanket. “I’m Ara. I’m your big sister.”

The baby stirred slightly, and Ara gasped softly like she’d just witnessed magic.

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek to keep from tearing up again.

You smiled at Ara. “She’s lucky to have you, you know.”

Ara beamed proudly. “I’m gonna take care of her. Like you and Daddy take care of me.”

Jisung’s breath caught. You looked up at him then, eyes meeting his across the room, that same quiet, wordless connection you’d always had.

And for the first time since everything began, everything truly felt right.

He crossed the room and slipped his arm gently around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as Ara carefully leaned against the bed, showing the baby her drawing.

“She’s already got her first fan,” you whispered with a smile.

Jisung chuckled softly. “Looks like it.”

The three of you sat there in that soft, golden light, Ara talking softly to her baby sister, you resting against Jisung, and the newborn curled between you, a picture that looked like something out of a dream.

And when Ara finally looked up at both of you, grinning ear to ear and said, “Now we’re all here,” Jisung felt his heart settle into something steady and whole.

He smiled, voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, baby. We’re all here.”

Jisung didn’t know how long he’d been standing there.
The hospital room wasn’t big, it was modest and softly lit, curtains drawn just enough to let the afternoon sun paint the room gold. The faint hum of machines and the quiet rhythm of your baby’s breathing filled the silence. And yet, to Jisung, it felt like time had completely stopped.

You were sitting up on the hospital bed, your hair still slightly messy, your face tired but glowing in that way only new mothers did, the kind of glow that came from love rather than rest. Ara was sitting beside you, half on the bed, half leaning into your side, her tiny hands tucked protectively around her newborn sister’s blanket.

And Jisung… he just stood there, frozen a few feet away, watching the scene unfold as though he were afraid to blink and break it.

You were quietly explaining to Ara how her baby sister couldn’t talk yet, how the soft coos and sleepy smiles were her way of saying she loved her. Ara listened, completely absorbed, her face serious in that way only children’s faces could be when they were trying very hard to understand something that mattered.

“She already loves you, you know,” you said softly to Ara, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Even if she can’t say it yet. Babies know their family. She knows you’re her big sister.”

Ara’s face brightened immediately. “Really?”

“Really,” you whispered, smiling.

Jisung felt something ache deep in his chest, not a painful kind of ache, but the sort that came when something inside you had been locked away for too long, and it finally started to open again. He watched Ara giggle softly, the sound light and full of joy, her small hand gently touching her baby sister’s fingers. He didn’t dare speak. He didn’t dare move. He just… stared. Because for so long, he never thought this moment would exist.

He remembered the first time you’d left, the day everything fell apart between you two. The shouting, the slamming door, the quiet that came afterward. He remembered nights when he’d walk home to an empty apartment, convincing himself he was better off alone, only to end up sitting in the dark thinking about you anyway.

He remembered Chan and Minho trying to talk sense into him.
“Just let her go, man,” Minho had said once, voice low but not unkind. “People move on.”
“Yeah,” Chan added softly. “You deserve to too.”

And Jisung had tried. God, he’d tried. He’d gone out, kept busy, buried himself in work. But it never worked. Because no matter what he did, every love song, every drive home, every quiet moment all of it led back to you.

You, the girl who’d loved him once. You, the woman he’d lost. You, the mother of the little girl he didn’t even know was his.

And now here you were, both of you sitting in the same room, with another tiny life that the two of you had created together.

He swallowed hard, blinking back the warmth that pricked at his eyes. He didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not when everything was finally right.

It wasn’t until you called for him that he snapped out of it.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back from his thoughts. “Sung?”

He blinked, looking at you. You were watching him, a soft smile tugging at your lips, the kind that said I see right through you.

“You okay?” you asked.

He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to hide the way his throat tightened. “Yeah,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m… I’m more than okay.”

You tilted your head a little, the corner of your mouth curving up knowingly.

He took a slow step forward, then another, until he was right beside the bed. He leaned in, pressing a small kiss to your lips, light, quick, but full of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

When he pulled back, Ara was watching him with a small, sleepy grin, clearly proud of herself for being part of this family moment. He chuckled and crouched down beside her, brushing her hair from her forehead before pressing a kiss there too.

“You did a great job today, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Ara’s eyes sparkled. “I did?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, smiling. “You’re already the best big sister ever.”

She beamed, her cheeks warm with pride, and nestled closer to you.

And Jisung just stayed there for a moment, crouched beside the two of you, watching as Ara’s small fingers traced patterns on her baby sister’s blanket, as your hand reached out to rest gently on his shoulder, grounding him.

He finally had everything he’d ever wanted.
Not fame, not success, not the perfect life, just this. You. Ara.
And the tiny new life between you both that made the world feel like it had started all over again.

He didn’t say it out loud, he didn’t need to.
It was in the way he looked at you, in the way his fingers brushed your wrist, in the way his heart slowed just enough to realize that for the first time in years… he wasn’t running from anything.

He was home.

-

The house was finally quiet.The kind of quiet that only came after chaos, the good kind, but chaos nonetheless. The baby had finally gone down after what could only be described as her first official meltdown. Jisung had been panicking, pacing the room with wide eyes as if the world might end because his tiny daughter had decided to test out her lungs. You had been trying to calm both of them, your newborn and your overly anxious husband.

Now, an hour later, peace had settled in like a warm blanket. The lights in the living room were low, the hum of the night barely audible through the slightly cracked window. Ara was curled up on the couch, a small blanket tangled around her legs. She’d been so proud of herself all day, helping Jisung fetch diapers, holding the baby bottle, whispering soft lullabies that somehow turned into nonsense songs halfway through. It was no wonder she’d fallen asleep the second her head hit the cushion.

You were sitting on the other end of the couch, your legs tucked under you, one hand resting over your belly where the phantom ache of labor still lingered. Jisung sat beside you, a little too close, his arm stretched across the back of the couch behind you, protective, as always.

He was watching you the way he always did lately carefully, quietly, like he was memorizing you in every possible moment.

“How are you feeling?” he asked suddenly, his voice soft but still laced with concern.

You turned your head to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “That’s the hundredth time you’ve asked me that since she was born.”

He grinned sheepishly, leaning his head back against the couch. “Can’t I be worried about you?”

“You can,” you teased, “but you might need a new question soon.”

He chuckled, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your lips. The touch was light gentle, familiar, comforting. “Fine,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Then here’s a new one, how do you feel about our little chaos machine?”

You laughed softly. “She’s perfect. Loud, but perfect.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes softening. “She’s something else.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was peaceful. The kind of silence that only existed when two people had already said everything important in a hundred ways before.

Jisung’s eyes wandered to Ara sleeping on the couch and then to the closed nursery door down the hall. When he spoke again, his voice had that quiet weight to it, a mix of disbelief and gratitude.

“I’m happy,” he said finally, his tone almost like a confession. “Like… really happy. I didn’t think I could ever feel this—” He broke off, shaking his head, smiling softly. “My family feels complete.”

You looked at him, heart swelling, and nodded. “Mine too.”

He turned to meet your gaze then, and you saw it, the same boy who once made you laugh until your stomach hurt, the same one who used to frustrate you beyond reason, the one you left, the one you found again.

“I’ve never been so glad that my car broke down,” you said quietly, smiling at the memory. “Not once. Until that day.”

Jisung snorted, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You were so stubborn then.”

“I was still mad at you,” you admitted with a laugh. “You can’t really blame me.”

“I know,” he said softly. He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “And I don’t. I deserved that.”

There was a pause, not tense, but thoughtful. He squeezed your hand. “Still… I’m sorry. For back then. For how things ended. I should’ve been better. For you. For Ara.”

You shook your head gently, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Really. Because if things hadn’t gone the way they did…” You gestured around the room, to Ara, to the quiet nursery, to the home you’d built together. “We wouldn’t be here now.”

Jisung looked at you like he was trying to commit that moment to memory your words, your face, the softness in your tone.

