#kid x reader

Kid glared at you. A faint flush sat high across his face and his breathing came heavier than it should have, though he’d only crossed the doorway. Worse was the uncertainty beneath his glare. It looked so unnatural on him that you kept watching as you gathered the syringes from the floor.

“Need to talk to you.”

“About?”

He opened his mouth and almost immediately, a rough cough tore its way from his chest. His hand flew to his mouth. It was an awful, wet and choking sound. You winced in sympathy.

“You’re sick,” you said, walking over slowly. “Any other symptoms aside from the cough?”

“Fuck off,” he muttered.

“You came to me,” you reminded him. He hadn’t lowered his hand yet. “I’d like to know what you have before I treat it. And also, so if you drop dead in the middle of the deck, I can explain myself before Killer takes my head off.”

You’d meant it as a light-hearted tease. Kid was healthy enough that most illnesses he might contract didn’t bother you much. But the second he lowered his hand, the humour disappeared from your heart.

Lying amongst the specks of blood were two petals. One had folded against the wet centre of his palm, its edges trembling faintly with every rough breath.

Your heart and your stomach twisted at the same time. The medical knowledge blended together with a truly disgusting disappointment. One you had no right to feel.

And yet it almost broke your professionalism.

Almost.

“Ah,” you said.

“Don’t fucking ‘ah’ me!” he snapped.

You reached out slowly and picked up one of the petals. Its damp, bloodied state wrinkled your nose, but the petal itself was strangely delicate. You’d never thought the rumours of this disease were even true. And yet…

“Do you know anything about this ailment?” you asked.

“Ailment?” he snorted. “I just thought one of these idiots has been feeding me flowers.”

He scoffed but he knew that wasn’t the case. You could see it in the defensive set to his shoulders and the grimace of his lips.

“They’re growing in your lungs,” you said. “From what I know, the cause is fairly simple. Unreciprocated love.”

You hated saying it. Disliked it even more when Kid’s eyes narrowed at you in response and his expression told you that he’d already known that. You rolled the petal between your fingers and then put it on your desk carefully. You’d need it to do some further research in the morning.

“The good news is, you’re not going to die within the week,” you told him. “It’s in its early stages for now.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he muttered. “Started this morning.”

“So, what’s your plan to fix it?”

The syringes on your desk moved. Their needles turned toward Kid and you immediately reached for a box and placed it firmly over them before he could impale himself in irritation.

“You’re the doctor!” he snapped. “Why don’t you tell me how to fix it? How do I make this shit stop?!”

“The cause points fairly clearly toward the cure. If you fix the unreciprocated love, you fix the flowers. But I can’t do that for you.”

The boxes on your shelving were beginning to rattle. The metal tools inside shivered against one another with an awful, screeching sound. You looked toward them with a small sigh.

“Seems like a pretty stupid time to tell somebody you’re interested in them,” he said through gritted teeth. “What if they don’t care? You’re not going to change that by coughing up fucking flowers into their laps!”

“I need you to repel instead of attract,” you said as the needles of the syringes hit the sides of the box with soft plinking sounds.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Watch me,” you responded. “Repel. Or you’re going to end up buried under a pile of my supplies and I’m going to have to dig you out.”

“Are you saying I can’t control my fruit?”

“Prove to me you can.”

He scoffed and the tools stopped moving. You eased some of the pressure on the box but kept your hand firmly over it. Kid had very good control over his magnetism but it never hurt to ensure he didn’t impale himself.

He coughed again, much softer as though he kept it locked in his chest through irritation alone.

“Thank you,” you said. “Now, my first actual question is do you know if it’s actually unreciprocated or are you assuming? Like have you said something, not yelled it, before?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive,” you reminded him, even as it stung at the edges of your heart.

“Yeah, well don’t bother. I don’t need to sit here and worry myself over some stupid flower petals when we have actual problems.”

He turned on his heel and marched from the room. You watched the door slam shut and looked down at the petal on your desk. The bright red turned your stomach even as it began to dry. Kid wasn’t going to share the source of the disease. It was time to look for a cure.

But you had no idea where to start.

You told the rest of the crew he was ill and took to collecting the petals – despite his very, very loud complaints about both. Most of the petals were red and though a few varied in colour, the majority shared the same shade. You weren’t sure if it meant anything. But you were skipping over no details in your research.

Most of what you found was useless. There were artistically rendered plants curling through painted lungs, long passages about the purity and suffering of love, and far too many accounts that ended with a name and a date of death. Those were the only records that offered anything practical.

You bought every book that mentioned the disease. At each port, you cornered doctors in cramped offices and overcrowded clinics, asking for notes, case histories, anything they had kept. More than once, Kid’s coughing carried through an open window or down the street behind you, wet and unmistakable, and you kept talking as though you couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t great. Desperation grew in you much like the flowers in his lungs. There had to be a solution but what it was…

When you worked out a progression chart, you cornered him in his workshop.

The room smelled of iron when you stepped in. There were too many petals here for your comfort, gathering on the desk and in the corners. They looked wrong among the wrought metal and iron dust, too soft and bright for anything in Kid’s workshop. He immediately gave you a look, mouth opening as though to tell you to get out. You beat him to speaking.

“The moment it progresses from petals to flowers, you need to tell me.”

“I’m not giving you a fucking inventory!”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You came to me first. That means that I’m now responsible for monitoring how bad this gets. So, if it gets worse, you tell me.”

“I didn’t go there to get myself a fucking nanny,” he retorted. “Why don’t you go back and wait for an actual injury to arrive? Wire’ll probably slice his stomach open again.”

You put your hands firmly on the table in front of his metal arm. A thin layer of dust and iron shavings pressed into your palms. “And if he did, I think I’d have a better chance of keeping him alive than you right now.”

“I’m fine.”

“I firmly disagree.”

The door opened before he could retort. Both your heads snapped toward Killer, who paused on the threshold without looking particularly interested in whatever he had interrupted. Fine. If Kid wasn’t going to be forthcoming, you knew who actually respected your knowledge.

“Killer, if you see him cough up even one flower, tell me immediately.”

“Okay.”

“Hey!” Kid snapped. “Don’t set spies on me on my ship! If there’s a problem, I can tell you myself!”

“Will you?”

Whatever answer he wanted to give you was lost in a sudden flurry of coughs. You watched another red petal drift to the ground. It was a raw and uncomfortable sound; like air pushing through leaves. You winced in sympathy.

“Is it contagious?” Killer asked.

“Not from what I know,” you said. “It’s rare. Very much so but there’s always a chance of it developing if somebody chooses not to share. But it is fatal. If it gets worse, I think I’ll have to contact Trafalgar.”

