kei

"...Oh. Well, they're pretty." She studied it for a second, then smiled.

"What?" Nami asked.

Robin simply held it out, and Luffy took it.

His world became very, very quiet.

Sunlight spilled across a small island market, illuminating the woman standing in the center of the frame.

You looked older now, your hair a little longer. There were faint laugh lines around your eyes. You wore an apron dusted in flour, one hand wrapped around the shoulder of a young woman—clearly your daughter—both of you laughing at whoever had taken the picture.

Happy and comfortable. Luffy hadn't seen that smile in twenty-six years.

Nobody spoke as they watched a myriad of emotions cross over their captain's face.

Recognition came first, then relief so profound his shoulders seemed to loosen all at once. It was followed by something quieter, something none of them had excpected to see settle so naturally across Luffy's features.

Longing.

Not for the years he'd missed, Luffy has never been one to dwell on the past.

But rather for the life you'd lived without him. His thumb traced the corner of the photograph almost unconsciously.

"She's okay."

It wasn't a question, but rather pure, uncomplicated relief.

Nami quietly unfolded the invitation.

It would mean the world to me if you would attend my wedding. My mother always spoke fondly of the people she met while sailing, and I think she'd be happy to see old friends again. Please come if you're able.

Luffy read it once, then again, his small smile appearing on his face without his permission.

Not the bright grin his crew knew, but something softer, a smile that's rarer.

"Guess she's still making friends everywhere." He carefully folded the invitation, then tucked the photograph inside his hat.

Twenty-six years ago, he'd sailed away to continue chasing the dream he'd carried since he was a boy. He remembered glancing back only once, to see you standing at the end of the dock, smiling even as the tears streamed down your face, waving him onward.

"Go, become the Pirate King."

You never asked him to stay, and he had never asked you to come. At the time, it hadn't felt like goodbye. Just another farewell between two people who believed the sea would bring them back together.

Instead, life has quietly happened. You moved forward, building a home, a family, a life that was hopefully full of laughter that he'd never been there to witness.

For the first time in years, Luffy found himself wondering. Not with regret, because he'd never regret chasing his dream, but with quiet curiosity.

What if he'd asked? Would you have laughed and told him no? Would you have climbed aboard without a second thought?

Or would things have unfolded exactly as they were always meant to?

His thumb brushed over the photograph one last time before carefully tucking it beneath the band of his straw hat, treating it with the same care he reserved for his greatest treasures.

Maybe this invitation was nothing more than a chance to celebrate another happy day.

Or maybe fate had decided that twenty-six years was long enough.

"So."

Everyone looked at him; his familiar grin had returned, filled with boundless optimism that they'd always known. "When do we leave?"

Several hundred miles beneath the sea, the Polar Tang was unusually quiet. Bepo sorted mail while Penguin and Shachi argued over whose turn it was to cook.

"FINE! I'm better off doing it anyway since you don't season properly." Penguin says, throwing his arms up, turning to leave, while Shachi screeched and went to follow after him. It's Bepo's voice that stops them.

"Captain."

Law didn't look up from the medical journal spread across his desk, humming to let his crew know he heard them.

"You got an invitation."

"I'm not interested."

"It's for a wedding."

"No."

"Weddings typically come with free food."

"Let me see it."

Bepo beamed triumphantly before placing the envelope on the desk, making Law sigh while he grabbed the invitation. He had every intention of skimming it before adding it to the ever-growing pile of correspondence he had no interest in answering.

Until he noticed the handwriting, his fingers froze.

In all his life, he has only known one person who has ever mixed between lowercase and uppercase within the same word as if grammar itself were merely a suggestion.

Yours. Except…

No, not quite.

Law's eyes narrowed as he looked closer. Yes, it was the same uneven capital letters, the same exaggerated loops, and the same habit of letting the last word drift ever so slightly downward. But the penmanship itself was different, someone younger who has spent years unconsciously copying yours.

Which meant whoever had written this knew you. At least, well enough to inherit your handwriting.

Carefully—with the precision he normally reserves for surgery—he broke the seal.

A photograph slipped free, Law catching it before it touched the desk.

His breath hitched as he recognized the face in the photo, even after all these years.

It's you, standing beneath flowering vines outside a seaside inn.

Older, but no less beautiful, in the effortless way time granted only certain people.

Soft laugh lines framing the corners of your eyes. Flour dusted your face and apron, evidence of work interrupted, while a young woman stood tucked comfortably beneath your arm, both of you smiling toward whoever stood behind the camera.

Healthy, warm color in your face. No visible injuries or scars.

His mind cataloged each detail automatically before finally settling on the one thing that made his chest tighten.

The wooden sign hanging above the entrance, The Seabreeze Inn.

The paint was never as he'd imagined it would be, but he'd recognize that name anywhere.

"One day," you'd laughed beneath a sky full of stars aboard the Polar Tang, "I'm going to own a little inn by the ocean."

He remembered glancing up from the book he'd been reading.

"An inn?"

"Mhm."

"Why?"

You'd smiled at him then—that same smile frozen forever inside the photograph.

"Because everyone deserves somewhere warm to come home to."

He'd never forgotten.

And you'd built it, exactly as you'd dreamed.

His gaze drifted back to you, admiring how your face may have changed throughout the years, but your smile hadn't changed at all.

"Captain?"

Law hadn't realized he'd frozen, or stopped breathing.

His thumb brushes lightly across the edge of the photograph as his free hand reaches out to grab the invitation and unfold the letter. Now that he has confirmation that this does have something to do with you, he's quick to try and fix it.

His eyes lingered on a single line.

My mother would be happy to see old friends again.

Mother.

So the young woman beside you...

His gaze flickered back to the photograph.

The resemblance was subtle, but it was there. Within her smile, the shape of your eyes, the handwriting, the conclusion assembled itself almost effortlessly.

The invitation hadn't come from you, but rather someone you'd raised. Someone who had grown up watching your hand write shopping lists, letters, recipes, and birthday cards until she'd unknowingly mimicked every little habit.

Law's chest tightened.

Twenty-six years ago, he'd promised himself he'd come back. Once he'd finished what he needed to do, once he'd become strong enough, once the next battle was over.

There had always been another island, another patient, another mystery, another tomorrow.

Life had moved forward without asking whether he was ready, and you had built the very future you'd once described to him beneath the stars.

An inn, a daughter, a home. A life that had continued beautifully without him. Not because he'd chosen wrong, but because he'd spent too many years believing there would always be time to return.

"Surface."

The room fell silent. Penguin blinked. "The surface?"

"We're changing course to this island immediately."

Shachi frowned. "For a wedding? Who is she, Captain?"

Law carefully folded the invitation along its original crease before slipping it—and the photograph—into the inside pocket of his coat, treating both with the same care he reserved for irreplaceable things.

"No."

The single word was quiet, certain. He reached for Kikoku. "We're going for someone I should've gone back for."

Silence lingered for only a heartbeat, then Bepo's face lit up with the brightest smile anyone had seen all week.

"Right away, Captain!"

The Victoria Punk never had quiet mornings. Someone on the crew was always shouting, usually Kid. Today, his victim just happened to be Heat.

"I said tighter!"

"It's tied!"

"Yeah, well, it looks crooked!"

"Cause the mast is crooked!"

Killer walked past the argument without so much as a glance, sorting through the week's mail with practiced indifference.

"Invitation," he brings up casually.

Kid didn't even glance over, "Throw it out."

"You sure? It has your name."

"So?"

"And it came with a photograph."

That finally caught his attention. A photo? That's certainly a new one.

"What?"

Killer handed it over, as Kid opened it one-handed.

The photograph slid into his palm, allowing everything else to disappear. No shouting, insults, or sarcastic comments. Just silence.

You sat on the front porch of a sprawling seaside hotel, sunlight warming your face as you laughed at something just beyond the frame.

Older, a little softer around the eyes, but still beautiful. His gaze swept over every inch of the photograph with surprising care.

Flour dusted your cheek, flower boxes overflower beneath every window. There was a young woman leaning comfortably against your side, smiling just as brightly as you were, both clearly happy.

Kid's jaw tightened as he got lost in days long since past.

"Damn."

Killer watched quietly, knowing better than to interrupt. Kid's eyes continued wandering over the photograph, before stopping on a small detail.

There, hanging from the porch roof, swaying gently in the sea breeze, was an old iron wind chime. Crude, a little uneven, and completely underwhelming for most people.

But Kid recognized every dent, every weld, and piece of crooked metal. He'd made it twenty-six years ago.

You'd complained one evening that you missed falling asleep to the sound of church bells whenever the wind picked up. And so he'd spent half the night cobbling together something he considered 'better'.

The morning had you laughing so hard you nearly cried, before you kissed him anyway.

"So you'd kept it." The words escaped him before he realized he'd spoken them. His chest felt strangely tight.

He'd thought you'd kept sailing, thought you'd found another adventure, another impossible dream.

Instead, you'd built one.

One with flower boxes, baking, and an inn overlooking the sea. A daughter, a home.

A quiet laugh escaped him in disbelief; his eyes finally found the invitation.

"A wedding, huh?"

Heat looked between them, confused but ready for whatever was coming next. "So... are we going?"

Kid folded the photograph with surprising care, slipping it back inside the envelope before tucking it safely into his coat.

"We're absolutely going." He turned toward the helm. "Set course."

Heat blinked, "For a wedding?"

Kid looked out across the sea, the grin spreading across his face, hopeful. The kind of hope he'd convinced himself he'd outgrown years ago.

"Nah." His fingers brushed the envelope tucked safely against his chest. "I'm going to see the woman I always meant to come back for."

Far away, on a quiet island tucked safely beyond the attention of emperors and marines alike, you stood on a ladder outside your little hotel, hanging strings of white flowers across the front veranda.

