Hawke

     The day you left, the sky felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. “They said I have to go,” you muttered, avoiding her eyes. Robin held her book a little tighter. “…Where?” You lowered your head. “To my uncle's. He's going to make me into a Marine” Silence followed. You fumbled in your pocket. “…I made something.” You held them out—two simple bracelets, woven carefully by hand. “They match,” you said quickly. “So you don’t forget me.” Robin stared at them. Then at you. “I won’t forget,” she said. You laughed softly. “…Good. Because—” You hesitated, then blurted it out anyway. “If we meet again, I’ll marry you.” Robin blinked. “…That’s a strange promise.” You shrugged, cheeks warm. “Yeah, well. You’re the only one I like here.” A pause. Then, slowly, Robin slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. “…Then I suppose I’ll have to remember.”

     The island was chaos. “Marines!” Usopp shouted. The crew scattered instantly. Robin stayed calm, of course. Until she saw you. You stood across the square, clad in a Marine uniform, unmoving amidst the noise. Your eyes met. And something in your chest stopped. “…Robin.” The name slipped out before you could stop it. She frowned slightly. She didn’t recognize you. Of course she didn’t. 

     You had imagined this moment a thousand times. She would remember. She would smile. She would—She didn’t. And it hurt more than you expected. “…You need to leave,” you said, voice low. She didn’t move. “…You’re a Marine.” You almost laughed. “…Yeah. Funny how that worked out.” Shouts echoed behind you, other Marines were closing in. You made your choice. “…Go,” you said, stepping in front of her. 

     You moved before anyone could question it. “Captain—?!” someone called. “Stand down,” you snapped. They hesitated, just long enough. Lightning-fast, you redirected attention, misled, delayed—anything to give them time. Robin watched. Watched as you protected her. “…Why?” she asked quietly. You didn’t answer. Because if you did—You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

     You got them to the ship. “GO!” you shouted. Luffy didn’t argue, for once. The crew boarded the Sunny as Robin lingered. “…Come with us.” You smiled faintly. “…I can’t.”

     A shot rang out.

     Pain exploded through your side as you staggered. “…Go,” you breathed. This time—She listened.

     You didn’t remember how you got there. Only that everything felt distant. Heavy. “CHOPPER!” someone shouted. Chopper was already moving. “Stay with me!” he said, frantically working to stop the bleeding. Voices blurred. Except one. “…Why did you do that?” Robin. You forced your eyes open. “…You’re… still bad at… asking easy questions…” She stilled.

     Chopper carefully adjusted your arm. And that’s when Robin saw it. A bracelet. Worn and faded, but unmistakable. Her breath caught. “…No…” Memories surfaced. A quiet girl, a promise, a pair of matching threads. Her hand moved instinctively to her own wrist. Still there. Still intact. “…It’s you.” Your lips curved weakly. “…Took you long enough.” Robin stepped closer. Closer than she had all day. “…You remembered.” You let out a quiet breath. “…Of course I did.” A pause. “…You said you would.” Her voice was softer now. “…You didn’t.” You smiled faintly. “…I did.” Your fingers twitched slightly. “…Just… not fast enough.”

     Silence settled, gentler now. Robin reached for your hand carefully. “…You said something else, too.” You blinked slowly. “…Did I?” Her thumb brushed lightly over the bracelet. “…If we met again…” A pause. “…You would marry me.” You huffed weakly. “…Yeah. I did say that.” Robin’s gaze softened. “…Do you still intend to keep that promise?” You met her eyes. Even now, even like this- "...Yeah." You took a breath. “…If you’ll have me.”

     Robin didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to. Her hand tightened slightly around yours. And for the first time since Ohara—She smiled. “…I never took it off.” Your vision blurred. But this time—It wasn’t from pain.

     You didn’t mean to be like this. You knew how you sounded. Cold. Dismissive. It wasn’t intentional, not really. It was just...easier. Especially with her. Because every time you looked at Robin, something in your chest tightened in a way you didn’t understand. So you defaulted; short answers, avoidance, distance. “…You could at least try to be polite,” Nami had muttered once. You had scoffed. “I am.” You weren’t. You knew that. But fixing it? That felt harder.

     Robin didn’t see hesitation. Didn’t see conflict. She saw rejection. You helped everyone else. That was the strange part. She noticed it in pieces. Quietly. Carefully. You fixed Zoro’s swords without being asked—sharpening them with precision, adjusting the grip like you understood exactly what he needed. You lingered in the kitchen with Sanji, not talking much, but offering small suggestions—new spices, different techniques. You listened to Usopp’s stories, actually listened. And Luffy? You never refused him. So why—Why was it only her? 

     It was after a battle. The ship was quieter than usual. Robin had been looking for something, then she saw you, on the deck, alone. You were holding Luffy’s hat. Her eyes narrowed slightly. That wasn’t something anyone touched lightly. She stepped closer, ready to speak. Then...she stopped. You weren’t just holding it. You were fixing it. Carefully. Your fingers moved slowly, gently stitching along a tear at the brim. Your expression was focused, soft, completely different. 