Kid’s glare pierced through you. “What the fuck does he have to do with this shit?”

“I think he might be able to remove the infection,” you said. “He could take your lungs out with minimum damage and find out if there’s a physical source. It’s only speculation on my side but seeing as you’re insisting on the hard cure instead of the easy one…”

“There’s an easy cure?” Killer asked.

“Yes. Easier for most people at least. If he would just open his mouth and talk for a second, he’d be fine.”

“Would it still count if it was yelling? Because that’s more likely.”

“Don’t you start now!” Kid barked.

You gave him a look and made your way out the workshop, mind running far too fast. The Victoria felt colder than ever, even when you stood on the deck in the sun. Trafalgar wasn’t a bad option. If there was a physical plant, he would be the best choice to remove it.

If you could convince him to help.

It took less than two days for Killer to rap his knuckles against the metal door of your office. “He’s struggling to breathe.”

Kid had been very good at avoiding you. You’d hoped to observe him going about his usual day but that felt impossible anymore. Even finding him when you were looking turned out to be difficult until you cornered him near the helm.

You snuck up on him, feeling rather like a cat approaching a particularly skittish bird, and caught his arm, hands firm against his bicep.

“Hey!”

“No,” you said. “I’m examining you.”

He tugged on his arm. He could have taken it back. You knew he was strong enough to, even while he coughed up petals, but he followed you to the infirmary with little more than a barked complaint.

“Stay here,” you said after he was sitting on one of your beds.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for. How’s your breathing been?”

“Still breathing.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“You’ve heard me breathe.”

You gave him a look and he dragged in an exaggerated breath, only for it to break apart into a violent cough. Petals splattered over his hand and the metal floor. At least six or seven, flecked with blood. You leaned down to pick them up, purposefully not looking at him until they were on your desk. You reached for your stethoscope.

“Has it been interrupting your sleep?”

“Listen to my damn lungs and leave the rest alone.” His voice rasped painfully before he cleared his throat.

He said it far too quickly for that to not have been an answer in its own right.

You stepped closer and put a hand on his right shoulder. He stiffened before he allowed you to push him straight, nudging his arm down so you could examine his chest easier.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” you asked as you held the stethoscope to his side. “You’ve never had any problems telling people what you think of them before. What’s so different about this?”

That had long been the reason you never acted on your own feelings. You couldn’t imagine a world where Kid, of all people, didn’t immediately follow what he wanted. If he shared your interest, you felt confident that you would have known by now.

He didn’t answer you.

One lung was definitely stronger than the other. His right one made a terrible crackling sound every time he inhaled though the left wasn’t without flaw either.

You pressed your lips together. “Shirt off.”

For a second, he didn’t move. He was staring at you with an unreadable, almost accusatory expression. As though a forced medical exam for the disease was the same as making him jump into the ocean.

You tapped your foot impatiently. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Kid pulled the shirt off and dropped it to his side. You stepped around him and listened again, hoping to any god that would listen that you had just heard the fabric moving. His breaths rasped and the fear you’d been keeping at bay moved forward.

This wasn’t a mysterious disease that existed only as a name on a page. You could hear the obstruction in his lungs clearly.

You hung the stethoscope around your neck and stepped away. “If you die because of this, I’m going to be so fucking pissed. Have you coughed up any blood without the petals?”

“No,” he muttered. “Just these stupid things. Why are they red anyway? In all those books of yours, they’re pink or white.”

“No idea,” you admitted, not missing the confession that he’d been looking through your books when you weren’t around. “Maybe they’re taking the colour from your hair. They’ll turn you grey within the next month.”

“Funny.”

You hummed and picked up a tongue depressor. “Open.”

He clicked his tongue but followed your instructions. His throat was red and inflamed. You could see a petal stuck at the back and you gently pulled it out with a pair of tweezers. Kid’s nose wrinkled at the sensation.

You examined it under the light and sighed. “I wish you would help me here. I do like you alive and breathing.”

He immediately leaned away from you, arm crossing over his chest. “Really no other way to make this shit stop?”

“Not from what I’ve learned,” you said. “Maybe you can buy yourself some more time if you avoid the source but that’s mostly a rumour. No evidence to prove it helps. And I imagine it isn’t anybody on board the Victoria anyway so…”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

The words hurt to admit but you said them anyway. “I just can’t imagine you not telling somebody when you see them every day. That’s all.”

“Can’t say anything at all when there’s flowers everywhere.”

“That’s actually a pretty good reason to do it,” you pointed out.

“Why? To blackmail the ‘right’ response?”

Another coughing fit began and you quickly pulled the stethoscope free to listen at his side. His right lung was really struggling to draw breath. The laboured pulls made your heart twist horrifically.

The disease was progressing quicker than it should have. If there was another way to get this removed, it would have to be your solution.

“You’re being stubborn,” you muttered as he finished. “You know that right?”

“Shut up.”

“At best, you have a few weeks before you’re bringing up full flowers. And at that point, we’re almost out of options.” You stepped away to get a glass of water from the sink. “I think it’s time to decide what you’re going to do.”

Kid rubbed his chest and roughly thumped against it with a fist. A couple more petals escaped as he did so.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Do I need to schedule a reroute?”

“No. Something else. Stop worrying about this, would you? I don’t want you fussing over flowers if somebody’s actually dying.”

“I hate to tell you this but you’re the one that’s actually dying.”

“Whatever. You done?”

You held out the glass of water to him. “With the examination, yes but –”

“Good.”

Kid stood, grabbed his shirt from the table and marched out the medical bay. You watched him go, water still held out in front of you until you stopped hearing his boots down the hall.

The petals worsened while you waited for him to ‘figure it out’ and you stopped gathering them, unable to store nearly enough. They weren’t helping your research anyway. You dumped most over the side of the ship and let them float away, swallowed by the surf.

Eventually, waiting was going to take too long.  

Kid could hate you when he could breathe again. For now, you spoke to the others about possible rerouting to search for the Heart Pirates. It would be far from easy to track them down and your time was already short. If they even help… well, you’d have to figure that part out first then.

You were busy making notes of the progression of his symptoms, scratching down proof of his deterioration with a steady hand, when the door flew open once more.

The ink skipped over the page, bleeding through it steadily. You looked up.

Kid closed the door behind him this time before he approached, each breath lifting his chest in a shallow pull beneath his coat. His face was pale beneath his usual anger and fresh blood lingered at the corner of his mouth.

He crossed the room and threw something onto your desk. It landed across your notes with a wet, heavy sound. A complete flower lay across the paper, its crimson petals spread wide and slick with blood almost the same shade.

Kid didn’t meet your eyes. He glared firmly at the air beside you as you nudged the flower with the back of your pen.