The wedding was only four days away, and there was still so much to do.

Rooms to prepare, food to cook. Guests are arriving from neighboring islands, friends you've made in the time since you've settled down here.

You smiled to yourself, taking a break to enjoy the sunset. If only you knew that, at that very moment, three ships from your past had all changed course, sailing straight toward the place you had come to call home.

And maybe a place for them to call home.

That was exactly why she had no qualms about heading to the police station during her limited lunch break to return his wallet to him. Luckily, her own workplace wasn’t far so she just walked her way to the station, immediately knowing she was there once she spotted the giant R.P.D letters hanging over the big set doors of the place. 

She walked up the stone steps, using a bit more strength than she’d like to admit to open the right side door, revealing the area beyond it. 

Once inside, Y/N took a moment to admire the rather domineering but beautifully rustic interior, her eyes landing on the statue that stood tall above everyone. She had never actually been inside the R.P.D until now, and she wished she had sooner because even though it was a police station, it looked more like a museum. 

“Whoa…” She whispered to herself, her pace slowing to almost nothing. However when her gaze came down to meet with the receptionist, who had been looking at her for who knows how long, she snapped out of her daze and awkwardly jogged over to the desk. 

“How can I help you, Miss?” 

Y/N leaned a little closer so the receptionist could hear her as she had a habit of talking quietly. “I’m looking for Leon Kennedy, is he here?

“What is this regarding?” 

Y/N paused, thinking about what to say. She didn’t want to say, Hey, I’m here to see my boyfriend and so she settled on the first thing that came to mind. “It’s for a…personal matter.”

The receptionist paused, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. Given that look, she most likely already knew that there was more to it than that but if she thought she kept it to herself as she picked up her office phone and dialed a number. 

“Hey, there’s a woman here by the name of…” The receptionist paused, pulling the phone away from her mouth to look up at Y/N. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Oh, Y/N L/N.” She quickly answered. 

“There’s a Y/N L/N here, looking for Officer Leon Kennedy, can you send him to the front?”

There’s a brief pause as another voice speaks from the other line, but Y/N can’t hear what they are saying. 

“Okay, thank you.” The woman says then hangs up. “He’ll be out in a few minutes, honey, so you’re more than welcome to wait right over there.” She points to a bench off to the side, pushed up against the wall. 

Y/N nods. “Okay, thank you so much!” She walks over to the public bench, and takes a seat. 

She sits up straight, keeping a perfect yet stiff posture; legs pressed tight against each other, and hands fiddling in her lap as she waits. Y/N had always been a bit awkward, and even though she had every right to return something of Leon’s, there was this small voice in the back of her mind that tried to convince her she shouldn’t be there. 

Before she could agonize over it, she heard the distant sound of a door opening and footsteps coming closer. 

“Y/N?” 

Her head whipped up from her lap, seeing Leon walking over to her. She smiled brightly, coming to a stand. “Leon!” 

He jogged the rest of the way over, a smile mirroring Y/N’s the moment he stood in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

Y/N dug through her purse, pulling out his wallet to hold it out to him and watched a sign of recognition fall over his face. “You forgot this on my nightstand.”

“I knew I forgot something this morning.” He takes the wallet from her hands, and tucks it into his back pocket. 

“I think you might have been distracted this morning; you’re not normally so forgetful.” Y/N teased, lightly nudging his side. 

He laughs, his cheeks flaring with heat as he looks down at the floor. “Well, when you wake up next to the most beautiful woman in the world, it’s hard not to get distracted.” 

The words sound like a joke, but Y/N knows that he means it. 

She feels her own face burst with warmth, but she giggles at his comment which causes him to laugh with her. Everything feels incredibly awkward, incredibly embarrassing, and incredibly in love.

“Well, I won’t take up anymore of your time, Officer Kennedy.” Y/N winked at him.

Leon reached up to rub the back of his neck, a bashful tick that came up quite often. “I’m still trying to get used to being called that, especially by you.”

Y/N steps forward, opening her arms out to which he reciprocates and hugs him, pressing herself as close to him as she can while relishing the sensation of his warmth. “I’ll try not to use it too much.”

Leon wraps his arms around her back, and tucks his face into her shoulder. “Sure you won’t.”

She chuckles once more, going quiet as she allows this moment to completely seep into her memory, savoring what her heart does when she has Leon so close, to touch, to hold, to laugh with. 

God, she loves him. 

They finally pull away, but not too far as they keep each other in their embrace, gaze shifting from their eyes to the lips before trickling back up. 

Leon watches the playful shine in Y/N’s eyes morph to something more serious, something that makes his heart ache. 

“You be careful out there, okay?”

He nods. “I will.” He leans down, eyes narrowing, dilated, focused on what he wants, who he wants. Right before he reaches that point of no never, he hesitates, giving her the space to pull away if she wants, but she doesn’t, she never does.

Y/N fills the remainder of that space, lips pushing, melding into his, fitting together perfectly in a way that life scarce does or ever will. It’s warm, safe, secure, conveying all that words would fail to do leaving the message to travel only through their bodies. 

I love you.

As soon as they break apart, there’s a moment of heaving, breathing in and out like they had taken the air straight from their lungs to give it to the other because the most beautiful gift they could offer was everything they were and would ever be.

 Leon rests his head against Y/N’s, closing his eyes for a second to appreciate the tingling of her skin touching his. 

“I promise I’ll be careful.” He whispers to her. 

She smiles, softer this time. “You better.”

Then she takes a deep breath, sighing while she brings her hands from around his neck to shoulders and finally down his arms. “I should get going, my break is probably almost over.”

Leon sucks in a breath, realizing he hadn’t been breathing for a minute. “Right. Yeah, I don’t want you skipping you lunch.”

His thoughtful concern flutters in her chest. “I won’t. Are you coming over again tonight?”

He grabs her hands, thumbing brushing over her knuckles as he thinks. “I’d like to, if that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you tonight.” 

They stand there a couple more seconds, Leon caressing her hands as she slowly begins to step back, taking one hand out of his; letting her touch linger on him before stepping away completely and towards the door. 

Leon’s hand stays aloft in the air, lingering in where Y/N had previously been. He then looked down at his palm, still feeling the warmth of her here almost as though she left a part of her with him to carry.

Leon grunted as you dug around the meat of his shoulder with a pair of bullet forceps in search of the small projectile, the blond gritting his teeth harder around the ragged strip of his ridiculously tight shirt that you had been forced to cut off him in order to gain access to the injury, sweat beading on his forehead as you pushed the long metal rod deeper.

“Mmph, fucking hell!” The blond growled out between clenched teeth and you shot a glare at the blond when he spat the spit-soaked fabric out of his mouth with a harsh laugh, the weak grin he had plastered on his face twisting into a grimace after a particularly rough jab. “You ever think about switching careers? Because your bedside manner makes me think you'd make a great dentist. You've already got the sadism part down.”

“I always pictured myself as more of a butcher personally.” You shot back without even bothering to look away from the bloodied mess in front of you, your lips pressing into a thin line of concentration as you pulled the rod out a bit in order to readjust the angle before slowly pushing it back in.

“Jesus Christ. If you –ah– if you pull this off without killing me, I'll buy you a damn gift basket. Or a card. Take your pick.” Leon promised roughly, the blond flashing you a pained smirk when he noticed you glance at him from out of the corner of your eye. “But if you keep treating me like a goddamn pincushion, I'm telling command you're the reason I always go through my painkillers so fast.”

“You're such a baby.” You muttered, your eyes narrowing for a brief moment when the tip of the forceps scraped over something metal, before a wide grin spread across your face. You placed a studying hand on Leon’s thigh to keep him from flinching and fucking up all the progress you’d made as you shifted closer, wasting no time latching onto the slippery metal with the little teeth at the end of the rod in order to carefully extract the elusive bullet.

You held it up in front of you as soon as you dragged it out, turning it this way and that in order to examine the projectile, before blowing out a near silent breath of relief once you determined that it was –thankfully– still intact so you wouldn't have to worry about any fragments, which would’ve definitely complicated matters and further hindered Leon’s recovery.

“There. Done.” You said as you unceremoniously dropped the bullet and bloodied forceps into the cracked bowl you'd found in the dilapidated kitchen of the safe house that you and your chatty partner were currently occupying. You moved toward the two medkits you’d ripped apart for supplies so that you could begin the tedious process of cleaning, stitching and bandaging the wound.

“Finally. I was about ready to brain myself against the wall if it meant getting a break from being carved up like a piece of meat.” Leon grumbled as he watched you grab some alcohol wipes as well as the small bottle of vodka you’d used to sterilize the bullet forceps before using it, the blond remaining tense as you collected what you’d need and turned your attention back to his shoulder.

“Hilarious.” You deadpanned as you placed a hand on Leon’s chest in order to push him back into the dining chair as you leaned closer to get a better look at the wound, ignoring the choked off sound that Leon made when he was shoved against the slat backrest. 

You moved to pull away but paused when Leon’s hand darted out to grab your wrist before you could finish the movement, his face screwing up in pain as he exhaled shakily, his grasp loose enough that you could infer that he was just floundering for a way to ground himself as opposed to trying to restrain you or something. So, in a moment of weakness, you allowed his touch to linger without a word of protest, giving him a much needed moment to recover. 

You kept your hand pressed flat against his chest for a moment, counting his abnormally fast heart beats and his purposefully measured breathing until his body calmed, the blond releasing your wrist with a look you would describe as ‘sheepish’ if you didn’t know any better.

“You know, I don't even know why I put up with you.” Leon sighed while pouting like a petulant toddler as he slumped back into the chair, obediently relaxing his left arm as much as he was able to when you tapped your finger against his bicep twice in a wordless command.