     “…You’ll ruin it if you pull too tight,” you murmured under your breath. Robin didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. She just… watched. Because there it was. The person you actually were.

     After that, she started paying closer attention. Not to your words, but your actions. You left small things behind for people; a repaired strap on Nami's bag, extra portions of food set aside, weapons maintained before anyone asked. You cared, that much was undeniable. So why—Why not her?

     It was late when she found you. The ship was quiet, the lights low. You stood in the small library, surrounded by books, reorganizing them. Not randomly. Carefully. By subject, condition, importance. Robin leaned against the doorway. “…You’ve rearranged them.” You froze. “…They were out of order,” you muttered. She stepped inside, slow and measured. “They were in my system.” You avoided her gaze. “…It’s better now.” Silence stretched. Then—

     “…Why only me?” 

     Your hands stilled. “…What?” Robin’s voice didn’t change. Didn’t rise. “You help everyone else,” she said. “You’re considerate. Attentive.” A pause. “But with me… you’re distant.” Your chest tightened. “…You’re imagining things.” 

     “I’m not.” Of course she wasn’t.

     You turned away. “…It doesn’t matter.” Robin gave you an unamused look. “It does.” Your hands clenched slightly. “…Why do you care?” That was the wrong question. Robin stepped closer. “…Because I want to understand you.” That made your breath catch. “…There’s nothing to understand.” That was a lie, and you both knew it. 

     “…You avoid me,” Robin said quietly. You laughed, sharp and defensive. “Yeah? Maybe I just don’t like you.” The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You were met with silence. Robin didn’t react the way you expected. She didn’t get angry, didn’t pull away. She stepped closer. “…That’s not true.” Your heart stuttered. “…You don’t know that.” Her gaze held yours, steady and certain. “I do.” You looked away. “…You shouldn’t.”

     “…You fixed Luffy’s hat.” Your breath hitched. “You take care of everyone here.” Stop. “You pay attention to details most people overlook.” Stop. “And yet—” She stepped closer. “You can’t look at me without putting distance between us.” Your voice came out tighter than you wanted. “…So what?” A pause. Then, softer, “…Why?” And that—That broke something. “…Because I don’t know how to talk to you, okay?!” The words came out sharper than intended, faster, unfiltered.  You exhaled harshly, running a hand through your hair. “…You’re different.” Robin didn’t move. “…How?” You hesitated. Then— “…You see things.” A beat passed. “…You see me.” And with those words, silence fell. 

     “…And that scares you?” Robin asked gently. You laughed weakly. “…No.” A pause. “…It makes everything worse.” Her expression softened. “…Why?” You looked at her, really looked this time. And that was your mistake. “…Because I—” You stopped. Swallowed. “…Because I don’t know what to do with it.” Robin didn’t interrupt, didn’t push. So you kept going. “…I don’t know how to be… normal about this.” Robin tilted her head slightly. “…About what?” Your voice dropped. “…You.”

     The room felt smaller. Quieter. Robin stepped closer carefully. “…You don’t dislike me.” You huffed softly. “…No.” Robin nodded once. “…You’re avoiding me.” You crossed your arms in response. "...Yeah." “…Because you care.” You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Robin reached out slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. Her fingers brushed yours, light and warm. “…You don’t have to hide it.” You let out a quiet breath. “…I don’t know how not to.” A small pause. Then—

     “…You can start by not pushing me away.” You glanced at her. “…That’s it?” Robin gave you a faint smile. “For now.”

     The kitchen turned into a battlefield. Sanji moved with practiced precision—chopping, sautéing, flames dancing under his control. Everything he did looked effortless. Perfect. You, on the other hand— “…Why are you smiling like that?” Sanji asked cautiously. You glanced up, still mixing something. “No reason.” That was worse. Because your movements were… different. Less rigid, more intuitive. Like you weren’t following a recipe—You were feeling it.

     The table was packed. Not just full—overflowing. Steam curled into the air, rich with butter, citrus, sugar, and something deeper, warmer. Even before anyone sat down, the entire deck of the Going Merry smelled like heaven. “Can we eat now?!” Luffy shouted, already halfway into his seat. “Wait!” Usopp threw his arms out dramatically. “We judge fairly!” Sanji huffed, adjusting his sleeve. “As if there’s any doubt.” You just smiled, wiping a bit of flour from your cheek.

     They started with Sanji’s dishes. Zoro grabbed the first plate—seared steak, glistening under a garlic butter glaze, caramelized onions layered perfectly on top. He took a bite. Paused. “…Damn.” Nami tried the herb-crusted sea bass next. The citrus butter melted instantly on her tongue, bright and smooth and perfectly balanced. Her shoulders dropped. “This is incredible…” Usopp went straight for the seafood risotto. One bite—and he clutched his chest dramatically. “I’ve peaked. This is it. This is my life now.” Sanji lit a cigarette, smirking as praise rolled in. “Of course it is.” 

     “Alright, move,” Luffy said, already reaching past them. “No, wait—!” you started. Too late. He grabbed a piece of your bread first. Soft. Golden. Still warm. He tore it open—Steam puffed out. He took a bite and froze. “…?” Everyone went still. Then— “THIS IS AMAZING!!!”