“Alight,” you said. “We can’t mess around with this anymore. Either we speak to Trafalgar to see if he can remove it or you need to talk to whoever this is for.”

Kid’s jaw tightened. His arm twitched over his chest. You waited, unwilling to yield even as panic curled through your own heart like a traitorous poison. Part of you dreaded learning who the flower was for, but that selfishness had no place here. Not when the answer might be the only thing capable of stopping it.

“This is fucking stupid,” he muttered.

“Unfortunately, sickness is rarely fair,” you said. “I would be grateful that it’s something with a solution rather than something incurable. It could always be worse.”

He finally met your eyes. “And if I say it and they still don’t want me? Then what?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know what’ll happen because this is a very rare disease to begin with. Any details I can find are anecdotal at best. But isn’t it at least worth a try if it can fix all this?”

He shrugged.

“You’re going to die choking on flowers if you don’t. Do you really want me to have to put ‘died from being stubborn’ on your grave?”

“Fuck off. If you put that shit on my grave, I’m coming back to toss you in the ocean.”

“Honestly, I’d rather not have to think about what I want to write on a headstone at all,” you said. “So, can I contact Trafalgar? I’ll talk to him and see if he’s going to be able to remove at least some of the blockage. It might not be a full cure but it can fix some of it until you grow a pair.”

Kid’s eye twitched faintly and his lip curled up. “Are you calling me a coward?”

Good. He was getting annoyed. Maybe if you pressed on his pride enough, he’d just snap and do it so you could eliminate it as an option. Either it worked or… or you had to keep searching but at least it was a chance.

You’d take any chance at this point.

“Yes,” you said simply.

Red was creeping up his neck as he turned to you fully. “You don’t know anything about this shit.”

“No,” you said. “I don’t and as much as I could guess, that won’t get me any further. I know you probably haven’t found some random woman on the coast and decided she’s worth dying for so at least it narrows it down to people I know. I suppose I should just ask Killer, right? You two have always had the same taste.”

“Don’t get him involved in this crap.”

“What other option do I have?” you asked. “I have no solution. You certainly haven’t brought me some miracle cure over the past few days and you can’t punch it out of your own lungs. I know of exactly one magical surgeon who has the potential to help and that’s it.”

Kid scoffed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You haven’t shut up about him for days.”

“What?”

“Constantly fucking yapping about Trafalgar,” he said. “Keep saying his name like that and I’ll dump you on his deck myself.”

You picked up the flower from your desk and created a small circle with your thumb and index finger. “Do you see this?” you asked. “This is the size of your trachea, okay?” You placed the flower against it and tried to tug it through. It barely fit. “Do you see why I’m so worried about the next one?”

“Obviously I know what the problem is!” he snapped. “I’m the one who brought the thing up!”

“Then why are you so annoyed that I’m asking somebody else to help keep you alive?” you asked.

“Never said I cared about it. Just mentioned that it’s all you’ve been going on about.”

“Because I don’t have anything else! Every book I read and every person I speak to says that this is fatal! And I think I have a better chance of nagging you into a surgery than I do at forcing you to speak about your feelings!”

He glowered but there was something closer to uncertainty behind his expression. “There has to be another cure.”

You tossed the flower down and stood finally, bracing your hands against the desk. “That’s why I’m thinking about the one fruit that I know might be able to help.”

“It doesn’t make sense anyway,” he said. “I’m not the only person on this ship who’s kept his mouth shut about something this stupid. How come nobody else has had to deal with a fucking plant in their chest?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Honestly, I don’t know why it chose you when it could have just as easily taken to my lungs. But what I do know is that if it had, I would be damned before I sat around here making the rest of you watch me slowly suffocate!”

“Guess it would have been easier if that happened, right? We’d just change directions and fix it within the week.”

“What are you on about?”

Kid gestured and your desk lamp began to topple. You caught it and shoved it under your table before it spilled paraffin over everything.

“If you caught this fucking disease,” he said. “And you were covering my ship in rose petals or whatever the hell they are –”

“This is a tulip,” you told him.

“I don’t care! I’m just saying it would be simpler because then we could load you up and send you to profess your love at the bottom of the sea without having to worry about fucking up anything here!”

He’d confused you enough that you had to take a second to respond. A small cough took over him while you processed the implications. Two petals dropped to the floor.

“Are you implying that I’m in love with some random surgeon I’ve met a grand total of once?” you asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Only met him once but you never stop talking about him.”

“Because he’s the only doctor I know who could open your lungs without killing you! If that little rat thing on Straw Hat’s crew could do it, I’d have sailed us there instead!”

Kid blinked at you, the glare remaining as though he had forgotten to let it drop. The desk gave a low scrape beneath your palms. You glanced down as its metal feet dragged a fraction across the floor. Unusual. Even when annoyed, Kid rarely disturbed the furniture.

“Then who?” he asked.

“What?”

“You said you could have caught this,” he said. “Imagine you did. Where the hell would we be sailing to?”

You stepped around the desk and walked closer so you stood in front of him, head tilted up. “What? Do you want some kind of exchange? Where I give you my secret and you tell me yours? If that was all you wanted, you should have asked me days ago. I’ll tell you anything if you give me a solution.”

He breathed out through his nose slowly. You waited. His gaze flicked to the flower where it lay on the table and then back to you.

“Fine,” he said. “Where would we go?”

The confession lodged briefly in your throat. Then Kid dragged in another shallow breath, and embarrassment stopped mattering.

“We wouldn’t need to change course at all,” you said. “I wouldn’t even step out of this room.”

Recognition flickered over Kid’s face too quickly. It was replaced by an irritation that didn’t fit well enough; a default expression he couldn’t hide behind right now.

“Say it clearer.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not stupid, captain. And there’s no invisible man standing in the corner.”

“Doesn’t matter. Say it better than that.”

“It’s you,” you said. “If I got sick, I would have come to tell you.”

He grabbed your arm without warning and pulled you into him, lips against yours before you had a second to realise what was happening. He tasted like blood. Awful and sharp against your palate and yet you kissed him back without hesitation.

There was no thought behind it. No sensible pause to question why. Your arms were caught against his chest as he dragged you closer until there was no space between you. He kissed with the same aggression he brought to everything else; his teeth caught your lip, and his grip tightened when you tried to pull back for air.

Metal shifted throughout the room.

Something struck the floor behind you. Your chair scraped against the ground as the instruments in your drawers rattled against one another.

Years of wanting him rose through you all at once. Every feeling you had forced quieter broke loose beneath the pressure of his mouth. You could feel his heart hammering against your arms, could taste the blood on his mouth and your thoughts stumbled back into place.

You pulled back sharply.

Your breathing came unevenly and his was even worse, each inhale rough and rasping.

