#dim.....................ples........................

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’d given him your number.

You had given Michael Jackson your number. 

And you felt like a first-class idiot about it, because he hadn’t used it.

For the first few days, you’d jumped out of your skin every time the phone rang.

Then a week passed, and it became very apparent that he wasn’t going to call you.

Why would he call you? He was Michael fucking Jackson. 

After a month, you’d given up on the idea altogether. Not just of talking to him on the phone, but of seeing him again at all. 

You’d looked for him at every red carpet you attended, but nothing. Radio silence.

Oh well. You were over it. You were totally and completely over it.

…except maybe not.

You were at an afterparty for some awards show, dancing and having a perfectly good time with your friends, when you felt him behind you.

The presence—which was becoming familiar—didn’t make you jump this time. But it did make you freeze.

“Hey, honey.”

You turned around and there he was, in all his stupid, sunglassed glory, even though the room was dark.

Those sunglasses were really starting to piss you off.

“Hi, Michael.” 

Your tone was short, clipped. And you called him by his first name, just like you were peers, because you were determined not to fall under his spell again.

Unfortunately for you, he took the glasses off, hung them from his collar, and looked you up and down.

Then you were bewitched again.

“That’s a real pretty tattoo.”

You blinked.

“What?”

He gave a singular nod, indicating the tattoo on your upper thigh. 

You immediately went red, because there—wrapped around your leg in sprawling cursive font—were his words.

The girl is bad, the girl is dangerous.

“Oh my God.”

You subconsciously tugged on the hem of your dress, trying to cover it up. It didn’t even come close. That’s what you get for dressing like a whore, you could practically hear your mother’s voice scolding you. 

Maybe she was right.

“Aw, don’t do that. I like it.”

You glared at him and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him away from the group you were with. He could have easily stopped you, but he didn’t. He let you yank him right along, looking thoroughly amused.

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? I said it was pretty.”

“You’re… You’re being mean. I tried to be nice to you, and now you’re acting like you’re out to get me or something.”

There was a flicker of genuine hurt in his eyes, like that had actually offended him.

“I’m not out to get you.”

“It sure feels like it.”

“Why?”

Despite the dim lighting in the room, it was impossible to hide your blush. It was like a giant neon sign that read: Look over here! This girl is making a fool of herself! 

“You never called me.”

“What?”

“You never called me. You were the one who asked for my number, and then you didn’t even use it. Was that your idea of a joke, or something?”

Oh. The word was written on his face without him having to say it.

“I’m sorry.”

He was sorry.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream, cry, or hit him. Maybe some combination of the three.

Then he offered, “Let me make it up to you,” and unlocked a secret fourth option. You laughed in his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m bein’ serious.”

“What could you possibly do to make it up to me?”

“Well, I could start by buyin’ you that drink I owe you.”

“...fine.”

He smiled, the twinge of guilt in his expression giving way to that smooth confidence again.

“Go find us someplace quiet to sit.”

You should have bolted for the goddamn door.

Instead, you found a corner booth—the most relatively quiet place in the club—and sat there waiting for him. Idiot.

He came back a few minutes later with two glasses—Moscato for him and another Cosmopolitan for you—and slipped into the same side of the booth.

“That’s weird.” You mumbled, picking up your glass and downing almost half of it in one go. Lord knows you needed the liquid courage.

“What is?”

“Sitting on the same side of the booth. You’re supposed to sit across from the other person.”

“Mm. Nobody ever told me that.” He shrugged, but didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. He was the King of Pop, he could do whatever he wanted.

Michael took a single sip of his wine, putting the glass back on the table while you clutched the stem of yours for dear life.

He was close. Too close. Way too close. 

You could literally feel the warmth radiating off his body, and it was much more intoxicating than the drink.

“Tell me about this.”

He put one large hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing right over the words inked there. 

You very nearly choked again.

“What is there to tell? It’s just a silly tattoo.”

“When did y’get it?”

“My 18th birthday.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” This was getting exasperating. “I’ve told you three times that I’m a fan. Your music inspires me. Or it did, before I realized how annoying you were in real life.”

You didn’t really mean that, and he knew it. 