     Chaos.

     Nami immediately grabbed one for herself. The bread practically melted apart in her hands, impossibly soft, butter seeping into every layer. She took a bite—And her expression changed. Not just impressed. Something softer. “…Why does this taste like…” She trailed off, blinking. Zoro frowned, grabbing a bowl of your stew. Slow-braised. Rich. Deep. He took a bite. Then another. Then paused, staring down at it. “…This is weird.” Usopp leaned over. “Weird how??” Zoro didn’t look up. “…It shouldn’t be better.” 

     It was.

     Every dish of yours hit differently. Not sharper. Not richer. Just—warmer.  Sanji didn’t eat, not yet. He just watched. Watched the way everyone kept going back. The way they lingered on your food. “…Hey,” he muttered. “…What did you do?” You shrugged, smiling. “Nothing special.” That made it worse.

     “DESSERT!” Luffy yelled. Sanji moved first this time. His spread was flawless; glossy fruit tarts, each slice arranged like art, perfectly smooth macarons in soft pastel colours, a chocolate soufflé that rose just right. Nami took a bite of the tart and practically melted. “This is perfect…” Usopp tried a macaron. “I can see my ancestors—” Even Zoro nodded slightly. “…Yeah. That’s good.” Sanji smirked again, confidence fully restored. “Obviously.” Then—You set yours down.

     No dramatic presentation. Just simple plates. Soft cinnamon rolls dripping with icing, a warm chocolate cake, the center just barely holding together, light pastries that looked almost too delicate to touch. “Go ahead,” you said. Luffy didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the chocolate cake and shoved a bite into his mouth. And immediately—Started crying. “IT’S SO GOOD—!!” Everyone froze. “…What?” Nami whispered. Then she tried the cinnamon roll.

     Warm, sweet, soft in a way that felt impossible. Her eyes widened. Then watered. “…Why am I emotional??” Usopp bit into one of the pastries. It dissolved instantly. Light, gone in seconds—But the taste stayed. He dropped to his knees. “I’VE SEEN GOD—” Zoro stared at his plate again. Silent. Processing. “…This is stupid.” 

     Sanji finally moved. He picked up a piece of the cake. Examined it. Perfect texture. Perfect bake. He took a bite. Paused. And for the first time all day— He had no words. “…What.”

     “MORE!” Luffy shouted, already grabbing another. Everyone lunged at once. Plates emptied instantly. Hands scrambling— “HEY, SAVE SOME—!” Too late. A blur shot across the deck. “CHOPPER—?!” Usopp yelled. Chopper had already transformed—Bigger., faster, arms completely full of your desserts. “I’M NOT SHARING!!” he yelled, bolting across the ship. “GET BACK HERE!!” Luffy screamed, chasing him. “THAT’S NOT FAIR!!” Usopp cried, running after them. Nami tried to grab one last roll—missed—and immediately joined the chase. Zoro just sighed and followed. “…Unbelievable.”

     The kitchen was wrecked. The deck was worse. Sanji stood there, staring at the empty plates. Then at you. “…You cheated.” You laughed. “I didn’t.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowed—but not angry. Not really. “…Teach me.” You blinked. “…What?” 

     “I don’t lose twice.”

     A pause. Then, quieter— “…And I want to understand.” You smiled, soft. “…Fine.” His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “But I’m winning next time,” he added quickly. You grinned. “Sure you are.” 

     Across the ship— “CHOPPER STOP RUNNING—!!”

     “NEVER!!”

     After that, it became… a habit. A man who grabbed her writs too tightly? He yelped and dropped instantly. A group whispering too loudly about "demons" and "curses"? A sudden jolt sent them scrambling. A Marine who smirked like he knew something? He didn't smirk for long. The crew noticed, of course. “Hey,” Usopp whispered one afternoon, watching you casually flick your fingers as a low current danced between them. “Isn’t that a bit… extreme?” You shrugged. “They started it.” From across the deck, Nami didn’t even look up. “As long as it doesn’t cost us money, I don’t care.” Robin said nothing. But she watched you.

     There was a line. You just hadn’t crossed it...yet. The island had felt wrong from the start. Too quiet. Too watchful. Robin had insisted on going alone. You had insisted harder. “You don’t need to—”

     “I do.”

     She had paused. Then allowed it. That had been your first clue.

     You weren’t there when it happened. That was the problem. By the time you found her—It was already over. The men were still there. Laughing, talking. Like nothing had happened. And Robin—She stood still. Too still. Her expression was composed. Perfect. Untouched. But her hands—They were trembling. Just slightly. Something in your chest snapped. “…What did they do?” She didn’t answer. That was enough. 

     You moved before they noticed. Before anyone could stop you. Lightning didn’t always come from the sky. Sometimes—It came from you. The first man dropped instantly. No warning. No mercy. The second tried to run. He didn’t get far. The air filled with the sharp, violent crack of electricity, snapping and coiling like something alive. “W-wait—!” You didn’t. Because this wasn’t about disrespect anymore. This was about her. 