“Your turn,” you said.

Kid had frozen, his shoulders tense and his jaw tight. “You need more of an answer?”

You snatched the flower from your desk and threw it against his chest. “You nearly died for me! You absolute bastard, yes! I need more than a fucking kiss! Do you have any idea how much I’ve been worried! Any idea of how… I want to hear your fucking reason for why you didn’t just tell me at the beginning!”

The metal in the room quietened. Something clattered loudly to the ground nearby but neither of you looked to it.

Then he shrugged. “Didn’t want some pity lie just because I was choking.”

“Fine,” you said. “But why not before you brought up triple your lung capacity in flower petals?!”

“Just didn’t think you were interested.”

“In what?” you said. “In you? How would you ever think that?! I’ve been in love with you for so long that it’s a running joke amongst all the other women!”

He flinched at that. Good. He deserved to.

“I was going to tell you,” he said. “When I saw the fucking petals, I figured I’d just come here and say something to get it to stop. But then you saw the damned things and I couldn’t just say it anymore.”

“Yes, you could have.”

“You would have pretended even if you didn’t care.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You’d say whatever kept me breathing. Don’t act like you wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Because I’m in love with you. And, by the way, you still haven’t told me.”

“Fine!” he snapped. “You need me to tell you it directly? You. It’s been you since that first time you came at me with a needle and told me my arm would rot off.”

You stilled, momentarily paused because that… that was ages ago. That was long before you’d even agreed to follow him around the world. That was back when you still found him intimidating and you’d yet to learn that for all the bluff, staring him down was the best way to quieten his moods.

“What?” he barked when you were quiet for too long. “Don’t stare at me like that.”

You shook your head. “Kid… You know… I just… fuck you.”

You gave up looking for words and just reached for him instead. He met you halfway, mouth harsh against yours as you dragged him to you. Relief pushed through the last of your anger as you focused on just him.

Then he coughed.

You tore yourself away immediately.

He bent forward, bracing himself against the edge of your desk as the coughs dragged through him. They sounded just as vicious as before, deep enough to turn your stomach and for a horrible moment, you feared the cure was as much a myth as you’d thought the disease had been.

You caught his shoulder just as something fell from his mouth and splattered over the floor.

Not another full flower. Nothing fresh or bright.

The petals were wilted, curling in on themselves. You knelt down to consider them and Kid wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he coughed once more and inhaled.

You looked up at him. “Go sit on one of the beds.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that when you sounded like you had gravel in your lungs. Go.”

He glared but sat on one of the beds anyway, grumbling beneath his breath while you grabbed a stethoscope. You tugged up his shirt before he could protest and pressed it against his ribs.

The crackling hadn’t disappeared completely. His lungs still sounded irritated and you suspected they would be for some time after everything he’d put them through but the obstruction was easing. Air moved where it hadn’t before.

The relief almost hurt as you breathed out.

“Feels better,” he muttered.

“Good. Then it’ll feel even better tomorrow. You’re staying here to rest until I can be certain it’s continuing to improve.”

Kid’s eyes narrowed. “What? No.”

“You have potentially damaged lungs, and blood loss so I need to watch you. And it’s also punishment,” you said. “For making me stress so much.”

He gave you a flat look but didn’t try to stand again.

You kissed him once more, to be certain he was still there. His lips still carried a trace of iron but his breathing had steadied. Each inhale came deeper than the last, no longer catching whatever had been growing inside him.

Tags: @miwn8 ; @aceincase ; @chaeisrichnow ; @aceidentallyinlove ; @ilovedreming ; @moon-shampoo

Dining on the Victoria Punk was more like a series of snacks than full meals, spread across the day and night. The frequent, small bites were as gastronomic as dining got. While you could try your darndest to coerce any member of the Kid Pirates into eating a vegetable, things appeared to operate better when your kitchen became a glorified food stall. 

Kid never paid much attention to it, and that morning was no different. It had been way too long since he last stepped onto the Victoria Punk and inhaled the fresh ocean breeze of the beach. Kid had been inland for too long, but as he boarded his ship, a scowl formed on his face. No, being at Kaido’s mercy for any length of time kept his stubborn heart bitter, and he doubted that anything could change that. That was, until he walked into the kitchen. 

The Kid Pirates didn’t allocate much space to an activity as useless as food preparation, but you always seemed to make the space work. Appliances lined the left-hand wall of the room, just to the left of the door, and floor-to-ceiling cabinets for storing dried goods were on the right. A narrow island sat between the two walls, barely enough room for prep work and for five to sit on the stools closer to the right side of the room. Beyond your kitchen was a decently sized, circular table and a matching booth that pressed up against the windows. 

Killer was already there, a newspaper in one hand and a coffee cup sporting a straw in the other. A few other members of the crew—fresh from sleep despite it being the middle of the afternoon—gathered randomly around the narrow space, talking among themselves and to you. 

And speaking of you, you were hard at work. You must’ve had five different dishes going on—everything from pancakes to chicken cordon bleu—and you still had time to laugh at a few terrible jokes and refill coffees. 

When he entered, the gathered crew greeted him with enthusiasm. Smiles. Enthusiastically raised eyebrows. And just like the rest of them, just like the morning itself, you were no different. 

You had the windows open, the breeze taking the edge off the oven's heat. Natural light cast over you as you turned to glance over your shoulder. Your somewhat shocked expression melted into a gentle smile. 

“Good morning, captain,” you greeted, your voice far softer than the flurry of enthusiastic shouts filling your kitchen. You turned your back on him, arming yourself with mitts to pull a dish from the oven. “I had a feeling you’d be stopping by.”

You were uncharacteristically… soft today. 

Kid didn’t say a word, ignoring the greetings and sarcastic jokes as he stepped up to your little island. Sure enough, you pulled a hot, steaming dish of cabbage rolls out of the oven, no doubt just for him. 

Perhaps you were worried. Maybe you missed him while he was away. 

“Your favorite,” you hummed, more to gloat over your good work and even better memory than to offer a reminder. “Let me just—” 

You turned to grab a plate and serving spoon, but when you pivoted back around, Kid had already stolen the entire platter in his prosthetic hand. The metal spoon flew from your grasp, and Kid caught it in his right hand. He sat down across from Killer, moving to place the hot dish directly on the wooden table. You plucked a circular trivet from the counter and threw it across the room with a flick of your wrist. It landed beneath the platter just before it hit the table. 

“What did I say about ruining my table?” you snapped with a frown. 

Yep. There it was. 

Kid had already split a cabbage roll in half using the edge of the serving spoon. “Carpentry has never been your strong suit, shrimp,” Kid proclaimed rudely, a massive bite already in his mouth. It was far too hot, causing him to huff out his words incoherently. “Can’t look rougher than she already does.”