“Things couldn’t be more perfect,” you added quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He smiled to himself, tracing small circles over your hand. “You know, sometimes I still can’t believe it all worked out.”

“What do you mean?”

He laughed under his breath. “Think about it — your car breaking down that day, then Ara losing her bunny, then the car breaking down again when you came to pick it up—”

You groaned playfully. “Don’t remind me.”

“—and every single one of those things brought you back to me,” he finished, grinning proudly. “Tell me that’s not fate.”

You tilted your head back, laughing softly. “You’re really cute when you say stuff like that.”

“I’m serious!” he said, feigning offense. “It’s fate. 100 percent. The universe just had to make your car break down twice to get my attention again.”

You laughed so hard you nearly woke Ara. “You’re impossible.”

“And you can’t deny it,” he teased, leaning in until his nose brushed yours.

“Fine,” you whispered, smiling against his lips. “Maybe fate just got impatient.”

“Exactly.”

He kissed you again then slow, warm, and full of everything words couldn’t quite say. When a wailing cry cut through the silence.

Both of you groaned, Jisung more dramatically.
"She really knows how to time these things."

You laughed, pushing lightly against his chest.
"Stop. She’s a baby."

He stood up with a huff that was mostly playful, making his way toward the nursery.
"She interrupted Mommy and Daddy time," he muttered under his breath with a pout.

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, watching him disappear into the hallway. A few seconds later, the crying quieted as Jisung’s voice filled the room, soft and soothing, as he swayed her gently in his arms.

You leaned back into the couch, a hand resting over your belly instinctively even though it was no longer full. Your heart was.

Somehow, after all the chaos, after all the heartbreak and missed years, you were here. You were a family.

And you were home.

//

masterlist.

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @euphysia @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon @geni-627 @enhacolor @lunaspov @jisuperboard @hyujim @linogatinho @puppymsworld @alondra6011 @you-dont-know-my-name @rylea08 @luvbangchan @chezzeballs300 @luvbangchan @astrophia13 @bemyaehiweloveskz @luvvvivi @imnotsupposedtobedoingthis @sillylittlecat1 @maddy24207 @inmyfelixera @senaenabear lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

It started at 0530- thirty minutes before your alarm- when the fire alarm went off because Private Jenkins had tried to make toast. Toast. The most basic form of cooking known to mankind. Bread. Heat. That’s it. But somehow, somehow, Jenkins had managed to not only burn the toast but actually catch the toaster on fire. You’d stood in the predawn cold in your pajamas for forty five minutes while the fire department cleared the building.

When you’d asked Jenkins, trying to understand the thought process on how he’d managed it, he’d said, “I dunno, ma’am, I just pushed it down and walked away.”

Walked away.

From a toaster.

This was a man was trusted with a firearm.

By 0615, you’d discovered that no one had bothered to replace the fire extinguishers after last week’s “incident” (someone had tried to deep fry something in the common room and had nearly burned down the building). The Fire Chief had shown up during the Toast Incident and had lost his absolute mind. You’d spent forty five minutes getting screamed at- actually screamed at, with the vein in his forehead pulsing and everything- about negligence and fire code violations and “what kind of chickenshit operation are you running here?”

You weren’t even in charge of fire safety. That was Morrison’s job. Morrison, who was conspicuously absent. Morrison, who’d somehow had a “dentist appointment” at 6 AM. But Captain Price had looked at you and said, “Handle it,” and then walked away, leaving you to take the fall for someone else’s incompetence. Again.

The Fire Chief had threatened to report the base. You’d had to grovel and promise it would never happen again and personally saw to it that they were all replaced.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

0700: Someone- you has suspects but couldn’t prove it- had made you the next victim in the base wide prank war that had been ongoing for weeks and replaced your shampoo with Nair. No doubt they thought they were pranking someone else and hadn’t bothered to confirm they had the right locker first. You’d caught it just in time, but only because you’d been paranoid enough to smell it first. You’d had to use dish soap to wash your hair. Dish soap.

0730: You’d found out that the weekly intelligence reports you’d specifically asked Corporal Davis to file were not, in fact, filed. When you’d asked why, he’d said- and you could not make this up even if you tried- “Oh, I thought you said you’d do it.” You’d literally watched him write it down in his little notebook. You’d watched him underline it. The reports were now late. Your ass was on the line. But sure, Davis thought you were doing it.

0800 briefing: You’d watched Lieutenant Riley drink tea through his mask. Not lift it. Not move it. Straight through the fabric like some kind of logic defying cryptid. When you’d stared at him in horrified confusion, he’d just stared back with those dead eyes. You’d had to continue the briefing while experiencing what could only be described as a dissociative episode. No one else seemed to think this was weird. You were surrounded by lunatics.

0845: The visiting Lieutenant Colonel called you “sweetheart” and asked if you’d “mind terribly” grabbing coffee for the room. You were running the briefing. You were running it. He’d then spent the next fifteen minutes explaining your own intelligence report back to you, incorrectly, while nodding like he was doing you a favor.

0900: You’d discovered that your meticulously prepared presentation for the brass- six hours of work- had been deleted. Just gone. You’d asked the IT specialist what happened. He’d said, “Oh yeah, I was cleaning up the shared drive and it looked like old stuff, so I deleted it.” It was dated from yesterday. It was very clearly labeled “BRIEF FOR VISITING BRASS - DO NOT DELETE.” He’d apparently not read that part. You’d recreated it from memory in forty five minutes while having what you were pretty sure was an aneurysm.

1000: Sergeant Garrick had crashed a drone- your personal drone, the one you’d bought with your own money- into the side of the barracks because he “wanted to see if he could do a barrel roll.” When you’d asked him why he’d used your drone instead of one of the fifty military grade drones on base, he’d said, “Yours was closer.” It was now in seven pieces. He’d apologized with those big sincere eyes like that somehow unsmashed your $800 drone.

1030: You’d had to break up a fight between two privates who were arguing about whether a hot dog was a sandwich. It had escalated to shoving. Grown men. Pushing each other. Over a hot dog. You’d had to file an incident report. You’d had to waste official military paperwork on the hot dog sandwich debate.

1100: The intelligence reports you needed for the 1300 meeting were being held up because the courier had accepted a dare to eat a carolina reaper and was now in medical “experiencing profound regret.” Your reports were locked in his bag. In his locked office. He was too busy “contemplating his mortality” to tell anyone the code. You’d had to get maintenance to literally drill the lock off.

1200: You’d confiscated a makeshift flamethrower that two privates had constructed from an aerosol can and a lighter because they “wanted to see if they could cook lunch faster.” There were scorch marks on the ceiling. When you’d asked them what they thought was going to happen, they’d both shrugged. No thoughts. Heads empty. Just vibes and arson.

1300 meeting: You’d had to present your recreated brief to the brass while the Lieutenant Colonel interrupted you every thirty seconds to add “valuable input” that was just… wrong. Factually incorrect. But you couldn’t correct him because he outranked you, despite being dumber than a bag of rocks.

1400: You’d returned to your office to find the door locked. Your office. Locked from the inside. You’d knocked. No answer. You’d used your key. It didn’t work- someone had engaged the interior lock. You’d had to get maintenance. Again. When they finally opened the door, you’d found Captain Price in there with Susan from admin. Susan’s lipstick was smeared. Captain Price’s hat was on your desk. They’d been using your office- your office- to fuck. On your desk. Your desk. Captain Price had the audacity to wink at you and say, “Thanks for the space, love,” as he walked out, adjusting his belt.

1430: You’d had to clean lipstick off your desk. And other things. You didn’t want to think about the other things. You’d used an entire container of disinfecting wipes. You were going to need therapy.

1445: Sergeant MacTavish had set off a smoke grenade in the women’s bathroom. You’d been in there. You’d been in a stall. He’d just opened the door, tossed it in without looking- because why would you look, apparently that’s too much to ask- and shut the door. You’d had to evacuate through a window. Second floor. You’d twisted your ankle. MacTavish had found you limping across the parking lot and had the absolute balls to ask if you were okay. You’d nearly murdered him with your bare hands.