You knew he knew it, because he smirked at you like that was both an ego boost and the funniest thing he’d heard all day.

“Dangerous is the song that inspired you? Not Heal the World? Man in the Mirror? Earth Song?”

…he had a point. Your blush burned impossibly brighter.

“I don’t know. I guess when I was eighteen I thought I was going to be this sexy, mysterious girl or something.”

“I think you’re sexy. I don’t think you’re mysterious.”

You took another gulp of your drink. It was nearly gone now.

“I can be mysterious.” 

He shook his head, his thumb beginning to stroke your thigh again. Tracing the lyrics.

“No. You’re an open book. Your face gives away exactly what you’re thinkin’.”

You tried to look away to avoid his eyes, saw his hand on your leg (which wasn’t any better), and glanced back up, fixing your gaze on the sunglasses hanging from his shirt. That was safe. 

“It does not.”

“Sure it does. You want me to tell you what you’re thinkin’ right now?”

No. No, no, no. 

Apparently, he took your nonanswer as permission to keep talking.

“You’re nervous because I’m sittin’ here. And you’re torn, ‘cause you’re mad at me, but you don’t want me to leave, either.”

He was spot on.

“I am mad at you.” You’d give him that. You absolutely would not be admitting to the rest.

“I told you I was sorry. You want me to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”

Yes. No. You didn’t fucking know.

 “I wanted you to call me four weeks ago when you asked for my number. I don’t want anything from you now.”

“Nothin’?”

“Not a thing.”

“That’s too bad.”

He took his hand off your thigh and you let out the most embarrassing noise you’d ever made in your life.

If the look on his face had been smug before, now it was downright wicked. He was toying with you, and he was winning.

And you should be furious about it, but all you could think about was how much you missed the contact of his fingers on your skin.

“Here.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to you.

“Call yourself. Then you’ll have my number.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“So you can call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I think you might.”

Against all your better judgement, you snatched his phone and punched your number in. It rang and rang, but you let it go to voicemail. Just because you had his number didn’t mean you had to use it, right? You could leave him hanging just like he’d left you.

…but you both knew you wouldn’t.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

his long, thick fingers are already deep inside your dripping pussy, pumping in a way that has your hips helplessly twitching up against his palm. the room is quiet save for the wet squelch of your own juices being churned around his knuckles. you are completely drenched, your breath coming in short ragged pants through your parted lips.

jake looks down at you, his chest heaving, eyes dark and blown out as he watches your face twist with pleasure. a deeply perverted smirk touches his lips when he notices your gaze flicking up to the silver pendant dangling just inches above your nose.

"you want it already, don't you?" jake purrs, his voice dropping into a low gravelly rasp that vibrates straight down to your core. "you're so greedy for it whenever you're this horny.... it's all in your eyes, baby"

without pulling his fingers out of your soaking cunt, he reaches up with his free hand and unclasps the chain from around his neck. he holds the heavy metal pendant right in front of his lips, his eyes locking onto yours as he lazily licks his tongue across the iron, coating it in his warm saliva, before leaning down to press a soft, bruising kiss directly to the metal.

"let's make it taste even better for you" he whispers, eyebrow cocking, matching the way the corner of his mouth lifts up.

he drags the chain down your torso, the cool metal sending a violent shiver through your overheated skin, until he presses the heavy pendant directly against your drenched and pulsing folds.

"ahh.. jake...nggh..cold- it's s'cold"

a sharp, hiss breaks from your teeth, your back arching off the bed. the contrast of the semi cool metal pressing directly onto your hyper-sensitive clit has your thighs twitching. "ahh.. jake...nggh..cold- it's s'cold" jake lets out a guttural groan, smearing the pendant aggressively up and down your wet slit, deliberately coating the entire piece of metal in your thick, sticky arousal until it’s glistening under the dim light.

"fuck, look how much you're leaking all over it" he slurs, his fingers inside you giving a sudden deep lunge that bottoms out, forcing a whimpering sob from your lips. "it's completely covered in your sweet juices, baby... looks so fucking delicious for me"

he pulls his drenched fingers out of you with a loud and wet pop, leaving your hole gaping and throbbing for him. he quickly clasps the wet, sticky necklace back around his own neck, the cool iron now dripping with your own pussy juice against his chest.

before you can even catch your breath, jake hooks your knees over his broad shoulders, his large hands clamping onto your waist with a white-knuckled grip. he aligns the thick heavy head of his cock right against your drenched opening and pushes his hips forward, burying his entire length inside you in one thrust.