     “Stop.” Her voice cut through everything. You froze, electricity still dancing across your skin, breathing uneven, vision sharp with something dangerous. Robin stood behind you, closer than before. “…That’s enough.” You didn’t turn around. “…They hurt you.” A pause. “…Yes.” The word hit harder than anything else. Your fingers twitched. The current surged again. “I can fix that.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Low, quiet, terrifyingly sincere. “I can make them pay.”

     Silence fell. Even the men had stopped moving. Too afraid. Too aware. Robin stepped closer until she was just behind you. “…Look at me.” You hesitated, then turned. Her expression wasn’t afraid. Wasn’t angry. It was something far more dangerous. Understanding. “…Do you know why I didn’t stop them sooner?” You frowned. “…No.” Her gaze softened, just slightly. “Because I’ve lived through worse.” Your chest tightened. “They didn’t matter,” she continued. “They were… insignificant.” 

     Your hands clenched. “…They’re still breathing.” That earned the faintest hint of a smile. Not amused. Not quite. “…Yes,” she said softly. “They are.” A pause. Then— “…But I understand the urge.” That made you still. Completely. Robin stepped closer. Close enough that you could feel her breath. “There was a time,” she murmured, “when I would have done the same.” Your voice dropped. “…Would have?” Her eyes held yours. Dark. Deep. Endless. “…If I trusted myself to stop.”

     The electricity faded slowly. Reluctantly. Your breathing steadied as your hands lowered. The men didn’t move, didn’t dare. You looked at Robin. “…What do you want me to do?” Not what should I do. Not what’s right. What she wanted. Her gaze lingered on you. Studying. Measuring. Then— “…Let them go.” It wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t mercy. It was control. You exhaled slowly. “…Okay.”

     You didn’t speak on the way back. Neither did she. But she stayed close. Closer than usual. Later, on the deck, the others pretended not to notice the tension. The silence, the way your fingers still twitched faintly with residual current. Robin approached you quietly. As always. “You listened.” You glanced at her. “…I always will.” She studied you. Then, gently—She reached for your hand. Electricity flickered instinctively. Then softened. Then stilled. “…Dangerous,” she murmured. You huffed lightly. “You knew that already.” Her lips curved slightly. “Yes,” she said. A pause. Then, softer— “…That’s why I trust you.”

     “You didn’t dig for this,” Robin says one evening, turning a delicate, age-worn relic in her hands. You shake your head, lounging against the table. “Nope. It was just… there.” You nodded toward the relic.  “It was buried beneath two meters of compact stone.” Robin gave you a knowing look.  You shrug. “I tripped?” Robin hums, not convinced.

     Robin starts accompanying you. At first, she doesn’t say why. “I enjoy walking,” she tells you with a small smile. You beam. “Me too! This is great.” It doesn’t take long until you veer off a path for no reason. You pause, tilting your head. “…This way.” Robin follows, of course. The wall looks solid. Ancient. Worn. Unremarkable. You lean against it casually, and then it collapses. Dust fills the air. Stone crumbles. And behind it—A chamber. Untouched. Silent. Waiting. Robin doesn’t speak at first. She steps past you slowly, reverently, eyes scanning carvings that haven’t seen light in centuries.

     “…This architecture…” Her fingers hover over inscriptions. “…This shouldn’t exist here.” You blink. “Is that bad?” Robin glances back at you. There’s something different in her gaze now. Something sharper. “…Yes.” 

     You don’t call yourself anything special. But Robin does. “Archivist,” she murmurs one night, watching you absentmindedly flip a coin that’s older than most kingdoms. You snort. “That sounds way too important.” “It’s accurate.” You don’t collect for wealth. That’s Nami's job. You don’t collect for knowledge. That’s Robin's. You just…Find things. Preserve them. Hold them. Like they belong with you. Robin notices how careful you are. Despite your clumsy luck, your hands are gentle. Reverent. You never damage anything. Never lose anything. Never treat history like it’s disposable. That’s what unsettles her. Because history seems to trust you.

     The artifact is small. Unassuming. You almost don’t mention it. “Hey, Robin?” you say, holding it up. “Is this… important?” She looks over at you and freezes. Her expression doesn’t change much. It never does. But you’ve learned to read her. And this—This is fear. “…Where did you find that?” You hesitate. “…By the river.” Robbin's gaze narrows.  “That area was excavated decades ago.” Your lips form a small o shape.  “Oh.” Silence stretches. Robin steps closer. “…Do you know what you’re holding?” You shake your head. Her voice lowers. “It’s a fragment of text… from the same era as Ohara.” You blink. “…That’s bad, right?” Robin’s gaze softens, just slightly. “Yes.”

     It starts small. It always does. A Marine ship appears too soon after you leave an island. Then another. Then agents who don’t wear uniforms at all. “They’re asking about artifacts,” Usopp whispers. “Specific ones,” Sanji adds. Robin is quiet. Too quiet. Later, she finds you alone. You’re turning that same fragment over in your hands, expression thoughtful. “…You shouldn’t carry that openly,” she says. You glance up. “Oh. Sorry.” She kneels beside you, close, closer than usual. Her voice drops. “…You’re being noticed.” You laugh nervously. “That doesn’t sound great.”