1500: You’d discovered that someone had used your car- your personal vehicle- to make a beer run. Your car. They’d taken your keys from your desk (the desk that had been defiled) while you were in the building. There was a dent in the bumper now. No one would admit to it. When you’d asked around, everyone suddenly had amnesia. Thirty grown men and not one of them saw anything.

1530: Jenkins- fucking Jenkins- had been promoted to armory supervisor. The man who’d nearly burned down the building making toast. The man who’d assembled a rifle backwards last month. That Jenkins. You’d asked Captain Price if he was serious. He’d said, “He’s got initiative.” Initiative. Jenkins had initiative. You’d laughed. It was not a sane laugh.

1600: Someone had started a rumor that you and Ghost were dating. Three people had congratulated you. One had asked when the wedding was. Another had asked if Ghost was “good in bed” because “he seems like he’d be intense.” You’d had to stand there and explain that you were not, in fact, romantically involved with the base’s human shadow demon.

1630: The coffee maker in the officers’ lounge had finally, completely died. You’d gone to use the backup coffee maker. Also broken. The vending machine? Out of order. There was no coffee anywhere on this godforsaken base except for the instant coffee in the supply closet, which tasted like it had been brewed in the fires of hell using Satan’s bathwater.

1700: You’d found Garrick in the medical bay doing parkour. Parkour. Off the examination tables. There were muddy footprints on the ceiling. The ceiling. When you’d asked him what the hell he was doing, he’d said with a straight face “Conditioning, ma’am.” The medic had just shrugged like this was normal.

1745: You’d finally made it back to your office to find Ghost sitting at your desk. In the dark. When you’d turned on the light, he’d said, “You left these on the printer,” and held up a pack of paper like that explained any of this while you tried to make your heart rate return to a normal rate and rhythm. It did not explain why he was in the dark. It did not explain how he’d gotten into your office. It did not explain anything.

1800: You’d made it to the mess hall. You were running on four hours of sleep, no coffee, crunchy hair, a twisted ankle, and your will to live that was hanging on by a thread made of spite and denial.

And then you’d seen it.

The last piece of chocolate lava cake.

Your light. Your beacon. Your reason for continuing to exist.

You’d made it through the line in a daze. Mystery meat. Suspicious vegetables. Powdered mashed potatoes that had the consistency of paste.

But you had the cake.

You’d had the cake.

Past tense.

Because MacTavish, the man who’d already made your day a living hell, had come barreling through the mess hall like a drunk moose and knocked it out of your hands.

You’d watched it flip through the air.

Watched it land.

Face down.

And now you were here.

“Do you know- ” you snarled shaking MacTavish like a maraca, “- what kind of day I’ve had?”

The mess hall was dead silent except for your voice, which had gone somewhere between a scream and a primal roar.

“You’re supposed to be elite. Special forces. The best of the best. Do you know what that’s supposed to mean, MacTavish?”

MacTavish’s feet were dangling. You’d been holding him for a full minute now. Your arm wasn’t even shaking.

“It’s supposed to mean competence. Basic. Fucking. Competence.”

You shook him again.

“But you, all of you- you’re the stupidest bastards I’ve ever worked with. And I’ve worked with Marines. I’ve worked with Rangers. I’ve worked with private security contractors who showed more common sense than this entire unit combined.”

Your voice was rising, getting more unhinged with every word.

“You can’t make toast- ” you glanced at Jenkins, who’d gone pale, “- without committing arson. You can’t file a simple report. You can’t read a file name that says ‘do not delete’ in clear fucking English. You can’t look before you throw explosives into enclosed spaces.”

You turned your attention back to MacTavish.

“You threw a smoke grenade into the women’s bathroom. While I was in it. Didn’t check. Didn’t look. Just tossed it in like you were feeding ducks at a pond.”

“I didnae ken- ”

“You didn’t think!” Your voice cracked. “None of you think! That’s the problem! You just do things! Stupid, destructive, idiotic things! And then you look surprised when there are consequences!”

You started pacing, still holding MacTavish like he weighed nothing.

“I have a master’s degree. I speak four languages. I have eight years of experience and a spotless record. And what do I do with all that training and education?”

You looked around at the crowd.

“I clean up after you. I fix your mistakes. I file your paperwork. I take the fall for your incompetence because apparently I’m the only person on this base who can be trusted to actually do their fucking job.”

Your hands were shaking now. MacTavish had gone very still.

“Price- ” you found him in the crowd, “- you promoted Jenkins to the armory. Jenkins. The man who set a toaster on fire this morning is now in charge of weapons. Do you understand how insane that is? Do you?”

Price opened his mouth.

“That’s rhetorical, Captain. I don’t actually want to hear you try to justify it.”

Someone in the back made a nervous sound.

“And the rest of you- ” you looked around at the crowd, “- you’re no better. You fight about whether hot dogs are sandwiches. You make flamethrowers in your spare time. You use my car without permission. You put Nair in people’s shampoo bottles. You act like this is summer camp instead of a military base.”

Your voice had reached a pitch that was probably only audible to dogs.

“How- ” you could feel your face getting hot, “- how do they trust you with missions? With classified intelligence? With guns? You can’t even walk through a mess hall without destroying someone’s property!”

You stopped. Looked down at MacTavish, still dangling from your hand.

“All I wanted was one piece of cake. One. After spending the entire day keeping this operation from falling apart. After playing mother to a bunch of grown men who can’t be trusted with basic tasks. After being the only competent person in a building full of idiots who are supposed to be elite soldiers.”

Your voice dropped. Went quiet. Dangerous.

“And you took that from me.”

The silence was deafening.

You looked around at all of them. “You don’t even understand what you do. You don’t see it. You bumblefuck your way through every single day causing chaos and destruction and you think it’s fine because someone- because me- is always there to fix it. To smooth it over. To make excuses. To take the blame.”

You could feel something breaking. Some final thread of professionalism snapping.

You looked at MacTavish one more time.

Then you dropped him.

He hit the ground hard, stumbled backward, gasping.

“Outside,” you said quietly. Too quietly.

No one moved.

You looked at them. Your expression had gone completely flat. Empty.

“Get outside. By the count of zero.”

“Ma’am- “Price started, taking a step forward, hands up in that universal ‘let’s all calm down’ gesture. “Let’s just take a breath and- ”

You started taking off your earrings.

Price stopped talking.

You placed them carefully on the nearest table. Started on your watch.

“Ten,” you said calmly.

“Now hang on- ” Morrison tried.

“Nine.”

You unclasped your watch. Set it down next to the earrings.

“Ma’am, I really think we should all just- ” Garrick attempted.

“Eight.”

You shrugged off your jacket. Folded it. Placed it neatly on the table.

The mess hall had gone dead silent. Everyone was watching you with increasing horror.

“Seven.”

You bent down. Slipped off one heel. Then the other. Lined them up neatly.

“Listen, we can talk about this- ” Price tried again, but his voice had gone uncertain.

“Six.”

You rolled up your sleeves. Methodically. First the right. Then the left.

Ghost’s hand was definitely on his sidearm now.

“Please- ” someone in the back squeaked.

“Five.”

You tied your hair back. Smooth, practiced movements.

“Okay, everyone just stay calm- ” The visiting Lieutenant Colonel was backing toward the door.

“Four.”

You looked at the nearest table. Four people were sitting at it, frozen like deer in headlights.

“Ma’am- ” MacTavish’s voice was strangled.

“Three.”

You walked over to the table. Calmly. Slowly.

The four people scrambled away from it.

You grabbed the edge.

“Wait- ” Price started forward.

You ripped the table out of the floor.

The sound was catastrophic. Metal shrieking. Bolts shearing. Floor tiles cracking. The table came up like you were pulling a weed from soft earth. Several people shouted.

You held it above your head.