"jake, ple- fuck" you cry out, your fingers instantly digging into his biceps as your walls stretch wide to accommodate his full girth.

"yeah, take it all... haah... take your man's dick, good baby" jake gasps into your neck, losing all control as he picks up a frantic pace, hammering into you with a deafening, wet slap-slap-slap noise.

as he hovers directly over you, his chest rising and falling in heavy gasps, the silver necklace swings wildly with every single thrust. the pendant dangles right in front of your dazed, glassy face, glistening under the light, your own sticky arousal dripping off the cold metal and landing directly onto your parted, panting lips.

the sight and taste of it messes with your remaining sanity. you wait for the exact moment his hips lunge forward, and shamelessly, desperately,, your tongue darts upwards, catching the wet iron pendant perfectly between your lips and pulling it down into your mouth.

you suck on it heavily, your tongue swirling around the metal, tasting the intoxicating mix of his previous spit and your own taste. "look at me..you like that jakey...? feels so good baby"

jake looks down and freezes for a split second, his expression completely shattering into one of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. his eyes roll back into his head, a growl tearing from his throat as he sees you looking up at him with ruined and glazed eyes, your mouth completely wrapped around his necklace while he continues to stuff your pussy.

"f-fuck... baby...nggh" he whimpers, his voice cracking as your pussy clamps around his dick from the sheer intensity of the act. "you look so fucking dirty like this. sucking on my chain while i ruin your cunt... such a good slut for me, aren't you baby..."

it haunted his dreams.

sunghoon didn’t belong in a library. he knew that. the library knew that. the book in his hand, wuthering heights, definitely knew that.

but you were there. and that changed everything.

you were at your usual table near the window, the late afternoon sun catching in your hair, and sunghoon… he was trying not to visibly combust. his palms were clammy on the book cover. he couldn’t feel his knees. his stomach was doing full axels and botched landings, flipping over itself like it was warming up for the olympic.

you hadn’t even looked at him yet today, and he was already dizzy.

every time you adjusted your glasses (god, glasses — his new favorite invention), or hummed quietly as you read, or chewed the tip of your pen while thinking, it was like his brain short-circuited.

how are you real? how is a person allowed to look like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day? you have dimples. DIM. PLES. do you know what that does to me?

he glanced down at the book and realized he hadn’t turned a page in twelve minutes.

catherine and heathcliff are… doing something. probably being dramatic and depressed. i relate. i, too, am being dramatic and depressed. over you.

suddenly, you stood up. sunghoon’s breath caught. you stretched your arms above your head — the stretch, his weakness, why must you test him like this? — and looked around. your gaze landed on him.

eye contact.

sunghoon blinked. froze. half-smiled. probably looked like a terrified deer. his heart rate shot into sprint mode, and he hadn’t even stood up yet.

you tilted your head and walked toward him.

walked. toward. him.

sunghoon panicked.

he tried to make it look like he was reading. realized he still had the book upside down. flipped it — too fast. the pages made a dramatic fwump sound and people turned to stare. he smiled weakly like 'ah yes, literature'. and then you sat down across from him.

that was it.

time of death : 4:37pm. cause : proximity to perfection.

“hey,” you said, so soft and so warm. “is that wuthering heights?”

sunghoon opened his mouth. closed it. tried again.

“yeah,” he croaked. “it’s… really height-y.”

you blinked. “height-y?”

“yeah, you know. wuthering. and. heights. both of those… things. are in it.”

what am i even saying what am i saying what is this gremlin noise coming out of my throat oh my god he’s gonna leave—

but you just chuckled. softly. like you were genuinely entertained. “you’re kind of weird.”

sunghoon’s whole chest lit up.

you didn’t say it like it was a bad thing. you were smiling.

oh my god. oh my god you think i’m weird. in a good way. i’m gonna write that in my diary— i don’t even have a diary but i’ll get one. just for this.

you glanced down at the book and tilted your head. “it’s upside down.”

sunghoon looked at it, betrayed. “again?!”

you laughed. you actually laughed. it made sunghoon feel like sunlight was running through his veins.

