Then a new sound. You couldn’t remember how long you’d been laughing, so maybe it wasn’t all that new. It didn’t really matter. It was definitely the crunch of sand and it was definitely getting louder. The steps weren’t rushed. Couldn’t be one of the losers then. The sound was too confident, too sure. It was a bit calming. It was hard to be that worried when each step was followed by another. Just as slow. Just as steady. After this bullshit day, it was a small pleasure to be sure of what would happen in the next moment. The crunch of sand would be followed by the crunch of sand would be followed by the crunch of sand would be—thunk.

Ah. So you were on the beach. There was no familiar rocking of a ship. The world only swayed because your head had told it to. The steps had less crunch with every new thunked step. Sand making its way off of the boots coming towards you. Oh well. It didn’t really matter who it was. The steps were too light and too patient to be Blackbeard. You’d really hate for that fucking atrocity of a laugh to be the last thing you heard.

You groaned when you tried to sit up. Thank god you had a lifetime of being stubborn as hell. There was no way you’d let your stomach decide that vomit would be the last thing you tasted. You smiled and hummed when you finally settled upright. Good. You really weren’t interested in your final view being up someone’s fucking nose. There’s no way you’d rest in peace if you died with a forest of nose hairs staring you down.

Black boots. How original. Jeans. Too hot. They had spots that reminded you of a cat from a much colder climate. Yellow. Too bright. Well, at least it wasn’t a marine. You’d hate dealing with the whole prisoner situation. A toothy grin. You blinked at it. The black eyes did not blink back. The face rippled with the next breeze. Faces shouldn’t move like that, right? Actually the head was too small too. And it being in the middle of a shirt was also strange.

Thunk. A much heavier thunk. More of a thump. Actually a lot of thumps. Your eyes moved too slow. Ugh, then too fast. A bag. It looked full. The top sagged down, revealing several cubes. Was it all cubes?

Someone was saying something. Shit. You should probably listen. What if they were telling you what was in the cubes. You wanted to know. It kind of looked like something was moving. You squinted trying to trace the sound through the thumps and throbs and thunks.

Fluffy. Spotted and white and cute. Hats didn’t usually talk though, so you squinted harder and willed your eyes to travel several inches lower. Oh. Much better than Blackbeard and marines and anyone else here probably.

“Pretty.”

Someone laughed but it wasn’t Trafalgar D. Law. He was frowning. That added up since he hadn’t eaten the laughs-while-frowning fruit. You giggled. That would be a terrible fruit to drown over.

“Oi.”

“No. Oi, you.”

Another laugh. Was it yours? You brought your hand to your mouth to check. Clearly using a bit too much force, since you heard a slap. A few laughs sounded. Couldn’t be you. You still had your hand pressed to your lips. Case closed. You should’ve been a detective instead of professionally too-curious.

Your eyes traced the sigh back to the pirate still frowning at you. Why was he the one frowning? His head probably didn’t even hurt. Well…Maybe it did. Headaches were usually invisible, right? Yours just happened to have leaked into your hair and the wood you kinda wished you were still laying on.

Trafalgar D. Law. What a mouthful. Maybe you’d be frowning too if your name was Trafalgar. His skin looked smooth and soft. He smelled clean. Thank god. If you had to smell one more sweaty pirate…His nose was sharper than yours. He looked like he was determined to wrinkle his own forehead as soon as possible with that scowl he wore. He looked like one of those feral kittens you were never allowed to bring in the house.

“Cute.”

Definitely more than one laugh. And definitely not from the tall angry kitty glaring at you. Even his eyes were like a cat. They were a pretty yellow. If you had a type, he might be it. It would be fun to get him to laugh. He looked difficult. What kind of crew did a cranky cat captain have? Did they make him laugh enough? Did he always frown or did he just dislike you? You really didn’t want the feral kitten to hate you.

“Are you listening?”

“Nope.”

Your eyes watered a bit when he didn’t smile at your answer. Oh no. He probably hated you. He was all handsome and mad and your head hurt and he hated you. Everything else was so unimportant now that you were being frowned at in your final moments. The least he could do is give you a good view before you died. He was being a dumb rude jerk.

Then it was blue and then it wasn’t. You blinked slow at the cube he held. Oh. He was solving the cubes-in-the-bag mystery. He didn’t hate you. He was helping you be less curious. That was nice. Case closed. You giggled again. He was pretty and he was kind. What a bad cat pirate.

When your hand slid from your face, it caught on something. Huh. That was new. You palmed at the sharp edges of a wound you didn’t recognize. There was no blood. There was no heart. Well you definitely probably couldn’t live long without a heart. Maybe you had time to sate one more curiosity.

You looked up. Oh. He stole it. Damn pirates always snatching things. Finders keepers was a thing, right? That sounded like a law or something. It wasn’t fair to steal things when your head hurt.

“Can’t believe you stole it twice.”

You didn’t know you were pouting until you heard it. You’d always been a sore loser though, so it wasn’t that surprising. Oh well. You could die being a brat. That was fine.

“How could I steal it twi—“

More laughter that wasn’t his laughter. He was too busy frowning. You weren’t going to find out now. You’d have to go back to napping without seeing what he looked like without being a mean angry kitty.

Then he made you smile. His skin caught an instant sunburn. Those pretty yellow eyes went wide. His frown dropped open. It wasn’t a smile, but he didn’t look mad anymore. Thump.

You frowned at the gross oversized dice. It rolled over to you. It didn’t look like it had gotten dirty from the tumble, but it was resting in sand and blood and who knew what else. Gross. Were you supposed to put that back in? No thank you. That did not seem sanitary. You frowned at him.

“Who said you could give it back?”

The laughter was too loud and too close, but it still wasn’t his. That was fine though. He was all red and cute and not-as-angry. You could probably make him even less mad if your head didn’t hurt so fucking much, but it was getting dark and you were tired. You could try again after you finished dying or whatever.