The mess hall had gone beyond silent into some kind of vacuum where sound didn’t exist anymore. Everyone had gone pale. Actually pale. Like they’d seen a ghost.

Someone whispered, “Aren’t those bolted to the ground?”

“…Yeah,” someone else breathed.

You looked at them. Made eye contact with as many as possible while holding a table over your head.

“Two.”

That broke the spell.

They moved.

Chairs screeched. Trays went flying. Someone definitely trampled someone else. There was shouting. Pushing. A full on stampede for the exits.

“Move move move- ”

“Go go go- ”

“Out of my way- ”

You stood there, still holding the table, and watched them flee like rats from a sinking ship.

When the last person had scrambled out- Jenkins, naturally, bringing up the rear- you set the table down carefully.

Then you walked out after them.

They were clustered on the grounds outside, a hundred and fifty people pressed together like a herd of prey animals, all watching the door you’d just exited.

You looked at them.

They looked at you.

The evening air was cool. Quiet. Peaceful.

“Run,” you said. It came out as a growl. Something primal and furious.

Nobody moved.

“Run. Laps. Now.”

They started moving, but not fast enough.

“I said run.”

They ran.

“How long, ma’am?” someone called out.

You smiled. It was not a kind smile.

You didn’t expect someone like him to say yes when your studio reached out looking for a freelance narrative consultant. But he did. Maybe because the game you were working on involved absurd comedy, existential robots, and morally grey NPCs who made dad jokes. His name was already well known from Smosh, but you only knew him as the guy who had strong opinions about quest trees and wrote shockingly good branching dialogue.

What started as a contract gig quickly became something more. When Spencer wasn’t filming, he’d spend hours on calls with you, fleshing out character arcs and cracking open emotional plot beats with surgical precision. You swore he could make a pixel sprite cry. You, meanwhile, designed entire levels inspired by inside jokes you had with him. Including one infamous boss battle that featured a corrupted save file and a possessed coffee pot.

He made your games better. Sharper. Funnier. More human.

And you? You made him laugh.

You were a cinnamon roll in programmer’s clothing; a storm of puns, pop culture references, and code magic. You wrote patch notes in limericks. You had a pet cactus named Commander Prickle. You once added a secret dev room in the game that contained a love letter to Star Wars, a playable cat, and a JPEG of your favorite breakfast burrito.

Spencer fell for you hard.

And, okay, maybe you fell for him first.

Two games. Countless late-night builds. One forehead kiss on a loading dock in Austin that derailed everything in the best possible way.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Because then came the investors.

They promised funding. Exposure. Global launches. All they wanted in return was control. Slowly, they took it all: your timelines, your characters, your creative freedom. They shelved Spencer’s favorite storyline. They told you to “scale down the weird” and “lean into monetizable emotional arcs.” They started talking about replacing the lead writer (Spencer) with someone “more brand-aligned.”

You walked out before they could rip up the last thing that mattered.

Spencer, to your eternal surprise, walked with you.

You went freelance. He went back to focusing full-time on Smosh. You thought that chapter of your life — game dev, dreams, building something bigger than yourselves — was over. You told yourself it was okay. That you’d survive.

But you didn’t expect the silence that came after.

You spent six weeks curled up with your laptop in a mountain of takeout containers, promising yourself you’d bounce back, that you’d build again. Instead, you started editing freelance, grabbing whatever work you could just to keep moving. Coding felt too raw. Too close.

And then an old friend texted you.

Alex Tran: Hey! Random idea. Want to come edit for us a bit? We need someone nerdy enough to get the Skyrim joke and fast enough to cut out Shayne’s fart soundboard.”

You: Are those separate qualifications?

Alex Tran: Nope. Same job, same person. And we’d like it to be you.

You thought it would be temporary. Just a few weeks of freelance work, maybe a couple of game-themed sketches. You didn’t expect to fall in love with the weird, chaotic brilliance of the Smosh crew. Or to find a second creative home in a room full of green screens, snacks, and too many rubber chickens.

You especially didn’t expect Spencer. Again.

He was quieter at Smosh. More sardonic, a little more guarded than the boy who used to send you playlists for your late-night coding sessions. But when he saw you in the breakroom with your eyes wide, fingers stained with hot Cheetos dust, and explaining the probability matrix you used to randomize enemy behavior in your old game, he smiled.

He hadn’t forgotten.

Neither had you.

You picked up right where you left off. Bickering over color grading. Sharing playlists. Syncing B-roll and giggling at outtakes until 2 a.m. You started eating lunch together, editing side-by-side, quietly rebuilding something that had never truly broken.

He saw you. That part still scared you.

Because you were always the quirky one. The one with snort-laughs and messy desks and Star Wars socks. You wore your weirdness like armor and your brilliance like a joke. Smart enough to break a game engine in a day, and soft enough to cry at the title screen music.

But Spencer never made you feel like too much.

He made you feel like enough.

Over time, “you’re fun to edit with” turned into “want to get dinner?” and then into long nights at his place, curled up with controllers and Chinese takeout. He didn’t care that you’d stepped back from the industry. He never treated it like a failure. In fact, whenever you got that itch, that hunger to build something again, he’d just tilt his head and say:

“I can’t wait to see what you make next.”

And that’s when the idea hit.

Not a game for money.

Not a game for reviews or awards or Reddit threads full of half-accurate theories.

But a game for him.

For the boy who helped you build a world out of pixels and code.

For the man who watched you crash, reboot, and rebuild with all the love in the world.

For the only player who ever really understood the rules of your heart.

You weren’t just going to tell him you loved him.

You were going to code it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Smosh Games office was alive with that specific kind of chaotic energy that only hit on shoot days and special streams.

Cameras were being positioned. Audio levels were getting checked. Lighting gels swapped out. You sat criss-cross on the floor beside the couch, laptop in your lap, pretending to tweak a plugin while secretly double-checking (for the seventeenth time) that the custom cutscenes in your game wouldn’t crash mid-stream.

“You good?” Courtney called from the snack table, cracking open a fizzy water. “You look like you’re gonna throw up or propose to someone.”

You didn’t even look up. “Yes.”

Across the room, Spencer adjusted his headset with a confused squint. “Which one?”

You smiled. “Guess.”

He blinked. “…Wait, what?”

Your heart thudded in your throat, but you just shrugged innocently. “Nothing, cinnamon!” And Spencer didn’t think any more of it.

Today was technically a work stream, a special feature on the Smosh Games channel titled “Spencer Plays a Game Made Just for Him.” The idea had started as a half-joke, pitched during a brainstorming meeting when someone asked what anniversary content might look like.

What no one else knew, not even Spencer, was that you’d spent months crafting the perfect game behind the scenes. A silly, sweet, emotionally explosive side-scroller designed specifically for him. To celebrate your years together. To relive it all. To ask a question you hadn’t been brave enough to ask out loud.

Until now.

Spencer took a seat on the main gaming chair, hoodie rolled to his elbows, sleeves slightly wrinkled from a full day of filming. You settled beside him, noticeably quieter than usual.

Spencer took a seat on the main gaming couch, flannel rolled to his elbows, sleeves slightly wrinkled from a full day of filming. You settled beside him, noticeably quieter than usual.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured under his breath, mic still muted.

You nodded too fast. “Totally fine. Just a little nervous, cinnamon.”

“I’ve seen you handle live crash bugs with one eye closed and a donut in your hand.”

“This is different.”

He looked at you curiously but didn’t press.

From behind the camera, Alex waved two fingers and counted them down. “And we are live in three… two…”

Spencer’s mic clicked on just as the title card splashed across the monitor behind him.

🔴 LIVE: SPENCER PLAYS A GAME MADE JUST FOR HIM: Anniversary Stream · Smosh Games Channel · Sponsored by Emotional Damage

The chat exploded instantly.

— OMGGGGGGG

— She MADE him a WHOLE GAME????