You frowned. You’d installed the table yourself, not too long after the Kid Pirates obtained the ship. The surface panels were uneven. The heads of the necessary nails jutted out just slightly, and while wonderful for pooling dipping sauces without a sauce dish, the rough surface wasn’t ideal for a table. 

“Sorry we can’t all be master craftsmen,” you scoffed, serving up a few more dishes and sending your crewmates on their way. 

You took the lull in business to arrange a neat pile next to the sink before you flipped on the faucet. Killer stood as soon as he heard the running water.

“Let me get that,” he said, moving swiftly to grab the pan from your hand. The movement spilled half a pan’s worth of soapy water onto the floor. “Go sit down for once.”

You frowned, but didn’t acknowledge your now-damp pant leg. “I got it,” you tried to dismiss, making a swipe for the pan.

But Killer didn’t allow for it, swiftly shoulder-checking you out of the way. You stumbled, nearly slipping on the wet floor. 

“You’ve been on your feet for hours. Have you even eaten today?” he asked. You could hear a few snickers tease through his mask. “Nothing on a tasting spoon counts.”

You couldn’t help the light smile that threatened to tug at the corners of your mouth as you glanced away. You knew he couldn’t help it, and you were also certain he’d never talk about it. But Killer had never been expressive before, and these new laughs seemed like a window into something you’d barely seen before. 

Killer took your pause for an answer, and, well, he was right. Killer didn’t acknowledge you as he sighed. “Go into town and grab something. Or if you’d like, Strawhat’s cook has been making enough to feed an army. I’m sure he’d give you a plate.” 

The suggestion caused your eyes to widen in consideration, brows bouncing upward. “Oh?” you hummed. “Is that whose cooking I keep smelling?”

“Oh, like hell,” Kid scoffed, his mouth full. “No crew of mine is going to beg for food from Strawhat of all people. If I catch you crawling over there, I’ll drag you back here myself.”

You drifted to the end of the island closest to him, just a few steps from the table where he sat. You crossed your arms, leaning against the countertop. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked. By this time, Kid had already cleared a majority of his platter, which you thought would’ve lasted at least two days. You glanced at it pointedly as you leaned over the table. “I’ve been slaving away in here all day because my captain is a child who can’t maintain a dining schedule over the crew to save his life! Are you going to cook for me, huh?”

Your flat palm swatted against his goggles, and Kid slapped your hand away. 

“You’re a cook,” he grumbled. “I don’t get why you’d need to get food from anyone else, let alone Black Leg… Make yourself useful and cook something for yourself.”

You opened your mouth to retort.

“But don’t you go stinkin’ up my ship with that North Blue slop,” Kid cut in before you could speak. 

At that point, you hopped up onto the table, leaning forward over Kid’s nearly empty dish. Your nimble fingers swiftly plucked the oversized serving spoon from him, bringing it down on his head with a speed that made the air whistle. But you were blocked again, and a loud clang echoed through the small kitchen. 

Kid magnetized himself, causing the spoon to stick unyieldingly to his arm, but that didn’t discourage your iron grip on the handle. You beat your hand against the back of his metallic palm, a protest to get your weapon back. 

“Our ship,” you corrected in between smacks. “Wano’s done a number on you—you thug!”

“Thug?” Kid mused, taking the last cabbage roll into his hand before taking an unceremonious bite. “You really pullin’ out the dirty words, huh, shrimp? You used to be nice.” Kid frowned, but his raised brows were mocking. “What happened?”

“Oh, what do you think?” you huffed, finally snatching his now-empty dish away from him. “Glad to see prison didn’t beat the attitude out of you at least,” you huffed, adding the dish to the sink. Killer had made good work on your pile. 

“Aw, shucks. You don’t really mean that, do ya?” Kid turned in the booth, knees splayed. 

He grinned. There was nothing quite like testing your patience. Now, Eustass Kid of all people was hardly a connoisseur of cute things. Kid and cute were, after all, hardly associated with the same brand. But you were nothing short of adorable when you were angry. 

He’d thought so ever since the crew’s early days. Ever since he saw you telling that dumbass customer of yours off in the middle of shaking a cocktail, it was something in the way you scrunched the space between your brows and curled your nose into a snarl. It contorted your otherwise aesthetically pleasing exterior into a violent, rageful grimace. And it was something about the juxtaposition that delighted Kid more than he’d admit. 

“I’m going out,” you decided, turning toward the door. “Try not to starve to death.” 

You stormed out of the kitchen without another word. 

Kid watched as the door swung open, closed, and then opened again. It wavered a moment in the doorway before finally becoming still. Killer finished the dishes not too long after, wiping his wet hands on a nearby towel. Kid eyed him, a cocky smirk on his lips as he stared into the blue-and-white mask. 

“What?” Kid probed, standing from the table. “What do you gotta say, Kil’?” 

“Nothing,” Killer muttered. 

Kid frowned, the self-satisfied grin on his face wiped away in an instant. He turned, leaving his dish forgotten on the table, to face Killer fully. Kid’s frown morphed into a scowl. 

“You’re worried about nothing,” Kid grumbled, “Don’t be a damn priss about a couple of jokes.” 

Killer didn’t say anything in reply, adjusting the now-very-damp towel in his hands on the stove's handle. 

Kid leaned against a nearby cabinet, his scowl only deepening as he stared into blank space. “We all have our jobs here. You’d think that you’d know that after this many years,” he complained, perhaps to no one but himself. Something complicated flashed across Kid’s expression. “This is how we’ve always been.”

His eyes flickered up toward Killer for acknowledgment of his fractured ramblings, only to find that his first mate had already left.

***

There was something about cooking for yourself that put you in a foul mood—even the thought of it. You guessed it had to do with smelling and tasting your own cooking all day, which tended to dull your senses. And if your crew could stick to a schedule that even resembled three square meals a day, you might have been able to tailor a routine that didn’t leave your taste buds bored. 

You found the very idea of acquiring a plate of someone else’s food alluring, though you weren’t entirely sure whether this new, temporary pirate alliance extended to plates. But considering the massive outdoor kitchen the Strawhat cook had set up a short distance from their ship, you didn’t think you’d have to persuade him.

The Straw Hat crew weren’t the only ones looking forward to enjoying an evening meal. Samurai, Minks, and assorted people from Wano mingled with them, already drawn by the aroma wafting from the cook’s workspace. 

Identifying the Straw Hat’s cook wasn’t difficult. If the bright pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron didn’t make it apparent enough, the fact that he seemed to be the only one doing any of the kitchen work made you immediately forget why you left your ship in the first place. 

You wanted to leave your ship’s galley, but something about the makeshift kitchen on the shore made you pause. A familiar scent wafted into the air, growing stronger as you grew closer.

You didn’t think about your approach, already rolling up your sleeves, your eyes darting to the various places where he could use help. And when you crossed the threshold from sandy coast to sacred ground, you didn’t ask for permission. You didn’t even introduce yourself; you immediately moved to wash your hands. 

You moved like you’d been there the whole afternoon. The outdoor kitchen was tight by conventional means, but compared to the glorified closet on the Victoria Punk, you almost felt like things were too far apart. 

The Strawhat cook set up the works: bowls of prepped vegetables arranged in neat rows, a chopping block that was still wet from rinsed herbs, a generous prep station, and two large pots, one simmering a delicious-smelling broth. He’d done the hard work, but when you had this many mouths to feed, you knew as well as anyone that the labor most certainly didn’t stop at prep. 

You slid into his rhythm, immediately too busy to notice the cook’s face light up upon seeing you. He didn’t freeze for a second, moving around you as he made his subtle assessments.

You moved to several large covered bowls, gently lifting the cloth from the top. You inspected the pale, elastic dough. You poked it, watching as the mound sprang back quickly, but didn’t fill all the way back in. You glanced toward the Straw Hat cook.

“A Northern boy, huh?” you mused, already flouring the large cutting board in front of you with a goofy grin. 

The Strawhat cook spared a second of attention away from his work to barely meet your eye. “I really grew up in the East,” he answered, his eyes flickering to the rolling pin in your hand. You were already working the dough on the board with perfect technique. “And you?”

“Starport, way up North,” you said. “I’d be surprised if you’ve heard of it.”

“Must’ve missed it,” the Strawhat cook said. “The name’s Sanji.” 

You offered him a wide smile and gave your name in return. “Thought you could use the extra set of hands.”

Sanji shrugged. “Yours look capable.” 

Sanji winked before you sank back into the rhythm of work. 

It’d been a long time since you got to make Northern cuisine. Kid practically put a permanent ban on it on the Victoria Punk. 

“That pigswill makes the whole crew gag,” he’d say, and after enough times, you stopped making it altogether. 

You rolled the dough out into a long slab and, starting from the bottom, rolled it around the long rolling pin like a spool. You continued with rhythmic motions, gradually flattening the dough until it reached your desired thickness. You wrapped the dough around the pin one last time, then dropped it so it folded over itself. 

With a sharp knife, you began to make precise cuts. Every few slices, you grabbed a handful of the forming noodles, shook them out, and arranged them neatly into nests until you’d processed all the dough. 

You’d spied the handles of a few pasta baskets sticking out of one of the large pots. You brought your neatly arranged board over to the closest surface. 

Sanji already had an army of bowls set up, each with a bit of oil at the bottom. Wano got chilly at night. This was the perfect evening meal. You began the first batch of noodles, putting them in the baskets and shaking them when they were done. You and Sanji worked together like machines, layering noodles, broth, and toppings like the best culinary assembly line the world had ever seen. 

There was something meditative about the way service got on days like this. It wasn’t every day that you got to plate anything so uniform. Usually, your rush was twelve different dishes that required ten shades of prep and 350 degrees of patience. It felt like you were working through it all in no time. Between slinging noodles and garnishing, you were handing out trays to anyone who gathered around what had turned into a dinner stall. As quickly as the bowls were made, they were taken.

You couldn’t remember the last time your job was as easy as slicing noodles and enjoying the scent of rich broth. The familiar aroma of the stock began to melt tension off your shoulders as your body eased back into a memory of itself. There had been a time when you had fewer scars, when your back hurt less. In the past, when you were salting rocks glasses in snowy taverns before you ever set your feet on a sandy shore.

You were sure you had a goofy expression on your face as you turned around. Kid always said you looked dumb when you were thinking about the past. You definitely had your mouth open, and your tongue dug into the side of your mouth when you locked eyes with the prettiest charcoal blue eyes you’d ever seen. 

The pirate in front of you appeared tall with broad shoulders. His skin had the kind of olive tone that deepened easily in the sun, giving contrast to the dark tattoos scattered along his arms.

He wasn’t pretty. His cheekbones angled sharply, almost making him look sickly. His facial hair grew patchy in some places, in stark contrast to the unruly hair that brushed at his nape. The dark circles around his eyes made him resemble a specter more than a pirate.

And still, you stared. 

You attributed the momentary lack of oxygen to the way you short-circuited, to the way the bowl in your hands tipped, just barely. You made the mistake of blinking because in that second, the weight of it vanished. 

Your heart dropped as you instinctively glanced down, expecting hot broth, shards, and wasted food. 

You didn’t realize what had happened until the pirate muttered a low, rough “Thanks,” finally noticing the bowl in his hands as if it’d teleported. 

Then, he walked away without another word. 

It took you a moment longer than you’d comfortably admit for you to snap yourself out of your trance. You turned back to your baskets and garnishes, having faltered in the consistent rhythm you’d established with Sanji. 

You tried to return to slinging noodles, your thoughts lingering on your brief and unfortunate interaction. 

“Was that—?” you started, after a few beats of consideration. Sanji glanced up from his ladle. You stared down at your baskets. “Was that who I think it was? With the big hat.”

Sanji swiveled his head, looking somewhere through the crowd. His brows furrowed slightly. “What? You mean Traffy?” 

Traffy. You’d heard rumors about their earlier alliances, though you were somewhat surprised by the degree of familiarity they shared. 

“I just… I’ve just never seen him in person before,” you breathed, trying a bit too hard to appear nonchalant. “He doesn’t really look like his bounty poster.”

Sanji laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think he looks like 500 million berries either!”

You finally got to eat a proper meal. You didn’t care so much about plating it yourself as you did about not having to make it alone. After the initial rush, you had enough time to eat, finishing just a handful of minutes before the dishes started coming back.

You dialed back the heat beneath your pots. Throughout the cleanup, you spoke with Sanji about all manner of food: dishes you’ve made, ingredients you picked up at the last islands you were on, and, of course, Northern cuisine. 

“Do you make it a lot for your crew?” you asked, hooking a pasta basket on the rim of the pot to drip. 

The corner of Sanji’s lip dipped. “Not much. Most of the crew has a taste for Eastern food, and that’s what I was trained on,” he explained, pausing a moment to think. “Not to say I only cook Eastern food. Northern dishes take more time than I think my captain has patience for.”

You snorted, playing with the ladle's handle. “Oh, trust me. I know about a captain with a lack of patience,” you muttered. “Try a whole crew.” 

Sanji let out a chuckle. “Sounds familiar. Don’t get it twisted. They’re impatient. Loud. They want their plates yesterday.”