“i knew it,” you said. “you don’t actually read, do you?”

he winced. “not… really.”

“and yet i’ve seen you in the library like six days in a row.”

he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of how warm his face was. “i was… trying something new.”

you raised an eyebrow. “trying me?”

his ears exploded with heat. he choked.

“no! i mean—i wasn’t trying you, that sounds—not that i wouldn’t! i would! i mean—”

you laughed again, leaning forward, chin on your hand now, looking at him like he was really fun.

sunghoon felt the air shift.

you were so close. close enough that he could see the little freckle near your jaw. close enough to smell that faint clean scent you always had — like strawberry and paper and something uniquely you.

his legs were trembling under the table. he willed them to stay calm.

“i think it’s cute,” you said. “you pretending to like books just to talk to me.”

sunghoon’s breath stuttered.

“you do?”

you nodded. “yeah. i think it’s kind of… sweet. dumb, but really sweet.”

sunghoon laughed breathlessly. “that’s fair.”

a beat of silence. the kind that felt full, not awkward.

you tapped your pen against the table. “you wanna learn, though? like for real?”

he blinked. “learn what?”

“how to actually read something. like, together. i could help. if you want.”

you smiled — soft and shy and radiant.

sunghoon felt like he was sitting in the sun.

if this is a dream, please never wake me up. i’ll stay here forever. i’ll learn how to read, i’ll read the dictionary, i’ll memorize every single book you love if it means i get to sit across from you like this. you’re…

“…amazing,” he said out loud before he could stop himself.

you blinked, surprised.

sunghoon slapped a hand over his mouth.

“i didn’t mean to say that. out loud. that was supposed to be in my head.”

you just smiled.

“you’re kind of a disaster,” you said.

sunghoon nodded solemnly. “i am. a total disaster.”

“but i like disasters.”

sunghoon’s heart did a triple axel, landed it, and threw a bouquet. “i—uh—cool. yeah, cool. so. reading date?”

“reading date.”

you looked down at the book in his hands. still upside down.

“and maybe we start with something easier.”

that night, sunghoon walked home with the book you lent him (the little prince, because “it’s sweet and short and also kind of weird, like you”) clutched to his chest like a precious treasure.

he read every word of it. twice.

and underlined his favorite line, just in case he got the chance to read it to you someday :

'it is only with the heart that one can see rightly ; what is essential is invisible to the eye.'

to sunghoon, that line meant one thing :

you’re everything, and you don’t even know it. but i do. and i’ll keep showing up every day just to sit across from you and hope someday, maybe, you’ll look at me the way i look at you.

he smiled into his pillow that night like the lovesick idiot he was. and maybe, just maybe, the next time he saw you, he’d hold your hand.

but only if he didn’t pass out first.

"Nami, leave the poor man alone..." you smiled, feeling a little bad for him, "He's just doing his job. And besides, it's not like you can't afford it."

"Nope," she denied, popping the p as she grabbed another humongous pile of clothes. "It's the principle of the matter, (y/n). If I have the option to pay for something half-off, why would I pay full price?"

"They're not half-off!"

"Besides..." her gaze drifted to your outfit, a small pout settling on her lips as she looked you up and down with saddened eyes. "I can see that you are clearly trying to out-glam me, so I gotta glam back!"

She turned to the cashier, placing down the new pile.

"You drive a hard bargain. I'll buy these, too. But I want ninety percent off."

The man nearly fainted and you laughed, surprised by Nami's playful rivalry.

"Nami, you've owned more clothes than I've ever worn. I think it's safe to say that between the two of us, you're the one that's out-glamming me," you assured, resting your cheek in your palm as you leaned on the counter.

"But look at you!" she playfully whined. "Your outfit is killer! And your hair is on point, too!"

Though, just as quick as she examined your outfit, she realized that it was really good.

Too good to be shopping in.