— I would literally combust if someone did this for me😭

— THEY’RE SO STUPID IN LOVE I CAN’T

— I HOPE HE CRIES

“Hey, guys,” Spencer greeted, lifting a hand in mock calm. “Welcome to our totally normal, definitely low-stakes stream. I’m here with my brilliant and mildly terrifying partner, who apparently built an entire game from scratch just so I’d play it on camera and embarrass myself.”

You waved awkwardly at the chat cam. “Hi.”

“She’s being modest,” Shayne’s voice piped in from off-screen, already halfway into a La Croix. “I’ve seenlike three seconds of it and it’s unreal.”

Courtney leaned into frame with a conspiratorial smirk. “I’ve cried twice already and I haven’t even touched a controller.”

“I’m so scared,” Spencer said flatly, eyes darting between you and the screen. “Anyway, it’s our anniversary today—”

— AWWWWWW💕💕

— I KNEW IT

— FOUR YEARS STRONG BABYYYY

— If he doesn’t propose by the end of this I’m suing

Spencer laughed. “We’ve been dating a while. This is probably the longest build-up to a game release I’ve ever experienced.”

“I’m a perfectionist,” you muttered under your breath.

Spencer looked at you sideways. “You delayed this stream twice because you wanted the menu animation to ‘feel more emotionally resonant.’”

“That animation is doing heavy narrative lifting, thank you.”

He rolled his eyes, fond. “Alright, let’s boot this up.”

You plugged in the USB yourself, fingers trembling slightly, and watched as the screen flickered black. The game launched without a hitch, thank goodness, and a cascade of pixelated gold hearts and soft 16-bit music filled the monitors.

A retro-style title screen blinked to life:

QUEST FOR THE CINNAMON HEART💘

Press Start to Begin

Pixel-Spencer stood in the middle of the screen in all his tiny, hoodie-wearing glory. The background looked suspiciously like the Smosh studio.

Spencer leaned in. “Wait. You animated my stupid little walk?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. “Accurately, might I add.”

— QUEST FOR THE CINNAMON HEART I’M GONE💀

— IT’S PIXEL HIM. PIXEL SPENCER.

— I would die for tiny hoodie Spencer

— STOP CINNAMON IS HER NICKNAME FOR HIM🥹

Spencer squinted at the text. “This is the most ominously romantic title screen I’ve ever seen.”

“Press start,” you whispered.

He did.

The screen went dark.

Then soft, pixelated piano notes trickled in, a simple melody which was almost lullaby-like. Warm tones bloomed into view: a small, animated storybook flipping open across the screen.

Once upon a time, in a world full of chaos and crash logs…

A pixel-art cutscene began, gently animated like an 8-bit fairytale.

…there was a programmer. Brilliant. Kind. Goofy as hell.

She built worlds for other people to explore… but rarely let anyone into her own.

On-screen, a tiny pixel version of you sat cross-legged in a glowing cave of code. Glitches flickered at the edges, little pixel storms of doubt and burnout. The sprite curled inward, eyes downcast, barely visible beneath the twinkling lines of code floating above her head.

Then a second sprite appeared.

Until one day, a boy walked in.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t ask to change her world. He just wanted to see it.

Pixel-Spencer entered the cave, in his tiny hoodie and nervous posture, holding a heart-shaped lantern. He didn’t speak. He just sat beside the other sprite, offering his light.

Together, they started building. Not just games. Not just stories.

Something else. Something quieter. Softer. Real.

The music swelled gently.

But even good code breaks sometimes.

The sprites stood in front of a massive glitch wall, a looming tower of red errors and broken platforms. They tried to climb it together. Failed. Tried again. A storm of pixel rain fell around them.

But they never let go.

This is their story.

The journey they’ve already taken… and the one that’s still ahead. Every memory. Every restart. Every choice that led to now.

The camera slowly zoomed out on the two sprites, now holding hands, as they stepped forward toward a glowing door marked Begin.

The text shimmered one last time.

Welcome to the Quest for the Cinnamon Heart.

Press any key to begin.

The room was silent.

Spencer hadn’t said a word.

You could feel his breath hitch beside you. His hand twitched near the keyboard, hovering like he needed a second to absorb it.

Behind the camera everyone had gone still.

The chat had frozen in reverence.

— …oh

— I wasn’t ready

— WHO GAVE HER THE RIGHT

— I just started crying and I don’t know why

— I would die for both of them

Spencer cleared his throat. “Okay. I’m already emotionally compromised and I haven’t even moved yet.”

You smiled, heart hammering. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

He turned to you, and for a second, a full unfiltered second, he looked at you like he knew. Like he didn’t have the words yet, but something in him had caught a flicker of what was coming.

But then he smirked.

“Let’s do this.”

He pressed a key.

The game shifted.

The screen blinked into a lovingly rendered pixel version of the Smosh office, complete with crooked lighting rigs, Courtney’s coffee cup on a desk, and a cardboard cutout of Damien with googly eyes.

Pixel-Spencer stood in the lobby, blinking up at a glowing prompt:

LEVEL ONE: THE FIRST GLITCH 👾

OBJECTIVE: Find the New Editor

Tip: She has a sharp tongue and good taste in sci-fi.

Spencer squinted. “This already feels targeted.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

He moved his sprite around the space, clicking on various coworkers:

🧔‍♂️ Pixel-Shayne: “She’s in the edit bay. Try not to fall in love this time.”

👱‍♀️ Pixel-Courtney: “She already renamed one of your files something passive aggressive. You’re in danger.”

🧑‍🦳 Pixel-Damien: “Why are you sweating? Oh god, is this feelings?”

The chat was eating it up:

— PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE FILE NAMES I’M SCREAMING 🤣

— this is 100% real lore

— why is this game calling him OUT like this

— the dialogue is too good wtf she’s a genius 🙌

Finally, Spencer found her (you) tucked away in a tiny edit bay, headphones on, surrounded by glowing monitors.

Pixel-You looked up.

“You must be the guy who thinks he’s funny.”

[OPTIONS: FLIRT | PANIC | HAND OVER DRIVE]

Spencer groaned. “Oh come on.”

“Choose wisely,” you said.

He grinned and selected PANIC.

His sprite immediately dropped the hard drive and fell over. Pixel-You laughed and picked it up.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to roast you properly. Let’s do this.”

The level ended with both sprites sitting back-to-back at desks, screens glowing, a heart meter flickering quietly in the top corner.

The level ended with a soft chime and a fade to black, the pixel-heart in the corner pulsing slowly. The words “Level Complete” shimmered across the screen in bold gold letters. A tiny sprite of Spencer raised his fist triumphantly, even as real-world Spencer leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the screen.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

You could feel the air shift.

The studio had grown quieter too, as if everyone, even the crew behind the cameras, knew this stream was turning into something else. Something more than just a goofy anniversary bit.

Spencer’s eyes flicked toward you.

“You… remembered all of that,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “Of course I did.”

A long pause. He looked like he was about to say something, something bigger, but then Shayne shouted from behind the camera, “IS THAT DAMIEN’S ACTUAL GOOGLY EYE CUTOUT?!”

You both broke into laughter, the moment cracking like glass underfoot.

Spencer shook his head, smiling down at the keyboard.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, half to himself.

You leaned forward, chin on his shoulder. “You haven’t even seen the boss fight yet.”

He tilted his head just enough to nudge his temple against yours, a small, quiet thank-you disguised as a gesture.

And then the screen shifted.

A flickering globe icon appeared.

Lightning crackled in pixel form. A choppy, 8-bit remix of a romantic theme underscored the stage, glitchy and distorted like an old VHS.

LEVEL TWO: BUFFERING LOVE 😍

OBJECTIVE: Stay connected across time zones, bad Wi-Fi, and international SIM card meltdowns.

Spencer burst out laughing. “Oh my god. It’s long-distance mode.”

You grinned. “Boss level Wi-Fi trauma.”

His sprite stood on the left of the screen. Pixel-You appeared on the right, backpack slung over one shoulder, coffee in hand, standing in front of a blinking router.

Between them: a broken, crumbling path of platforms, text bubbles, missed calls, lag symbols, and static clouds.

