kat

Though every now and then, you managed to convince him to give it a try.

Nothing erased that smug grin off his face faster.

After your morning session was done, you’d leave him behind in the crow’s nest to shower and get ready for the rest of the day while he continued his endless routine of thousands upon thousands of push-ups, squats, weightlifting, and whatever other insanity he considered normal training.

Around noon, you’d usually stop by with water or snacks — things the stubborn mule inevitably forgot about, being too focused on becoming stronger.

Until one afternoon, when Chopper showed up carrying a tray with water and onigiri balanced carefully in his hooves.

Zoro glanced behind the little reindeer, expecting to see your head appear as you climbed the stairs.

Nothing.

“…Thanks,” he muttered, though the entire time one thought kept circling in his head.

Where is she?

“Y/N-san is sunbathing on deck with Nami,” Chopper explained cheerfully. “She asked me to bring you refreshments.”

“Hn.”

He didn’t understand why it bothered him.

You had every right to spend your time however you wanted.

It wasn’t any of his business.

It wasn’t like he cared.

Not at all.

The same thing happened during crew meetings. Somehow, he’d always end up standing right next to you, casually exchanging comments under his breath while everyone else talked.

And dinner arrangements had slowly settled into a routine too.

One day, you’d simply taken the seat between Nami and Zoro, and after that, it became yours.

Without even thinking about it, Zoro started guarding pieces of meat from Luffy’s greedy hands so you’d actually get something to eat. Not that the damn cook would ever allow a lady like you to go hungry in the first place.

It just… came naturally.

In return, whenever Sanji and Zoro inevitably got into one of their arguments over dinner, you’d lightly touch the cook’s arm, bat your eyelashes, smile sweetly, and ask him to pour the green-haired swordsman another cup of sake.

Every single time, the cook would melt on the spot. 

With hearts practically bursting from his eyes, he would wobble dramatically while agreeing.

“Of course, Y/N-swan!” he’d cry. “Anything for you! Though that filthy muscle-brained gorilla doesn’t deserve such kindness from a goddess like you!”

Zoro would only snort smugly into his drink.

Gullible curly-brow.

Until one day, Usopp sat in your seat.

Your seat.

Zoro stared at him. Hard.

“…What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Huh?” Usopp blinked, stuffing freshly grilled fish into his mouth.

“Y/N sits there,” the swordsman muttered, irritation already rising in his chest — though even he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Usopp looked equally confused.

“Since when does it matter where people sit?” Usopp scoffed. “There’s space next to Nami and Chopper.”

Then suddenly, realization dawned across his face. The sniper pointed dramatically.

“WAIT A SECOND—” he shouted, nearly choking. “YOU CAN’T STAND BEING AWAY FROM OUR DEAR STRATEGIST!”

The entire kitchen fell silent.

Robin quietly sipped her tea, visibly amused.

Chopper froze with his eyes and mouth wide open.

Nami looked horrified at the idea of you ending up with a man who couldn’t be forced into a shower at gunpoint and routinely marinated in training sweat for days.

Luffy burst into laughter.

And Sanji…

The blond cook looked personally offended by the very suggestion, a furious vein pulsing in his forehead.

“EXCUSE ME?!” he roared. He launched himself across the room until he was nose-to-nose with Zoro.

 “As if our sweet darling Y/N-swan would ever settle for this overgrown, dumbass meathead of a moss-brained barbarian!”

Zoro’s face immediately turned red. Partly from anger and partly from something else.

“Watch your mouth, pretty boy,” Zoro growled immediately, shoving himself to his feet. “Or I’ll rearrange your damn face.”

His hand dropped toward his swords.

And right then, the kitchen door opened.

“Hey, guys. Sorry I took so long — I completely lost track of time.”

You smiled as you stepped inside and took the empty seat at the table.

Then you noticed the atmosphere.

“…What’s going on?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as your gaze moved across your crewmates.

“Nothin’,” Zoro barked immediately before sitting back down, eyes fixed very intensely on his food.

He looked irritated and his breathing seemed slightly uneven.

And… were his ears red?

You looked toward Nami, but she only shrugged innocently and winked.

“Nothing your lovely little head needs to worry about, Y/N-san,” Sanji said smoothly while placing your favorite meal in front of you alongside your drink.

Meanwhile, Usopp and Chopper suddenly found the table fascinating.

Robin hid another smile behind her teacup.

Only Luffy, despite witnessing the entire thing unfold, remained completely oblivious.

“SHISHISHI! Zoro just got worked up because Uso—”

Usopp slapped both hands over Luffy’s mouth.

“H-He’s angry because I used the last of his sake for my amazing newest invention!” the sniper laughed nervously. “A weapon that’ll blow away any enemy foolish enough to challenge Captain Usopp!”

The entire time, Zoro ignored everything and continued eating as if none of this concerned him.

“Oh,” you said thoughtfully. “I think I still have a bottle saved in my room. I can check later. Besides, we’re docking at a new town soon anyway — we can just buy double the amount this time. Sound good?”

You looked at him carefully, trying to lighten his mood.

“Hn. Whatever,” he muttered.

The rest of dinner passed in mild awkwardness until Luffy and Usopp inevitably caused enough chaos to distract everyone.

Later that night, you found the swordsman sitting in the crow’s nest, leaning against one of the wooden beams.

You sat down beside him and gently nudged his shoulder with yours.

He grunted softly in acknowledgment. A greeting, in Zoro language.

“Rough day?”

“Tch.”

“You’re grumpier than usual.”

“You’re imagining things,” he muttered.

For a moment, it sounded like he wanted to say something else.

You waited patiently.

“Just… I don’t like it when someone takes your place,” he finally grumbled, looking away.

Your heart skipped.

Zoro stared stubbornly at the horizon and cleared his throat roughly before continuing.

“We’re docking tomorrow.”

A pause.

“Come with me to pick out sake.”

His jaw tightened. Then, quieter:

“And… whatever other crap you like.”

He meant your clothes, perfumes, sweets, books, and all the little things that always seemed to catch your eye whenever you visited a town.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and swallowed.

“Deal,” you said with a smile. “It’s a date.”

The words made warmth flicker across his face almost instantly. For a second, neither or you moved,

Then you felt something warm brush against your little finger — subtle, tentative and almost hesitant.

Zoro’s hand had settled beside yours. And with the barest movement, his calloused finger hooked lightly against your own.

Neither of you pulled away.

Truthfully, there were many things about his past he hadn’t managed to share yet. You had probably pieced fragments together already through conversations, things overheard from the crew, and your own intuition. Your relationship was still young enough that there were chapters of each other’s lives left unread, but old enough that neither of you needed every detail to understand the other.

He loved finding you curled up in the library with a book, or half-asleep in bed—sometimes your own, sometimes his—waiting for him to finally stop working and come lie down too.

He loved the spark that lit your eyes whenever the two of you visited museums in whatever city the crew temporarily docked at. The conversations about paintings, writers, history, myths. The way your excitement spilled into every topic you touched.

And he loved your affection for sweet things.

Especially, as you constantly reminded him, for him.

“The sweetest thing of all.”

Every single time, it earned an exasperated eye roll, ears tinged pink beneath the brim of his hat, and a desperate attempt to change the subject or stare intensely at the nearest wall.

Sweet. Sweet. Sweet.

Law wasn’t always fond of revisiting the past. It followed him regardless of where he went, a shadow he had never quite managed to outrun.

But that evening, his thoughts drifted to his family.

To his father.

He remembered the way his father would surprise his mother with bouquets of the freshest flowers he could find. There was always a small note tucked among the stems, usually containing only a few words, yet somehow capable of bringing an even brighter smile and a blush to her cheeks.

Sometimes his father would return home early from work, a near impossibility for a doctor as respected as he had been, simply because he wanted more time with his wife and children.

Law remembered him helping around the house without being asked. Cooking lunch. Washing windows. Dusting shelves. Even the smallest, most ordinary little acts had been woven together with care and affection.

The captain found himself yearning for that too.

Love didn’t always have to be spoken.

Perhaps that was why the memories lingered.

Because words had never been his strongest point.

He loved you.

God, he loved you.

There was never any doubt about that.

Yet sometimes it felt as though an unbearable invisible weight sat heavily across his shoulders, preventing him from taking that final step and showing you every ounce of tenderness he carried for you.

And there was so much tenderness. More than he knew how to express.

He only hoped you knew that already.

So he started small.

Just as you were about to leave your room and march down the corridor to his office and force your chronically sleep-deprived boyfriend into getting at least a tolerable amount of rest, the door slid open.

Law stood there holding two mugs of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream and two books tucked beneath one arm.

“I figured you could use about three hundred milliliters of concentrated sugar shock right now.”

His voice was as flat as ever, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. One corner of his mouth twitched upward as he stepped inside.

You blinked.

Before you could say anything, he crossed the room, placed one of your favorite books in your lap, and set the mugs on the nightstands on either side of the bed.

A moment later he slipped beneath the blankets beside you. Without a word, he nudged you gently against his shoulder and opened his own book.

You stared at him. Then at the hot chocolate. Then at him again.

“…Are you feeling alright?”

Law snorted.

“Unfortunately.”

You laughed, and the sound alone made the strange fluttering sensation in his chest feel worthwhile.

A few mornings later, you woke to something even stranger.

Instead of waking up alone in bed while Law disappeared into another round of research before sunrise, you woke up wrapped tightly in your lover’s arms, his hands resting securely around your waist.

For a long moment, you simply stared.

It wasn’t unusual to fall asleep together.

It was unusual to wake up together.

Usually, by the time dawn painted pale streaks across the submarine’s metal walls, he had already disappeared into his office to bury himself beneath stacks of notes and medical journals.

As though he sensed you stirring awake, he pulled you even closer, a sleepy sound escaping him.

Then he buried his face deeper into your hair.

“Keep sleeping.”

His voice was muffled against your head.

“We’re comfortable like this.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Captain, are you cuddling me?”

“No.”

“You literally have me trapped.”

“It’s a strategic embrace.”

A laugh escaped you.

The vibration of it made him pull you even closer. He inhaled slowly, catching the familiar scent of coconut and mango from your shampoo.

Warm. Comforting. Home.

For once, neither of you moved.

On another morning, you walked into the kitchen expecting to begin preparing breakfast for the crew since it happened to be your turn.

Instead, you found Law already there.

The counters were occupied by ingredients, dirty bowls, and evidence of what could only be described as organized chaos. He was in the middle of arranging food onto plates.

When he noticed you standing in the doorway, he immediately became very interested in the knife he was holding.

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make things easier for you.”

His eyes flicked toward yours, nervous despite himself as he waited for your reaction.

Your entire face lit up and you immediately walked up to shower him with kisses..

Before he could retreat, you crossed the kitchen and threw your arms around his neck.

“Law!”

You kissed one cheek.

Then the other.

Then his jaw.

Then his forehead.

The poor man nearly short-circuited.

He blushing so hard it was almost concerning, grumbling under his breath and pretending to complain the entire time.

Heat rushed straight to his ears.

“H-Hey.”

Another kiss.

“Cut it out.”

Another kiss.

“I’m serious.”

Another.

You finally pulled away enough to see his face.

Bright red.

Absolutely mortified.

And cute. Very cute.

Law muttered something incoherent under his breath and turned back toward the food as if the frying pan had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the world.

You only laughed harder.

The gifts continued.

Whenever the Polar Tang docked somewhere for supplies and circumstances forced you to stay behind to guard the submarine, your Surgeon of Death always returned with something for you.

A rare edition of a book.

A dress he’d spotted in a shop window.

A local dessert from a bakery tucked away in some side street.

A trinket tied to the history of the island.

Something thoughtful, chosen specifically for you.

He never made a big deal out of it. Usually he’d leave the gift beside you with a muttered explanation before pretending it wasn’t important.

Once, he returned with a shirt he clearly intended for you to sleep in—a design modeled after the tattoos stretched across his chest.

He didn’t even stay long enough to watch you open it.

The second he dropped the bag onto the couch beside you—where you sat listening to yet another one of Penguin’s ridiculously long jokes—he turned on his heel and marched straight back to his office.

He did not wait to watch you open it.

His stomach was performing acrobatics the entire way there. His pulse wouldn’t settle and something beneath his ribs felt unbearably strange.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock sounded at his door.

Then it opened.

You stepped inside wearing only your robe and the shirt.

Law glanced up and promptly forgot how breathing worked.

The oversized black fabric disappeared beneath your bathrobe, but the familiar tattoo design stretched across your chest exactly as he’d imagined.

Heat rushed violently up Law’s neck, spreading over his ears and across his cheeks in seconds.

“H-Hey… what are you doing?” he asked, heart pounding so hard he was convinced it might burst straight through his ribs and sink the entire submarine.

You smiled at him from beneath your lashes.

“I wanted to show you how much I like my gift.”

You walked over slowly, placing both hands on his shoulders before covering his face in kisses—his jaw, cheek, forehead, eyes, eyebrows, nose, and finally his lips.

By that time whatever remained of his composure had surrendered completely.

He deepened the kiss immediately.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist before sliding lower, lifting you effortlessly into his lap and pulling you flush against him.

When the kiss finally broke, his forehead rested against yours.

“I like it too,” he whispered against your mouth, the corners of his lips curved slightly.

“Especially on you.”

The following week, the Polar Tang surfaced near a small coastal town.

For once, there were no emergencies and the crew scattered to enjoy the rare sunlight however they pleased. Some swam. Others wandered into town. Some napped on deck, read books, or simply enjoyed the fresh air before the submarine inevitably returned to the dark depths below. Some headed into town.

You and Bepo claimed a comfortable spot on deck and spent the morning enjoying the warmth.

Law had gone into town on urgent business—restocking ingredients for his medicines—but insisted he wouldn’t be long and that there was no need for you to come with him.

Bepo had strangely supported this argument with suspicious enthusiasm.

Still, you didn’t think much of it. Days like this were rare. 

At some point, Bepo wandered off to grab cold lemonade while you stayed stretched out in your chair, eyes closed, listening to the waves and feeling the ocean breeze brush softly against your legs.

Everything felt peaceful.

Then suddenly, a tall shadow blocked the warmth of the sun.

You peeked over your sunglasses and found your beautiful, impossibly tall boyfriend standing over you, holding an enormous bouquet of peonies in soft pastel shades—soft pink, white, creamy, pale lilac. Petals layered like clouds.

Your breath caught.

“They’re beautiful,” you whispered, eyes shining as you buried your nose into the sweet floral scent. “How did you know these were my favorite?”

Law watched you quietly.

His expression softened.

He’d known because months ago you’d stopped in front of a flower stall and spent nearly ten minutes admiring peonies.

You hadn’t realized he’d noticed, but he did of course.

Law noticed everything about you.

“Lucky guess,” he replied quietly, watching you instead of the flowers.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Liar.”

He shrugged.

Your fingers brushed against a folded note tucked between the stems.

The moment you noticed it, Law swallowed hard.

Suddenly he felt far more nervous than he had facing emperors, marines, or sea monsters.

Slowly, you unfolded it and three words stared back at you.

I love you.

You looked up at him immediately, startled and flushed pink.

Then Law exhaled.

“I mean it,” he said before you could speak.

“Even if saying it out loud is hard for me sometimes. I love you. Breathing feels easier when you’re around. I sleep better beside you. You make every day better.”

He continued before courage could abandon him.

“Everything is better.”

The vulnerability in his expression nearly broke your heart. And he swallowed thickly.