"Wait, (y/n), were you supposed to be going somewhere? Why are y—"

The moment your face fell, the glimmer in your eyes dimming at the memory, reality finally donned on the navigator, hitting her like a sea train at top speed.

He did it again.

Anger rushed through the woman's veins like wildfire, her face not even attempting to conceal her fury as it twisted into an expression of absolute rage.

You knew it all too well.

"Nami, ple—" "I'll KILL HIM!"

The clothes on the counter were suddenly a thing of the past as the red-haired woman drew her Clima-Takt and stormed toward the exit of the boutique, the dangerous aura she was emanating sending a shiver down even your spine.

Like magnets, everything began to click for the woman.

The beautiful outfit.

The done-up hair.

The glum look on your face.

'That bastard stood her up again!'

That's why you had been wandering around town aimlessly.

You were waiting for him.

This scenario had become commonplace over the past several months you and the green-haired swordsman had been dating, much to Nami's severe indignation.

It was always the same.

You and Zoro would plan a date.

Zoro would get caught up training, or get caught up drinking, or just plain, old fucking forget.

You would end up alone, having gone through all the trouble and embarrassment.

She would have to console you, and you would have to keep her from bashing his head in.

Then you'd have to face the jerk the next day, who, instead of apologizing, simply acted like nothing ever happened.

As if the entire ship see how utterly crushed you were.

And then the whole cycle would repeat the following week.

Nami was sick of it.

'This shit ends today.'

"Nami, please! It's not worth it!" you ran out the store and after her, grabbing onto her arm. "It's not gonna change anything!"

"The hell it isn't!" she barked, brows cinched tightly together. "(y/n), I won't stand for this anymore! This is what?! The twentieth time?!"

"Twenty-third... but I'm not counting..." you corrected, meekly.

"(Y/N)!"

"I know! I know!" you sighed, plopping yourself down on the curb, defeated. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

"There's nothing wrong with you! There's something wrong with him not realizing just how much of a fucking catch you are!" she groaned, exasperatedly, as she threw her hands in the air. "Twenty-three times, that bastard... I oughta chip his swords twenty-three times."

"I guess... I just don't get why..." you mumbled, looking down at your lap with glassy eyes. "Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?"

Nami turned to you, heart aching at your saddened form.

"Don't think that for another second!" she denied, quickly moving to take a seat next to you, pulling you into a small side hug. "You've done absolutely nothing to deserve this. Zoro's just being a real jackass."

"But there has to be some reason," you attempted to rationalize, tone rising. "Does he not care? Am I just that insignificant that he can't even waste an hour or two to spend time with me? His girlfriend?"

"That's what I've been saying!" Nami agreed, loudly, calling the attention of some passersby. "(y/n), you've given him chance after chance after chance, and he still hasn't cleaned up his act."

She gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, flashing you a sincere smile.

"I'm not saying you have to break up with him, unless that's what you want to do, but I'm saying that you really need to realize just how amazing you are, and hold him accountable for his actions."

Shooting up from her seat, she stood before you, pointing a manicured finger at your chest.

"You're the prize, girl! You're strong, smart, kind, compassionate, and drop-dead gorgeous! What guy wouldn't want that!" she turned to a few of the men passing by, a smile on her face. "Right?"

"YES!" they cheered, eagerly.

Your face burned with embarrassment.

"Nami!"

"You get my point!" she laughed, resting her hand on her hip. "You deserve someone who will treat you like the princess you are. Whether that's Zoro or not is up to you, but know that his track record begs to differ..."

Taking a moment, you let her words sink in, your confidence rising slowly but surely.

Maybe you were that great...

Maybe you did deserve more...

Maybe it was time to start anew...

"Y'know what... you're right! It's time for a change!" you smiled, slowly standing up from the curb. "No more tears!"

"Nope!" Nami cheered, proudly.

"No more excuses!"

"None of 'em!"

"No more pretending!"

"Not around here!"

"From now on, I'm gonna start living life for me! And if that means going out clubbing tonight and getting drunk to forget my problems, then so be it!"

"Y'know what, I'll take it! Let's go!" Nami squealed, the two of you quickly charging back into the boutique.

You couldn't fight off your smile, your shoulders feeling like an insurmountable weight had been lifted off them.