     “It isn’t.”

     A pause. Then— “…You don’t have to keep finding things.” You frown. “I’m not trying to.” Robin believes you. That’s the problem. 

     The next island feels wrong. Even you can tell. The air is heavy. The town is quiet. Too quiet. “I’ll just take a quick look,” you say. Robin grabs your wrist. You blink. Her grip isn’t harsh, but it’s firm. “…Not alone.” You smile softly. “Okay.” The path leads you, of course. Down into ruins no one mentioned. Past warnings no one left. To a door that shouldn’t exist. It opens easily for you. Inside—History. Not scattered. Not broken. Preserved. Waiting. Robin steps in slowly. Her breath catches. “…This is…” Her voice falters. “…impossible.”

     You step forward. And something clicks. Not physically or audibly. Just—Something. Robin feels it too. Her eyes snap to you. “…What did you just do?” “I didn’t—”

     Footsteps. Above. Around. Too many.

     “They’re here.” Robin’s voice is calm, controlled. But her hand finds yours instantly. Agents flood the ruins. Masked. Silent. Precise. “Hand over the artifacts,” one of them says. “And the archivist.” You blink. “…That’s me, huh?” Robin steps in front of you. “No.” The temperature drops. Not literally, but it feels like it. “I will not allow it.” The agents move. Robin doesn’t hesitate. Hands bloom from stone, from walls, from shadows. Limbs snap; bodies slam. The chamber erupts into chaos.

     You’ve seen her fight before. But not like this. Not like she’s protecting something fragile. Protecting you.  “Go!” Robin snaps. You don’t argue for once. You run. Through dust, through broken halls, through the sound of battle behind you. The ground trembles. The ruin groans. You stumble—And your hand hits the wall. Something shifts. The entire structure begins to collapse. You freeze. “…Oh no.” 

     Robin finds you just before it gives way. Her breathing is uneven, her eyes sharp, searching you. “…Are you hurt?” You shake your head. Relief flashes across her face. Brief, but real. The ceiling cracks. Stone falls. Time runs out. You look at the chamber. At the history inside. At everything that could be lost. Then at Robin. “…We have to go.” You don’t reach for the artifacts. For once, you let them go. Robin sees it and understands. And something in her expression changes. Softens. She takes your hand.

     The Sunny sails before dawn. No one celebrates this time. The artifacts you didn’t bring back weigh heavier than the ones you did. You sit alone at the railing. Quiet. Robin joins you.  “…You made a choice,” she says. You shrug weakly. “Didn’t feel like much of one.”

     “It was.”

     Silence. Then— “…They’ll keep coming, won’t they?” Robin doesn’t lie. “Yes.” You nod slowly. “…Sorry.” That makes her pause. “…For what?” You gesture vaguely. “All of this. The trouble. The attention.” Robin studies you, really studies you. Then, gently— She reaches out and takes your hand. “You didn’t choose this.” Her grip tightens slightly. Warm and certain. “But you don’t have to face it alone.” You glance at her. “…You sure?” Robin smiles. Soft, fierce, unshakable. “I’ve faced worse.” A beat. Then, quieter— “…And I would face it again.”

     You noticed her staring. “Something on my face?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. The question was light, casual, yet unfamiliar. Robin’s breath caught. “…Do you not recognize me?” There was a pause. You looked at her properly then. Studied her carefully. “…Should I?” The words landed harder than any blade. Robin didn’t move, didn’t speak. Because suddenly—She didn’t know how. You had been there. Before everything. Before the destruction. Before the fear. Back when Robin was still allowed to be a child.

     You were the one who stayed beside her when others wouldn’t. Who listened when she spoke about history, about dreams no one else cared about. “Tell me something interesting,” you used to say, lying in the grass beside her. And she always did. You never got bored. Never walked away. You stayed. Until the day you didn’t.

     “I’m sorry,” you said now, a small crease forming between your brows. “I don’t think we’ve met.” Robin forced her expression to remain calm. “…No,” she said quietly. “…I suppose we haven’t.” It should have been easier. She had lost people before. But this? This was different. Because you weren’t gone. You were right there. And you didn’t remember her at all.

     Later, she learned the truth. Fragments, passed through quiet conversations and careful questions. You had survived, barely. Pulled from the wreckage of Ohara by forces that had no interest in history—Only potential. The Revolutionary Army had taken you in. Raised you. Trained you. “…They said I had a past,” you told her once, sitting beside the fire. “But it wasn’t… safe to remember.” Robin listened in silence. “They tried,” you continued. “But every time something surfaced, it just...hurt.” You let out a small laugh. “So I stopped trying.” That made sense. Too much sense. Ohara wasn’t something you remembered. It was something you survived.

     Robin began to notice the little things. The way you tilted your head when thinking. The rhythm of your footsteps. The way your voice softened when you spoke about things that mattered. You were still you. Just… missing pieces. The pieces that connected you to her.