“But?” You raised a brow, eyes on the stack of clean bowls in your hands. 

“They know I’ll take care of them,” Sanji said, rinsing a pan under the rinse barrel. His movements were meaningful. He wouldn’t waste a thing, not even water. “We don’t have the most punctual schedule. I’ll do a midday snack; I’ll tailor the menu to what I know they like, but it’s a routine. They trust my hands.” He set the pan aside to drip.

“You mean you don’t get woken up to chop up mango?” 

Sanji shook his head. “Even better—I’ve got a lock on my fridge.”

You stopped mid-step and stared at him. “No shit.” 

You barely heard the sound of a bowl being set on the makeshift counter behind you. 

“Seconds.” 

The voice was too close behind you for how little you heard his approach. When you turned, it was him again. Trafalgar Law. He pushed the bowl toward you before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. 

You eyed him, wordlessly making your approach to pick up the bowl. 

“Starport,” Law said. 

You blinked, your eyes shooting up to his. “What?” 

Law gestured toward the noodle pot. “The cut,” he said. “You snip the ends.” 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have fallen into the trap of looking into his eyes again. He wasn’t even looking at you, and you were having a hard time processing what he was saying. 

“Usually, noodles are sliced straight, but you trimmed the ends so the tips split like a star,” he continued dryly, finally glancing back at you. “That’s a Starport thing. No one does it by accident.” Law nodded decisively.

You were quiet for a beat too long. Law continued to stare, expecting a reply. 

You gulped. “You’ve been there?” You tucked a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear. You immediately touched it again, as if the first motion hadn’t been enough. 

If Law noticed, he didn’t bring attention to it.

“A long time ago,” he said. 

His reply didn’t leave you enough time to think about what to say next. The very fact that you were tripping over your words left you horrified. You weren’t a stranger to small talk—not in the service industry, you weren’t—and you definitely weren’t intimidated by any pirate, no matter how high his bounty. 

Your captain was one of the most—if not the most—infamous pirates among the Supernovas. You lived elbow-deep in rowdy men with tattoos and cold stares, and that never stopped you from trying to beat Kid with a wooden spoon or take Killer by the ear when he was acting particularly foolish. 

And yet…

“Then you remember enough to know I can’t let it sit,” you said, hurrying breathlessly, avoiding his gaze as you made him a new bowl. You placed it on the counter as if fearing that handing it to him directly would make your knees collapse. You sought anything to keep your hands busy. “It’s best when it’s hot enough—“

—“To melt the frostbite off—” Law said at the same moment you did. 

Your head snapped up despite yourself. A smoldering heat crept up your neck for reasons unrelated to the soup. 

“Good,” Law said, taking the bowl in his hand. “You haven’t forgotten. And you’ve still got your accent.”

He turned back the way he came and vanished into the noise and bustle in the evening light. 

***

Sanji told you that he’d be set up for three meals a day until the raid on Onigashima. Part of the reason was the ease of feeding the groups gathered to take on Kaido, and the other was the limited food amongst the locals. You weren’t opposed to a mission, and if you could force your crew into a routine for at least a few days, you were taking the opportunity. 

“Alright,” Kid started as he burst into your quarters. The door slammed against the adjacent wall. You didn’t even glance up from your book. “You have some explaining to do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, flipping the page. A colorful image of a salad dish sat in the top left corner. “Knock next time.”

Kid’s gaze tightened, the skin around his brows scrunching as he gritted his teeth. “Oh, is that right?” he hissed. “So you don’t know anything about the rumor that you’ll be cooking for the Straw Hats? Where were you expecting this crew to get their food, huh?” 

He stalked toward you, eclipsing your book with his metal palm and forcing it down onto your lap. He towered over you as you sat in your desk chair, as if he thought you’d be like half the rivals you’d met—intimidated by his size. You looked up at him with a frown, impatience tugging at a vein on your forehead. 

“I’m not cooking for the Straw Hats; I’m cooking with them, so it’s easier to feed all of our crews—this one included.” You reached a hand up to Kid’s bare chest, giving him a shove. He didn’t budge. 

“All of our crews?” he snarled. “Last time I checked, you only had one—unless you’re considering a change of allegiance. Try it, and I’ll make an example of you.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes, pushing him harder with two hands this time. Kid let himself concede half a step—enough room for you to shove your book onto your desk and stand. “Get your head out of your own ass and stop being dramatic.”

In your small quarters, Kid continued to invade your space, hulking over you with a scowl. “What did you say?” 

“It’s a more efficient way to get people fed.” Your gaze narrowed. “We’re already in an alliance, aren’t we?”

“That’s different,” Kid gritted. “You could just do things like you always have instead of trying to fix something that isn’t broken in the first place.”

“I swear to god, you’re insufferable,” you groaned, turning back toward your desk. You reached over it to tug at the window, cracking it to let in the cool evening air. Things were getting a bit heated. “Things have been very broken, and if you bothered to listen to me, you’d know I could use a load off.”

“Oh, so it’s about what you want, now?” Kid chastised. 

You turned, one hand on your desk. Your jaw tightened. 

“As your captain, I’m saying no.” He scowled, taking up most of the room with his stature. “If I so much as see you with the Straw Hats—”

“You don’t get to pull the captain card on me—”

Kid’s metal hand hit the wall beside your head, just hard enough to leave a dent in the wall and make the windowpane rattle. His face scrunched into a fearsome grimace. A red flush began to pool under his fair skin. 

“Want to test that?” he growled, his low voice rumbling in his chest. 

You hardly blinked, letting your grip on the desk slide away. Slowly, you leaned back against the wall with a laxness that might’ve melted you into it. You heaved a deep sigh as if preparing for osmosis. 

“Do we have to do this here?” you breathed. “In my cabin?”

“Don’t act tough. You’re the one who’s been sneaking off,” Kid growled. 

You rolled your eyes. “I told you where I was going. We had an entire discussion about it.”

“Yeah, one where I told you not to go.” He finally recoiled his arm from the dent in the wall, but he didn’t back off enough. His shadow cast over you, baring his teeth. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? It’s a disgrace—running off with some pretty-boy cook because you can't handle your job.”

“My job used to be cooking.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Your nails dug into your bicep. —“and patching you up, and dragging you out of whatever mess you’d get into. Not playing glorified vending machine.”

Kid groaned, finally stepping back. He seemed to pace for a moment—although your quarters were too tight to allow him—before staring up at the ceiling. He heaved out a deep, steaming breath. 

“You didn’t use to be like this,” he drawled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You used to just…” The words on his tongue twisted his lips. “You used to handle it.”

“Handle what?” you barked incredulously. “Handle you?” 

Kid shook his head. “Don’t start. You’re acting like we’re chaining you to the stove.” 