Tip: Connection is not guaranteed. Try anyway.

The chat blew up again.

— STOP THIS IS TOO REAL

— someone give her a writing award

— I once watched that Smosh Games stream where Spencer froze mid-sentence and she texted to say he looked like a concerned goat 🐐

— THIS IS CANON

— this is ACTUALLY beautiful, I’m not joking

Spencer started jumping from platform to platform, dodging:

Floating “Poor Connection” alerts

Flying Wi-Fi ghosts

Glitch walls labeled “Mismatched Time Zones”

A rapidly spinning dial that read “She fell asleep mid call”

“Oh my god, I forgot about that one night where you passed out mid-FaceTime with your laptop open on your chest.”

You covered your face. “I was jetlagged!”

Halfway through, he hit a new mechanic, a Text Message Puzzle, where Pixel-Spencer had to unscramble pre-written phrases to restore the connection:

“Goodnight from here”

“Wish you were closer”

“Still thinking about you”

“Don’t forget to eat”

He matched each correctly.

The connection bar filled.

Your sprite flickered in fully.

Pixel-You ran forward across the screen and collided with Pixel-Spencer just as the stormy backdrop softened into sunrise. They hugged.

The music swelled into a brighter, warmer version of the glitched love theme.

“Some connections take work. But they’re worth it.”

Spencer didn’t say anything this time.

He just stared at the screen, blinking a little too much.

You quietly bumped his foot with yours. “Still with me?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat.

Then, still looking at the screen:

“…You built all of this for me.”

Your smile was soft now. “Took me three years to find the right engine for the hug mechanic.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes wet. “Of course it did.”

The heart in the top corner pulsed again, just a little brighter than before.

Level Two faded out with soft pixel sparkles and the words “Level Complete” drifting up the screen.

The studio didn’t erupt like it usually did after a successful gameplay segment. There was no bit, no gag, no Shayne screaming from behind the lights.

Just a still, quiet sort of hush.

Spencer leaned back slightly in his chair, a hand coming up to rub at the corner of his eye. Not dramatic, not for show, just reflexive. You sat a little straighter beside him, watching.

Courtney was the first to break the silence. Their voice came through from off-screen, softer than usual.

“Hey… I know we joke a lot but, uh… this is beautiful. Like, actually beautiful.”

Alex nodded from behind the camera. “This is gonna break the internet in the nicest possible way.”

Shayne whispered, far too loud, “If no one proposes by the end of this I’m walking into traffic.”

Spencer snorted, wiping his hand down his face. “Please don’t.”

— I love that everyone just went silent for that

— you know a moment hits when SMOSH goes quiet

— spencer’s eyes are glassy do NOT pan away👀

— she really made a therapy game and handed it to him on their anniversary

— BEST STREAM OF ALL TIME

You reached over, gently bumped your knee against his again. “Wanna take a break, cinnamon ?”

Spencer shook his head once. “Not yet.”

And then he hit continue.

The screen turned dark.

The music changed — stripped down now, a lo-fi piano melody underlined with static and distant echoes, like a song trying to play through a broken speaker.

The level title hovered:

LEVEL THREE: THE BREAKPOINT 💔

OBJECTIVE: Remember what we almost lost.

Spencer exhaled.

“Oh.”

Pixel-Spencer appeared alone, standing in the middle of a rainy pixel city street. Lights blinked in the background. Cars drove by in silence. Every few seconds, thunder rolled in faint flashes.

The sprite didn’t move at first.

The player couldn’t make him.

Instead, text slowly filled the screen, line by line, fragments of a fight.

“You’re not listening.”

“I am listening, you’re just not saying anything real.”

“I can’t do this tonight.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have to.”

Spencer swallowed thickly.

The character finally moved, but only at a slow walk. As he made his way across the side-scrolling city, bits of memory appeared in windows, lit like silent cutscenes:

A flash of you curled up on the couch crying.

Spencer pacing with a phone pressed to his temple.

A text bubble reading “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.”

The pixel heart in the corner? Cracked.

You said nothing.

The room said nothing.

Only the chat filled in the silence:

— this one hurts😔

— oh god this is the fight isn’t it

— she turned their lowest point into a game level??

— art. this is ART.

— how did she make sadness feel this beautiful

Spencer’s sprite stopped at a train station. A pop-up message appeared:

You can leave now.

[OPTIONS: STAY | GO]

He hovered.

You could feel the hesitation in him, both on screen and beside you. He didn’t want to get it wrong.

Spencer selected STAY.

The sprite turned around.

The music shifted. Same melody, but warmer, rising through the static like sunrise breaking through fog. As Pixel-Spencer retraced his steps, bits of color returned to the city around him. Faint light in the windows. People walking. Tiny sprouting plants on the sidewalk.

He returned to the apartment.

Pixel-You opened the door.

They stood in silence.

Then, slowly, they reached for each other’s hands.

“We didn’t fix everything that night.”

“But we chose each other anyway.”

The cracked pixel heart pulsed once… then slowly mended.

Level Complete.

Spencer sat perfectly still.

His fingers weren’t even on the keyboard anymore.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

He finally turned, voice a little rough. “You remembered all of it. Not just the good.”

You met his eyes. “It wouldn’t be us if I didn’t.”

He nodded.

And then: “Thank you.”

The quiet in the studio deepened. Not awkward, not heavy. Just full. A breath held between beats. The moment right before something gives.

— I’m actually crying what is this😭

— I’ve never felt so emotionally invested in a relationship I’m not even in

— marry her immediately. I’m serious😠

— the narrative design of this game is UNREAL

— Spencer MARRY HER

Then the screen flashed:

Next Level: Pizza Nights & Patch Notes🍕

Press Any Key to Continue

Spencer blinked. Laughed quietly.

“Okay,” he said, voice lighter but still thick with feeling. “I’m emotionally destroyed, and we’re only halfway through.”

You just smiled.

Spencer pressed a key, and the screen faded from black into something softer.

The piano theme from the last level lingered, but now it was lighter, tinged with acoustic guitar and the occasional, playful pluck of strings.

Onscreen, a pixel version of your shared apartment blinked into view.

It was rendered with quiet reverence. There was a pixel couch with a rainbow quilt tossed over the back, a laundry basket half-full in the corner, an open pizza box on the coffee table, a cat curled up on a stack of game discs. Everything glowed faintly, like golden hour through digital glass.

At the top of the screen, the level title appeared:

LEVEL FOUR: PIZZA NIGHTS & PATCH NOTES🍕

OBJECTIVE: Build a home, one night at a time.

Spencer made a soft sound in his throat, not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh.

His sprite appeared at the front door. Pixel-You padded out from the kitchen, hair messy, a controller in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other.

You offered it to him.

He accepted.

— THEY’RE COHABITING IN PIXELS I’M SOBBING

— this is the romcom montage level and I love it

— not the laundry basket 😭 the DETAIL

— she made a whole love letter out of GAME MECHANICS

The level played differently than the others. It was less linear and more exploratory.

Spencer moved from room to room in the apartment, clicking on different interactive elements that triggered cozy memories.

The Couch 🛋️

A cutscene played of the two of you curled up, half-asleep while the TV played something neither of you were really watching. Pixel-You mumbled something like “I’d fight a dragon for you.” Pixel-Spencer replied, “I’d let you. You’re scarier.”

The Kitchen Counter 🍕

A mini-game launched where Spencer had to build a pizza to match your ridiculous order — half mushroom, no olives, extra cheese, crust well-done. Each incorrect topping triggered a disapproving head shake from Pixel-You.

The Computer Desk 💻

The screen shifted into a debugging mini-puzzle where both sprites worked side-by-side, fixing game code and bickering flirtatiously:

“You missed a semicolon.”

“You’re a semicolon.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—”

“It’s the tone that matters.”

The Bedroom 🛏️

A quieter moment. Just two sprites sitting on the floor, backs against the bed, looking at a laptop between them.