     “You watch me a lot,” you said one evening. Robin didn’t deny it. “…Do I?” You nodded once, “Yeah.” You smiled faintly. “Not in a creepy way. Just… like you’re trying to remember something.” Robin’s gaze softened. “…Perhaps I am.” There was a pause. “…Did we know each other?” you asked. There it was. The question she had been waiting for. Dreading. Robin hesitated. She could tell you, she could say everything. Ohara. The past. What you meant to her. And yet... 

     “…No,” she said. The lie came easier than it should have. “…I don’t believe we did.” You nodded slowly. “…Huh.” A small silence followed. “…That’s weird,” you added. Robin’s chest tightened. “…Weird?” You gave a small nod. “Yeah.” You glanced at her, something thoughtful in your expression. “…Because it feels like we should have.” That was worse.

     Time passed. Not enough. Never enough. But long enough for something to grow between you again. Not the same, but not entirely different either. You gravitated toward her without knowing why. Sitting beside her during quiet moments. Asking questions about history. Listening—Just like before. 

     “You always explain things like that?” you asked once. “…Like what?” You shrugged. “Like they matter.” Robin paused. “…They do.” You smiled. “…Yeah.” You took a moment to steal a glance at her. “…I think I like that about you.” Her breath caught. “…I think you always did.” The words slipped out. You blinked. “…What?” Robin shook her head lightly. “…Nothing.”

     The first crack came unexpectedly. You found her reading, as you often did. “What’s that?” you asked. “…A record,” she replied. “Recovered from an island long gone.” You leaned closer. “…Ohara,” you read aloud, and froze. Something flickered behind your eyes. Robin stood immediately. “…Are you alright?” You staggered slightly, hand pressing against your temple. “…I—” Fragments. Fire. Smoke. A voice. “Tell me something interesting.” You gasped. “…Robin?” Her heart stopped. “…Yes.” You looked at her—Really looked this time. Recognition, fear, confusion. All at once. Then—It slipped. Gone. 

     “…Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back. “…That was weird.” Robin didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. “…Yeah,” she said softly. “…It was.”

     After that, things changed. Not drastically. But enough. You stayed closer. Looked at her longer. Like something in you was trying—And failing—To connect the pieces.

     “I think I knew you,” you said one night. Robin didn’t respond. “I don’t remember it,” you continued. “But…” You hesitated. “…I feel like I lost something important.” Silence. Robin closed her book. “…You did.” Your breath hitched. “…Was it you?” The question hung there, fragile. Robin stepped closer. Slow and careful. “…Yes.” You didn’t react right away. Just stood there, processing. “…I’m sorry,” you said finally. Robin’s expression softened. “…It wasn’t your fault.” 

     “But I should remember.”

     “…No,” she said gently. “You shouldn’t have had to survive that at all.” There was a pause. “…Will it come back?” you asked. Robin didn’t lie this time. “…I don’t know.” You nodded slowly. “…Okay.” Another pause. “…Can we… start over?” Robin blinked. “…Start over?” “Yeah.” A small, uncertain smile. “…I think I’d like to know you again.” Something fragile shifted in her chest. Not the past. But something new. “…I would like that as well.”

     It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. But, when you sat beside her again, closer this time-When you asked her to tell you something interesting—When you listened, really listened—Robin realized something. She hadn’t just lost you once. She had been given another chance. Not to reclaim what was gone, but to build something new. And this time—She wouldn’t let it slip away. Even if you never remembered. Even if—

     “…Robin?” you said softly. “…Yes?”

     “…Have we met before?”

     You liked the crew. They were loud, predictable, safe all the same. Luffy moved like a storm that refused to break anything important. Zoro was steady, grounded, impossible to ignore. Usopp...vibrated with anxiety, yet a very subtle bravery he didn't even seem to notice in himself. Nami counted everything, keeping everyone in line and making sure they had what they needed to keep going. Sanji hovered near warmth and intention, always smelling like spices and freshly cooked meals. You knew them, even without seeing. Even without dreaming. But there were things you didn't tell them. Like how often their futures brushed against death. Or how many times they barely avoid it. How many versions of tomorrow ended differently. You kept those to yourself. It was kinder that way. But you did let them know about other things, like approaching people...sometimes.

     The shift came before the voice. You stirred. Not fully awake, but aware. The air changed. Subtle—but wrong. Someone new. Calm and dangerous. You pushed yourself up slowly, blinking though it did nothing for you. “…Oh.” Across the deck, the crew had already tensed. “Who are you?!” Nami demanded. “I’m just passing through,” a smooth voice replied. You sighed. “…No, you’re not.” Silence rippled outward. “…You’re awake,” Nami said sharply. “…Unfortunately.” Your head tilted slightly toward the unfamiliar presence. You didn’t need sight to feel her. Stillness, control, curiosity wrapped in something darker. “…That’s her,” you murmured. A pause. “Her?” Usopp echoed.

     “…Yeah.” You rubbed at your face tiredly. “…She’s going to be a problem.” The woman laughed softly. Not loud or forced, but interested. “And who might you be?” she asked. “…Tired.” A beat passed. “…I see.” “No, you don’t,” you replied flatly. That earned another quiet laugh. You shifted, pulling your knees closer. “…You’re going to sit on the railing,” you added. A pause, then the faintest creak of wood. “…Am I?” she asked, now closer. “…You already did. Twice.” Silence followed. Not tense, but focused. “…How curious,” she murmured. Nami stepped closer to you. “You’re awfully awake for this one.” You sighed as you let your head fall. “…I hate this future.” Nami tilted her head slightly. “Why?” You hesitated. Just slightly. “…Because it doesn’t go away.”

     The woman’s attention sharpened. You felt it like a shift in pressure. “…What doesn’t?” she asked. You exhaled slowly. “…You.” Another pause, longer this time. “…Bold,” she said. “…Accurate.” The conversation moved on after that. Warnings. Poses. Tension. You didn’t care. You leaned back again, already slipping toward sleep. But just before she left—“…You’re going to ask about me later,” you said. She paused. “…Am I?” “…Yes.” “…To whom?” “…Vivi.” A beat passed. “…And what will she say?” You yawned softly before answering. “…That I draw well.” Silence. “…That’s all?” You shrugged in response. “…That’s all she knows.” Robin hummed softly. “…I see.” You didn’t correct her.

     By the time she appeared again—You were already awake, but not by choice. You had remained on the ship as the others explored the jungle, no doubt encountering the giants you had seen in your dreams. The sun warm on your face, the feeling of the breeze moving your clothes as it brought with it the scents of the flora. Except, there was a singular scent that was familiar. One you had sensed when you slept. 

     “…This again,” you muttered. The jungle air was thick, alive with distant movement and unfamiliar sounds. But underneath it—That same presence. “You don’t seem surprised,” she said. “…You sit dramatically,” you replied. “It’s memorable.” Robin let out a soft exhale, almost a laugh. “…And you’re still tired.” You huffed, raising your head off the warm wood of the deck. “…Chronic condition.” She stepped closer this time, careful and measured. “You knew I would return.” You sighed, sitting up now. "...Yeah." “And yet you stayed.” You shrugged. “…Didn’t feel like walking.” There was a pause before Robin spoke again. “…You’re interesting,” she said. “…You’re predictable.” You nodded in her direction. “Am I?”

     You turned your body in her direction, crossing your legs and resting your chin in your hand. “…You’re going to circle the conversation. Ask questions you already know the answers to.” Another pause. “…And will you answer them?” You thought for a moment, before shrugging again. “…Depends how tired I am.” Silence stretched, not uncomfortably, just… deliberate. “…Have you seen me before?” she asked quietly. You hesitated. “…Not like this.” Robin tilted her head slightly. “How, then?” You shifted, fingers tightening slightly against your sleeve. “…Fragments.” “Of what?” You exhaled. “…You laughing at something you shouldn’t.” A beat passed. “…That’s not very specific.” You huffed at that. “…It’s enough.” 

     Something changed then. Subtle, but real. Interest became something sharper. “…And what do you think of me?” she asked. You didn’t answer immediately. “…I think,” you said slowly, “you’re going to be difficult.” A pause. “…Only for you?” You almost laughed at that. “…Especially for me.” That earned a quieter laugh. Less amused, more… thoughtful. “…I look forward to it.” You groaned softly. “…That makes one of us.”

     The cold sharpened everything. Sound carried differently, footsteps crunched instead of thudded, breath lingered longer in the air. You sat near the edge of the village, sketchbook resting against your knees. Your pencil moved steadily, confidently. You didn’t need to see. You remembered. “…You draw a lot,” Vivi said, stepping closer. “…It helps.” You spoke, continuing with you idle drawing. “With what?” Vivi asked, kneeling beside you. “…Organizing things I don’t want to think about.” There was a pause. “…Can I see?” You hesitated, then turned the sketchbook slightly. Vivi froze. “…That’s—” “…Yeah.”  Miss All Sunday. Every line precise. Every detail intentional. “…You’ve met her?” Vivi asked. “…Not properly, when she arrived after you joined, that was my first official meeting as well.” Vivi looked at you for a moment, as if trying to figure out how you knew, still not fully understanding exactly how you work. But you did. You had captured Robin perfectly on the page, all from the memory of your dreams. The curve of her expression, the stillness in her posture. Even the way she observed everything, even when she seemed relaxed.

     Eventually, Vivi left, leaving you to continue your idle drawing. The wind blew snow into your face, the cold flakes telling you about their own stories with each passing moment. Unfortunately, their stories didn't last long, replaced with something akin to warnings. 

     You felt her before she spoke. That same stillness. That same quiet gravity. “…You’re very talented.” You didn’t startle. “…You’re very quiet,” you replied. A sound signaling a soft step closer. “…May I?” You handed the sketchbook over without argument. Silence followed, longer than before. “…You’ve never seen me,” she said. “…Not with my eyes.” You corrected her. “…Then how?” You leaned back slightly, already feeling the weight of staying awake too long. “…You show up in inconvenient places.” You could hear the faint smile in her voice as she spoke. “…Do I?” You nodded. "...Yeah."