“You mean you don’t keep me around for my sheer animal magnetism? I’m shocked.” You snorted sarcastically as you ripped open a new packet of alcohol wipes and began carefully wiping at the drying blood surrounding the bullet hole.

“Oh, right… your animal magnetism.” He replied dryly, wincing when the cool wipe brushed across a particularly sensitive area. “How could I forget?” Leon scoffed, his bright eyes watching you as you tossed the blood covered wipe into into the trash and opened a new one, slowly but efficiently mopping up the mess until the swollen, irritated skin surrounding the wound was visible

“Alright. I got good news and bad news.” You stated as you threw away the fifth and final alcohol wipe you’d opened, rubbing your hands down with some clean water from your own bottle and shaking them dry before dumping the remainder of the vodka shooter onto your hands in preparation for what you had to do next.

“Gimme the bad news first.” Leon cut in before you could finish your thought and you rolled your eyes but still ended up humoring him.

“Bad news is that you’re gonna die if we don’t slow the bleeding down, quickly. Also, the fat layer under the skin is exposed and I don’t have any dissolvable stitches on me, so I can’t properly close it. Oh, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that it’s going to get infected.” You listed off your concerns as you dug the combat pill pack out of the emergency supplies that the safehouse was stocked with, quickly locating the bottles of Moxifloxacin and Meloxicam you were looking for and shaking out one of each into your palm.

“Great. And the good news?” Leon asked as he took the offered dull red and bright yellow pills with his good hand, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with a few long pulls from the bottled water that you also handed him.

“Good news is that your injury is located at a junctional area which, while not ideal because I can’t use a tourniquet, I can pack it with gauze before wrapping it up to make sure you won’t bleed out on me. It should hold up until we can get you to a hospital for proper treatment.” You said as you set all the supplies you’d need on the dining table, picking up the bottle containing a plain packing strip and breaking the seal before shifting closer to Leon, kicking his legs further apart so you could step between his thighs.

“Sounds fun. Come on, let's get this over with.” Leon sighed, already sounding resigned as he shifted around in his seat, the blond only settling once you braced your knee against the chair between his legs, holding carefully still as you positioned the end of the strip against the hole in his shoulder.

You glanced up from his wound in order to check if he was ready, doing a rapid double take when you caught the dazed look on his face as he stared up at you looming over him, his piercing blue eyes half-lidded. 

You initially thought that shock was finally setting in –which would make sense with all the excitement– but then you shifted your weight and you were made painfully aware of just how intimate your current position was. Your eyes widened as you watched Leon’s pupils dilate in real time, the blond staring up at you like you were a piece of art to be admired, able to practically hear his thoughts enter the gutter with an audible clatter with how close you were standing.

“You know… for someone who claims to only tolerate me, you sure do have a soft spot for patching me up. You always seem to volunteer to be the one to play nurse when I’m injured.” Leon said, a hint of amusement creeping in his voice, and you rolled your eyes before abruptly beginning to push the cotton strip deep inside his bullet wound with your thumbs.

Leon grit his teeth and let out a sharp, guttural cry as he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck straining with the need to move, to get out from under your steady hands and away from the pain.

“Well, if we're going by that logic, you seem to enjoy playing patient with how often you get injured.” You shot back without pausing, your eyes flicking up from Leon’s shoulder once to glance at his face before dropping back down when you made sure that he was still conscious.

“God damn it.” He cursed, panting and groaning in a way that sounded far too suggestive, the sounds coming out of him as you methodically packed the wound more fit for the bedroom. "You could have warned me, you bastard.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You responded as you reached the end of the roll, keeping firm pressure on the raw wound to hold everything in place as you snatched the gauze pad off the dining table, tearing the wrapper off one-handed and placing it over the injury site. “Hold this.” You commanded firmly, impatiently waiting until Leon raised his good hand and put his palm over the gauze before letting go in order to reach for the roll of bandages.

“If this is your idea of fun, I’d hate to see what you’d do on a date.” Leon grumbled, his brows furrowing as he watched you open the packaging and begin meticulously dressing his wound, the blond moving his hand out of the way without you even having to ask as you wrapped the strip across his chest and around his shoulder repeatedly before tucking the end under the edge of the bandages to keep them from unraveling.

“Is that an attempt at asking me out, Kennedy? Zero out of ten, no way you’re getting any with pick up lines like that.” You quipped, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when his eyebrows shot up to his forehead in surprise, his expression rapidly flicking through several different emotions before finally settling, his cheeks turning a bright, flustered red.

“I’m not– I wasn’t–” Leon spluttered as you stepped away and grabbed your own canteen in order to wash your hands over the bowl containing the bullet you’d pulled out of Leon –along with the forceps you’d used to do so– before mentally plotting where to begin cleaning up the mess you’d left on the table, as well as the ground surrounding the chair, while treating the blond.

“Uh-huh.” You said dismissively as you repacked the two well-stocked medkits –both the one you always brought with you when you were sent out on a mission, especially if Leon was your partner, and the spare that you’d found already in the safehouse– putting everything back into its rightful place. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.” You continued casually, shutting the kits and securing them with a click before glancing at Leon, who had stiffened in his chair.

“Projecting much? I’m not the one with a staring problem.” Leon snapped back defensively, his tone holding a surprising amount of vitriol, and you paused in the middle of turning to put your medkit back into your bag to shoot him a dirty look.

“Hypocrite.” You hissed as you pulled a spare shirt from the bag you were crouched over and aggressively threw it at his bare chest.

“Brute.” Leon immediately snapped in response as he caught it and shrugged it on, his angry movements slowing when he had to maneuver his bad arm through the corresponding hole.

“Whatever.” You sneered, shooting him one last glare before pivoting in order to follow through on shoving your medkit back into your duffel, giving yourself a much needed moment to calm the petty anger that had sparked in your chest at Leon’s rude response to your harmless teasing. Talk about an overreaction…

You glanced back at Leon once you were feeling a little less like biting his head off, only to have the irritation that you had spent the last several minutes breathing through make a swift return when you saw him poking curiously at his injured shoulder, wincing when he occasionally hit a sore spot. 

You immediately stalked back over to him and smacked his hand, Leon snatching his stinging appendage away from the bandages like he was worried that you would break it if he didn’t move fast enough, looking all to the world like a scolded child who’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have as he placed his hands into his lap.

“Don’t do that.” You warned with a disapproving frown, eyes scanning over the wrappings to make sure that he wasn’t about to start bleeding through his bandages. “And you know what –while we're on the topic of what not to do– no removing the bandages, no getting wet, no lifting heavy objects and no strenuous activities. That includes jacking off by the way.” You lifted a finger for each rule you listed, staring Leon down to make sure he knew you were being dead serious. 

The absolute last thing you needed was for him to permanently mess up his shoulder because he did something stupid.

“How charming, I’m swooning.” Leon said as he placed his hands onto his knees and pushed to his feet, his face blanching of all color and leaving him looking more like the B.O.W’s that the two of you fought on the regular once he was fully upright. Thankfully for Leon, you were already reaching out to him when he took a stumbling step forward, so you managed to steady him with a hand on his hip and the other wrapped around his forearm before he had the opportunity to take a nasty spill.

“That’ll be the hypovolemia. Obviously.” You responded sarcastically almost on autopilot, the concern you were feeling at seeing the guy you’d personally witnessed walk off insane blows –ones he for all intents and purposes definitely shouldn’t have– struggling to just stand seeping into your voice without your say-so and taking the bite out of your words as you watched him sway in place like a drunk. 

Your hands lingered on Leon even after he had regained his balance, your fingers absentmindedly flexing around his impressive bicep as your eyes ran up and down his body, eagerly taking in how the shirt hugged every dip and curve of his muscles.

Leon cleared his throat and you blinked rapidly –feeling like you were coming out of a daze– and your gaze darted away from his chest and back up to his face, your eyes widening as your cheeks heated when you saw that he was wearing his signature cocky smirk as he watched you all but feel him up. 

You jerked your hands away from him like you’d been burned and quickly turned away so your back was facing him, ignoring the soft laugh that Leon breathed out at your expense in favor of sweeping the last of the discarded wrappers littering the table into the trash can.

"It's a good thing you're pretty, cause you're dumber than a box of rocks. Standing up so quickly when you've lost as much blood as you have. Moron." You grumbled to yourself in an attempt to hide how rattled you were at getting caught ogling Leon fucking Kennedy of all people, who was the most insufferable, egotistical, attractive, loyal… protective… 

You quickly shook your head before your thoughts could derail completely, as if that would get rid of the little voice in the back of your head –the one that was gradually getting louder every time you worked with him– that pointed out all of Leon’s positive qualities, which far outnumbered the less favorable aspects of his personality. 

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy.” Leon said with his usual level of smugness, the grin that you just knew he was sporting audible in his voice, and you valiantly resisted the ever-growing urge to either punch him in his mouth or kiss him stupid in order to wipe that infuriating look off his unfairly handsome face.

“Go lay down, Kennedy. Get some rest.” You sighed –sweeping your gaze across the dining room to make sure you didn’t miss any wayward pieces of trash– before checking your side arm and dragging one of the three intact wooden chairs over to the front window in order to sit down. It gave you a nice view of the snowy front yard and the long, winding driveway that led up to the cabin that gave you a solid vantage point of anyone who tried to approach the safehouse.

“Fine, fine.” Leon muttered, the blond giving an exaggerated sigh as he ran his hand through his hair before turning to unsteadily make his way over to the ratty couch that was shoved into the corner of the main room and –in a move that was very uncharacteristic of him– gingerly lower himself down onto the shitty cushions. “But don’t blame me if I get bored and start bothering you again in five minutes.” Leon added after he’d carefully stretched out across the couch, taking up almost the entire length.