A single line hovered:

“We’re allowed to be happy, you know.”

As Spencer moved through the space, the pixel heart meter in the corner filled with tiny bursts of color.

The chat, which had been full of weeping moments ago, was now unhinged in the most wholesome way:

— THIS IS DOMESTIC HEALING ❤️‍🩹

— I would die for pixel game night

— the semicolon line got me I’m DONE

— if this was a real game I’d play it once a month just to feel something

— this is what love looks like. she built what love looks like 🥹

Spencer reached the final door of the level, the exit to the hallway, and paused.

“Wait,” he said slowly. “There’s no boss fight?”

“Nope.”

He blinked at you.

You shrugged. “Not every level needs one.”

Spencer stared at the screen for a long moment, and then back at you. Something unsaid flickered behind his eyes.

“I love this level,” he said, voice low and warm.

You smiled. “Me too.”

He pressed a key.

Sometimes, love is just pizza and patch notes and showing up again tomorrow.

Level Complete.

The screen faded, and the studio lights buzzed softly in the quiet between scenes. Spencer turned in his seat and looked at you, really looked at you.

“You made our life into something playable,” he murmured.

You felt your throat tighten. “Is that… weird?”

He shook his head. “It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The chat was losing its mind again, but you hardly saw it.

Everything felt soft. Golden. Fragile in the best way, like something you didn’t want to breathe on too hard in case it shattered.

Behind the camera, someone sniffled.

Courtney whispered, “If you don’t marry her by the end of this stream, I will.”

Spencer gave a watery laugh. “You might have to fight me for her.”

And with that, the screen blinked again.

The next title card hovered into view:

Next Level: Meeting the Parents (And Surviving It) 🧍🧍‍♀️

Optional Side Quest: Impress Her Dad With Trivia

Spencer groaned.

“Oh no.”

The screen flashed.

A new level title appeared. This time scrawled across the top in bold, pixel-font red, with a dramatic orchestral sting that was definitely too intense for the context.

LEVEL FIVE: MEETING THE PARENTS (AND SURVIVING IT) 🧍🧍‍♀️

OBJECTIVE: Don't say anything weird.

Spencer groaned. “I already hate this.”

You grinned beside him. “This was your actual dialogue the night before.”

The scene opened in a pixel version of a suburban home, the familiar layout replicated with lovingly specific detail. A porch with potted plants. A welcome mat that said “NO SOLICITING (unless it’s for dessert).” A digital family photo over the mantle featuring a pixel-you in braces and a comically large cat.

— PLEASE. NOT THE MAT. — no because I bet her mom actually has that💅 — that cat is photorealistic someone check on her — “don’t say anything weird” LMAO so this level is impossible

Pixel-Spencer stood at the front gate, facing a blinking objective box:

Find a way into her parents’ hearts. Warning: There is no respawn button.

The level kicked off with a split-objective structure:

Main Quest: Survive dinner with her parents

Side Quests:

🟩 Compliment her mom’s lasagna   🟨 Avoid political traps   🟪 Pretend to understand sports   🟧 Impress her dad with trivia

Spencer winced. “I’m gonna die.”

“Be careful,” you said. “There’s a passive-aggressive silence meter.”

He moved cautiously through the entryway, triggering interactions:

👩‍🦰 Pixel-Mom:

“So… you make internet videos?” [OPTIONS: Say yes proudly | Downplay it | Deflect to your girlfriend]

He chose: Say yes proudly. Pixel-Mom nodded, then added, “Hmm. So… no pension?”

“Oh my god,” Spencer muttered. “That’s exactly what she said.”

You cackled.

🧓 Pixel-Dad:

“What’s your opinion on The Godfather trilogy?” [OPTIONS: Say Part II is best | Say Part I is best | Say you’ve never seen it]

Spencer hovered over “Never seen it.”

You grabbed his wrist.

He gasped. “YOU PUT A TRAP IN.”

“YOU NEVER SAW IT. I HAD TO WARN YOU.”

"I DID RIGHT AFTER THIS!"

He panicked, selected Part II is best.

Pixel-Dad nodded slowly. A +1 floated above his head.

Spencer threw his hands up. “Let’s goooo!”

— the GODFATHER TRAP I’M CRYING — she built a BOSS DAD and gave him OPINIONS — no because this is actually genius game design — HOW DO I PLAY THIS IRL — SPENCER NOT SEEING A MOVIE?! AND IT BEING THE GODFATHER?!😡

In the dining room, the dinner scene was a rhythm mini-game. Spencer had to match dialogue beats and deliver compliments at appropriate times to keep the family’s heart meter from dropping.

It included such iconic moments as:

“Wow, this salad is seasoned perfectly.”

“Your garden gnome collection is charming and not creepy.”

“My daughter talks about you all the time. She adores you.”

The last line caused a spark animation. The pixel heart in the corner glowed golden, and a small cutscene triggered:

Pixel-You reached under the table and squeezed Pixel-Spencer’s hand.

“You’re doing great.”

Back in the studio, Spencer’s hand had gone still on the mouse. He stared at the screen a moment longer than necessary, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

“I was so nervous that night,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you murmured. “But you were perfect.”

“Your dad asked me about six different baseball stats and then grilled me on what I’d do if you got a better job across the country.”

“I warned you he was dramatic.”

Spencer chuckled. “He said if I ever broke your heart, he’d do it backwards and with flair.”

“He meant it.”

— I WANT TO MEET HER DAD SO BAD — backwards and with flair 😭 this is the dad of the year — this game is a romcom AND a coming-of-age journey I’m not okay — someone give this woman a job directing emotional indie games immediately — THEY’RE LITERALLY SO IN LOVE STOP

The level ended with the two pixel sprites on the front porch.

Pixel-Dad handed Pixel-Spencer a Tupperware of leftovers and gave a solemn nod.

Pixel-Mom smiled gently and said, “You make her laugh. That’s good.”

The heart meter burst into sparkles.

Love is earned one awkward dinner at a time.

Level Complete.

Spencer leaned back in his chair with a hand over his heart.

“That was somehow more stressful the second time.”

You tilted your head. “You did better this time. You didn’t call my uncle’s dog a ‘tax deduction.’”

“I STAND BY THAT. HE FILED THE DOG UNDER BUSINESS EXPENSES.”

You both burst into laughter as the next level title appeared onscreen:

Next Level: “Couch Cuddles & Code Reviews” 🛋️ Objective: Support her through the burnout. Bonus XP for forehead kisses.

Spencer stared at it, then turned to you slowly.

“Oh. It’s that level, huh?”

You only smiled.

The title card for the next level hovered onscreen, but Spencer didn’t hit continue right away.

The studio had mellowed, the usual Smosh buzz giving way to something quieter. Shayne had long stopped throwing in commentary. Courtney now sat cross-legged on the floor beside the camera rig, watching with chin in hand. Alex had pulled out his phone, not to scroll, but to film the moment, like even he didn’t want to forget it.

Spencer reached up and tugged lightly at the cable on his headset, adjusting it out of habit. His other hand hovered uncertainly near his lap until you gently reached over and laced your fingers through his.

He held on like he needed the anchor.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice low, off-mic.

He looked at you, really looked, and gave a small nod.

“Yeah. I’m just…” He exhaled, almost laughed. “This is the best and most emotionally compromising workday I’ve ever had.”

You smiled. “You’ve survived worse and have inflicted worse. You’ve got this, cinnamon.”

A soft beat.

He squeezed your hand once. “Thank you for making me a whole damn game instead of just writing me a card like a normal person.”

“I tried that,” you said. “It turned into a game design doc after paragraph three.”

He let out a breath of laughter and leaned just enough to rest his shoulder against yours for a second. Just one second. Just long enough to say I love you without saying anything at all.

And then, he pressed the key.

The screen glowed soft orange, sunset hues melting into lavender pixels.

The apartment was back. But this time, it wasn’t lively or buzzing with banter. It was quiet. Still. Cozy in a different way.