For the first time in a while, things didn't seem so bleak.

"Ooo, I think I saw the perfect revenge dress for you, (y/n)! It's gorgeous!"

Walking out of the girls' quarters, you felt like a million bucks—and were probably wearing it too with the amount of money you and Nami spent in town.

But price be damned, the result was phenomenal.

The provocative dress.

The decadent perfume.

The glittering jewelry.

The leg-extending heels.

You were absolutely breath-taking.

Not to say that you weren't before, but just significantly more so.

The dress itself was just the right amount of short, and helped carve out your curves deliciously.

Your hair was done courtesy of the ship's archaeologist, its style elegant yet loose to fit the club scene you were going to.

And your skin was practically glowing thanks to the oils Nami had picked up in the market.

So, it was safe to say you were at least a quadruple threat.

Looking down at yourself, you smiled, feeling like the prettiest woman in the world.

No longer concerned with the feelings of others, or the wrong-doings of yourself, you felt freer than you'd ever had.

And you had Nami to thank for it all.

'For finally knocking some sense into me...'

Sensing someone's presence, you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, only to see your swordsman standing right before you.

His eyes dragged over your body, almost analytically, a grin rising to his lips.

It seemed he finished his training early...

"Where are you goin' all dressed up?" he smirked, his hand coming up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer. "You look good... an' smell good, too."

Quickly, you pushed yourself out of his grasp, your legs pressing forward to stride across the balcony, leaving the him to stand there, surprised.

You had never pushed him away before, much less ignored him.

'What the hell?'

"What's the matter with you?" Zoro's voice lowered an octave, brows furrowed in confusion as he followed after you.

You didn't answer, keeping your gaze trained ahead as you pressed on, heading toward the stairs that led off the Sunny.

"(y/n)," he tried again, voice slightly firmer, as he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. "(y/n), what the hell's your problem? Where are you going?"

Harshly, you flung his hand off, brows slowly beginning to crease at his audacity.

He was acting like nothing happened.

Again.

He knew exactly why you were fucking upset, but was making the choice to completely ignore it in favor of acting stupid and playing in your face.

Your jaw set tight, all your thoughts grinding to a screeching halt.

For the first time ever, anger and resentment began to claw at your chest, your hand itching to rise up and slap him right across the cheek.

Enough was enough.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," you spat, voice dripping with venom as you went back to walking. "I don't wanna see you right now."

"See me?" his brows furrowed as his finger pointed toward his chest, now even more confused. "The hell did I do?!"

Or maybe he was just fucking stupid...

Either way, you finally cracked.

"IT'S WHAT YOU DON'T DO, ZORO!" you roared, whipping back around to face him, the man flinching at your volume. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, IT'S ALWAYS BEEN WHAT YOU DON'T DO!"

The leak in the dam of your heart had finally turned into a full-on flood, and you were now outpouring months upon months upon months of pent up anger.

"You stand me up! You forget our dates! You make it abundantly clear that you would much rather spend the day nursing a sake bottle than with me!" you scoffed, throwing an exasperated hand in the air. "Do you even remember what we were supposed to do today?!"

The swordsman paused a moment, scouring his brain for recollection of the event.

"Hey, Zo'," you piped up from your spot in the corner, shutting the book Robin had loaned you. "I'm gettin' kinda hungry. You wanna grab lunch?"

He nodded, grinding out another squat as he lowered his knees to a ninety-degree angle, somehow perfectly controlling the two ton weight on his back.

"Yeah, you go on ahead," he grunted, holding the position. "I'll catch up. Gonna finish up this set."

"'Kay," you nodded, flashing him an eager smile. "I'll meet you at that sushi place we saw in town."

Zoro's eye shot wide, a sudden sense of dread sinking in his stomach as he finally remembered.

"Oh, shit..."

"Yeah... Oh, shit," you scoffed, turning to head off the ship. "I'm done with this..."

"Woah, woah, woah, wait a minute," he grabbed your arm once again, pulling you back. "(y/n), it was an accident... I didn't mean it."

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?! You never fucking apologize!" you yelled, jerking sharply away from his grasp. "At least that way it could seem like you're at least trying to pretend you care about me!"