“Goodnight.” You said pointedly without looking away from the window, watching as the previously peaceful snowfall outside gradually picked up into a full-blown blizzard, your gaze straying from the white tundra outside when you caught sight of Leon in the reflection of the glass. 

He had unholstered his own sidearm and rested his hands –gun and all– over his sternum and closed his eyes, the blond only managing to remain still for a few seconds before he was wiggling around again, the telltale shift of fabric accompanying the movement, as he attempted to get comfortable on the narrow couch.

You waited him out, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the potent combination of the drugs, pain and blood loss caught up with him and knocked him the fuck out, and you were proven right when you heard his breathing even out into sleep only a few minutes later.

Finally.

Leon was good at hiding it, but he desperately needed the rest –especially when he was in as rough shape as he was right now– and you were determined to make sure that he got it, partly because he needed to heal but mostly because you didn’t feel like listening to him whine about how he needed his beauty sleep for the next several hours if he was woken up too soon.

IKE EVELAND

He knew it was going to happen. He’s seen you get stressed in a crowd more than once and he made sure to be on the lookout for all the usual signs of distress.

Ike looked up from reading chat to check up on you and noticed your tense demeanor. He frowned, lips pressed into a firm line— he was sitting across from you on the other couch and between his friends and scuffed streaming setup there was no way to move towards you without attracting attention. From the way you were sitting deathly still without moving away on your own, Ike knew you didn’t want your friends to notice that you were worse for wear. He imagined that you didn’t want to kill the vibe, or something of the sort.

Unfortunately for you, Ike cared more about your well-being than being discreet. He stood up and crossed over hazardous wires to your spot on the couch. You’ve caved too far in on yourself to notice his presence until your fingers are interlocked and he’s pulling you up from your seat. Eyes opened, you saw Ike’s gentle smile, which grounded you back into reality enough to sigh in relief when he moved his hand to the small of your back. The song isn’t over yet, so Ike mouthed, “we’ll be right back,” to Elira and Aia before guiding you out of the room.

With the door closed behind you the sound was muffled. The air in the hallway was cooler and the walls were a boring shade of beige that was suddenly beautiful given the circumstances. You took a deep breath and unclenched your jaw, which you weren’t even aware you were doing in the first place.

Ike’s hand stayed on your lower back, tracing circles as you calmed down. “You’re too stubborn,” he mused. “If you’re not feeling good, take a moment to yourself!”

You knew if you let him talk more he was going to lecture you gently on advocating for yourself. The scolding would definitely be deserved, but you got in his way before he could truly start. “You came to my rescue anyways,” you laughed. You leaned forward to rest your head against Ike’s shoulder and gripped the fabric of his sweater for dear life.

He was also aware that you were avoiding one of his lectures, but he loved you and you were stressed so he let you get away with it this time. He pressed a kiss to your temple, but not before rolling his eyes. “Well, obviously. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

SHU YAMINO

Shu’s approach was unorthodox. 

The song ended before he noticed. In that moment he was seated on the opposite end of the couch from you with a cold drink in hand to mitigate the growing temperature of the room. In between songs, everyone in the room shuffled positions as Vanta scrolled through the tracklist, and with Aia moving to the front to sit by Rosemi, Shu took the opportunity to seize the open spot next to you.

His arm found his way around your shoulder, an intimate gesture gone unnoticed by your models’ tracking. It was calming enough to release some tension from your neck, and with his fingers on your shoulder he noticed the stiffness of your body. He tilted his head towards you, curiosity shifting into concern when he saw your furrowed brows and closed eyes. “(Name)?”

The best you could offer him was a rigid nod. His hand squeezed your shoulder and he frowned. If there weren’t several microphones around the room, Shu would say something more comforting. But it would also sound romantic and the last thing the situation needed was chat prying into a background conversation.

Your skin is hot. Fever level, almost. There was a simple solution that Shu acted on without skipping a beat— he pressed his cold drink against your cheek. You flinched against the can and whined, “hey!”

There was no room to move away from Shu and, in fact, he pulled you closer. You had half a mind to push him away but the action was, unfortunately, sweet and grounding. The aluminum against your cheek brought your body temperature to something more reasonable and the sheer absurdity of it brought you back down to Earth. “That was uncalled for.”

“I think it was pretty called for,” Shu replied. You both whispered but the conversation was definitely audible in the stream for active listeners, so the conversation would be a fun song and dance around any romantic implications. “It’s better now, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile. You pushed yourself closer to Shu until you felt like you were connected. “Better,” you agreed.

SONNY BRISKO

You didn’t even see him move. You forced your eyes open after a shallow breath, a failed attempt to soothe your anxieties, and found Sonny to your right on the couch. You blinked. He didn’t say a word and wasn’t looking at you, but his hand landed on your knee and squeezed.

Sonny embodied the strong, silent type so well that you wondered if he was doing it on purpose. If the comforting contact wasn’t enough to calm your nerves, you thought that the sheer force of his cool attitude would do it on its own. His hand was warm against your leg, but not in the uncomfortable and icky way that was plaguing you. It was gentle yet firm and he brought you back into the moment like you never got lost.

“When did you get over here?” You asked quietly. Finally, Sonny turned his attention towards you and shook your knee playfully.

“I’ve been in the room the whole time,” he said, like it answered your question. Chat saw your model’s eyes roll and sent “wwww”s and “LMAO”s in response to your side conversation as Elira yapped in the foreground. 

Sonny’s model doesn’t do the shit-eating grin he had in person justice. “Funny,” you replied, pretending not to be amused but your smile betrayed you. 

Your smile and steady breathing told Sonny he was doing everything he needed to. He never said it out loud, but if there was anything he prided himself on was his ability to read you clearly. This off-collab? A recipe for chaos, camaraderie, and disaster, and Sonny knew full well it was going to be overwhelming for you. The second everyone piled into this room he knew it was only a matter of time, so he watched you closely but only moved when he saw your shut your eyes.

He did things quietly without any expectation of a return. Sonny was satisfied with your love and affection but you loved him enough to return his actions tenfold. You pulled his hand from your knee to your chest and kissed his knuckles. His hands were calloused and rough but you treated him gently anyways.

“Chat,” you whispered into the nearest microphone. “Sonny just stealthed across the room. It was terrifying. Scariest guy in the world!”

Scariest guy in the world, code for sweetest guy in the universe.

VANTACROW BRINGER

This was Vanta’s first time hosting an off-collab this large and he was hyped to sing his heart out alongside his friends and even more so, but secretly, his partner.

He was singing along to KICK BACK when your anxiety spiked. This off-collab was a big deal, you thought to yourself in your worry. There wasn’t any particularly big stakes, but you knew full well how special it was to get to be the host for a big off-collab. It more than tripled your average viewer count and the last thing you wanted was to distract him from the excitement.

So, even when the song ended, you steel yourself with a shaky breath and try to relax. Maybe if you pretended it wasn’t a big deal, it suddenly wouldn’t be, but your heightened awareness made you notice small enough details like one light faintly flickering, so you knew it was a fruitless effort.

You should have known, though, that Vanta isn’t blind. An unconvicing smile didn’t do anything to reassure him when he glanced at you while picking the next song. Because your posture was stiff and he could see some sweat hastily wiped to the side of your face. He found himself offended that you thought you could pull a fast one on him like he wasn’t the best and most attentive boyfriend on the planet (self-proclaimed).

“Claude, can you pull up the next song?” He asked, and then him walking towards you made you realize he saw right through you. There was nowhere to run so you were defenseless when he grabbed your wrists annd pulled you off the couch. “Chat, (Name) is giving me weird looks.”

His humor dffused some of the tension from your mind. “O- Only because you looked at me strange first!” He pulled you forward until your torso was flush against his and, with one arm wrapped around your waist, he dragged you towards a less crowded corner of the room. It wasn’t secluded by any means, but it was a good distance away from most of the scuffed streaming setup and, most relieving, under the room’s only air vent.

Cool air soothed your skin in an instant and Vanta rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “You’re okay?” You were far enough away from the stream setup to go unheard by the microphones, so you nodded and replied quietly.

“I’m okay.” You assured so he could get back to the stream as soon as possible, but he still hesitated to return until he leaned in to kiss your cheek. The last of your anxieties escaped with the relieved sigh you let out, “now I’m perfect.”

CLAUDE CLAWMARK

Claude was a man on a mission that started even before he finished singing along to KICK BACK. His aim wasn’t just for his Valo hopcons with Finana; keeping track of your well-being was a much better use for his observation skills, in his humble opinion. 

He glanced behind him once while singing and analyzed your demeanor in one second. Furrowed brow, tense shoulders, eyes squeezed closed— bad signs! Claude squinted at you before turning back towards the karaoke screen. Something would have to be done about this.

The song ended and Claude pouted in spite of the room’s excitement because he thought back to before the stream started. “Hey,” Claude pulled you aside as Vanta, Elira, and Vox were setting up the scuffed stream equipment. “It’s really crowded in here. Let me know if you get overwhelmed, ‘kay?”

And you said yes but you didn’t say a word before Claude left your side to go up for karaoke so he was upset. Not upset at you— well, a little, but not seriously —but at himself for not noticing earlier. Maybe at the room for only having one air vent and making the atmosphere uncomfortably stuffy.

There is no room left on the couch for him to join you unless he pushes Ryoma off the couch. So, instead, he stood in front of you and placed his hand on the top of your head. When you looked up at him, Claude moved his fingers to card through your hair and scratch at your scalp. To avoid being heard by the stream, Claude mouthed, “are you okay?”

It was a rhetorical question and despite knowing that you still lied and nodded. Claude scoffed and sat down on the floor against the couch— right between your legs. Claude rested his arm on your leg and turned backwards to look up at you, and you realized your leg stopped bouncing and it was easier to breathe. “Liar,” Claude whispered.

The weight against your legs was comforting, and Claude smiled at you warmly, and things weren’t so bad all of a sudden. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Claude’s shoulders. “Guilty.”

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As if on cue, the arms that were wrapped around your waist squeeze a bit tighter than normal. The sudden pressure makes you let out a grunt of surprise while Qingzu lets out another exhausted sigh. Meanwhile you glance down to lock eyes with Jing Yuan, who very much is staring at you with a small pout evident on his lips, "Oh so my darling has finally acknowledged my existence?" he jokes with a grin, meanwhile you merely stare down back at him with a neutral expression before resting your left arm carrying the paperwork on his gray head. The general uses the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your waist, playfully biting into an exposed part of your skin from where his hand had wormed itself underneath your shirt, making you squirm away from him, to which he immediately grabs your back into his hold.

"If you haven't noticed dear, you're practically leeching onto me to the point I can't even stand at my usual side, that is to per say in front of the desk and not literally quite next to you and within your arms." You whisper to him gently. Flicking his forehead before whipping your head around to address the Cloud Knights before your husband can say anything in his defense.

You ignore the looks of disbelief on some of the soldiers' faces.

"I apologize for the awkwardness this position may cause, I can only hope for your understanding being that I've been away from the Luofu for a few months helping Marshal Fua with some matters at her fleet. I've only recently come back." you explain, gesturing Qingzu over to hand over the paperwork to her before waving your hand with a guilty smile, "You're all dismissed, please be safe out there."

"Lady Fu Xuan, how may I be of assis-"

"Are you two arguing or something?" Fu Xuan interrupts before you can even finish your sentence which leaves you staring wide eyed at her with your mouth agape, "Pardon? I'm not quite sure who you're referring to-"

"The general. I'm referring to general Jing Yuan, who else would I be referring to? He sits around the seat of Divine Foresight like a kicked puppy. Which makes it even harder to get any information in OR to him because he's not even mentally present! Can you fix him? Wonderful! Let's make haste to the seat."

You're not even allowed to finish your cup of tea or give an answer before the divination commissioner grabs you by the forearms and drags you out of the teahouse.

"Jing-" you haven't even taken one step into the seat of Divine Foresight before you're surrounded by the familiar scent of your husband. A gentle hand placed by your head while an arm is tightly wound around your waist. You can practically feel the smile of utter glee on Jing Yuan's lips as he buries his face into your hair.

"Darling, I thought you had the day off today?" he mutters into your hair, sounding a bit too happy to have you in his arms again to the point he's ignoring the death glares from Fu Xuan besides you, the divination commissioner just wanting to do her part of keeping the Luofu afloat.

"I was having my day off, before Lady Fu Xuan here dragged me out because someone didn't-" you struggle free to nag at him, but your husband merely smiles softly at you before lifting your chin to give you a quick kiss, "Now that you're here I feel more energized than ever, let me finish the paperwork for today and I'll join you, we can even play a round of starchess." he suggests.

You can practically sense Fu Xuan roll her eyes in disgust, able to hear her mutter about a "lovesick fool" before walking past the two of you, Jing Yuan merely grabbing your hand to lead you towards the seat.

So much for a day off.

You can't breathe.

"Jing-" another press of his lips onto yours as you find yourself pressed on the wall beside the door, "Yanqing-" you manage to breathe out when finally able to pull a tiny bit away from him. Pressing your hand over whatever surface of his face you can reach to try to shove him away, your other hand occupied with bracing itself against the wall.

Your husband ignores your literal hand on his face, somehow having more strength to still slant his lips across your own despite your efforts, the hand he has behind your head pushing you further against him while he shoves a leg between your own to keep you still, "Train-"

There's a rather loud set of knocks on your bedroom door followed by an exasperated sigh coming from behind it, which makes you freeze but Jing Yuan ignores it, sliding his tongue over your teeth while you resign yourself to slam your fist repeatedly on his back to get him to back off.

"General! I know you missed [Name] a lot during the months they were away from the Luofu, but you know that today is supposed to be a training day!" Yanqing shouts from behind the door, and you feel sorry over the realization he's aware of what's happening beyond it.

Feeling sorry enough for Yanqing whose probably already waited 15 minutes before knocking at the door, you muster whatever little strength you have left against your husband's addictive lips to grab his ponytail and yank him off and away from you.

Jing Yuan merely grunts in irritation, looking at you with a glare and swollen lips, but you ignore him. Opening the door before Jing Yuan can grab you again and giving Yanqing an apologetic look, "I tried-"

"It's better than last time, at least." He points out to which you merely sigh before opening the door wider, "I'll give you more pocket money this month, how's that for compensation?" You suggest, shoving your husband out the door before he do anything else, Yanqing smiling in triumph at your generosity.

"You're the best! Give me extra if I manage to land a few hits on the general?"

"5 more than usual and I'll give you an extra thousand." You settle, tapping Jing Yuan on the shoulder. Your husband turns around to face you with a hum, and you lean in to peck him on the cheek, gliding your lips over to his ear, "If you're a bit nicer to him today you'll also get a reward."

you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.

but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.

the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.

marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.

servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.

you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.

dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity. 

“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.

“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.

“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.” 

it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”

you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.

the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.

is he drinking... blood?

your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?” 

flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”

you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself. 

for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.

his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”

you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.

with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”

you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you. 

“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.

“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”

that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination. 

you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.

yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.

ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION

over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband. 

you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him. 

you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.

all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.

(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.

there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in. 

it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.

as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest. 

the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.

"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"

ah. 

well at least he has jokes..?)

or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace. 

(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.

so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?

you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.

"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”

well that didn’t exactly sound convincing. 

“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”

and that certainly didn’t make it any better!

you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal. 

you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)

either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!

today will be different.

failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.

so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.

you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.

but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.

perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.

pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—

a sudden force slams into your back.

the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.

it’s deeper than you thought.

icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down. 

as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.

the next thing you feel is warmth.

your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees. 

you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.

his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.

for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.

did he jump in after you..?

“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality. 

your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve. 

it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you. 

he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"

the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."

his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.

“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."

mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent. 

a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—

a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.

“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”

sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.

“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him. 

his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”

there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.

he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”

and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place. 

somehow, it fits him too well.

ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR

once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.

held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.

and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena. 

the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent. 

within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.

mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.

the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side. 

phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."

mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.

“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”

phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.

alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.

exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”

but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.

the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone. 

“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.

mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.

“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”

“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”

“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit. 

mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.

the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.

and yet, here you are.

as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.

“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.

“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.

he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.

something tugs at the edge of his mind. 

you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.

so why do you still look at him like that?

his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.

“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.

you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.

you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.

“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.

but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters. 

“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”

“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.

he freezes.

he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence. 

but his darling wife doesn’t know that.

and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.

your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”

you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.

for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.

ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS

"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner. 

the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."

you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts. 

phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses. 

you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."

phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."

you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"

to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.

—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."

the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.

you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.

“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—” 

your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?

“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain. 

beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.

but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”

“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing. 

the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.” 

she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”

“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—” 

her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.

and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.

your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.

a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.

you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you. 

mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry. 

a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.

“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”

the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”

“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself.  she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.

“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward,  “take her away.”

 “y-your highness, i only—”

mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”

the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.

then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction. 

phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”

but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.

with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.

“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”

he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”

you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”

ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?

his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”

phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.

mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”

he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it. 

the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly,  as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.

it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.

the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.

at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—” “mydei.”

…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?

(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)

you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.

“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”

he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips. 

he looks good like this, you think.

with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”

a half-truth, at best.

your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.

a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.

could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.

but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”

mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.

"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."

mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.

warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.

you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”

mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.

"especially when they were a gift from you."

and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.

ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART

it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.

it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.

“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”

he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."

mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"

phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words. 

“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"

the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”

ah. that does it.

mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.

phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth. 

“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.

phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.

“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”

“i’m not mad i—”

“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”

mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters. 

phainon smiles. “then tell her.”

mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”

the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development. 

you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.

right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.

phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.

because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.

“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.

phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”

he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”

you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.

“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?” 

he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.

you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”

phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”

narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”

“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”

there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.

still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—

only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.

just your luck.

mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite. 

and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.

did he just—?

heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.

“the prince has a sweet tooth.”

for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat. 

mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—

your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.

you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.

phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.

the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall. 

seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.

you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.

before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”

mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.

(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)

you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.

rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.

it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.

…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.

so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either. 

still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.

as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”

you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”

phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”

you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble. 

oh no.

“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”

you frown. “phainon—”

he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”

he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”

“huh?”

"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.

you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.

"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"

“that’s enough.”

both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.

phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”

the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?” 

a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear. 

even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. 

his gaze is so unbearably soft.

after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.

you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.

(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)

ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION

the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.

all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.

from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena. 

the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.

the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.

and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.

you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.

with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching. 

nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.

so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—

only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.

without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.

you blink, momentarily startled.

warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.

it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince. 

and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.

you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”

he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout. 

“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.

you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?

“... and i wanted one today.”

“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”

as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”

his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident. 

it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”

honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway. 

“if it’s for you,”

his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“i’d do anything.”

ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS

from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it. 

ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears. 

your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip. 

the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.

you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal. 

the crowd cheers for violence.

warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.

and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought. 

the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.

because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want… 

is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.

the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.

the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.

the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back. 

for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.

then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.

for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.

“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.

he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.

the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see. 

a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.

and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.

in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips. 

with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.

you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.

“you came back to me,” you murmur.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

“i always will.”

you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.

at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.

EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER

the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.

mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it. 

“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”

you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.

“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.

he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”

the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. 

you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”

you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”

with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.

you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”

“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”

he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”

you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands. 