The couch sat in the middle of the screen. Blankets piled high. A mug on the side table. One lamp on, casting golden pixel light across the scene.

Pixel-Spencer entered from the right.

Pixel-You was already there, curled up under a blanket, laptop on your knees, expression tired. A progress bar hovered above your head, labeled:

Burnout Level: 87%

— NO — I’M ALREADY CRYING 😭 — THIS LEVEL IS TOO REAL TOO FAST — WHO PUT THE BURNOUT METER — why is this better emotional writing than most movies

Spencer’s hand paused briefly on the mouse.

You didn’t look at him, you didn’t need to.

He clicked forward.

The screen prompted him to Choose a Support Response:

Offer Hot Drink

Suggest a Break

Sit Beside Her in Silence

Tell Her She's Brilliant

He chose Sit Beside Her in Silence.

His sprite sat down.

No music. Just the ambient loop of soft rain on the windows and the occasional keyboard tap.

Then Pixel-Spencer leaned gently against Pixel-You.

A new prompt appeared:

Unlocked Passive Buff: Comforting Presence Burnout Level -10%

Spencer laughed quietly. “That’s… weirdly accurate.”

You shrugged, heart full. “You always knew when to just sit with me.”

The level continued with small interactions. Spencer had to navigate subtle “burnout care” mechanics:

🫖 Boil water without setting off smoke alarm 🧺 Find her hoodie (that’s really yours) in the laundry and bring it over 🎮 Offer co-op game night without guilt-tripping 🧠 Remind her of her worth, even when she can’t see it

Each successful action brought your burnout meter down by small increments.

Every once in a while, Pixel-You would look over and smile.

And the heart in the top corner?

It pulsed slow and steady, like breath. Like safety.

At the end of the level, the laptop closed. Pixel-You set it aside. Then curled into Pixel-Spencer’s side on the couch.

The screen zoomed in.

A final bit of dialogue scrolled across the screen:

“You didn’t fix me.” “I didn’t need to.”

Sometimes love is just staying. Just sitting. Just being soft when the world is sharp.

Level Complete.

Spencer swallowed.

He didn’t say anything this time.

He just turned slightly and rested his forehead against your shoulder for a long, steady moment.

The chat lit up again, but neither of you looked.

— THIS IS THE REAL BOSS LEVEL — why is this game slowly putting me back together — they’ve been in love for SO LONG oh my god — I never believed in soulmates until now — he better marry her at the end or we riot

The screen shimmered again.

Next Level: Final Quest – The Big Question❓ The Endgame Begins.

Spencer whispered, “Is this…”

You just smiled, heart racing.

“Go see.”

The studio was silent again. No chaos, no offscreen bits, no commentary.

Just a quiet sort of reverence hanging over everything.

Spencer hadn’t pressed the key yet.

He stared at the new title card on screen. He exhaled slowly, fingers resting just above the keyboard.

You could feel the shift in him.

His expression had changed, softened. That boyish smirk he wore like a shield had cracked somewhere between Level 3 and Level 6, and now something much more vulnerable had taken its place.

His hand lowered.

He turned to you.

“…Is this what I think it is?” he asked softly.

Your mouth went dry.

You nodded, barely.

Spencer’s eyes searched your face for a second, not for confirmation. For readiness. For permission to let himself feel what was coming.

You gave it with a whisper.

“Yeah.”

He looked back at the screen.

Then smiled.

And pressed Enter.

The screen faded in.

This time, there was no UI. No heart meter. No objectives.

Just the pixel moon above a quiet rooftop.

It was stylized to look like the roof of your apartment complex, all crooked vents and string lights and a skyline painted in soft purples and deep navy.

Pixel-Spencer stood alone in the middle of the rooftop, looking out over the city.

Footsteps echoed.

Pixel-You entered from the right, nervous and bouncing slightly on your heels.

The music started.

It wasn’t chip-tune anymore.

It was a real recording, the melody you’d been weaving through the game, now arranged for piano and strings. The theme that had played under every level, now in its final form.

You watched Spencer’s jaw tighten slightly.

He knew it.

The sprites turned to face each other.

A prompt appeared on screen:

FINAL CHOICE: PRESS [E] TO KNEEL

Spencer froze.

The chat erupted:

— OH MY GOD — SHE’S GONNA DO IT — SHE BUILT HER OWN PROPOSAL — SPENCER DON’T CRY I’M NOT STRONG ENOUGH — PRESS E KING 👑

Spencer reached forward, almost reverent.

He hit E.

Pixel-Spencer dropped to one knee. Pixel-You stepped forward, holding out a small, glowing ring.

A text box opened. No options, no dialogue trees.

Just the line:

Spencer Agnew, will you marry me?

Onscreen the music swelled, rich and full and cinematic.

And just then — as Spencer’s hand lifted to his mouth in real life, as the chat exploded in all caps, as the cameras quietly zoomed in — you stood up beside him.

And pulled the ring box from your hoodie pocket.

You dropped to one knee in front of him, heart pounding.

He turned to you, startled and blinking fast.

“Spence,” you said, your voice barely holding steady, “you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re my favorite story, my best player two, the only person I’d ever let see my unfinished builds.”

He laughed, all choked and overwhelmed.

You opened the box.

Inside: a simple, elegant band engraved with tiny binary code that read forever.

“I’ve loved you through crash bugs and pizza burns and creative burnout and weird edit hours and every version of myself,” you said. “So… I made this. Because there was never any other way I wanted to ask.”

You smiled up at him.

“Will you marry me?”

Spencer let out a sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, and dropped to his knees with you.

He pulled you into a hug so hard you nearly lost your balance.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Yes. Yes. Of course.”

The chat was losing its mind:

— I’M CRYING ON THE FLOOR — THIS IS THE BEST STREAM OF ALL TIME — THE GAME. THE RING. THE PROPOSAL. — HE SAID YES HE SAID YES HE SAID YES — GOD TIER COUPLE — ROLL CREDITS

The final cutscene played quietly behind you, unnoticed by most:

Pixel-Spencer and Pixel-You stood on the rooftop.

The words faded in:

“You were always the quest.”

And beneath that:

Game Complete. 💍 Thank you for playing.

The stream was technically still live.

But no one was watching the screen anymore. Not even the chat, which had broken into an endless flood of crying emojis, marriage memes, and declarations like “this is why I still believe in love.”

Spencer had long since turned off his headset.

The studio crew had given you both space — stepping back with misty eyes and wide, stunned grins, as if they’d witnessed something sacred.

You were still kneeling, forehead against Spencer’s, both of you laughing breathlessly through the aftershock of what had just happened.

Then you heard it.

The credits music.

Soft. Real. Yours.

You pulled back just enough to look up at the screen.

The final scene had faded into a black background with golden scrolling text in the classic game credit style, but written entirely in your voice.

CREATED WITH LOVE BY: Me FOR: Spencer Agnew SPECIAL THANKS TO: — Your incredible hoodies — Every cup of oat milk coffee — The way you hold me when I crash — Every eye roll you tried to hide when I over-scoped the narrative DEDICATED TO: The boy who saw my mess and called it magic. The man who chose me. Bugs, burnout, soft code and all. TO BE CONTINUED…

Spencer blinked hard.

He reached over and tugged you gently into his lap on the floor, your knees curled sideways, his arms around your waist like he couldn’t quite trust the moment to last unless he held onto it.

You rested your head on his shoulder, heart full and aching in the best way.

“I don’t know how to top this,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

“I mean, I will try,” he added. “There will be at least five bouquets and a surprise musical number at our wedding featuring Chanse and Angela.”

You smiled. “As long as you’re in a cape.”

“Oh, I will be in a cape.”

He kissed your temple. “I can’t believe you made a whole damn game just to ask me to marry you.”

“I’d do it again,” you said, eyes soft. “A hundred times.”

And Spencer, voice quiet but sure, said:

“Then let’s build the sequel.”

The game credits faded out behind you.

The screen blinked once.

And then, in soft gold text: