XV

1. borrowing misery from future

2. carrying grief of the past

You can’t

despite his otherworldly power, he is still fully human. there’s no added devil fruits or enhancements that gives him an advantage to push ahead. nothing but three swords and a warrior spirit that fights for a place in this world.

grounded and protective in nature with a strength built by a stubborn resilience, it is easy to allow yourself to feel safe in his presence. corded muscles ripple like rivers running through towering mountain valleys and yet, the sense of security his arms provide is the same comfort as if being wrapped in the oceans gentle lull.

when he speaks, it rumbles from deep within until it breaks and quakes out into the air. swift as a breeze and quicker than lightning, his underlying emotions push past the surface before being swallowed back beneath the bedrock layers that protects the planet’s core.

it’s late and he probably shouldn’t be over, the cramped room only illuminated by a hand-me-down lamp and a cheap candle you bought on clearance.

outside your apartment, the moon embellishes the velvet sky. but all you care about—all you desire—is right beside you, lounging like a cat on your couch. the amber light glows behind him, outlining the edges and curves of his face: the cut of his cheekbones, the cant of his nose, the bow of his lips.

his lips.

it’s impossible to look away as he speaks softly, voice mellow, ripe as the honeydew on your kitchen counter. a thought flits into your mind and out just as quickly, but the ache in your chest persists.

(you want to tear him open and gorge on his flesh, savoring the supple sweetness.)

when he stares at you with half-lidded eyes, it’s almost enough to make you melt into the cushions. his irises glint with intrigue—not quite a promise, but more than a tease. you think you say something thinly-veiled; the later it is, the fuzzier your head gets, words flowing from your mouth with little inhibition.

and that’s when he smiles—no, grins. the stinging edges of his teeth gleam in the dusk as he crowds your space, leaning in until you feel the warmth of his breath on your face. for a few beats, you’re stuck in limbo, in waiting. in wanting. he glances at your lips as you wet them, then he meets your gaze.

“do you trust me?” he murmurs, words slow and cloying as molasses.

you exhale a puff of air as you nod. yes, i trust you.