“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.

the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.

his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.

"i love you, [name]."

and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.

thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

“I’m leaving.”

His fingers tighten around the bracelet, knuckles white “With them?” His voice is hoarse, raw.

You swallow hard “Yeah.”

Finally, he lifts his head, eyes bloodshot but focused on you “Why?”

You hesitate, because the real answer feels too heavy to say out loud. Because if I stay, I’ll break apart. Because the ache in your chest is unbearable, and you don’t know how to exist in this world without Ace in it.

Instead, you say, “I don’t have anywhere else to go... No one to go to.”

Luffy flinches, but you know he understands. He’s feeling it too.

His jaw tightens “You… you have me. You don’t have to go.”

You kneel in front of him, forcing a small smile “You have your crew, Luffy. They’re coming back to you. But me…” Your voice wavers, and you hate it “I need time.”

Luffy stares at you for a long moment before exhaling shakily “Ace really loved you, y’know.”

Your breath catches.

Luffy grips his hat and presses it to his forehead “So that means you’re like my sister-in-law,” he mumbles, voice thick with emotion “And I protect my family.”

Your vision blurs. You clench your fists to stop your hands from shaking.

“Luffy…”

He looks at you, his expression serious in a way you rarely see “You’re always gonna be my family. Don't forget it. You can come to me whenever you want and need to.”

The words nearly break you.

You force yourself to smile, even if it wobbles “Then you better take care of yourself, little brother.”

His lip trembles, but he nods “You too.”

You take a deep breath, memorizing the sight of him, before finally standing.

Law is waiting, watching silently as you step aboard. You don’t look back.

“That was dramatic” he mutters once you’re beside him.

You huff a weak laugh, hiding your tears “Shut up.”

He doesn’t push you for more, just nods toward the submarine’s entrance “Come on, Y/N-ya. We’re leaving.”

And with that, the Heart Pirates set sail, and you leave the past behind.

The Polar Tang is… different. Not in a bad way, just different. It’s quieter than the Moby Dick, smaller, and runs a lot smoother since it’s a submarine. The crew is nice enough, but they watch you carefully, like they’re waiting to see if you’ll actually stick around, and like they're afraid to say the wrong things.

You don’t blame them. You’re still trying to figure all that out yourself.

What you do know is that you’re not wearing that.

“Absolutely not,” you say, holding up the black and yellow jumpsuit like it personally offended you “There is no way I’m wearing this.”

Penguin grins “Aw, c’mon, it’s tradition! We all wear them.”

“Yeah, and you all look dumb.” You toss the uniform back at him.

Shachi snickers “She’s got a point.”

Bepo tilts his head “But it helps with unity!”

“I don’t care.” You cross your arms “I just lost my last family. I’m not replacing them by playing dress-up with you guys.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence. You didn’t mean to let that slip, but it’s too late now.

Penguin and Shachi exchange glances, suddenly looking unsure. Bepo’s ears lower slightly.

Before anyone can say anything, Law’s voice cuts through the air.

“She doesn’t have to wear it.”

You turn to see him leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His gaze flicks to the uniform in Penguin’s hands before settling back on you “As long as she follows orders, it doesn’t matter what she wears.”

You smirk, triumphant but still hiding the regrets of your previous words “See? Captain’s orders.”

Penguin groans “Man, you’re getting special treatment already?”

Law clicks his tongue “Tch. Don’t be stupid. She’s not getting special treatment.” He pushes off the wall and starts walking away “Now get back to work.”

The others grumble but scatter, leaving you standing there, still holding your ground.

Law pauses at the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder “You really will be following orders, though.”

You roll your eyes “Yeah, yeah, Captain. You don't have to repeat it again.”

He watches you for a second longer before walking away.

You exhale, shoulders slumping. You still don’t know if this was the right choice. But for now, you’re here and that’s enough.

Days pass, then weeks. You settle into life on the Polar Tang, though settle might be a strong word. You’re still figuring out your place here, still deciding if this is home or just a temporary stop before the sea pulls you somewhere else.

The Heart Pirates warm up to you quickly, especially Penguin and Shachi, who have made it their mission to pester you at every opportunity. Bepo is a sweetheart, and you swear Ikkaku enjoys giving you extra work just to see if you’ll complain.

And then there’s Law.

Your relationship with him is… strange. He’s your captain now, and he makes sure you don’t forget it. He orders you around, assigns you tasks, and corrects you whenever you mess up. But he also lets you push back more than he probably should.

Like now.

“You’re not getting out of training, Y/N-ya,” Law says, arms crossed as he watches you from across the room “You’re part of this crew, which means you need to be able to hold your own.”

You sigh, sitting cross-legged on the floor, pointedly not moving “I can hold my own.”

“You haven’t fought once since you got here.”

“That’s not true. I threw a wrench at Shachi last week.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It should.”

Law pinches the bridge of his nose “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a second, Law freezes.

You don’t know why your heart starts beating faster. You don’t know why it suddenly feels like the room is too small, too quiet.

Then, he scoffs “Tch. Keep dreaming.”

You smirk, pushing yourself up “Fine, fine. I’ll train. But only because I choose to.”

Law rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

As you walk past him, you can feel his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long, and for some reason, that makes it just a little easier to breathe.

It's another day with them and dinner is as loud as always. Penguin and Shachi are arguing over who gets the last piece of meat, Bepo is calmly eating his food, and Ikkaku is scolding someone about their table manners. It’s chaotic, messy, and full of life.

You should feel comforted by it.

But then, Shachi laughs, almost losing another game “Doesn’t matter what happens, we’ll figure it out! That’s just how we are, right? We don’t let anyone mess with our family.”

It’s innocent. Just a casual statement made as a joke for a game. But your whole body freezes.

We don’t let anyone mess with our family.

The words slam into you like a punch to the gut. You’ve heard them before. Ace used to say them all the time.

“Nobody messes with my family and gets away with it!”

Your breath catches.

You see Ace in your mind so clearly, grinning, full of warmth and unwavering confidence. His arm draped over your shoulders, his voice always so sure.

“You’re stuck with me, you know. You’re family.”

The sound of laughter around you distorts. Your hands tremble against the table. Your chest tightens so hard it hurts.

Ace said those words all the time, and now he’s gone.

Your vision blurs.

You push your chair back so fast it screeches against the floor.

The room falls silent.

“Y/N-ya?” Law’s voice is cautious, but you can’t answer.

You stand abruptly, shoving away from the table as the weight in your chest becomes unbearable.

You hear Bepo call after you, but you’re already moving, already pushing out the door before anyone can stop you.

The hallway is quiet, but it doesn’t help. Your heart is pounding, your breathing uneven. The walls feel like they’re closing in.

You don’t know where you’re going, just away.

But then...

“Y/N-ya.”

Law.

His voice is calmer than it should be, given the fact that you just stormed out in the middle of dinner. You hear his footsteps behind you, steady and deliberate. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand you stop, but you do.

Because you don’t want to be alone.

You lean against the cool metal wall, staring at the ground, swallowing down the sobs threatening to escape.

Law steps beside you, close enough that his presence is solid, grounding. He doesn’t speak right away, just waits.

After a moment, you exhale shakily “Ace used to say that.” Your voice is hoarse “What Shachi said. About family. I know Shachi was joking, it's not his fault. My mind just started thinking too much, again.”

Law is silent, but you know he’s listening.

You blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay “Ace always said it like nothing could ever touch us. Like as long as we had each other, we’d be okay.”

Your voice cracks.

“But we weren’t. We obviously aren’t.”

And then, suddenly, you can’t hold it in anymore.

The sob breaks free before you can stop it, and then another. Your shoulders shake as you clutch your arms, as if holding yourself together.

Then you feel warmth.

A hand on your back. Firm, steady. Not pushing, just there.

Law doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move away either. He lets you cry, lets you break, without judgment or expectation.

And when your knees nearly give out, he catches you, pulling you close, solid and steady, as if to say, I won’t let you fall. And for the first time since Marineford, you let yourself lean on someone else.

A few months passed…

Of course, things don’t magically get better. That’s not how grief works.

But they shift. Slowly. Subtly.

The crew doesn’t bring up that night you ran out of dinner crying, not directly. But you notice how they’re a little gentler now. Bepo always sits next to you. Penguin and Shachi tease you a bit less (but only a bit), and Ikkaku throws you extra portions without saying a word.

They don’t push. They don’t ask. But they see you.

And Law hasn’t changed. Not exactly. He still gives out orders like commands are oxygen, still gets that narrowed-eye look when you mess up during training, and still acts like emotions are an inconvenience.

But you catch him watching you sometimes. When he thinks you’re not looking.

And when you do catch him, he doesn’t look away.

It’s a calm evening, which is rare. The Polar Tang is surfacing for the night, drifting peacefully on the open sea. You’re up on the deck, sitting cross-legged and staring at the stars, enjoying the breeze on your face.

Law’s voice breaks the silence.

“Not hiding in your room tonight.”

You glance over your shoulder. He’s standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

“I like it up here,” you say, shrugging “it’s quiet. The stars help.”

Law walks over without asking and sits beside you, not close enough to touch, but closer than usual.

You blink “No book tonight?”

He smirks faintly “Even I get tired of reading medical journals.”

You hum and tilt your head back to the sky “Do you ever think about how small we are out here?”

Law doesn’t answer right away “All the time.”

Silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable.

You pick at a loose thread on your pants, then quietly say, “It still hurts.”

“I know.”

You turn to look at him “Do you think it ever goes away?”

Law’s eyes flick to yours, and for a second, his walls drop.

“No,” he says simply “But you get better at carrying it.”

You nod slowly. That makes sense.

You both sit there, the silence stretching, stars spinning above.

Then he speaks again, quiet and careful “You’ve changed.”

You snort “Thanks?”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You glance at him, surprised.

He’s looking out at the ocean now “When you came aboard, I didn’t think you’d last a week.”

You raise an eyebrow “Wow. Inspiring confidence, Captain.”

He smirks again, but it fades fast “But you stayed. Even after everything.”

“Because of you” you say before you can stop yourself.

Law looks at you, startled.

You feel heat rush to your cheeks but hold his gaze “You saved Luffy. You didn’t have to. And then you let me on your ship. You didn’t have to do that either.”

His voice is low “I didn’t do it for thanks.”

“I know. That’s why it mattered.”

There’s a long pause. Something unspoken crackling in the air between you.

You look back at the sea, heart pounding, trying to ignore how much you want him to say something, anything that will explain what’s been growing between you.

He doesn’t. Not yet.

But he doesn’t move away either.

And when his shoulder brushes yours, just slightly, you don’t pull back.

Two years.

That’s how long it’s been since you joined the Heart Pirates.

And somewhere between near-death missions, long nights on the sea, and quiet moments you didn’t ask for. Something changed.

You and Law changed.

It’s not loud or obvious. Not something you could put into words if someone asked. But it’s there.

Like the way his eyes always flick to you when he walks into a room.

Like how you always end up sitting beside him at meals, even without meaning to.

Like how his voice softens slightly when he says your name.

He still scolds you during training. Still sighs like you’re impossible when you ignore protocol.

And when you’re injured? He’s the first one kneeling at your side. Every time. Without fail.

You don’t talk about it. He doesn’t either.

But it’s real. It’s there. And everyone else knows it.

“Okay, seriously,” Shachi whispers one night as he leans over the dining table toward Penguin, “did you see the way they looked at each other earlier? Like... looked. That was something.”

Penguin nods “They’re either in love or telepathically plotting a murder.”

“I’m going with both” Ikkaku mutters, sipping her tea.

Bepo sighs “We’re not supposed to bring it up.”

“Why not?” Shachi hisses “They’re so obvious, it’s painful.”

“Because of Ace” Bepo says softly “She’s been through a lot. We won’t pressure her.”

That shuts everyone up for a beat.

Until Shachi mumbles “Still feels like they’re circling each other in slow motion.”

Ikkaku stabs a dumpling with unnecessary aggression “Just kiss already. I’m begging.”

You catch them watching you sometimes, too many times to pretend it’s subtle.

Whenever you and Law share a look, the whole room seems to pause.

Whenever he lingers a second too long beside you, or his hand brushes yours, the crew’s collective poker face fails miserably.

But Law ignores it all. Just keeps moving forward, like it doesn’t affect him.

Like he doesn’t know that your heart skips every time he calls your name in that low, measured tone.

And you pretend not to notice either. Pretend your stomach doesn’t twist when he leans in too close. Pretend you don’t feel the shift every time your eyes meet.

But in the quiet moments, when it’s just you and him, you feel something hanging there between you. Like something is building.

The unspoken thing between you and Law has only grown heavier by time. Stolen glances, the rare soft tone in his voice when he says your name, the way your hand always finds the spot next to his at the table.

You’ve gotten used to reading him, how to tell when he’s irritated, when he’s tired, when he’s secretly impressed. But now, something’s off.

He’s quiet lately. More than usual. Locked in his quarters for hours at a time. Studying maps, muttering things you can’t hear. And when you ask, he brushes it off with a flat “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Which, of course, only makes you worry more.

One night, dinner is unusually tense.

Shachi and Penguin whisper from across the table, not even trying to hide it anymore.

“She’s gonna find out soon.”

“She already knows. Look at her face.”

“She knows something,” Bepo mutters “But she doesn’t know it’s Dressrosa.”

You set your spoon down “What’s Dressrosa?”

The table falls into silence.

Ikkaku winces “Damn it.”

You stare at them all “What’s happening?”

Nobody speaks.

So you stand, chair scraping behind you, and walk straight out of the mess hall.

You find Law in the control room, his face locked over a table full of charts. Dressrosa is circled in red.

He doesn’t flinch when you walk in.

You close the door behind you “You’re going there.”

He nods once “Yes.”

“You weren’t going to tell me.”

Law straightens up, but doesn’t meet your eyes “It’s not your concern.”

“It is my concern,” you snap “I’m your crew too, just like the rest of them.”

He finally looks at you “That’s exactly why you’re staying with them.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Just you and him, staring, and the space between you suddenly feels like a chasm.

“You’re doing it again” you say softly “Pulling away. Trying to protect everyone by shutting us out.”

Law’s expression flickers with guilt, regret and frustration.

“I’m handling it.”

“No, you’re running. You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You're not scared...” You step closer, voice breaking “You’re terrified of letting people care about you. You think if you keep pushing us away, it won’t hurt when something happens.”

You lower your voice “But it will. It always does.”

He stares at you, like he’s waiting for you to stop.

You don’t.

“You think I don’t see what this is between us? You think I haven’t felt it for a long time now?”

He says nothing.

You take a breath “You’ve given me so much, Law. You gave me a second life after Ace. You gave me something to live for again.”

Your throat tightens “And now you’re just gonna disappear into some revenge mission and pretend like none of this matters?”

His eyes darken “It does matter.”

You blink “Then say it.”

Law opens his mouth, then closes it again.

You shake your head, heart cracking open “Forget it.”

You turn to leave.

But before you touch the door...

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says behind you “That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

You stop. But you don’t look back.

You don’t sleep that night.

You lie in your bunk, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of that conversation. The look in Law’s eyes. The silence where his answer should’ve been. The ache in your chest that’s only getting worse.

When you hear footsteps above deck a little before dawn, you know it’s him.

You throw on a jacket and follow without thinking.

He’s there, standing at the edge of the deck, the sea wind catching his coat. Alone.

He turns slightly when you approach “You should be asleep.”

“You should be explaining yourself.”

His mouth twitches. A ghost of a smile. Gone in an instant.

You cross your arms “You were really gonna leave without saying goodbye.”

Law looks ahead again, gaze fixed on the horizon “Goodbyes make it harder.”

You take a breath “Harder for who?”

Silence.

You step beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm “I meant what I said yesterday.”

“I know.”

“And?”

He exhales slowly “You shouldn’t love someone like me.”

Your heart lurches “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“I know who you are,” you snap “I’ve seen you save strangers without blinking. I’ve seen you risk your life for your crew. For Luffy. For me.”

You pause, voice low “I love all of that. And if you leave now, and something happens to you—”

You look at him fully now “Don’t make me lose someone else I love, Law. Not without even getting to hold onto you first.”

His jaw tightens. He says nothing.

So you laugh, bitter and soft “Of course. You don’t say anything you don’t think you deserve to feel.”

You start to turn away, tears building, when he says “I do.”

You freeze.

He’s looking at you now. Fully. No mask.

“I do feel it. All of it.”

He steps forward, slow and certain, until he’s close enough that you can see the storm in his eyes and hear the quiet panic in his breath.

“Every time you laugh. Every time you sit next to me without saying a word. Every time I catch myself looking at you and don’t know how to stop. I feel it.”

Your lips part, but you don’t speak. You can’t.

“I didn’t want to,” he says, voice barely above a whisper “But it happened. And now I don’t know how to leave without feeling like I’m leaving part of myself behind.”

Your throat burns.

“So don’t,” you whisper “Don’t leave like that. Not with nothing.”

He hesitates.

Then, he leans in slowly, unsure, and presses his forehead to yours.

Not a kiss. Not yet. But it says everything.

“I’ll come back,” he promises “And when I do… if you’re still here—”

“I will be.”

A breath passes between you. His hand brushes your cheek like he’s still convincing himself you’re real.

Then he pulls away.

“Stay safe” he says.

“You too, Law.”

And with one last glance, he disappears down the dock, coat billowing, heart heavy, and not just with revenge anymore.

The moment your feet hit the ground of Zou, you’re paralyzed. The chaos of the crew bustling around you, the excitement in the air, everything feels too loud. It’s all too much. You’ve been bracing for this moment for what feels like an eternity, but now that it’s here, you can’t breathe.

You’ve heard the whispers that he’s finally back, felt the crew’s excitement bubbling up like they’re about to burst. But nothing could prepare you for the reality of seeing him alive. You knew they won, you knew he was out there, somewhere, but seeing him in front of you again… it’s different.

Your heart races. The crew is already moving forward, pulling you along because you’re too shocked to even move on your own. They don’t even try to hide it, they want to see this happen.

And then there he is.

The crew appears from the bushes and trees around him.

Law stands tall at the center of the clearing, his eyes scanning the crew as they move toward him, his usual cold demeanor barely cracked by the soft, almost imperceptible smile on his lips as he sees Bepo charging toward him before he could even find you with his eyes. The sight of him makes everything inside you freeze.

It’s not that you didn’t know he was alive, but now, standing here, seeing him with your own eyes, it feels real.

Bepo throws himself at Law, tears in his eyes as he cries out, “Captain!” The hug is tight, emotional, the kind of reunion you would have imagined, one that speaks of the bond between them, of loyalty and friendship. Law’s arms stiffen at first but then soften, holding Bepo close, the smile on his face genuine if not a bit awkward.

You stand there, caught in the wave of emotions that’s rushing through you. Relief, yes, but something else too...fear. Fear of what this means. You haven’t let yourself think about it that much, but now, with him standing there before you, something shifts. It’s the first time in two years you feel your heart thundering like it did when you first met him, when you started noticing those little things about him, the quiet ways he showed his care.

But now… he’s here.

Bepo pulls back, laughing through his tears “I’m so glad you’re alive, Captain!”

Before Law can even respond, someone else, maybe Ikkaku, maybe Shachi, pulls Bepo away gently, guiding him back to the group.