     There was another pause. “…How long have you known about me?” You didn’t answer right away. “…Long enough to be disappointed in my life choices.” That made her laugh, really laugh this time. And you felt it—Warm, no longer dangerous. “…You’re honest,” she said. “…I’m tired.” Robin shook her head with a smile. “Those aren’t the same thing.” You huffed, pushing your lips together as if in disappointment. “…They overlap.” Another pause. “…You’re not afraid of me,” she observed. “…I’ve seen worse.” Robin made a sound, either out of small disbelief or amusement. “Worse than me?” “…Yeah.” 

     A moment passed, filled with a soft silence. “…Do I survive?” she asked quietly. You stilled. That question—You hated that question. “…Do you want the answer?” you asked. “…Yes.” You tilted your head slightly toward her. “…Then you shouldn’t have asked.” Silence. Not tense or broken, but heavy. “…I think I understand,” she said at last. “…Good.” You reached for your sketchbook again, fingers brushing hers briefly. Just for a second, but it lingered. Not physically, but somewhere deeper. “…We’ll meet again,” she said. “…Yeah.” You nodded. “…You sound certain.” You turned your head to her, trying your best to convey what you meant. “…I don’t have a choice.” A pause, interrupted by Robin's voice once again. “…Neither do I.” She began to step away, slowly.

     “No,” Nami whispered back. “Let him learn.”

     Zoro lunged first. Fast and precise. A clean, practiced strike aimed straight for your center. You didn’t move. At least not at first. Then—Something flickered. A soft, violet glow sparked at your fingertips. Zoro’s blade stopped. Not by force or by impact. But by something unseen. “…Huh,” he muttered. The air shifted and suddenly—You were gone. Chopper gasped. “She disappeared again—!” No, not disappeared. Repositioned. Behind him. A sharp, clean pressure tapped lightly against Zoro’s shoulder. “Point,” you said softly. Silence.

     Zoro blinked as he looked down. Then over his shoulder. “…Again?” he said. You lowered your hand quickly. “…Sorry.”

     “Why are you apologizing??” Chopper cried. Zoro straightened slowly. Then grinned. “That was better,” he said. Chopper stared at him. “…BETTER??”

     The next round was faster. Harder. Zoro adjusted. Anticipated. Meanwhile, you adapted effortlessly. Every strike he made, you redirected. Not with strength. But with precision. Invisible forces bending his path just slightly. Just enough. It drove him insane.

     “You’re not even blocking,” he muttered, frustrated now. “I am,” you said quietly. He paused. “…No, you’re not.” You hesitated. Then lifted your hand. The faint glow returned. “…Oh.” Chopper’s eyes sparkled. “IT’S LIKE AN INVISIBLE SWORD—!" 

     “More like ten,” you admitted softly. Zoro laughed. Actually laughed. Good,” he said, tightening his grip. “Then I’ll just have to cut all of them.” 

     He didn’t.

     Round after round—You won. Not dramatically or arrogantly. Just… consistently. And every time, you looked a little embarrassed about it. “…Are you sure she’s Mihawk’s kid?” Chopper whispered. “Adopted,” Nami corrected. “…Oh,” Chopper nodded. “That makes sense.”

     “It really doesn’t,” Zoro said, walking past them, already heading back. You perked up slightly. “…Again?” He didn’t even hesitate. “Again.”

     The sun dipped lower as the air cooled. Chopper sat on a rock, kicking his little feet as he watched, completely invested now. You moved differently as time went on. Less hesitant, more fluid. Still quiet, still soft. But confident. And Zoro? He adapted. Learned. Pushed harder. Not annoyed or frustrated. Focused. Because for the first time in a long time, someone was pushing him back. Even if— “…You’re holding back,” he said suddenly. You froze. “…I’m not.”

     “You are.”

     Chopper leaned forward. “…Oh no.” Zoro stepped closer. Not aggressive. Not threatening. Just… certain. “Show me.” You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly. “…You won’t like it.” Zoro smirked. “That’s not your call.” A pause. Then, you exhaled. The air changed. Chopper felt it immediately, the shift, the pressure. Your glow sharpened, deepened. And this time, when Zoro moved, you didn’t just block. You met him. Steel against...something sharper. A blade formed in your hand, not quite metal, pure violet energy. Zoro’s grin widened. “…There it is.”

     The clash rang louder this time. Cleaner and faster. For a moment, just a moment, he almost matched you. Almost. Then, you stepped in. Close. Too close. Your blade stopped just at his neck. Not touching, but undeniable. Silence. “…Point,” you said softly.

     Chopper exploded. “THAT WAS SO COOL—!!” Zoro laughed again, breath heavier now. “Yeah,” he said. “…It was.” You lowered your blade, the glow fading quickly. “…Sorry,” you murmured. Zoro frowned slightly. “For what?”

     “…Winning.”

     He stared at you for a second. Then scoffed. “Don’t apologize for being strong,” he said. “…Just don’t expect me to lose forever.” Your eyes widened slightly. Then, a small smile. “…Okay.” From his rock, Chopper beamed. “…They’re gonna get married,” he whispered. “CHOPPER—”