"Of course, I care about you, (y/n)!"

"YOU CERTAINLY DON'T ACT LIKE IT!" your voice cracked.

He halted, expression falling and chest tugging with pain as a few stray tears fell down your cheeks.

You were hurting... bad.

And it was all his fault.

All of the times he left you hanging, all of the times he screwed up.

They were all coming back to haunt him, each one doubling the weight of the sinking pit in his stomach.

How could he have not seen?

You had been so patient with him—never raising your voice, never holding a grudge—and he supposed his mind had unconsciously took that as the green-light to proceed.

Granted, he never forgot anything or stood you up out of malice or actual lack of care.

It just... slipped his mind.

Though, in that, he could see where his thinking was flawed, and where you could find a problem.

"Am I... just that forgettable to you?" you asked, voice suddenly small.

Zoro snapped himself out of his thoughts, eye wide at your tone.

It sounded so distant.

"Of course, not, (y/n)," he quickly denied, lurching forward to hold you out of instinct. "I—"

But you stepped back, avoiding his grasp as your arms raised to hug yourself, hoping to keep everything together.

"Every time I look at you, I feel more alone," you continued, letting out a few sniffles. "I'm always, always reaching out to you, always down for whatever you want to do. But you just... never reach back... and you don't even bother to apologize..."

Glancing out at the sunset, you fought off the wobble of your lip, hugging yourself even tighter.

"Zoro... I can't be with someone that doesn't care about me..."

That's when everything suddenly came to a screeching halt.

Zoro felt like the words cut right through his chest, tearing through his heart and opening it up like force hell-bent on making him see.

He'd rarely felt this feeling, but he knew what it was instantly.

Fear.

"(y/n), don't do this," he started, panic slowly spiking in his veins. "I'm sorry for being such an idiot... but we can work this out. This doesn't have to be... it doesn't have to end like this..."

"But it does," you countered, quickly. "It isn't like this is your first time doing this, Zoro... or your third... or your tenth... or even your twentieth."

You scoffed, half-laughing at the situation.

"If I hadn't said anything, you probably would've made it to thirty."

Zoro's chest stung at the comment, the man almost letting out a wince.

It was harsh... but not without truth.

"I'm freeing myself of all of this, Zoro. I deserve better," you stated, firmly, slowly regaining your confidence as you turned away, heading for the stairs. "This conversation is over. And thanks to you, I'm late."

The swordsman looked just about ready to shit his pants, the finality of your words scaring him more than any enemy.

You were his girl.

His best friend.

His ray of sunshine.

Seeing you so upset, so jaded, because of his actions?

He felt like shit.

And, in that moment, he honestly wanted nothing more than to hold you.

To shower you with a thousand apologies.

To make it up to you in any and every way he could possible conceive.

But you were slipping through his fingers like smoke, blowing father and farther away.

"(y/n)... please..." he tried one final time, voice softer than you'd ever heard it before as he carefully grabbed your wrist.

And you nearly broke, the sound of his voice pulling a sharp string on your heart, nearly making you take everything back.

But Nami's words from earlier replayed in your mind, and you fought the feeling, pulling your arm away.

You had to stay strong, for both your sakes.

"We're done, Zoro," you finished, finally descending down the steps. "I'm moving on."

The swordsman watched as you disappeared in front of him, now suddenly feeling as if you were worlds away.

He'd finally done it.

He'd pushed you over the edge.

And rather than feeling angry or upset, or even sorry for himself, he felt empty.

Truly and utterly empty.

The rest of the crew watched from cracked doors and open windows as the man stood there, staring at the place you had once stood like he was in a trance.

Nobody wanted things to turn out this way.

It was clear as day that the both of you loved each other a great deal... but Zoro needed this.

He needed the wake up call.

And now that he was presented with all the necessary truth, he could finally work toward remedying the situation; and, by the will of the Gods, making up his dizzying amount of transgressions against you.

It would be hard work, and for the first time in his life, he would have to be completely vulnerable.

But the crew believed in him.

And the crew believed in you, too.

The both of you would come back from this stronger than ever.

And Zoro would come back to the crow's nest with a calendar hanging front and center on the door.

Courtesy of the ship's navigator.