“Sorry if I’m not always good at showing it.”

Tears gathered in your eyes before you could stop them and you laughed softly and shook your head.

“I love you too, idiot,” you whispered, hugging the bouquet tighter. “Very, very much.” A tear escaped despite your smile.

“And trust me—you show it plenty. I never want you to stop.”

Something warm settled inside his chest. The anxious knot he’d been carrying all morning finally unraveled.

“I don’t plan to.”

He carefully took the bouquet from your arms and placed it on the lounge chair beside you, You could put them in a vase later.

Bartolomeo practically ascends to another plane of existence.

One by one, he fawns over each of your crewmates “Zoro-senpai! Your badassery knows no bounds!!” “Nami-senpai! A goddess of the sea itself!!” “Usopp-senpai, your legendary tales are the stuff of history!!” Even Brook gets a full five-minute monologue about his status as a rock star and a living legend.

And then he gets to you.

Or rather... he doesn’t.

Bartolomeo barely spares you a glance. No tears, no fangirling, not even a comment. Just a stiff nod before turning back to Franky and screaming about how “SUPER” he is.

At first, you think nothing of it. Maybe he doesn’t know as much about you. Not everyone gets the spotlight in every newspaper. But as time passes and Bartolomeo keeps ignoring you, doubt creeps in.

You watch how he interacts with the others, clinging to Luffy like he’s the second coming of the Pirate King (which, fair okay), showering Sanji in praise for his “divine cooking”, even giving Chopper one of those ridiculous “senpai” speeches. But when it comes to you? It’s like you barely exist.

“Hey, Barto” you try to start a conversation one evening. He flinches like you just threw a punch “How long have you had your Devil Fruit?”

“Huh?” He blinks at you, then shrugs, suddenly aloof “Dunno. Long time.”

“…Right.” You shift awkwardly “I ate mine when I was a kid. The—”

“Ah, crap, gotta go! Luffy-senpai might need a drink!” and he bolts before you can say another word.

Your Devil Fruit ability, one that allows you to manipulate gravity in a small radius, suddenly feels useless. Not cool enough. Not impressive enough. You’re not impressive enough.

Days pass, and it only gets worse. Bartolomeo is the loudest person on the ship, yet somehow, he speaks the least around you. He acts like you’re just… there. The way he hypes up the others makes it glaringly obvious that he doesn’t think you’re at their level. Maybe he doesn’t even think you deserve to be a Strawhat.

“Yo” Zoro drops next to you while you sit at the edge of the Sunny, staring at the ocean “You’re sulking.”

You snort “I don’t sulk.”

He gives you a look.

You sigh “It’s Bartolomeo. He never talks to me. Barely looks at me. It’s like I don’t measure up to the rest of you.”

Zoro raises a brow “You actually care what that guy thinks?”

“No!” You pause “…Maybe. It’s just weird. Like, I know I’m not as legendary as you guys, but I thought I at least mattered, just a little bit. Now I’m not so sure...”

“Tch.” Zoro leans back, arms crossed “You’re an idiot.”

“Wow, thanks.”

He jerks his chin toward the other side of the ship. You follow his gaze and freeze.

Bartolomeo is watching you.

Not just watching.... he's actually staring. Jaw clenched, fingers digging into his arms, looking like he’s barely holding himself together. The second your eyes meet, he panics and whirls away, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes below deck.

Zoro smirks “Idiot.”

Realization crashes over you.

Bartolomeo doesn’t ignore you because he thinks you’re uncool.

He ignores you because he thinks you’re too cool. And now, you have a plan.

The next morning, you corner Bartolomeo before he can escape “Oi” you step into his path, crossing your arms “Are you avoiding me?”

“N-no! What? Pfft, no way!” His voice jumps an octave, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You smirk “Really? ‘Cause it kinda seems like you are.”

“I... I just...” He grits his teeth, then groans, dragging his hands through his hair “Ugh! Fine! I am avoiding you!”

You tilt your head “Why?”

Bartolomeo groans again, this time slumping dramatically against the mast like you’re physically torturing him “Because you’re—so—damn—cool!!” He throws his hands in the air “Like, I saw you in the papers and thought, ‘Damn, this one’s gonna be strong.’ But then I met you and you’re not just strong, you’re awesome! The way you fight, the way you talk, your Devil Fruit—it’s all so—gah!!” He grips his head “And I... I get nervous! I don’t get nervous! But around you, I feel like a dumbass, and I don’t wanna say something stupid and make you think I’m lame!”

Silence.

Then you laugh.

Bartolomeo’s face turns bright red “Oi! What’s so funny?!”

“You! You’ve been acting like I’m nothing special this whole time because you’re nervous?” You grin “Dude, I thought you hated me.”

His eyes go wide “What?! NO! Never!! You’re...” He grabs your shoulders, shaking you slightly “You’re amazing! I could never hate you! I’m just a dumbass who doesn’t know how to act around someone that cool!!”

You blink “Wow. That’s… actually really sweet.”

Bartolomeo freezes, realization hitting him like a truck. He just admitted all of that out loud. To you.

He promptly screams, lets go of you, and sprints away at full speed.

You watch him go, shaking your head “Idiot.”

But this time, you’re smiling.

Bartolomeo avoids you even harder after his accidental confession, but this time, it’s not because he doesn’t know how to act, instead it’s because he’s utterly convinced there’s no way you could ever return his feelings. To him, you’re like an untouchable star, way out of his league. Just being near you makes his heart feel like it’s about to explode.

And you? You’re getting really tired of this his nonsense.

The entire crew notices. Luffy, as oblivious as ever, just assumes Bartolomeo is naturally weird. Sanji is too busy trying to flirt with Nami and Robin to care. But Zoro? Zoro is actively annoyed.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles one night, sitting next to you while Bartolomeo pretends to be fascinated by a wall on the other side of the ship “Are you seriously just gonna let him keep running?”

You scowl “Of course not.”

“Good. Because it's annoying to watch.”

It takes another day before you get him alone. You corner him in the storage room, blocking the only exit with a casual lean against the doorframe “Alright, enough of this.”

Bartolomeo stiffens like he’s been caught committing a crime “E-enough of what? Haha! I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“You’re avoiding me again.”

“I’m n-not—”

You step closer. He steps back. His face is redder than ever “Barto.”

His breath hitches “Y-yeah?”

You smirk “For someone who thinks I’m so cool, you sure keep running away from me.”

His brain short-circuits “I—uh—I—”

“Why?”

He looks away, gripping his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping him standing “Because someone like you… you could never…” he swallows hard “You deserve someone better.”

Your expression softens “That’s what you think?”

He nods “Yeah. Like Zoro-senpai... he—he takes good care of you.”

You sigh, then grab his hand. He jolts like you just shocked him with a lightning bolt.

“Barto, you dumbass,” you say fondly “If I didn’t like you back, I wouldn’t even be standing here.”

His jaw drops. He blinks once. Twice.

Then... “EH?!?!”

You grin “Took you long enough.”

Bartolomeo malfunctions entirely. His knees wobble, his face somehow gets redder, and he looks two seconds away from passing out “B-but—but I—I—”

You roll your eyes before pulling him down by the collar and pressing a kiss to his lips.

For one terrifying second, you think he actually did pass out. But then his hands snap up, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. The kiss is messy, desperate, and so incredibly Bartolomeo that you can’t help but smile against his lips.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide with disbelief “Holy shit.”

You chuckle “Well, yeah.”

Then he promptly screams, lifting you into the air and spinning you around in sheer joy “I’M THE LUCKIEST MAN ALIVE!!!”

Somewhere outside, you hear Zoro groan, “Finally.”

Killers large hands rest on your hips, his thumbs pressing circles into your flesh, more to ground himself than you.

"Why do you love me?"

Your hands splay over his chest, slowly moving upwards until you're cradling his face. You lean down slightly and press your lips to his purple ones, causing his eyes to slide shut as he sighs into your affection.

You pull back after a few moments, staring directly into his watery blues as you reply, "I love you because you're my soul mate. I love you because you exist." You kissed the tip of his nose. "I love you because you fill my life with reason."

There's a shine in Killers eyes that hadn't been there before. You made sure to keep that to yourself. "I... I fucked up-"

You silenced him with a kiss, moaning softly into his mouth when his tongue slides against yours. Tears slide down the creased corners of his eyes as he kisses you back, not wanting the moment to end.

"Stop thinking about the past," you demanded lightly, murmuring in his ear. "You can't change it. You can only move forward."

Killer sobs. He inhales the scent of your hair, your throat, your entire being as he clings to you. "I can't do it," he chokes, trying to memorize the sound of your voice comforting him.

"I love you," you say, your breath warm against his ear and cheek. He swears he can taste the peach perfume you always wear. "I love you. I don't care what you did, I care that you came home."

Killer continues weeping, until a familiar prickle begins at the base of his neck. "No, please, no not yet," he begs, his hands roaming your form with his lips pressing everywhere he could reach.

"I love you," you say again, holding his face once more. His vision blurs as your touch disappears and the last thing he hears is, "but you have to wake up."

Killers eyes snap open and his gaze meets the half broken roof of the inn he fell asleep in. The partying had slowed, but still continued, though not nearly as crazily as earlier. When the realization that he was alone finally kicked in, his already aching eyes began to burn once again.

He sighs and throws an arm over his face, and suddenly he's enrobed in the scent of fresh peaches. Clutched in his shaking hand was your torn and bloodied shirt, a favourite of his that he'd picked out for you when you first gotten together.

“You’re going to do some amazing things. I just know it.”

Zoro’s scowl softens, a blush creeping up his neck as he ducks his head away. Giving him an affectionate pat on the cheek you turn to the second person boarding. 

Persona has a number more bags than Zoro, though her journey is set to continue even further than his. Each one was jam packed, carefully filled to fit the maximum amount in the most efficient way possible. Her wardrobe never seemed to stop increasing, with a good number of the items made by yourself to fit her specifications.

“Promise me you’ll make sure he gets to his friends safe?”

“I never thought I’d see the day where a maid was making demands.” She crosses her arms, though her words lack any true indignance. Just as Zoro, she can’t seem to look you in the eye, seeming just as dejected as last night about your declined invitation to join her.

Pulling her down to your level from her floating perch, you place a kiss on her forehead before smoothing the bangs back into place. 

“I know I don’t have to worry about you, but make sure you at least write once in a while.”

She pouts, her cheeks puffing out, but nods regardless. Satisfied, you bring them both into one last hug despite their complaints. They could get out if they really wanted to, and you’re grateful they allow you to hang on to this moment just a little longer.

“Don’t let that old man push you around. Let me know if he gets out of line.” Zoro says, Perona nodding in agreement. You can’t help but laugh.

“I think I shall be fine with him.”

You wave as the boat sails off, watching until it disappears from sight before turning around and making the trek back to the castle. It overcast, as seems to be the permanent weather on Kuraigaina apart from the occasional sunny day. Still, you take your time getting back, knowing you won’t be needed until noon.

Mihawk would be training on the far side of the island, least he accidentally destroy a section of the castle again. Though if he did you could only assume he would move somewhere else. The warlord certainly didn’t lack the funds or connections to get another isolated island if he wanted to. 

A part of you wondered if he would leave you behind to fend for yourself or if he deemed you worthy enough to go through the trouble of taking you with him, but shook the thought away. While stern and lacking social tact, Mihawk wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself. At least you hoped you had built a better relationship in your time with him than that. Maybe it was a pit presumptuous, but you liked to think he considered you a friend, even if a silent part of you wished you could be more.

One of the things you had learned early in your life was to never fall for the people you served, having seen too many scorned and cast aside. Best case you were heartbroken. Worst? Well, the rich and strong had more than one way to get rid of things that annoyed them, and Mihawk was the strongest man you’d ever seen.

You could still remember the first time you met.

——————————————

“A little more to the left.”

“Yes, Lady Perona.” You shifted the parasol, blocking the light drizzle that fell from the grey skies in a con cadence. 

Despite the weather, Perona was insistent on taking her afternoon walk, and of course who else to accompany her and make sure she was dry but yourself? Even if you were being drenched by the rain and chilled to the bone. Not when she had graciously taken you in after finding you washed up on the beach, out cold and injured. She’d even taken the liberties of bandaging your wounds, which ache alongside your arms as you hold the parasol. It would be easier if she actually walked instead of hovering above the ground but you didn’t dare voice the thought. Your last charge had been quick to deliver punishment if anything in opposition were spoken, and you were broken of the behavior early on in your career.

You were heading back to the castle, the flowers she had picked- preferring fresh ones every other day to be placed in her room- resting in the basket on your back. The pink petals contrasted the atmosphere and you couldn’t help but think they indeed helped to liven up the equally dreary interior of the castle.

It had only been just over a month since being taken into her service, Peronal proudly declaring you her maid and putting you to work as soon as your wounds were healed enough to stand and move about. It certainly hurt, but you’d been injured and expected to work before, though your wounds were a bit more serious than any discipline you’d received.

It was just as you’d reached the front doors that you saw them coming in through the front gate. One with mossy hair, looking a bit worse for wear as he limped beside a rather tall man with a wide-brimmed hat. The feather was weighed down under the weight of the rain, but the hat did its job to keep a majority of the now downpour from reaching him. 

The hem of his coat was soaked and spotted with mud but the materials shed water and kept him dry while the man next to him was just as just as drenched as you were.

Mihawk and Zoro you assumed. You weren’t completely unaware of the fact that others lived in the castle, Perona complaining about them often enough to clue in on the fact. Apparently they had gone to some distant island for training without a word of when they would be back, so you had served with the knowledge that there would be others to come, even if you didn’t know when. 

Now appeared to be that time.

”Who the hell is this?” Zoro shouted as he got close, meeting you on the steps. He had a number of scrapes and bruises, though none seemed to deter him in the slightest.

”She’s my maid.” 

“You kidnapped someone?”

“No you idiot!” Perona shouted, hitting him over the head. “I found her on the beach! Unlike some people, she knows how to thank someone when they save her life.”

Zoro glared, rubbing his head as his attention shifted to you. “So you wash up and decide to just stay here? With her?”

He narrowly dodges another strike, though not the ghost that creeps behind him. 

“I was traveling with my previous master when our ship hit a rough storm and we capsized.” You swallow, trying not to think too much about the incident. The fear you’d felt upon realizing the ship was going down. The hopelessness as you were booted from the lifeboat to make room for your master's collection of oddities picked up at the market you were traveling back from. Clinging to an errant board of the busted ship as you watched him and the others row away, only to be swallowed in one gulp by a sea beast.  “As far as I know I am the only survivor.”

You open the door, stepping aside and gesturing them in.

”I was unaware of your return today. Dinner will be slightly delayed, but should allow you to get dried and changed.” They walked past, Perona without a second glance, while Zoro recovered just enough to stumble in behind her.

Boots, polished by the rain and with flecks of grass and mud still clinging to the toe, clicked against stone. You kept your head bowed, expecting Mihawk to follow the two younger occupants, only to have them stop in front of you. Not turned in your direction, but paused. 

You didn’t speak, only keeping your eyes on the way water ran down the leather in abstract patterns and hoping he wasn’t angered by your presence even as the very air around him seemed to crackle. Perona hadn’t exactly asked permission to keep you, and by all means he was the head of the house even if you had previously only served directly under her so far. One word from him and he could kick you out, left to the ruins of the island without even a ship to go anywhere else.

You sat in the silence with the handle in one hand while the other still held Perona’s parasol, waiting, braced, only for him to continue walking.

Relieved, you continued about business getting dinner prepared and setting the table. There was enough time to change your own clothes and make yourself look presentable, embarrassed at having met the other two members of the household in such a state.

When the clock struck seven the dinning room was occupied by only three of the four residents, Zoro nowhere to be found. 

“I wouldn’t bother. He's probably asleep somewhere.” Perona huffed after you made to find him. 

You nodded, deciding to make up a plate and deliver it to him later. 

Having been spared of the rain, her outfit remained the same, though that couldn’t be said of Mihawk. He’d changed into a casual white shirt tucked into his pants, the cut traveling down to his waist and allowing a generous view of his chest. It somehow seemed even more scandalous than the complete lack of shirt he wore early.

Without the hat you got your first proper look at his face, the neatly trimmed facial hair just as sharp as the rest of him, matching the dark hair slicked back from his face. His eyes were the most notable feature with their concentric rings set like a bullseye, locking on to yours the moment you glanced his way. It took everything in you not to flinch back, years of discipline nearly breaking under the intensity. 

Instead you move Perona’s chair out, gritting your teeth at the weight as the wound in your side twinged. Before you could do the same for Mihawk he’s already seated himself, arms crossed as he watches you move, placing trays from the cart on the table. 

Dinner was simple. A roasted meat with spiced potatoes, and sauteed vegetables. Perona’s mug was already filled with a steaming hot chocolate, cool enough to drink but warm enough to last through dinner. You didn’t dare look at Mihawk as you poured his wine- picked from the shelves and already opened, telling that it may be a favorite as you noted the type- keeping your head down as you returned the bottle to the cart. Wordlessly, you took your normal position along the wall, nearly hidden by one of pillars and ready to step forward should they need anything.

Needing no further prompting, Perona dug into her meal, complaining to her dining companion about one thing or another that had happened while he was gone. Mihawk didn’t touch his food or give her a response. Instead his gaze once again found you.

“Are you not going to join us?”

The question took you by surprise, head tilting before you could stop it.

“I will have my meal after cleaning up later, sir.”

Only after you had delivered Zoro’s meal and ensured that the residents of the household were taken care of could you have your own dinner. Leftovers from whatever hadn’t been eaten. A bit cold but still more than flavorful, your cooking up to par with any chef.

“Sit.” Mihawk points to Zoro’s empty seat, everything already set up.

“I’m afraid I can’t sir.”

“Either sit eat or leave. I will not have someone lording over me as I eat.”

You hesitate, propriety waring with command. You couldn’t leave in case you were needed, but it was clear that Mihawk wouldn’t allow you to do so in the manner you were used to. 

With light, slow steps you make your way to the chair, sliding in and portioning the smallest amount of each item on your plate. It wasn’t until you saw Mihawk start on his own food did you allow yourself to eat, careful to keep on eye on the other two.

Was this some kind of trick? Was he going to jump up at any moment and kick you to the ground, scolding on how you should have known better, that he wasn’t being serious?

Yet you were left alone, the perfectly cooked roast sticking to your throat like glue as you struggled to stomach even the smallest of bites.

It’s a mostly quiet affair, with Perona doing the majority of the talking. Mihawk doesn’t give much response apart from the occasional hum, glancing over to you as you try to make the least noticeable movements possible in an attempt to not attract attention. Each time he does so you freeze, unsure of what to do under his gaze. Like a field mouse hiding from predators.

As soon as Mihawk set his utensils down and folded his hands in his lap you took it as a signal that he was done, excusing yourself and getting everything cleaned up. The familiar burn of near scalding water acted as a balm on your nerves, unable to rid yourself of the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. It helps in trying to process what had just happened. Never in the fifteen years you’d been presenting dinner had you actually sat to dine with them. It was unnerving to say the least.

After everything was set and taken care of you checked with Perona for the last time of the night, collecting her clothes and adding them to the basket that would need to be washed tomorrow along with Zoro’s. The young man had been confused upon seeing you with a plate outside his door, and even more so when you asked for his clothes. He handed them over eventually, and that left only one person to visit before you could get some rest yourself.

Standing before the ornate wooden doors, your hand hovered, unable to bring yourself to knock. It was late at night and the thought of disturbing him had you shifting from one foot to the other, but there was nothing to be done. His wet clothes could not be allowed to sit and grow worse. That might only make him cross.

You needed to prove your competency. To show you could be here without being a burden and hope that he didn’t send you out the first chance he got.

The knock echoed into the next room, followed by a ringing silence. For a moment you feared he was sleeping, intending to turn around and come back in the morning, only to hear an ‘enter’ come through the wood.

Mihawk was seated at his desk when you walked in, everything on top neat and organized. One hand grips a pen while a number of papers sit before him, of which you recognize the insignia of the world government at the top of. Being gone for so long must have left some matters to be attended to. Perona had told you he liked to be bothered the least he could but it seemed even he couldn’t get away from the occasional dealing with bureaucracy as a Warlord. 

He doesn’t say anything or get up from his desk, letting the silence between you grow as he only stares, a cold sweat breaking out along your back.

Would he be angry if you were to speak first? ‘Seen not heard’ as well as ‘speak only when spoken to’ were two golden rules of your previous house. 

Thankfully he seems to take mercy on your quickly fraying nerves. The words are sharp and direct.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here for your clothes, sir.”

He shifts, chair creaking as Mihawk rests his chin on his hand.

“No. Why are you here. On this island. There is a supply ship that comes to deliver things every two weeks. If you wanted, you could easily go with them.”

You’d already met the small charter twice, run by a polite enough group that had offered to take you to the next island. They themselves knew of Mihawk’s aversion to others and seemed a bit concerned for your safety. 

The offer had been politely rejected.

“I am here to serve. I owe Perona my life.”

“Is that all?” He asks, the words stabbing through your facade of calm, probing for any hint of a lie.

“I know how to do nothing else, and I will not be accepted back to my previous life.”

Your head tilts down, staring at your feet and waiting for dismissal. 

The chair scrapes back, followed by the sound of heavy steps across stone as he rounds the desk. Mihawk’s approach has you begging to back away, to find some reprieve from his overwhelming presence as you hold your ground dutifully. You see him only by the shadow cast by the fire, stretching like a creature of the night looking for its next victim as he slowly circles, observing. The steps finally come to a stop in front of you and this time you can’t hold back the flinch that comes as his hand grabs your wrist. 

Golden eyes inspect every inch with a stormy impassivity. Every callous and scar that decorates the skin, still red from the water. Them move to your arms, the muscle toned not with training and battle but years spent scrubbing floors and carrying the endless purchases of your employer. There are few marks across the skin considering some of the others you’ve seen, but enough to let you know you will never have the flawless complexion of the high-borns, who will never lift anything heavier than the weight of their overflowing cups.

Mihawk says nothing, only turning the limb back and forth, gaze flickering to yours before he drops it and turns on heel, settling himself at his desk once again.

“My coat is hung to the left. You may take the clothes beside it as well.” He says, gesturing towards the door to the side of the room. 

It seems his bedroom is attached, though you don’t dare to peek around as you retrieve the garment, setting it on top of the half filled basket of others. At least he’s kind enough not to make you gather the clothes from all over the floor yourself. He doesn’t seem the messy type though, and when you’d first started the task of cleaning the massive castle you found that while things were dusty and unused, very few areas could be considered messy. In fact most of the place seemed rather sparse, a contrast to the way nobles normally decorated their houses with abundance to flaunt status and wealth.

Shivering, you note the low fire, adding a few more logs to bring both more heat and light to the room, as well as gathering an empty cup set on a side table. Mihawk remains silent, only the sound of his own scratching paper giving any indication he was still in the room.

“Is there anything else you require before I leave, sir?”

The scribbling stops, and from the way gooseflesh raises you can only assume he’s looking at you once again.

“No.”

You nod once more, taking your collection and heading back out. Only when you were down the hall and around the corner did you allow your knees to give in like they wanted to, holding yourself against the wall as you tried to calm your racing pulse. Not from fear, though that might have been a small part of it, but more so from overwhelming relief that you weren’t going to be dismissed and tossed onto the streets. Not that Mihawk couldn’t change his mind at any moment and deem you more trouble than you’re worth. 

It’s with a sense of determination you stand, already forming a plan of everything that needs to be done in the morning. A plan to secure your position and prove your worth.

======================

As the door closed, Mihawk listened to the sound of your footsteps retreating, his hand slowing to a stop. A heavy sigh escapes him, rubbing his eyes.

The last thing he expected upon coming back was another stray to have showed up on his doorstep. Two was plenty enough for him. It would be a pain if people started to think they could show up whenever, and his first instinct was to send you on your way. Perona might be upset with him but he was not one to bend to the whims of a whining teen.

You were a pathetic sight, drenched to the bone like a cat caught in the rain. Despite your evident misery you didn’t complain, face impassive as you held the umbrella for Perona with shaking hands. It was only the fact of his own weariness from the return journey, and the fact you hadn’t shied away at first glance, that kept him from turning you out then and there.

Dinner was a surprise, the food more than palatable. While no chef, he could cook up his own meals just fine, but yours seemed even more flavorful despite being the same ingredients he used. Mihawk wondered if Perona had told you of his taste, or if you had picked up on his preferences already. He assumed the later, what with the way you flittered about, as if predicting the next need of them both. 

You were competent in any case, and for that he was given one small mercy. If you’d been as stubborn as Zoro or chatty as Perona he might have truly lost his temper. Instead you seemed content to blend into the shadows. Something remembered only when needed, your presence lingering like an afterthought.

It was annoying. He hated weak people with no spine, finding no more interest in them than one would a bug on the side of the road. They offered nothing to him and would only get in the way. 

But your body told a different story than what it first portrayed. It was not weak or pliant, but roughened and hard. A contrast to your demeanor. Marks that are not received from light house work that one would expect of a typical servant, nor would one accept such abuse without leaving under most circumstances. They were gained from years of abuse and use to the fullest extent. Mihawk had his own suspicions that you were either a slave or indentured servant, attributing the dismissal of your past, likely fearing you would be turned in. Many would, looking for some reward, but Mihawk didn’t care for such things.

While he didn’t care for the presence of others he also wasn’t so blind as to not recognize your use. At least you seemed to keep Perona entertained enough, and you weren’t a complete freeloader like the other two. 

You could stay for now.

The thought pleased him more than it should have, and he attributed it to the fact there would be someone who would actually listen to him now.

———————————-

Serving at Kuraigaina castle marked a dramatic shift in your life. There were far less occupants for one thing, but that didn’t mean you had any less work to do.

Zoro was the most resistant to your efforts, jumping whenever you appeared and constantly trying to do everything himself. 

“I’ve got two working hands don’t I?” He would always grumble, though he was more receptive to your efforts to help in the evenings when he came back bone-tired from training, especially when he didn’t have to do his own laundry. Oftentimes you would have to find him to deliver his food, both his internal clock and compass broken beyond repair. 

Perona remained as she always was, one of the more familiar personalities you had learned to deal with from your previous service. She had all the attitude of someone brought up in an environment where they got what they wanted with no issues making demands. As time went on she seemed to soften the slightest bit, and while she still ordered you around like a normal, the occasional please and thank you made their way in. 

Maybe it was due to the fact you were the only two women on the island, so some kind of bond was inevitably going to form. It was nice, as never before had you been able to relax and do the more girlish things in life. Meanwhile Perona radiated everything you wished you could have. Confident and assertive, but also indulging in her enjoyments without a care of what others thought. More than once you were roped into a ‘girls night’, as she called it. Staying up late and watching movies on the snail transponder, allowing her to do your nails and dress you up like a doll until she considered you acceptably ‘cute’.

Then there was Mihawk. 

As the technical lord of the castle he had the most pull, and had no issue with making demands. He exuded the same aloof nature as many of the nobles and upper class you had met, while the air around him remained much more dangerous. There was no suggested threat of danger, but only the very real fact that being around him simply was. Yet he was never violent. Never was a hand raised to you. Orders were not barked, but given in a calm and collected tone that, while not kind, also held no anger or disgust. 

He was simultaneously familiar and unknown.

At first the only times you saw him were meals and the occasional passing in the hall, to which you would step aside with a small bow. Sometimes he would stop for a moment, staring as he did the first time you met, before continuing without a word. That was another thing; Mihawk was not an avid talker. The biggest hurdle to overcome was to properly take care of his needs without them being spoken, and you were an excellent study. Years of perception for the smallest of body cues and behaviors allowed you to eventually fall into step with his silent needs.

Mihawk was both an early riser and late to bed, but preferred for his laundry to be collected and room cleaned in the morning. He didn’t eat breakfast, but took coffee as he sat on the balcony outside his room, keen eyes watching the distant horizon as he read the paper. For someone so intent on his own privacy he seemed adamant in remaining up to date on the events of the world.

You would wake Zoro- which was a challenge of it’s own right, never having met someone who could sleep so soundly-  and he Mihawk would be off to train, stopping at noon for lunch. 

It was terrifying the first time you saw them fighting, nearly blown off your feet by the force generated as their blades met. A slice through the stone next to you had you jumping, eyes wide at the split as Zoro called out, asking if you were okay whike Perona laughed at your disheveled state, sipping at her own tea not far off. Mihawk said nothing, his glare making you shrink in fear of having interrupted. Still he accepted the food, sitting down with the others to eat. 

Once again you were ordered to join. 

It was one of the many peculiar things he would insist upon, feeling too casual. It was precisely his lack of standing on ceremony that you blamed on the eventual slip of your etiquette, not helped by the casual manner in which the other two treated you as well. 

The first instant you realized was at dinner upon pouring Mihawk’s drink, the man watching the liquid pool in the glass. A crystalline white with a light orange hue.

“This is not what I requested.”

“No sir.” You say as you move the glass closer. He had a preference for reds- so sweet it was almost comical in comparison to his demeanor- and his collection only contained a few of the lighter bottles. “As seafood is being served you’ll find a white will go better.”

The moment the words leave your lips you stiffen, realizing it could be interpreted as lecturing. Acting as if you knew better than him. It certain seems that way, not aided by the sharp laugh Perona lets out.

You’re ready to apologize and grab his requested selection when Mihawk grabs the glass with an almost delicate hold, swirling the liquid for a moment before tipping it back. He seems to consider for a moment, eyes closed as you watch, trembling, before nodding and dismissing you with a wave of his hand. You eagerly retreat, taking your seat beside Perona and using her as a shield between you for the rest of the night.

It was the first block to tumble, but certainly not the last.

It’s late afternoon and you’re taking down the linens from the line- ever cautious of the constant chance of rain- folding them and placing them in a basket to be prepared for bedding changes tomorrow. Dinner was over and Perona had gone to bed early while Zoro and Mihawk headed out for a late training. The sky had shifted from dove to iron grey as the sun sets, hardly able to see as you work. It would have been better to bring a lamp with you to see but feared singing the fabric when carrying it back in. 

Instead you set out with the determination to get things done quickly, though the efforts were hampered by the wind pulling the lines just out of reach. It was already a struggle, the beds of the castle both wide and long, all of them seemingly king sized, and the lines in turn had to be put up higher to avoid the sheets dragging on the ground.

With a triumphant grin, you grab hold of the pin, releasing it and allowing the sheet to fall, only for you to have the same fate as a figure is revealed behind it. You're only saved by their quick reflexes, grabbing you by the arm and keeping you upright.

“Sir?” Your question comes out louder than intended, the surprise of seeing Mihawk there more startling than anything. 

“You’re out late.” He says, dropping his grip, through he doesn’t step away. “I could see you from my room.”

Ah, so that was the reason. You must have been making quite the noise to draw him out.

“Apologies. I’ll make sure to do the laundry earlier in the day as to avoid bothering you.”

”You should not be out this late on your own. The humandrills are not the only threat on this island.”

Of course you knew. Venomous snakes and wandering mammals you’d only ever seen the gleaming eyes of also liked to wander at night, as well as bats nearly half as tall as you. They never came close to the castle however. Likely Mihawk had already taught them what happened when they did.

”I’ll head in now sir.” You reach for your basket of laundry, already dreading the weight of the heavy fabrics required to keep the chill of the island at night away, only to have it snatched away as Mihawk grabs the basket with one hand.

”Oh, please sir, I can take that.” You attempt to take the basket only for him to hold it above his head out of reach like it was nothing. Your first instinct is to grab it, and you do try, one hand on his arm as you jump to reach. Only as you feel his hand on your own shoulder holding you back do you realize you’ve touched him, drawing back as if burned.

”I do not favor you dumping the whole thing into the dirt.” Is all he says before heading back towards the castle, leaving you to follow. 

Two days later, now early afternoon when you head out to grab the laundry, you discover Zoro gathering it from the line already. Orders from Mihawk apparently. If he has so many dirty clothes then he’s not moving swiftly enough to avoid staining them, so he can gather the laundry to remind him of how slow he is. Even as you try to help the man materializes seemingly out of thin air, not having to say a thing as he glares, following the entire way until you’re back in the castle.

His peculiarities only grew from there.

In your spare time you liked to visit the library. Something yo had been a bit surprised at the first time you stummmbled upon it.

While none of the shelves seem to contain anything written in the past five years, it was still enjoyable to read through the old romance novels that were tucked away in the corner. It was particularly useful when you found yourself unable to sleep at night, sneaking through the empty halls to get a few chapters in. 

It all went fine and well until you discovered Mihawk in there one night, perched in front of the fireplace with a book balanced on one knee, his head resting in his hand perched on the armrest.

He looks up as you enter, unable to get away without notice. Stalling, you debate your options, clutching your robe tighter to your chest. What a sight you must make, hair messed and clothes wrinkled from tossing and turning. Yet he makes no comment on your appearance even as he scan you from head to toe.

”Do not leave on my account.”

The nicety sounded more akin to an order, drawing you further into the room after a moment of hesitation. Mihawk returns to his book, leaving you free to make your way over to the section you were looking for in the corner. The weight of the pages feels heavier than normal, unsure as to what to do now. Could you just take it back to your room and read? Or would that be impolite? He’d told you not to leave after all.

Taking a seat in your normal spot across from him, you resist the urge to tuck your knees underneath, spine stiff as if fused to the chair back. It’s plush and luxurious, as most thing were in the castle. While there weren’t many furnishings the ones that could be found were nice.

You sit in silence, only the occasional flicking of the page. When the fire gets low you move to add more wood, careful to avoid even the smallest of sparks in the fire hazard of a room. 

“You come here often.”

Of course it wouldn’t escape his notice. Nothing did it seemed, those golden eyes catching everything even which they didn’t see. Like he had a sixth sense.

“Yes sir. When I can’t sleep.”

His head tilts forward, pressing for more.

“I’m used to a much heavier work load.” You confess, settling down in the chair once again. “Many of my duties have been reduced, and I find myself restless at night.”

Mihawk’s eyes flicker to the book on your lap, fingers having unconsciously begun running along the edge. He reads the title, brow raising almost microscopically, and if you didn’t know any better you would say his lips twitched.

Of course he would find your choice silly when he held what looked to be something about fighting, elegant swords crossed over the cover.

You go back to reading, desperate to escape the conversation where neither of you were fans of small talk in the first place. The silence was neither comfortable or uncomfortable, but rather charged with an energy that had you on edge. Like anticipation of something. 

Once an acceptable time was reached you excused yourself, quickly rushing back to your room where you would spend the rest of the night awake, unable to get the interaction out of your head.

Not long after, a few more novels were added to the collection of the library, and the romance section grew just large enough to start encroaching on the other shelves. 

Neither of you said anything about it.

From then on, once or twice a week when you went to the library you would find him waiting there. It soon became routine, the familiarization of his presence only continuing to weaken the rigid, self-imposed constraints that had guided your survival in the world of the upper class.

Now when he walked by in the hall you no longer bowed your head, but instead would offer a polite nod- of which he would return- and ask if there was anything he needed. Most of the time there was nothing, as it seemed he preferred to do most things himself, but once in a while he would command your presence as he did one thing or another. Sometimes it was tending to the small vineyard he kept, while others it was accompanying him as he walked the island. For security reasons, he explained.

There were even times he had you sit in the same room as him just in case he needed something, claiming it was too much trouble to find you for every little thing, yet refusing to use the bell system that had been rigged through the castle and would have you running at the first chime. 

Your favorite thing to do by far was watch Zoro and Mihawk train. The strength they wielded was astonishing, and it was no wonder their bounties were so high. Even if it was often more of a thrashing on Zoro’s end, you were glad to be there to bandage any wounds.

“I look like a mummy.” The young swordsman growled one day, arms crossed as you wrapped an ice pack to his head in an effort to combat the rising bump, courtesy of Mihawk. Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but the mental image of him shuffling around covered in bandages wouldn’t leave, and the laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“You think that’s funny?!”

Yes. And it was only made more so at his indignation and the fact that Perona was now teasing him about how he’d look much better if he covered his face, chasing the girl around the clearing that served as a training ground. 

You couldn’t help it, bent over laughing while watching them run about, sides cramping. When was the last time you had laughed, let alone like this? It was like every nerve was alight, filled with a giddiness that wouldn’t go away.

It was only as you were wiping your tears away, trying to catch your breath, did you notice Mihawk standing a dozen feet away. His eyes watched with a keen intensity that had your hair on end, sobering as you schooled your composure once more even as the occasional hiccup shook your shoulders.

As the duo raced by you grabbed Perona, guiding her back to the waiting chairs you’d previously been sitting in to observe.

With a click of his tongue Mihawk called Zoro back, easily sliding into a fighting stance, though his eyes flickered over the younger man’s shoulder to where you sat. 

Zoro took the distraction to try and get the upper hand, only to have his weapon batted away without Mihawk ever looking at him.

You watched them fight, eyes tracking them the best you could with the speed at which they moved, though your attention tended to linger more on the teacher. 

Oblivious to her observation, Perona looked between you. From the way Mihawk seemed to angle his attacks to give where you both sat a wide berth, to the way you seemed almost dreamy watching. It wasn’t the first time she had caught you doing so either. While she could be self-absorbed, she wasn’t blind.

”You like him, don’t you?”

”What?” You nearly choke on your drink, covering your mouth as you try to clear your lungs, much to your companions amusement.

”I don’t know what you see in him. He’s so old and grumpy.” 

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. It would be very inappropriate to have a-a crush, on him.”

”What, because he’s you boss or something?”

Exactly. Even if he were normal it would be inappropriate, but this was Mihawk; world’s greatest swordsman and a Warlord. You were just somebody who had washed up on his island by chance. In terms of power and importance everyone on the island ranked above you, even the humandrills arguably, If you were going by strength that is.

Perona just waved her hand, leaning back further in her seat as one of her ghost snuck up on Zoro, diving through his back and leaving him to drop to the ground, susceptible to a kick from Mihawk that sent him flying, much to the girl’s amusement.

”Don’t worry, he looks at you too.”

You can only gape at her, unable to press any further upon spotting Mihawk making his way over. Apparently training was done for the day, and you quickly scurried off to retrieve Zoro from where he’d landed and help him back to his room. 

Definitely not because you were trying to avoid Mihawk.

It was to your relief that Perona didn’t bring the subject up again, though you did note the grin she would sport whenever she found the two of you together, doing something as innocent as gathering papers from him that needed to be sent out as part of his Warlord duties.

———————————-

Voices had a tendency to carry through the halls, the lack of adornments only allowing them to echoe further. You took special care not to wake anyone in the late hours of the night when you ventured from your room to read or get something form the kitchen. Unfortunately some other occupants didn’t have the same courtesy.

”What are you two king up?” You question, standing in the doorway, hands on your hips. They could have at least have had the sense to have the conversation in one of their own rooms.

They both jumped, moving quickly to hide whatever it was they had behind their back. It was of little use, the object much to long to be covered, and your eyes widened, nearly dropping the light you held upon spotting the gleam of metal, the curve too familiar.

Maybe it was too generous of you to assume they had any common sense. If they did, they certainly wouldn’t be holding Yoru. Or at least what you hoped was an impeccable replica. Judging from their wide eyes it didn’t seem to be the case.

”It’s his fault!” Perona points her finger, putting distance between herself and Zoro.

”My fault? You’re the one who took it!” Zoro barks.

”But you’re the one who said you wondered what it was like to hold it and put the idea in my head! That’s practically asking me to take it!”

”No it’s not!”

They argued back and forth about who is to blame as you rub your eyes, tempted to turn around and pretend you hadn’t seen anything. But when they got caught it was certain you would be roped in somehow to lessen the blame. 

How had they even gotten he thing in the first place? Mihawk kept it in his room and he wasn’t a heavy sleeper, though it was questionable if he even slept at all. Any time you got out of bed at night for something even as quick as a glass of water he seemed to find you, making you jump each time he emerged from the shadows.

”You have to put it back!”

”Me? You’re the one who took it! He’ll skin whoever he catches!”

”Yes, which is why it should be you!”

”Enough!” You snap, taking them both by surprise. It was the closest to anger you’d ever spoken to either of them, as well as the loudest. “Give it to me.”

If you were going to be used as a scape goat, you could at least face the problem head on and actually do what you were going to get in trouble for. And in any case, if the arguing continued it would certainly wake Mihawk before an attempt to put the sword back could be made.

The weapon was much heavier than expected. With the way Mihawk swung it around you would have thought it to be lighter. Yet the weight almost pulls you down, clutching the sword to your chest as you fix them both with a stern gaze.

”Both of you are to return to your rooms at once, and I better not hear a peep from either of you until sunrise.”

They nodded, mutely shuffling out the door without argument. Maybe it was the fact it was the first time you’d given them an order, or their own fear of being caught by Mihawk and glad to be rid of the incriminating evidence. Whichever the case, you set out alone back towards the residential wing.

Mihawk’s room, as well as your own, was located on one end while Perona and Zoro were on the other. If you had heard them arguing it was a surprise Mihawk hadn’t, though there seemed to be more troubles than normal burdening him. He would never voice it but you could tell, a skill gained from years of service and learning to read the smallest of changes or risk being caught in a flare of anger, by the way his eyes tightened more than normal as he looked out over the horizon, or how he seemed to swing just a bit harder during training.

”Are you alright sir?” You had finally worked up the courage to ask, gathering the mail that needed to be sent out and delivering what had been brought that morning.

His head tilted, expression remaining flat as keen eyes fixed you in place. The silence of the room stretched further than was comfortable, but then again, when had Mihawk been particularly concerned about he comfort of others? You were ready to apologize, already cursing your presumption that you could ask such a thing, when he spoke.

”Nothing that you can do anything about.” The words are sharp and final.

”Of course sir. I would never presume to be able to do anything about what troubles you, far above my strength. If there is anything I can do to help make the rest of your day easier, please let me know.”

Mihawk seems to hesitate for a moment, just enough that you think he might actually say something, before dismissing you with a wave of his hand. Of which, of course, you listen.

But while he says nothing you make an extra effort in the following weeks; cooking food more suited to his taste than the groups, ensuring he has a change of clothes warmed by the fire when he returns at night, making sure Perona and Zoro are on their best behavior (or as much as you can). It may be your own ego talking but you like to think that he seemed to become a little less tense. In any case Zoro didn’t seem to be suffering so many injuries.

You could only hope that you managed to get in and out without notice to avoid worsening his mood once more, and on likelyhood he did wake up hope that he wasn’t in a foul mood.

The room was empty as you crept in, fire long ago extinguished as only low embers burned, keeping the space just above freezing. 

Yoru was normally left just inside his door, ready to be grabbed first thing in the morning on his way out. You didn’t even have to go all the way in. Just crack the door and slip it through onto its stand, though that plan is quickly tossed as you hold the weapon in your arms, barely able to lift it with two hands let alone one, and silently at that.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly turn the handle leading to the bedroom, flinching at the soft click as the tumblr moves. You pause, waiting for the door to be ripped open, listening for the faintest sound of movement. Though the odds of hearing anything are slim, your own pulse pounding so loud it might give you away by itself. When nothing happens you carefully push, making an opening just wide enough to slip through. It’s a blessing that the fire’s out, making one less thing to worry about waking Mihawk. 

Yoru is heavy as you creep in, eye’s wide as you take in the dark room, the lack of moon outside making it that much more difficult. But through the darkness you can make out the figure of Mihawk, still as stone and lying flat on his back, little more than a bump in the blankets, had sunk into the soft pillows that litter the mattress. He has refined taste despite his aggressive nature, and you’ve often found yourself envious of the fluffy adornment whenever you were changing the pillowcases.

His position only adds to your anxiety, expecting at any moment to see him jolt upright like some sort of horror move. But Yoru’s stand sits close by, waitng for its weapon. 

It’s on tiptoes you move, not daring to breathe as you’re forced to turn your back on the sleeping man in order to put it back. Your hands shake, praying that the stand doesn't tip over as you gently rest the sword in its place, momentarily panicking about which way it should be facing. Handle to the door made the most sense, but who knows. Maybe there was some swordsman use against it that you didn’t know about. In your defense, of all the times you’ve cleaned Mihawk’s room he’s always been out and had the weapon with him, leaving no chance of being able to have any reference.

As soon as the sword is back in place and stable you’re back out the door and in the main area once again, your legs feeling like jelly as you catch yourself on the wall.

But you’d done it. Yoru was back in place, Zoro and Perona were in their rooms, and you could go back to your own and pretend like none of this happened in the morning. Hopefully Mihawk wouldn’t be able to pick up on all the nervous energy, or if he did not say any thing about it.

“What are you doing in here?”

Your heart leaps to your throat as your stomach plummets to your toes, spinning around to see the door to the bedroom now opened, silently, and Mihawk just beyond.

He stands leaned against the frame, hair tousled from sleep and clothes slightly askew, the short sleeves allowing you to see the well defined muscle of his forearms which sat crossed. Golden eyes burned without a hint of sleep, as if he had been awake for hours.

“It’s getting colder out and the fire is low. Would you like me to add more wood sir?” You ask. The first thing that pops into your head. A blatant avoidance that has even you cringing. Mihawk merely lifts a brow, chin titled as his eyes scan you from head to toe.

“You’re no good at lying.”

”I’m not lying!” You say, too loud, clamping your hands over your mouth as the proclamation echoes through the room.

”You’re avoiding giving me a straight answer, and that is because you know I can tell when you lie because you’re a bad liar.”

You stand there, frozen, unsure of what to say as he’d already seen through you.

“So tell me; what business do you have sneaking around with Yoru?” Your pulse spikes at the mention of the sword, all hope lost as you're smacked with the fact he knew why you were there. Preservation tells you to get out of there as quickly as possible but it’s uncertain if your legs could even move, let alone carry you fast enough to get away from Mihawk. The thought of telling him about coming upon the other two squabbling over it crosses your mind but you can’t bring yourself to give them up, but neither can you lie to your master. 

To Mihawk. 

The thought alone is enough to have your stomach churning, especially as he pushes off the wall.

Each step is silent, bare feet padding across the stone with little fanfare in contrast to the click of boots he normally wore. One second he’s across the room and the next he’s in front of you, breaking the bubble of personal space as he towers above. You can’t bring yourself to meet him in the eye, hands gripping the hem of your shirt as you keep your head tilted down, though it doesn’t remain that way for long.

A strong hand grips your hair by the roots, tugging just enough to force you to look up. It’s not violent, but the simmering anger that swims in his eyes promises that it could quickly change. His gaze flickers between your own as you thickly swallow the begging plea that threatens to escape. 

Of course he would be enraged by the fact that his prized sword was touched, you just weren’t expecting it like this. A cool, simmering rage so unlike the explosive episodes you were accustom to in your previous service. There was no yelling, hitting or throwing things. Only a silent promise of retribution.

The heat of Mihawk’s body is nearly overwhelming, sleep shirt unbuttoned and allowing warmth to roll off him in waves. Your knuckles brush the exposed skin from where they remain clenched tightly in front of you, both of you jumping at the contact. The movement has Mihawk’s grip pulling just a bit tighter, a small whimper escaping before you can stop it. 

You both freeze at the sound, Mihawk taking a deep breath to compose himself, his jaw flexing while pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath in and out. He seems to come to a conclusion, molten gold eyes once again fixing you under his gaze.

“Was it the two brats?”

Your eyes widen before you can stop them. It wasn’t the most outlandish guess but was more so surprising that it had been the first one.

What one could guess to be a smirk curling at the very edges of Mihawk’s lips at your reaction, the ghost of a smile scaring you more than anything else from the man could have. The only answer he needed, and all without you having to say anything.

Then, without another word, he lets you go, giving your head a gentle pat as he smoothes your hair back into place. You can’t find it in yourself to say anything, voice stolen as you watch him calmly head out the door to the hall beyond. He turns left towards the end of the hall housing the only other two occupants of the castle, still silent as a ghost. 

All the while you sit on the floor, legs giving out the moment he was out of sight and barely able to believe your luck.

You were alive.

Mihawk caught you and somehow you were still alive.

Pulse racing and feeling as if you were about to faint yes, but a practically ideal ending given the situation. It takes another moment to muster the strength to get to your feet, stumbling back down the hall to your own room while you can just barely make out a surprised shout from Zoro. Hopefully he can forgive you. It’s not like you actually ratted them out, though you still feel guilty.

Just as you shut your door there’s a rumble of what sounds like stone breaking- of which you would discover in the morning was indeed an entire wall being brought down- prompting you to curl up under your blankets and hide from the world.

———————————-

You wouldn’t exactly call what you had a family, but something akin to it. Nothing like the initial relationship you had. 

Things were not demanded or ordered but requested-apart from Perona who treated everyone as if they served her, though even her treatment had softened- and you found yourself working not just as it was expected, but because you wanted to, growing shy under their thanks. Not that there was much else to do on the island, but with each thanks for food and hand received to help clean the endless halls of the castle, you felt as if you grew a bit taller, smiling easier, and scolded about making a mess without fearing punishment.

But of course all good things come to an end. 

Two years had passed before you knew it, and the time for Zoro to meet up with his friends approached. While you insisted he had a bit more time before he had to leave, a month at least, he was insistent that he knew the correct date. Perona decided to follow him, apparently having had enough of the island and looking for something more exciting, in search of her former companions.

The castle would certainly be a lot quieter, and you found yourself just a bit more attached to them.

Their last night you made an extra special dinner. All of their favorites, feeling the need to indulge them one last time. Who knew when- not if, as you knew both were too stubborn and skilled to be killed or captured before you could see them again- you would see them next.

Of course they were excited. Perona chattering on about all the places she thought of where her former crew could be, her ghost weaving in the air above her, while Zoro wondered about his own. Even through his complaints you could tell he was excited, looking forward to seeing them after so long and showing how much they’d all grown.

Mihawk was silent as always, though a dark cloud seemed to hang over him. His shoulders which normally laid straight and flat against the chair back curled ever so slightly, giving him the slightest look as if he were slouching to your keen eye. To any other he may seem indifferent. Was they’re leaving really that big of a deal? You would have thought he was looking forward to the day to have his peace back, though it may be the fact that he’d no longer have Zoro as a sparing partner. They were still many levels apart but the young man showed great promise even to your limited knowledge of swordsmanship.

“You could at least act like you’re going to miss us.” Perona huffed. 

“I’m sure he will. Being alone on this island can’t be fun.” You said, trying to assure her.

At your words Mihawk seemed to go rigid, his eyes darting over only to go back to focusing on his plate.

Had you offended him somehow? Maybe just the lone wolf image he always seemed to be trying to project. It would be presumptuous of you to assume that he kept any of you around for something as silly as being lonely. He wouldn’t have moved here in the first place if he didn’t want to be alone.

It seemed your statement only sparked a feud between the two young adults, arguing over who Mihawk would be more glad to be rid of as you served dessert.

“There’s still a lot of packing to do.” You say, standing and clearing the dishes. “I’ll be by later to make sure everyone has everything they need. It’ll be a long time before you see it again if you leave it.”

Zoro and Perona stack their plates on the cart, still arguing as they head out. You fondly watch them go, laughing as you see Perona slap the man upside the head before running off, Zoro hot on her heels. The sight has you laughing, warmth bubbling in your chest as you gather the last of the plates.

Turning to take them to the kitchen, you run straight into Mihawk who had been standing right behind. You hadn’t even heard him approach, the plates dropping from your hold as you stumble back.

Deft hands grab the glass plates before they can hit the ground.

”I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there sir!”

You panic, the previous contentment replaced by panic He was already in a sour mood, and there was no reason to make it worse! But why had he been there in the first place? The path from his chair to the door shouldn’t have brought him anywhere close, and he normally preferred to retreat to the greenhouse after dinner. 

It seemed gardening helped him unwind from the day, at ease among the sprawling vines. The atmosphere was positively cozy in comparison to the rest of the castle, the structure clearly something that had been added on after his arrival. 

You often joined him, clearing away any trimmed leaves or branches- not to mention the endless amount of glass that composed the structure needed to be cleaned at least once a week- content in the lack of conversation as a radio snail played gentle music. The station never changed, the music memorized long ago. Often you found yourself humming along as you worked, the tune following you through the rest of your routine.

”Do you like music?” Mihawk had asked one night. Apparently you had been humming a bit too loud, though he didn’t seem angry, just curious. It was difficult to see him as the intimidating man you knew, covered in dirt and hair a bit out of place from the humidity.

”I’ve never had much chance to listen to it sir.” You admit, feeling a bit uncultured. “But I like the music you play.”

The sweeping melodies were lovely, though Perno often complained that it was old people music. It was easy to get caught up in the sway of the notes, your oft moving slightly with the rhythm.

”I was taken to galas at times, though I never got close to the dancing. My mother said it was fun, though I think I’d make a fool of myself if I tried.” You had heard people talking about them. All the opulent decorations and outfits, costing more than you would ever make in a lifetime. It was tempting to ask Mihawk if he had ever been to one. Being a warlord he was likely invited to at least one gathering or another, but you couldn’t imagine him going if he had a choice, and certainly not being around the upper echelon with his intolerance for foolishness.

A branch cracked, nearly scaring you off your ladder as you looked to see Mihawk standing near the bottom rung. His face held an odd look. One you had only seen a few times before when he seemed to be deeply thinking about something.

”Is there something you need sir?”

His eyes, which had been staring almost far off, focused once again. He stood there a moment longer before shaking his head and waving you off, already heading back into the rows of grapevines as you quickly lost sight of him. 

But the look stayed stuck in your head, pondering what he could be thinking. 

It was the same look he gave you now, equally as confused as to what he could be thinking as he remained still, silently staring down at you.

Hesitantly, you reached out to grab the plates. Your fingers brush his by accident, just the lightest touch, unable to look away from his piercing stare. 

At the contact he seemed to snap out of whatever thought had hold of him, giving a small shake of his head as he stepped back. He spun, pace swift as he exited the room and leaving you stunned, wondering what that had been about.

In any case, you needed to get the dishes done and move on to help in the other two pack. You could deal with whatever Mihawk needed tommorow after they had left.

————————————

Arriving back at the castle, you head for your room to change, chilled from the morning mist. Mihawk would likely retreat to the library when he got back, and you made a mental note to make sure there was firewood stocked to keep the place cozy. It was only a shame that Zoro wasn’t here anymore to help you chop the wood, your back already aching in protest.

The room itself was dimly lit, barely able to make out the outlines of the furniture in the dull grey light of the morning as the sun rose behind the clouds. Still an upgrade from the room you’d first been staying in, which would be in the proper servants quarters. While the beds there were small and cramped, the setup familiar, it was closer to the kitchen and laundry room. You’d come back from picking up a new shipment of fabrics for Perona to discover everything had been moved to the residential wing. With so many empty rooms you still had your own space but the walk to the others was much shorter, not to mention this part of the house was much warmer.

‘More convenient.’ Is all Mihawk had said when you gently broached the subject, not even looking up from his paper. 

You could have lit a candle but felt you wouldn’t be there long enough, instead opting to walk with your hands just in front of you, toes curled in fear of stubbing them.

Making it to the drawers that held your clothes, it’s only by chance that you glance up, going rigid as you spot a distinctly human figure on your bed through the mirror setting on top. For as much as you’ve gotten used to the eerie island this is an entirely new experience. 

For a moment you think someone’s broken in but the thought is quickly banished. Who would be stupid enough to do that? And with Perona and Zoro now gone, the two young adults having no concept of personal space, that only left one person.

You spin, now facing Mihawk who lay reclined casually in your bed, feet kicked off to the side. At least he had the decency to not put his boots on the comforter.

“Sir? Did you need something?” It was the only reason you could think of for him to be here. Maybe the weather deterred him, though that never seemed to be an issue before. The normal coat and hat that accompany him are gone, as well as Yoru. Instead he’s dressed in his sleepwear, as if he had no intention of going out at all even though it was far past the time he was normally up and about.

“I thought you would be going with them.”

You stall, head tilting. Did he mean Perona and Zoro? Where in the world had he gotten that idea from? Sure you had helped a great deal with the packing and hadn’t had much of a chance to see him lately, but that was because Perona would want to take much and if it were up to Zoro he would have gone with nothing but the clothes on his back and the swords on his hip.

“Why would I be going with them? They have their own adventures. My place is here.”

“Here on the island,” Mihawk’s chin tilts, eyes seeming to glow in the dark. “Or here with me?”

Swallowing thickly, you mull over what he could possibly mean. Was there a reason for you to be here without him? Maybe it was his way of telling you that you were no longer needed. With the other two gone, Mihawk himself had seemed to be getting by just fine before your arrival, even if the place was a bit more dusty than one might prefer. 

Or maybe, like the others, he was moving on to something else. But there was nowhere else for you to go. You had no connections anywhere else, and you couldn’t return back to your previous employer with the death of the patriarch hanging above your head. You would for sure pay with your life, and had been one of the contributing factors of staying on the island in the first place, the fear of being discovered alive.

It wasn’t so much the fact of being abandoned, but being abandoned by Mihawk that made your eyes burn.

Of course you had developed a crunch on the Warlord. He was handsome, yes, even if his personality could be prickly at times, but he had never been unkind to you. In fact he was downright considerate most of the time, actions speaking more for him than he ever did with words. It was impossible to snub out the growing feelings despite your best efforts, combined you had lychee on to the first person to treat you with respect and mistake it for something more.

“With you of course, sir.”

At your answer he stands, crossing the room in long strides. You’re unable to get away in time, too shock to move as he corners you, back pressed to the dresser as you stare up at him.

“Sir?” You hesitate to ask, wondering if it was the wrong answer. Apparently so, as his eyes tighten a fraction more.

“Why do you call me that? I thought by now you would have dropped it as you did with the two brats.”

Perona and Zoro were just that to you. Perona and Zoro. All formalities dropped somewhere along the line as your relationship grew. It made them feel more familiar. Closer. Something you couldn’t do with Mihawk without fear of falling even deeper into your emotions than you already had.

“It’s only proper, sir. You are my boss.”

“And if I wasn’t? If we were equal, would you call me by my name?”

Maybe. Maybe if you had met him traveling in the road, or eating dinner at a resultant. In the cozy isles of a bookstore or a chance encounter on the street. But you hadn’t. He was still a Warlord and you were his maid.

What a pipe dream. As if you could even imagine reaching a station such as his. The oceans would sooner dry up then such a thing to happen.

“I don’t see how that’s possible s-“

“I can offer you another job and stable life on a peaceful island of the East Blue. There is no obligation for you to stay if you do not wish to. But if you do,” For the first time in all that you’ve known him you see Mihawk hesitate. Almost as if he fears to say the words, though you can hardly associate the words with him even as his jaw clenched, brows drawing tight. 

“You will always have a place at my side.” 

His hand grips your chin, tilting your head up and forcing your eyes to meet his. Eyes that never failed to send a shiver up your spine from the first time you saw them until now, though the reasonings have changed.

“Will you stay with me?”

The question is loaded with more than what it appears to mean, hanging heavy in the air between you. He must be able to feel the way your pulse spikes, his own breath catching.

It’s an out. All you have to do is say no and he’ll leave it be. 

You can think of nothing worse. 

It is not out of service or duty you speak, but the well of affection that finally overflows the walls that have been built around it with all the grace of a seabeast.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

The word hangs at the end, searching. With how close he is it takes you a moment to realize what he’s asking, clawing past the final line in the sand you swore to never cross.

“Yes, Mihawk.”

Before you even finish speaking, his name little more than a whisper, his lips are on yours. 

It’s not aggressive, yet no less commanding than his normal bravado. Mihawk does not hesitate or bother with gentle exploration, nor would you expect it to be. It’s confident and assured, like a sailor stepping onto a ship. 

He takes the lead- something you’re grateful for given your inexperience in the matter apart from some of your younger years, before work got in the way of having any meaningful relationship- his hand never leaving your face as he tilts your head for a better angle, the other finding its place instead on your hip and drawing you closer.

When he finally lets up, pulling away just enough so that your lips are barely touching, his nose skimming your cheek, you’re both panting. A first you’ve seen from him despite the many practice fights and feats you’ve seen him perform.

“Say it again.” He whispers.

“Mihawk.”

His name is spoken breathlessly, almost inaudible, yet it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact it only seems to ignite something further in him, spinning and guiding you back towards that bed until your legs hit the edge of the mattress. 

You tumble back, Mihawk following as he leans over, knees tucked on either side of yours. One hand remains on your waist while the other braces above you.

The dampness of your clothes sinks into the sheets and you squirm, the feeling uncomfortably jarring in comparison to the rest of the situation but unwilling to break the moment. But, as always, it seems Mihawk knows what you’re thinking without a word spoken. 

“Do not worry.” He says against your neck, breaking away for just a moment to allow you both to breathe. Something that was becoming decreasingly important.

“They won’t be a problem for long.” 

Sturdy fingers grasp at the fabric, threatening to tear it away with the strength of its grip, but instead skillfully move to undo the first button. He carefully watches for any sign of hesitation, the smallest flinch of sound, but reveals none. In fact you arch even further into his touch, your own hands traveling to his shirt, chest already exposed and inviting you to explore. 

How many times had you imagined this? No less than a dozen, tempted each time you wear him sparing or even just relaxing, that cursed shirt of his giving ample view of the muscle that lay beneath.

He shook his head and levelled a flat, unimpressed look toward the sound. “They’re an unasked-for gift from Kuma.”

“Kuma? He always gives us the strangest things.”

And rarely were they without meaning. You wondered what he had planned with this.

Mihawk gave you a tired look. “And never with appropriate warning. How were your travels?”

You fought the urge to sigh in exasperation. “Testing of my patience. I was – ”

The door screeched against the stone floor before you could finish your sentence and you turned, interested in the argument that had finally made its way to the table. What they were talking about was beyond you but it took them both a second to notice there was somebody else in the room.

Four ghosts drifted in during the sudden silence that followed, their forms pale against the dark stone, their faint murmuring just loud enough to be heard when the room went still. You watched them for a moment, mildly amused. The house was officially haunted then, you supposed.

“If you two are to remain here, you are to do so with far less noise,” Mihawk said sharply. “What do you want?”

They both opened their mouths to answer but it seemed your unexpected arrival had caused them to forget their argument entirely. Instead, the boy settled on speaking about something else.

“That’s a good sword.”

You followed his gaze to the side of your chaise where your weapon rested. Its plain leather scabbard said little for the quality of the blade inside. You lifted it and held it out toward him and he watched you warily before he stepped forward to take it.

“It was a gift,” you said. “I believe I recognise you. Pirate Hunter Zoro, no?”

He nodded stiffly, far more interested in the weapon than you. He looked uncomfortable. Not as though he was seriously injured but more as though he was recovering from such an ordeal and already pushing himself too hard.

You gave Mihawk a look. “You’ve always been too harsh with your training.”

He tilted his head to you. “If your skills ever fail you, then you can complain about my methods.”

“I can do both,” you said with a small chuckle. “I’ll complain and appreciate your techniques at the same time. Though at the time, I remember nothing but complaining.”

He breathed out quickly. “True. My ears rang for days at the pitch.”

Zoro drew your blade, holding it out in front of him and you turned to the girl instead whose face certainly wasn’t as common on wanted posters.

“We haven’t met,” you said and she frowned at you.

Then she propped her hands onto her hips and nodded. “I see what’s going on.”

“What’s going on?”

Mihawk gave you her name later, after she marched off to find something to eat. You also learned the ghosts were hers and they gathered around her eagerly whenever she laughed, bobbing around. They added quite nicely to the aesthetic of the place – you’d always suspected it had to be haunted by at least one spirit.

You considered it as you lounged atop the silken sheets of the four-poster bed, the fabric cool beneath your skin. The room pressed in around you with its age, stone walls holding onto a quiet that felt older than either of you, thick with a history no one had bothered to remember.

And broken by the occasional laugh echoing down the halls.

“Do they sleep?” you asked.

“Most of the time. I’m still considering putting them on a boat and letting it set sail,” Mihawk said. “If the current is merciful, they may reach land alive.”

“The boy has potential enough for you to let him stay then?”

“Some. I’ve still yet to determine it.”

You hummed softly under your breath. “But the girl has no skills to be trained.”

“No. She seems to have spent most of her life around Gecko Moira.”

“Unfortunate.”

He took his place next to you and raised a book, flicking lazily through the pages until he found his spot. You leaned closer, curious to see how far he’d gotten since you’d last seen him, only to find you remembered the page almost exactly.

“Rereading?”

“I didn’t take it with me. I thought that if you returned earlier than I did, you might want something to look at it.”

You smiled softly. “I should have arrived earlier but things turned sour on the archipelago. There was chaos enough I almost skipped the stop. Did Kuma send them when you got back?”

“I don’t know when they arrived. I found them here after my return.”

You twisted onto your side to look at him better, expression aghast. “Dracule, don’t tell me they were abandoned here for potential days. We had no food here after we left.”

He shrugged. “They survived. I’m certain there are berries or something growing outside the west wing.”

The next morning, you got up early to prepare breakfast, your brain still lingering on the berries outside. You were quite sure those weren’t edible.

You busied yourself around the far-too-big kitchen, your footsteps echoing faintly against the stone as you moved between counters. Pots and pans hung where they had been left months ago, a thin layer of dust settled over some of them as you reached up to pull them down.

Something shifted behind you, light but noticeable in the quiet, and you turned with a small smile already forming. “Good morning.”

Perona gave you a look you didn’t quite understand. “Men are rather stupid,” she said. “You have to do something more obvious, especially with men like him who are more interested in swords.”

You frowned, a little confused by the morning’s topic but happy to accept it. “I imagine it depends on the man. Would you like some pancakes?”

“Sure. I’m just saying that it doesn’t matter how big you make your ‘I love you’ eyes because he won’t even notice,” she said.

“Are you talking about Dracule?” you asked.

She blinked at you. “First names are a bit too forward.”

Perona clearly enjoyed cuter things so you took a little more time to decorate her pancakes, making two small bear faces surrounded by (edible) berries and a little bit of chocolate you’d carried back with you. It wasn’t the best creation you’d ever made but it was adorable enough that you held out the plate to her.

“He’s never minded what I call him,” you said. “Dracule is a lot less formal than – are you alright?”

She stared at the plate for a moment too long, eyes brightening. You froze for a second, still holding the plate out. You flipped the pancakes cooking with your free hand, not sure what to do now. Had you offended her?

Then she flicked her head up to look at you and nodded, grabbing the plate. “These aren’t that impressive but fine, I’ll help you organise a date with him,” she said. “Not because these look like Kumashi or anything but you know, because you look sad and he needs to mope less.”

You had no idea what a Kumashi was but you assumed it meant she liked them. You could have corrected her then but the determined tilt of her chin made the misunderstanding too charming to ruin.

“I wouldn’t say he mopes,” you said. “Though he can be a bit miserable when he hasn’t slept enough.”

“It’s probably also because this place is depressing,” she huffed. “It’s so gloomy and… cold.”

“It does need a good clean,” you admitted to yourself, looking up to the ceiling where cobwebs stretched between the beams and gathered in corners that had not seen a broom in years. “It’s just a bit of a pain to get up there. The last time I climbed into the rafters, I was attacked by a ridiculously sized bug so I’d rather not do it again.”

“Perhaps you should take your sword with you,” Mihawk said as he stepped in. “You could easily kill one insect.”

“It’s far harder to clean with a blade,” you defended yourself though you remembered him getting rid of that very bug not long after it scared you. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Perona held up her pancakes for him to see. “She’s very good at making cute meals. You should get her to move in so she can bring some more life to this place. It’s got a good creepy castle vibe but it could use more colour.”

Mihawk stared at the plate for a second. “That’s not a reason to ask somebody to move in?”

You handed him a plate of his own bear pancakes. His fingers brushed yours as he took the plate, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary before he withdrew. “I was considering adding something brighter to a few rooms. Maybe a lighter red for the curtains.”

“Do as you wish,” he said. “Why bears?”

“I saw one while I was out. Technically a mink but just as cute.”

He left to wake up the younger swordsman after breakfast, telling you to leave the kitchen mess for him to clean later. Perona nodded approvingly the whole time; her ghosts peering their heads around the corner to watch him leave.

“You’re doing well,” she said. “Next you have to dress up for him. What kind of outfits do you think he likes?”

You looked around yourself at the grandiose kitchen with its dark oak cabinets, intricately designed gothic fittings, and gold-tinted décor. “I think his preferred aesthetic is obvious,” you admitted. “Do you want to look at the clothing I have already?”

She shook her head fiercely. “No. No. I think you need to look a lot cuter. We’ll set up a date for both of you tonight.”

“Alright,” you said, bemused. “I’d never say no to a date.”

It turned out that when Kuma banished her onto this ‘vacation’, he hadn’t sent many of her things with her. She started to try planning with what little she had until you offered to take her to a nearby island with much better stores. It was no grand marketplace, just a narrow stretch of shops pressed close together near the docks, but her excitement still had her bouncing on her heels as she looked from window to window.

She adored the colour pink – that you learned quickly – and she had a withering tongue when she came across something that was ugly.

You took the time to grab a few items for the pirate alongside all that Perona wanted which… was honestly a lot. You watched her with faint entertainment as she gathered everything for this dinner date of yours, intervening only to point her toward a wine you knew Mihawk preferred.

“Alright, so you should cook him something cute for dinner,” she insisted. “Try and focus on heart shapes where you can.”

“He cooks more often than I do,” you said. “But I should know what he likes to eat.”

“See? You’re not hopeless.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. “Have you ever done this for a man before, Perona? You seem very confident in it.”

“Ew, no,” she said with a wrinkled tongue. “Why would I want to make food for somebody who smells bad?”

It was an answer younger than her years but you were starting to get the feeling that she may not have met many outside her home island. And from what little you knew of Moira – admittedly, you had avoided the man since the first time you met him – he’d always kept questionable company.

“Thankfully, Dracule rarely smells bad,” you admitted. “Though he does have his own questionable habits from time to time.”

“How long have you been in love with him?”

You smiled to yourself. How long had it been now? The years had passed before you even noticed them going.

“A while.”

“Good. That means you’re not going to change your mind.”

“Most certainly not.”

Perona eventually found a very frilly choice for you. A ridiculously frilly thing that you would never wear for yourself but she insisted would suit you well. Part of you wondered if she was using you to play dolls with but you’d entertain her for now. Especially because it seemed to make her very happy to do so.

She set up the dining hall while you cooked that evening, before either swordsman returned from their training. Candles flickered above you, their light shifting softly across the walls as you sat and allowed her to do your makeup, her hands tugging gently at your hair until you caught your reflection and found you did indeed resemble a doll.

You touched your lips delicately with your ring finger as you considered yourself.

The pink tablecloth hung unevenly over the long table, one side slipping lower than the other, and the heart-shaped placemats sat bright against the dark wood. It was gaudy by any standard, but she seemed to be having fun, so you left her to it;

“Why are you making four plates?” she asked.

“You two still need to eat,” you reminded her.

“Okay but leave it here then. If you let Zoro in, he’ll ruin everything by talking about swords.”

“I rather like talking about swords,” you said.

She groaned. “No but it’s every night! They never talk about anything else!”

If you had planned this dinner by yourself, it would have been very different to what Perona suggested. The décor would have featured fewer horizontal stripes at least. You poured two glasses and settled into your favourite chair at the table while she waited with her head out into the hallway.

“He’s coming,” she hissed. “Don’t ruin it by looking nervous.”

“I’ll try my hardest.”

Mihawk stepped into the room and paused, his gaze moving slowly over the table, the candles, the colour that did not belong. The curtain so clearly hiding a woman. His gaze settled on you after only a moment, the rest of the room dismissed as quickly as it had been assessed.

“This seems like you had fun today,” he said.

“We went shopping,” you said. “And Perona curated us a lovely date.”

“No,” she hissed. “You’re meant to take credit for it.”

You looked toward the curtain. She’d stuck her head out to stare at you and you laughed softly.

“Honey, I would love to claim it but I think it’s quite obvious you were responsible for all of this. Whenever I set up for dinner, I do it quite differently.”

Mihawk raised an eyebrow and you gestured for him to take his usual seat. “A date?” he repeated. There was the faintest shift in his tone of something quieter beneath the question.

“She thinks we would make a very cute couple.”

He looked at the girl with a deadpan expression. “I did too. That was why I asked you to be my wife.”

You tilted your head slightly at that, amused by how easily he said it. Always so certain.

You laughed softly behind your hand. “Was that the only reason?”

“Among others.”

“But isn’t this sweet?” you asked as you took a sip of your wine. “It reminds me of the first time you made me dinner though… perhaps with less pink.”

“Wife?!” Perona exploded, seemingly having caught up. She stepped out from behind the curtain with an accusing stare. “You’re not wearing a ring!”

You reached behind you and touched the scabbard of your sword where it rested against your chair. Attached to the hilt by woven leather, your ring glinted gold. “It gets in the way if I’m wearing it while wielding a sword,” you admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell me this morning when I said something?!”

“Because I found it sweet how you wanted to help me win his heart,” you said. “I think the best thing I did for that was when I stole his hat and didn’t give it back until he kissed me.”

Mihawk gave you a look. “I had already taken you out several times before then.”

“But that’s the moment you fell in love with me.”

He neither confirmed nor denied anything; simply breathed out and held his glass toward you. You clinked yours to his gently, the soft chime of crystal familiar in a way few other sounds could be.

“Why don’t you join us, Perona?” you asked. “It’s not quite the date you wanted it to be but we can enjoy dinner right?”

Zoro appeared in the doorway, looked from the pink tablecloth to Mihawk’s expression, and frowned. “Did I interrupt something weird?”

She huffed and crossed her arms but she was smiling. “Alright fine. I guess I can but at least get him to say you’re pretty or something.” She grabbed Zoro’s arm and practically hauled him from the door. “Come get your food.”

“Don’t drag me!”

You watched them go, stifling your laugh the entire time.

“She chose your outfit too?” Mihawk asked.

“Mm, do you like it?”

“There’s very little I wouldn’t like if you’re the one wearing it.”

You rested your hand over his own, squeezing slightly. “I like your new children,” you told him. “They’re very sweet.”

“They’re most certainly not mine,” he said. “But I suppose they’re tolerable.”

“That’s what you said about me the first time we met.”

He shook his head but you caught the faintest hint of a smile before you heard arguing start up in the hallway again. Zoro must have returned then. You had to admit, it may have only been a day, but the castle felt different already, less hollow than it had and you were growing quite fond of having them here. And though he would never admit it, they’d definitely won a little favour from your forever-stern husband.

“You hurt me, sweet Nami,” Sanji said but you felt the sway of the ship. “My heart has settled.”

“Sure, it has. A little further to the right.”

“Do you really not believe me? I made a special breakfast this morning cooked with all the love in my heart.”

“No, I don’t,” she answered quickly. “You do that for every woman you come across. Sometimes, they’re not even women but we just don’t bother telling you.”

You chuckled softly under your breath, quiet enough that the sound became lost to the waves. You never minded his flattering attentions turning elsewhere, especially because when he looked at you after, because only you could kiss him until he forgot any other woman existed.

“That’s different,” he protested. “I acknowledge beauty when I see it but I would never look away from the goddess in front of me.”

Nami sighed, clearly unimpressed. “I suppose you do badger her more than everybody else. You probably should let up a little.”

You heard him spluttering a response as the familiar heels clicked back toward her navigation room. You reached for your hat and sat up but Sanji must have followed her because you found yourself alone on the deck.

Although you meant to talk to him about it, the only alone time you found came long after dinner had passed.

A quiet hush had settled over the Sunny by the time dinner dishes had long since been cleared away. The kitchen lights still glowed warm against polished wood but the room sat empty, abandoned aside from Zoro asleep at one of the tables with his head tipped back and a bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. The usual noise of the crew had faded into the rush of waves against the hull and the distant groan of timber beneath your feet.

It was a lovely quiet but a worrying one and you didn’t slow until you spotted the familiar curl of smoke against the inky night sky. You made your way across the swaying deck, your steps careful against the uneven tilt of the deck beneath your feet.

“You seem to have plenty on your mind,” you commented as you approached.

Sanji smiled though he still looked concerned, teeth worrying the end of his cigarette. “I always have space in my thoughts for you.”

“Everything alright?”

“Do I badger you, mon amour?”

“Badger?” you repeated, hearing the echo of Nami’s conversation echoing through your mind as you stepped next to him. “I wouldn’t say so. Maybe you’re sweeter to me than to others but… well, I’m not complaining about that.”

He nodded, his gaze slipping to the waves. “Do you know that nobody thinks we’re together? They don’t believe me either.”

“I heard you talking with Nami,” you admitted. “She’s not very romantically focused.”

“No, I wish it was just her,” he lamented. “But I spoke to the others and none of them listened. Brook, Franky, and Robin all thought I was imagining things.”

You had to fight the urge to giggle at just how affronted he looked at the notion.

“It’s alright,” you reassured. “If you want, I can talk to everybody tomorrow at breakfast. Or maybe just kiss you good morning. That’ll set things straight.”

A faint red caught at his cheeks but he shook his head. “No, chérie. You don’t need to do anything to prove something but I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe. Maybe because you’re so beautiful, they couldn’t imagine it.”

You smiled at the theatrics. “They’re just being oblivious. Or maybe they’re even just teasing because they already know. It wouldn’t surprise me with Robin.”

“I think they’re convinced my flattery is meaningless.”

You reached out to fix his collar, smoothing the fabric where it had folded crooked beneath his jacket. As your fingers brushed the bare skin at the edge of his collar, Sanji went still beneath your touch, all warm skin and cigarette smoke against the sharp bite of the night wind.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I love the flattery. Whether it’s meaningless or sincere.”

He looked far less reassured than you’d hoped him to, concern furrowing his brow. “But it’s never meaningless,” he insisted. ““If it troubles you, then I’ll devote myself only to you. Gladly.”

“No, no,” you hurried to say, short breathless laugh escaping you. “You don’t have to do that. I know that it’s not the same as when you tell me you love me.”

“It’s insulting,” he muttered. “As though what I feel for you is the same as simple admiration.”

“They’ll know,” you promised. “Are you certain you don’t want me to tell them?”

He considered it before he huffed. “If they’re not going to believe me, I shouldn’t have to involve you. I can show them what I mean.”

You reached over and plucked the cigarette from his lips, bringing your lips to his instead. He made a surprised but pleased sound, kissing you back gently before you straightened.

You brought the cigarette to your lips playfully and he immediately snatched it back.

“Chérie, that’s terrible for you!”

“And yet I think this is your second pack today.”

“It’s not,” he protested, drawing you close with his free hand but keeping the cigarette decidedly out of your reach. “Besides, you deserve something far higher quality than these if you must.”

You laughed softly. “See, it’s those things that will prove it to them in a heartbeat.”

But whatever reassurance you gave him disappeared the next day.

The waves were choppy in the morning but not bad enough for you to consider going inside. You stood a little closer to the railing than you should have, allowing the wind to play with your hair as you swayed against the motion of the ship.

An errant tip of the Sunny sent you stumbling a little, far from anything dangerous, but enough that a smooth arm wrapped around your waist.

Sanji pulled you into his chest, hand resting against your hip firmly. “Careful,” he warned. “We’re having your favourite for lunch and it’ll taste far worse if you’re drenched.”

You stabilised yourself against his chest, laughing softly. “I’ll try my hardest.”

He smiled down at you when Zoro barked from nearby, “Quit hanging off her while we’re moving.”

Sanji’s head snapped to him immediately, glare sharp and agitated. “What are you on about now?”

Zoro glanced down toward the hand on your waist. “Just saying.”

“If my love didn’t want me to touch her, she’d let me know without you interfering,” Sanji hissed.

“Sure,” Zoro snorted as he walked away.

You shook your head at him but Sanji seemed far more appalled at the conversation than you had been. “Nobody,” he said. “Not even that idiot mosshead believes that we’re together. This is ridiculous.”

“You could probably try Luffy,” you suggested. “Or Chopper. They’ll believe just about anything.”

Sanji’s jaw twitched but he sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

You hoped he’d ask Luffy because you were quite certain that your captain already knew. Or, rather, you had told him. Several weeks ago, he saw you kiss Sanji on the deck and asked. He’d nodded and accepted your response though you had to admit, at the time, he was far more focused on lunch than you.

Not an hour later, you spotted Sanji talking eagerly to Luffy who simply nodded and offered him a thumbs-up that backfired shortly after.

“Sanji says they’re in love,” Luffy informed a sceptical Robin.

“I’ve heard that a lot lately,” Robin said sweetly and she smiled at you. “Do you believe it, Captain?”

“Sanji always says he’s in love with women so it’s probably true.”

Sanji who had been not-so-subtly eavesdropping hit his forehead against the wall and you had to stifle the desire to just outright confirm it. If not to ease his suffering. You waited until Robin left and he brought you a drink to offer a hand against his jaw in sympathy.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?”

“I should be able to prove my love to a lady without her needing to make declarations,” he muttered. “Though I am starting to believe I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Nah, they’re just used to you doing strange things,” Luffy said and you’d honestly forgotten he was still there, looking at your drink suspiciously.

You moved it away from him. “Luffy, I genuinely can’t tell whose side you’re on sometimes.”

“There are sides?”

“Mm,” you said. “Either you believe that we’re together or you don’t. We are, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

You laughed softly. “Alright then that’s settled. One person believes you, my love.”

Sanji sighed. “I suppose I cannot be picky anymore.”

A few hours before dinner, you were discussing budgets with Nami when you heard your name called over the deck. You lifted your head to meet Sanji’s gracious smile.

“When you have a second, mon amour, I could use your brilliant tastebuds,” he offered.

You smiled and tapped on the front of the book. “I’ll be there shortly.”

He disappeared back into the galley and you smiled at Nami who was giving you a look. “Did you know that you two are apparently together?” she asked. “Sanji hasn’t stopped about it for the past few days.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. “So, I’ve heard.”

“You’re encouraging him too much,” Usopp told you and you caught his wrist before he could change the number Nami scribbled down.

“That is my goal,” you said. “All things considered though, he’s grown very immune to my charms. I can flirt endlessly and sometimes, he doesn’t even blush anymore. It’s very sad.”

Nami counted out some beri and shoved it toward Usopp before he could continue to complain about what was reasonable for ship repairs. You were just grateful that Robin was distracting Franky so this conversation could be had at a decent volume.

“I’m sure it’s just because you haven’t really been trying,” she told you. “With him being ‘in love’ and everything now, I promise, one touch to his arm and he’ll probably pass out.”

“I don’t know…” Usopp said. “He’s been getting more resistant to you know who.” He nodded toward you as though you couldn’t see him.

“You know my name,” you reminded him. “But I agree, he’s far more resilient to me.”

Nami rolled her eyes. “You two have too much faith.”

Usopp looked down at the beri in his hands and then back at her. “Want to put some money on it? If I’m right, we double the budget.”

She pressed her lips together. “I’ll give you an extra five hundred if you’re right. No more.”

“Eh… close enough.”

You raised an eyebrow at the bet being placed in front of you. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Not really,” Nami said. “You’re the one with so much faith in him. Go and bat your eyelashes or kiss his cheek and the moment he gets a nosebleed; I’m reducing the budget by a thousand for complaining so much.”

“Hey! How’s that fair?” Usopp asked.

“It’s not!”

You knew you could protest enough to get it dropped but also… it was sort of sweet that Sanji had grown slightly immune to your more obvious affections. It was a good thing too because if he started swaying every time you touched him like he’d once done, you’d never get anything done.

Nami cleared her throat and you stared at her over the table. She nodded her chin toward the galley.

“Words, please,” you asked.

“Go,” she insisted. “While he’s doing something unimportant. I don’t want this to impact dinner.”

You sighed as though they were asking you to move a mountain before standing anyway. “Why must I be involved in this?”

“Because you started the conversation in the first place.”

Evening had yet to arrive but the galley was already alive with the sounds of dinner preparation. Steam curled warmly through the kitchen and the sharp rhythm of Sanji’s knife carried above the crackle of the stove. Something sweet simmered faintly beneath the richer scent of butter and garlic as he worked steadily at the counter. His expression softened when you entered, gaze flicking past you just as the door to the galley swung closed.

“Are you aware you’re being followed?” he asked.

You didn’t even need to look to know both Nami and Usopp had their faces pressed against the circular windows.

“I am,” you said. “They’re debating budgets again. Usopp wants… to be honest, I wasn’t listening.”

He chuckled. “So why are they following you?”

You stepped into his space, tilting your head so they could see and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He paused chopping briefly, turning to you so that he could smile softly, a gentle love clouding his eyes.

But no nosebleed. No fainting.

“They asked me to give you a kiss on the cheek,” you said with a smile.

“Well, I’ll never turn down something so sweet,” he answered. “But is that truly everything they wanted? Have you been talking to them about…”

“A little,” you laughed. “But I haven’t said anything too incriminating. They think you’ve become immune to my charms.”

Sanji lowered his knife completely, looking almost offended. “Chérie, that would be impossible. I could never become immune to you. You know that your beauty stuns me every time.”

“Mm, I think Nami just wanted an excuse to try spend less on the budget.”

Behind, you heard a sharp shout of acknowledgement, turning just in time to see Nami shaking her head in disappointment. They both disappeared from the door and you smiled faintly. At least Usopp got something out of this.

“Ah,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. He picked up his knife again and resumed his dicing. “I’m being used as part of some scheme then.”

“Maybe a little.”

“I still got a kiss from you,” he said and he sounded unbearably pleased with himself over that fact alone. “I can hardly be upset over something so sweet.”

You smiled at him and your eyes flicked to the chopping board, noticing something off in his rhythm. “I can see you’re not entirely immune.”

“How so?”

You stepped behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating through his shirt. Your arm slipped carefully along his until your hand settled over his, thumb nudging his fingers back into their usual grip around the knife handle. It was as though you turned him to stone, his body stiff as he stared down at your hands.

“You almost never change your knife grip,” you teased. “Unless you’re distracted.”

Sanji tilted his head slightly to you, bright blue eyes stunned. A faint red appeared under his nose and you reached for a nearby cloth, holding it out to him. You left him standing there, still slightly stunned, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before you made your way back to Nami, mind still slightly focused on budget discussions.

You should probably just tell everybody because honestly, this was getting a little ridiculous though you still gave him a chance.

But your actions in the kitchen clearly made Sanji decide subtlety was no longer worth attempting.

He set your plate carefully in front of you while the rest of the crew continued eating around the table, overlapping conversations and clattering cutlery filling the space beneath his painfully fond smile. “For the most special person in the world. I made you your own dish this evening, crafted exactly to your liking. As my beloved, my angel, the dearest woman in the world and – ”

“Are we seriously still doing this?” Zoro muttered.

Nami didn’t even look up from her map. “Didn’t you say the same thing to a random girl at the market two islands ago?”

Sanji’s shoulders deflated. “No,” he protested. “I didn’t. My compliments to her were far lighter as Franky can confirm.”

“I don’t really listen when you start with the women nonsense,” Franky said factually. “Started tuning it out way long ago.”

“I think most of us do,” Usopp said.

You couldn’t really protest because you had to admit you’d also started to ignore exactly what he was saying when it involved strangers. What could you say, it got repetitive and those words were so boring compared to the compliments he offered you.

You took a sip of your tea, wondering if you should just kiss him and get it over with.

Though the perfect opportunity presented itself a few days later after the Sunny made it safely to another island.

With surprisingly little trouble to get into, the crew eventually crowded into a small café near the harbour. Warm light spilled across polished wooden tables while rows of glossy fruit pastries sat neatly arranged behind curved glass displays. The air smelled thickly of sugar and fresh cream, softened further by the sound of quiet conversation and dishes clinking somewhere behind the counter.

“Cook’s at it again,” Zoro told you and you raised your head to find Sanji deep in conversation with the other chef.

She was clearly flattered by his attention, smiling shyly as he talked about the various goods she was cooking. You watched with bemusement, wondering if it was the same as ever. He seemed cursed to never notice a women when she was interested in him.

He’d been exactly the same when you first met him.

Nami looked over the scene and huffed. “This is why I don’t listen when he says love of his life. Though admittedly he’s being… better than usual.”

“It still lasted longer than I thought it would,” Usopp said. “Guess you’re finally free then.”

“Oh, I hope not,” you said. “Sanji.”

He turned immediately at your voice, expression softening immediately when he met your eyes. You gestured him over to your table and he hurried to say something to the chef, making quick steps over to you.

“Yes, love?”

You reached for his tie, wrapping it around your hand and tugging him down. His lips met yours and he froze for a second before he returned the kiss sweetly, one hand settling lightly against the side of your face as he leaned down into you.

Then you let him go and smiled.

“You can go back to your conversation now,” you said, eyes flicking to the other chef just briefly to see her mildly annoyed expression. “I just had to prove a quick point.”

“Wait, Sanji was being serious?!” Usopp’s voice made you jump and you turned back to the rest of the crew with a slight shrug.

“Obviously. I never said he was wrong, did I?”

“I told you all,” Sanji huffed, his arms crossed over his chest. “But not one of you believed me.”

Nami’s expression was locked on you though and you shrunk a little under it without knowing what you’d done wrong. Then she folded her fingers together in front of you. “You made me lose money to Usopp? When you knew that would happen?”

Oh. Right.

You laughed nervously. “Nami-Chan, we’ve been friends for a very long time and I really value you as a person.”

She turned to Usopp who did flinch. “Give it back.”

“What?! But we bet that he would react and he didn’t! I didn’t say they were dating!”

“You had insider information!”

“I didn’t!”

“Like I’d believe you!”

Zoro lowered his bottle to give you a look between the argument. “Seriously? Him?”

“Not a word from you!” Sanji snapped. “You couldn’t get a beautiful woman to love you! Not with a thousand lessons.”

“Sounds troublesome. I’ll keep my blades.”

“What kind of a stupid comparison is that?!”

With both arguments rapidly climbing over each other and several nearby customers beginning to stare openly toward your table, you smiled apologetically to Robin who was simply sipping at her tea.

“I must admit, I didn’t guess you would finally do it,” she admitted. “But why the secrecy? I’m sure nobody would have minded.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” you said. “It just didn’t come up. I told Luffy about it almost the same day.”

“Oh right,” Luffy confirmed with a nod. “That was like months ago though.”

Several heads turned toward you, an overlapping chorus of ‘months?!’ exploding around the table. You were definitely getting kicked out of this café.

“I’ll drag you with me,” you mumbled though there wasn’t a chance you could pull that off.

Still, you moved to sit up and his grip over your arm tightened, dragging you closer to his side before you could get too far. You snuggled closer.

If anybody approached the ship on any night when you were on watch, you feared they’d easily get past you. This was a near constant occurrence any time you weren’t asleep in his room. He claimed he just couldn’t sleep. Nobody believed him.

You had a bed in the women’s quarters. It was just you hadn’t used it in so long that everybody else used it as extra storage.

“What are you daydreaming about now?”

“You,” you hummed. “When we first met, I thought you were a rude bastard.”

Kid laughed, a sharp and barking sound. “I am.”

“True but for a rude bastard, you don’t let me get cold or lonely up here. I might have to start rethinking the title.”

“Only ‘cause you don’t stop whining when you’re cold.”

“If you were asleep in bed, you wouldn’t have to hear it.”

“Not true. You’re loud enough about it.”

You smiled to yourself, turning your head closer to him. “I really do lov – ”

“No.”

The sudden bite in his tone startled you enough to rouse you from your pleasant drifting. You sat up and he didn’t drag you back like usual. The cold air nipped at your shoulders and his gaze remained firmly fixed on the ocean beyond you.

“No?” you repeated.

He finally dragged his eyes to you, his expression far sterner than you’d ever seen aimed toward you before. “We don’t do that shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We fuck. That’s it.”

You frowned heavily. That was far from the only thing you did. Not even in the beginning…

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly. I don’t want to hear any of that crap from you again. Else we’re done. Stop getting distracted while you’re on watch.”

Hurt ached deep in your chest but he didn’t give you a second to respond. He stood and left you sitting on the deck alone. You watched him go, unsure if the agitation or the sadness were stronger. Both seemed pretty even.

Instead of dealing with that, you grabbed a coat from behind a few crates – shoved there before he arrived.

After your shift was relieved, you marched back to the women’s quarters with huff enough that Heat gave you a wide berth even half-asleep. You didn’t bother shoving stuff off your bunk and just pulled your pillow a little out, lying next to it.

What was wrong with Kid? You knew your relationship wasn’t just fucking. Everybody knew that. Was he actually losing it now?

Tears tried to force their way up but your agitation kept them at bay.

When the other women woke up in the morning, they offered apologies that you didn’t quite hear and quickly moved their things from your bed. You didn’t give any explanation to them and they didn’t ask.

Because you already knew who you were ranting to about this.

“Your best friend is a dick.”

Killer inclined his helmet toward you. “What did he do?”

“Did you know that we’re just fuck buddies? Because I didn’t!”

“I hear enough to believe it.”

“Fine, yes, we sleep together but there’s more to it too! Enough that when I say ‘I love you’ it shouldn’t be treated like ‘I fucked your sister’.”

“Ah.”

“He could have been nice about a rejection at least.”

“There was minimal yelling so that was as nice as you could have expected.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. You knew he’d take Kid’s side but come on, you would have appreciated a little sympathy from the man who had told you so long ago to just make a move. The actual reason you were in this situation in the first place, if you thought about it.

“What was so wrong about what I said?”

“Nothing. He just doesn’t like the word. Never has.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“You can keep trying if you want.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I don’t love him anymore then. After what he did, I may as well just ignore whatever we had.”

“That would make things easier. He’s hasn’t left his workshop.”

“Don’t care.”

You stormed away, aware you were drawing attention but why should you care? Who didn’t like the word love? Who… No, you were being a bit too hurt about this. You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths.

It would be fine. You could just ignore him for a while and then it would all go back to normal.

Habit brought you to his workshop before you even noticed it. The door stood slightly ajar in a way it never had before you started your relationship with him. A silent welcome that everybody knew was for you alone.

You really should try and put it out of your mind and give him some space.

You stepped inside without waiting.

The air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of oil, metal scattered across every surface in half-finished pieces. The ship’s constant sway carried through the room, tools shifting faintly where they hadn’t been secured properly. Kid didn’t look like he had slept. There was a smear of grease along his jaw, his shoulders tight as he worked, like the act of focusing was the only thing keeping him from snapping.

You dropped into your usual seat across from him, the wood creaking under your weight, your foot brushing against his without asking permission.

“You’re a dick,” you told him.

He rolled his eyes. “Did you come looking for a fight or something?”

“No. Just needed to tell you that.”

“Fine.”

You turned your attention over your shoulder purposefully, staring through the window at the sea beyond. He continued working on whatever prototype he was playing with, drawing metal closer to his arm in varying shapes.

But try as you might, you kept looking back at him and whatever he was busy with.

“Need me to hold something?”

“If you’re not going to fucking stab me with it, hold this here.”

You glanced at him in annoyance but picked up the tool he gestured at, his attention clearly anywhere but on what he was doing. You’d seen him pretend to do this while distracted before. He couldn’t fool you. You could see he was getting annoyed with how he kept messing up. Waiting in obvious irritation.

Fine. If he wanted to talk about it but not bring it up.

“You hurt my feelings.”

“You’ll get over it,” he answered gruffly.

You looked at him unimpressed. “Do you know why it hurt as much as it did? It’s because I wasn’t lying to you when I said that I do l – ”

“Stop it.”

You gave him an exasperated look. “Kid.”

“If you’re going to bring sappy shit in here, you can get the fuck out.”

“We are not just fucking and you know that.” You leaned forward slightly without thinking, like getting closer might force him to actually hear you.

His attention snapped onto you. “Not now, we’re not. And not again if you don’t drop this.”

You didn’t back down. “That’s not a threat.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

“I don’t need to say it fully if you know what I meant.”

“Don’t even think about it. Hold this tighter.”

You pressed your weight against it, wondering why you still helped him even when he was trying to push you away. “Why are you like this?”

“If it bothers you so much, you can leave.”

You didn’t but neither did he. You took that as progress.

Two days passed and you kept your spot in the women’s quarters, artfully dodging questions from the rest of the crew about the change. An illness or something. You gave different reasons to everybody and eventually they stopped asking.

“You have like a half a relationship. You’re fighting but still together constantly,” Dive commented.

“We’re not fighting,” you corrected. “He’s just being hard-headed.”

Stubborn enough that the next time you ran into marines, you were both clearly in annoyed moods. Kid’s brutality was on the next level and you were distracted, watching him more than the enemies. For the most part, it was fine. The others more than made up for your distraction but as the fight began to look like an undeniable victory, you heard a soft click.

Sometimes you all underestimated the average marine grunt. A gun was still a gun. One a little too close for your obviously distracted captain.

The shot cracked through the air loudly and you moved without thought.

Your body jerked, breath catching hard in your throat like something had knocked the air clean out of you. Heat bloomed low in your stomach, sharp and wrong, and when you looked down your hands were already there, pressing instinctively against the spreading warmth.

Blood slipped between your fingers, thick and slick, soaking into your skin faster than you could process it.

Kid didn’t turn for the ringing of the shot. He only turned because of your sudden little gasp of air, drawn in tightly through your teeth.

The man who shot you was crushed beneath a metal hand before the pain even hit you.

“Idiot! What the fuck did you do that for?!’

You tried to stop yourself from stumbling but it didn’t quite work. Your back hit the railing and you slid down, gaze flicking to his for just a second before your head drooped forward.

Thank the sea you woke up, because if you hadn’t, Kid probably would have killed you himself.

You woke slowly, awareness coming in pieces. The pounding in your head hit first, then the weight of your body and its pain.

It settled low in your stomach, sharp and heavy, dragging a strained breath from you as everything clicked back into place. The bandages that wrapped around your torso were so thick that it hurt to move and you pressed your palms gently against them.

The door slammed open so hard it rattled against the frame, the sound echoing through the small space and making your head throb. You flinched despite yourself, vision still slightly unfocused, and managed a weak, crooked smile that did nothing to ease the tension already coiled in his shoulders.

“I just woke up,” you said, voice rough. “So save the shouting for later.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” he snapped, stepping fully into the room. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you bleed out for being so goddamn stupid!”

You winced slightly at the volume but held his gaze. “Did you get hurt?”

“Obviously not!”

“Then it worked.”

For a second, it looked like he might actually lose it. Every muscle in his body was pulled tight, jaw clenched hard enough to ache just looking at it. But instead of exploding, he threw his hand up sharply and turned away, storming back out of the room like he couldn’t stand being in it anymore.

The door slammed behind him, leaving the space ringing in his absence.

“He’s really pissed at me, isn’t he?” you asked Heat the same day you left the med bay, able to walk and eat by yourself.

“Yeah, he is. Think you gave him a real fright. You’re not as sturdy as most of us.”

“I don’t know about that. I can take Kid pretty well.”

He gave you a look and you laughed. It was getting easier to do that at least. Sneezing still remained your biggest foe but at least you could laugh.

You tried to talk to Kid for the rest of the day but he really was dedicated to ignoring you. He stormed away from you whenever he got the chance. You found his workshop door locked. That part stung. More than you liked to admit.

You’d been injured before but then he’d acted more like an annoyed guard dog than anything, refusing to let you even move.

Now for this, he left you be?

The next day, you had enough. You made your way to the workshop after dinner, slowly plopped yourself down and waited. Killer stepped over you twice, his helmet tilted down to you curiously.

“Do you want me to tell him that you’re here?”

“Please don’t. I want him to leave the room today.”

You shifted slightly where you sat outside, your back protesting, the dull burn in your stomach flaring every time you moved wrong. Your head dipped forward again, exhaustion dragging at you harder than you wanted to admit.

The door finally wrenched open.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You blinked up at him, forcing your eyes to focus. “Waiting for you.”

“Move.”

“Can’t really,” you said, your voice slower now, weighed down by fatigue. “Been here too long. Turns out getting shot has consequences.”

He stared at you for a second longer than necessary, irritation flickering across his face before something else cut through it.

“Fine. Stay there.”

You watched him walk away, boots heavy against the floor, each step sharp with lingering frustration. Your eyes drifted closed again. Sleeping wouldn’t be so bad.  

Rough hands slid under you without warning, lifting you clean off the ground. The sudden movement pulled a quiet sound from you, pain flaring through your middle, but you didn’t fight it. You folded into him immediately, arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed close.

“Can we go to your room?” you murmured against him.

“You lost that chance when you started sleeping with the women.”

“Kid,” you complained softly, your grip tightening slightly. “I took a bullet for you. Most people would consider that a sign of loyalty.”

“A sign of stupidity,” he muttered, adjusting his hold on you as the ship rocked beneath his feet. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“You’re not meant to ask. That’s just what people do when they lo – ”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

You sighed under your breath, running one hand playing with the back of his hair. “No. I’m just saying what I feel.”

“Stop it then.”

“I can’t just stop. That’s not how feelings work.”

“I have my devil fruit. That fucking bullet wouldn’t have even touched me.”

You hummed. “You wouldn’t move fast enough. He was too close and you were already distracted.”

“You wanna fucking bet? Fine. Tomorrow, try and shoot me and we’ll see what happens.”

You blinked away the sleep from your eyes and lifted your head. What little lights there were in the halls of the Victoria cast deep shadows over his surly expression. He was purposefully not looking at you.

“You’ve gotten hurt for me before. It’s no different.”

“I have not.”

“Kid.”

“What do you fucking want from me?”

“Just talk to me.”

“We’re talking right now. It ain’t getting us nowhere.”

He shouldered open the door to his room. You breathed out a soft sigh of relief at the familiarity. Though you hadn’t been there in a few days, all of your stuff was still exactly where you had left it. Not even the soft blanket you’d found a few islands ago had been moved from the bed – shoved up against the side where he dropped you. Not gently but not with force enough to hurt.

“Go to bed,” he grumbled.

“Make up your mind.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

You tried to sit up but decided against it thanks to the pain in your stomach. “Either push me away or don’t. You can’t just change your mind on me constantly.”

“You’re the one making a problem out of it.”

“Then why bring me here not to my bed?”

His eye twitched, voice snapping louder. “I brought you here so your stupid fucking decisions don’t wake up every one else! Not because of whatever reason you’re making up in your head.”

Poor Killer was probably not getting any sleep next door. You sent him silent sympathies but you weren’t backing down.

“You’re so full of it.”

“Whatever.”

“Why won’t you just let me love you?”

He froze the moment you said the word, finally able to get it out. He stepped close to the bed, looming over you with a glare harsher than you’d seen before.

“Take it back.”

“What? No, I’m not going to – ”

“Can’t you see what all that crap causes?” he asked, interrupting you sharply. “The moment you start with all that love bullshit and you’re getting yourself shot! If you had just listened to me, you’d be fine.”

You paused, confused. “What?”

He leaned in to lightly poke at your bandaged middle. “Love gets you fucked up.”

“I’ve gotten hurt for the crew before,” you said. “So have you. So has everybody else. It has nothing to do with admitting I’m in love with you.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It just is!”

You caught his arm and pulled him. He let you drag him closer so that he was half on the bed, his glare still harsh. You ran your fingers lightly over his forearm, the gentle contact causing some of the agitation to leave his shoulders.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said. “I’ve been in love with you for ages. I just chose to say it for once. If I had the choice, you know I would die for you regardless of whether or not you let me say the word.”

“I don’t need people to fucking die for me.”

“That’s not a choice you get to make. Love isn’t some kind of cursed word that if I say it, I’ll just disappear. It’s your fault anyway. You made me fall in love with you.”

“Don’t blame me for your stupid choices.”

“Do you love me too?”

He opened his mouth to bark a denial but then he paused. Pressed his lips closed and chose to glare at you instead. You waited for the answer that you were becoming surer of by the second. Because Kid never held back on telling you things.

Apparently except for this.

“It won’t kill you to have somebody in love with you.”

“I know I’ll be fine,” he snorted. “You’d need a lot more take me out.”

“Then trust that it would take more for me too.”

The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted forward, crowding into your space. His fingers closed tight around the side of your neck as he yanked you closer.

The kiss was rough from the start, bruising pressure and teeth. Not anger but something very close to it. Your nails bit into his arm and his side as you responded in kind. You pulled him down over you, refusing to give him any distance to retreat into.

If this was what he wanted then fine.

A low sound slipped out of you when he pushed your legs apart and pressed in between them, solid and unyielding. You arched up into him without thinking, the heat of it cutting straight through the irritation still buzzing under your skin. Pain flared through your middle at the movement, sharp enough to pull a breath from you, but you didn’t stop.

The bed slammed against the wall as he shifted his weight, his mouth breaking from yours just long enough to latch onto your neck. His teeth sunk in deep enough to make you moan.

Then three sharp knocks on the other side of the wall.

“She’s still injured,” Killer’s voice came through, flat and unimpressed.

Kid jerked back just enough to snarl, slamming his fist against the wall in response. “Didn’t ask!”

You stayed where you were for a second longer, like it might come back if neither of you moved.

Then he exhaled hard and dropped back onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. You turned onto your side and pressed into him, your head still a little light from everything that had just happened.

Killer might be right. You were still very annoyed at him.

The silence thrummed between you and you pressed a gentle hand against your stomach to sooth the ache. All the movement today had done nothing good for it.

“I don’t do that crap,” Kid muttered suddenly. “You’re obviously important to me. What more do you want?”

“Just let me love you,” you responded. “It’s not the strangest request you’ve heard of.”

He scoffed. “You’ve got to be joking. It’s definitely not a normal thing to be in love with somebody like me.”

“Don’t care what other people think is normal. I love you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Say whatever you want.”

You ignored that, walking your fingers up his chest. “You’re allowed to say it back if you want to.”

“Not a chance.” His arm shifted around you either way and you lifted your head to rest against his bicep.

You shrugged, closing your eyes and drifting off. It was good to be back in your bed again. The ones downstairs were never this comfortable. Though maybe that had something to do with the company.

“If you had died,” he said and you lifted your head. “And I had said that to you…” He trailed off for far too long. “Whatever. Just don’t fucking do something that dumb again.”

“No promises.”

“I’ll lock you in this room and never let you leave.”

“I’ll find a way out. Don’t worry, I love you too.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I know but I read through the lines.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

He grumbled under his breath. “I’m sleeping now. You better do the same.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. Goodnight, Kid.”

“Night.” Then softer, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it. “Stop doing stupid shit.”

“I’ll try. Love you too.”

“Yeah, yeah.”