And then Law finally sees you.

There’s a moment, a breath of time where you feel like the whole world is holding its breath. You didn’t expect the distance between you to feel so large. You didn’t expect to feel so small.

You stand still, unsure of what to do, your legs suddenly heavy, like they’re made of stone. You know the crew, everyone, is watching, but none of that matters right now. You’re looking at him, really seeing him for the first time in so long, and it feels like everything inside you is falling apart.

He hasn’t changed. He still has that same unreadable expression, but something about the way he looks at you now is different. His eyes linger, and in them, you see the same thing you’ve always seen, quiet intensity. But there’s a softness now, a faint warmth.

You don’t move.

You can’t move.

It’s not fear. It’s… shock. You thought you were ready. You thought you were prepared. But seeing him here, right in front of you, it’s more than you can process in a single moment. The flood of emotions, the relief, the joy, the terror, all rush through you all at once, and it feels overwhelming. You never realized how much you needed this, how much you’ve missed him, until now.

And then, slowly, Law begins to walk toward you, his movements steady, calculated, like he’s taking his time, giving you space. When he stops in front of you, there’s a long pause. His eyes are searching your face, studying you, like he’s waiting for something. You’re afraid to look into them, to let him see how much you’ve been holding back.

And then, softly, he speaks “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you finally look up into his eyes. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. The relief is too much. The pain of missing him, of not knowing if you’d ever see him again, it all comes crashing down, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek.

Law’s eyes flicker to it, and without a second thought, he reaches out, his hand gently brushing it away “You don’t have to hide it” he says, his voice low and careful.

“I—” You try to speak, but your voice cracks. You can’t say what you need to. It’s too much. Everything is too much.

Law stands there, his hand still lingering near your cheek, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t rush. He just stands there, waiting for you to breathe, for you to find your voice.

And when you finally do, it’s quiet “I thought I lost you. I—I didn’t know if I could—”

“You didn’t lose me.” His words are simple, but they cut through the noise in your head. He steps closer, his hand sliding from your cheek to rest gently on your shoulder, the contact grounding you “I’m here. I told you I would be.”

And in that moment, you let yourself believe it.

You don’t know what’s going to happen from here, but for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re not standing alone anymore. Law is here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Zou is loud again.

After the quiet weight of seeing Law alive, after the press of his hand on your shoulder, after the whirlwind that followed, now everything is moving. New plans are forming. Straw Hats talking over each other. Heart Pirates buzzing about what’s next. Minks giving updates. It’s chaos. Familiar chaos. The kind you hadn’t realized you missed.

You find Luffy just outside one of the tree dwellings, scarfing down food like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, which, to be fair, is probably true.

“Luffy” you say, your voice unsure but soft.

He looks up, mouth full “Y/n!” He jumps to his feet and wraps you in the kind of hug only Luffy can give, tight, fast, and a little chaotic “You’re okay! You’re really here!”

You nod against his chest, your throat tight “You too…”

“Of course I am!” he grins like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I knew we’d all meet again. I told you!”

He pulls back and beams at you “We’re gonna get Sanji back. Me, Nami, Chopper and Brook. You should come too! With me!”

You freeze.

Your eyes dart past the Straw Hats, past the Heart Pirates, until they land on him. Law is leaning near a shaded post, arms crossed, watching the scene from a distance. You can feel his eyes on you.

You start to answer Luffy, but someone else cuts in.

“She’s not going.”

It’s Law.

He’s walking toward you both now, slow and steady, like the decision was already made before this conversation even started.

Luffy blinks “Huh?”

Law stops beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours “She’s staying with me. With the Heart Pirates.”

You look up at him, startled. You hadn’t even told him you would yet. But he’s not looking at you, he’s looking straight at Luffy.

Nami steps closer, eyebrows raised like she knows exactly what’s going on “Luffy, read the room…”

Luffy blinks again, slowly turning to you “Wait. What? Since when?”

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come.

“I—” You shake your head “I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t know how.”

“Why not?” Luffy tilts his head, confused as ever “You like Law, right?”

Your eyes widen “Luffy…”

“It’s fine,” he says with a shrug “I mean, I get the way you’re looking at him right now. I just didn’t know it was, you know… like that like that.” He grins.

You stare at him, stunned “You’re not… mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” he says, blinking like the very idea is weird “You think Ace would be mad?”

You swallow hard, throat tightening at the mention of Ace’s name.

“I just...” Your voice cracks “I didn’t want to disappoint him. Or you. He… he loved me. And I loved him. And I didn’t think I’d ever be able to—”

“Y/n.”

Luffy’s voice is soft. Even softer than usual.

He smiles again, big and warm and bright “Ace would be happy. Really happy. Because you’re not alone anymore. He wouldn’t want you to be.”

You blink fast, trying to keep the tears back, but it’s no use “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Luffy says, tapping his chest “Because Ace told me you were the best thing that ever happened to him. He said if anything ever happened to him, I had to take care of you. You found someone who can take care of you even better than me, and I’ll always support you like my sister.”

That breaks something in you. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to cry outright.

Nami steps up beside Luffy, resting a hand on your back “He’s right, you know. We’ve all known for a while now. About you and Law. After we met Law and Luffy asked him about you, it was pretty obvious even if the man here has the most unreadable face. It’s just Luffy that is always too oblivious.”

Law, still at your side, hasn’t said a word. But his presence is steady, anchoring. His eyes stay on you.

Luffy grins and throws his arm over your shoulder, dragging you into another hug “I’m happy for you, Y/n. And Ace would be too.”

You press your face against his chest again, this time not hiding the tears “Thank you.”

Law leans in slightly, his voice low near your ear “You didn’t have to be scared.”

You glance up at him, smiling through your tears “I know. But it still scared me.”

“I get it,” he says “But you don’t have to worry. And you can talk to me about your fears, I won’t leave you alone.”

And somehow, for the first time, you believe it.

The sun is dipping behind the massive trees of Zou, painting everything in golden light. The others are gone now, off to find Sanji. The moment they disappeared over the horizon, the world got quiet again.

Too quiet.

You sit at the edge of the overlook, watching the sky shift from orange to deep indigo. The wind brushes through your hair, soft and cool. You hug your knees to your chest, letting yourself breathe for what feels like the first time in days.

And then you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You’re always out, watching the sky when it gets dark” Law says, voice even.

You don’t look at him, not yet “It’s peaceful. Beautiful. Easier to think.”

He stands beside you for a second, silent, then sits down next to you with a small sigh. The space between you hums. Not touching, but not distant either.

You glance over. His hat’s off. That always does something to you. Makes him look realer. Softer. More… him.

“You really told Luffy I was staying with you” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips “Didn’t even bother ask me.”

“You were going to stay anyway” he replies, tilting his head toward you.

“I might’ve,” you murmur, teasing “Might’ve said no. Might’ve gone off on my own. Who knows.”

He looks at you, dead serious “You wouldn’t.”

You meet his eyes “How do you know?”

“Because you’ve looked at me the same way I look at you. You wouldn’t want to separate again.”

Your breath catches.

The silence after that is thick, like the air itself is holding its breath with you.

“I was scared,” you whisper “Of what it meant. Of what it felt like. After Ace… I didn’t think I was allowed to feel this way again.”

“I know,” Law says, just as quietly “That’s why I never pushed.”

You look down at your hands “But you stayed.”

His voice is steady “I wasn’t going to be another person you lost.”

That’s when your heart cracks, but in a good way. The dam you’ve been holding back breaks just a little. You turn to him, really look at him. The way the fading light touches his face, the faint worry in his brow, the way he’s looking at you like you’re everything.

“Say it,” you breathe “Just once.”

Law doesn’t hesitate “I love you.”

And you’re already leaning in by the time he says the last word.

The kiss is slow and gentle. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. Yours clutches his coat, grounding yourself.

It’s not desperate. It’s relieved.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you a little breathless.

You whisper “I love you too.”

He smirks “You were worth the wait.”

Your smile widen and just as his small smile/smirk.

“FINALLY!”

You both flinch apart like you were struck by lightning.

Law whips around, eyes narrowing “What the hell—”

From behind a cluster of bushes near the edge of the clearing, three heads pop out in rapid succession: Shachi, Penguin, and Ikkaku. Bepo follows a second later, way too big to be hiding, but he tries anyway.

“We knew it!” Shachi shouts.

“I said it would happen today!” Penguin crows, fist-pumping like he just won a bet.

“I told you she was gonna make the first move” Ikkaku says smugly.

“You literally did not” Penguin says.

Bepo tries to look innocent “I was just... uh... making sure they were okay…”

You bury your face in your hands, heat flooding your cheeks “Oh my god!”

Law groans, dragging a hand down his face “How long were you there?”

“Long enough” Ikkaku grins.

“To hear everything” Shachi adds.

“I hate all of you” Law mutters.

“Don’t lie to us, Captain,” Penguin says, smug “You’re glowing.”

“I am not glowing.”

“You kind of are” Bepo mumbles.

You let out a breathy laugh, cheeks still flushed, but honestly, it’s kind of perfect. This dumb, messy, ridiculous crew, you didn’t know how badly you needed them until they showed up in your life. Until he showed up in your life.

“Alright,” Law snaps, pushing to his feet and brushing off his coat, “You saw what you wanted. Now go. Before I use Room.”

That gets them moving fast.

Shachi and Penguin scramble like cockroaches, dragging Bepo behind them while Ikkaku throws a wink over her shoulder “You’re cute together! Don’t screw it up!”

They disappear, giggling like kids.

You turn back to Law, trying not to laugh “So… that happened.”

He sighs, but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his lips “We’re never gonna hear the end of it.”

“Nope.”

A pause.

“…Still worth it?” you ask, teasing.