You shrugged, brows bobbing with incredulous consideration. “If the boot fucking fits.”

“I’ve got bigger things to deal with than who’s hungry,” Kid scoffed. “That’s your job. You get to do that. You’re the only one on this crew who doesn’t have to stand watch.”

Your head shot up, your eyes wide. “That is not the problem here,” you snapped. “The problem is that people are banging on my door at all hours of the day for me to cook. I’m constantly in the kitchen. And let me tell you, no one ever wants the same thing.” 

“That’s your fucking job,” Kid repeated, clapping his hands with every word. “You’re lucky you have a door. You should be grateful that I let you have your own quarters—”

“Oh, fuck off, Kid!” you shouted. “I needed my own space after everyone kept waking me up, and you know what? They’re still waking me up! It’s every day and every night. I lock my door and everyone still—” 

“So you want to start on some Straw Hat bullshit then,” Kid barked. 

“It’s not Straw Hat bullshit,” you shot back, barely repressing a frustrated groan. “It’s normal meal times and time for me to prep a normal amount of things.” 

Three loud bangs rumbled through the wall next to you. You and Kid looked over instinctively. You supposed that the crew on the other side wanted you to quiet down so they could sleep.

They understood when it was their sleep. 

Kid’s eyes cut to you. “You used to do your own damn part to contribute to this crew.” He shook his head, glancing around the room. He gestured in front of himself as if trying to physically conjure up the words physically. “You were… nicer. You used to be… fun.” He waved his hand vaguely between you, the air, and the ship. “You used to roll with us.” 

“And you used to be my friend.”

Kid froze for a second, staring at you like he didn’t hear you right. Or maybe he did hear you right. Maybe you didn’t say what he thought you said. 

He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing. “I know I didn’t hear you right.” 

The room went still for a moment, the tension simmering with a heat palpable to feel. 

You gulped, almost hesitating before breaking the silence. Almost. 

“You’re standing in my room telling me I was ‘nicer’ before,” you said in a small voice, almost whispering. “I wasn’t always just your cook, you know.”

“You want to talk about friends?” Kid quietly simmered. “Friends don’t embarrass each other by running off and teaming up with the Straw Hats behind my back—”

“We’re already in an alliance.”

“You’re making it look like I can’t feed my own damn crew.”

“Maybe I could keep up with the spontaneous demand when there were just five of us, but we have thirty-one people, Kid,” you stressed, almost forgetting to take a breath. “Just… let me rest, just… a few hours to let me sleep. Please back me up on this one thing… as captain.”

You moved back to the desk chair. As you slumped, you let your head roll back over the back post, exposing your neck. You finally sounded defeated.

Kid stood over you for a moment as you let your eyes close. 

“No,” he said finally. “You’re the cook. You cook.”

You breathed in, letting a beat pass. 

“Okay,” you muttered. Your eyelids fluttered open, your gaze boring into the closed cover of your book. “I told you what I need, and you don’t care. I’m done fighting you.” 

You forced a breath in. Kid opened his mouth to report.

“Just get out,” you breathed. “I’m done talking.”

Kid stood over you, watching you with narrowed eyes for a moment more than was comfortable. Like maybe if he glared at you hard enough, you’d change your mind. 

“If you’re so done running your mouth, then stop acting like you’re the only one who works around here.” He stomped across the short room. Kid slammed the door behind him, and the frame rattled. 

***

You didn’t have time to dwell on your fight with Kid. It was one of many, or at least, that’s how it felt nowadays. You didn’t have time to ponder long, not when you knocked out as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

At that point, you must’ve been up for well past twenty-four hours. You didn’t know how long you'd been asleep when you woke up, but you knew it was nowhere near as long as you needed. 

A sharp thudding erupted from your cabin door. In your exhaustion, you tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. But the knocking only continued. You rolled over, clutching your pillow over your ears, but your muffled name didn’t stop. 

You glanced up at your cracked window. The starry night sky hovered quietly on the other side, casting just enough light into the room to illuminate the wood floors. 

Another round of pounding rattled the door in its frame. 

If you stayed quiet, they would keep knocking. If you answered, they would want food, and if they wanted food, no one would want the same food. You wouldn’t see a wink of sleep, and by the time you were finished, the others would be up for breakfast. 

So as the thudding continued, you slowly peeled yourself out of bed. You slipped on a pair of shoes and threw on a random jacket before you climbed your desk and onto the windowsill. The glass felt cold against your hand, but the evening breeze was far warmer. 

You took in the smell of salt and that evening’s dinner before you jumped out onto the dock. Your landing made an unmistakable bang on the wood. 

You glanced over your shoulder toward the ship. The rapping at your cabin door continued, though the sound resounded lighter on your ears.

The shore at night stood still and quiet. The water below you ebbed gently, as if the sea itself understood what time of the day it was. Your tired eyes had since adjusted to the moonlight as you strode aimlessly down the dock. 

Your body had passed away tired hours ago, and if you closed your eyes right now, you might fall asleep and continue walking through the jungle until you woke. 

The cool air helped. It kept you moving, but the sound of the sea countered your efforts. The waves lapped against the wood beams, tempting you into sleep. 

Only when you reached the shore did you notice the unhurried footsteps behind you. You turned to glance over your shoulder. Then you froze. 

Law stopped a few feet away on the dock, his gaze moving over you once before stopping at your exhausted face. Of course, the next time you saw him, you still appeared anything but put together and elegant. Not in your loungewear, half-secured shoes, and the most random jacket in your wardrobe slung across your shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” He frowned. 

You turned fully. You crossed your arms over your chest in a half-hearted attempt to look less haphazard than you were. “What are you doing out here then?”

His expression didn’t change. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he drawled in what sounded awfully like a scold. 

You almost laughed. Pirate alliances… always so suspicious of each other, though you couldn’t say it wasn’t a healthy amount of caution. Uniting to take down two emperors at once didn’t eliminate the possibility that anything could go wrong. 

You looked away from his piercing stare out into the dark water. “Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “That’s all.”

“And wandering around half-dressed seemed like a good solution?” 

You scoffed, not even having the energy to shoot off a retort to his prying. You barely had it in you to keep standing, let alone start a fight with a man you’d just met that evening. 

“It was better than staying where I was,” you muttered, shifting your heel to depart. 

“Better,” Law repeated, dragging the word out slightly.

Your gaze flicked back to him, brow furrowing. The corners of his mouth had pulled up, just barely.

“Where,” he said next.

“What?” you asked. You blinked a few times. If you were having a stroke, at least a doctor was with you to witness it. 

Law took a half step forward. 

“You pronounce ‘better’ the way the Southerners do,” he said, although the explanation did nothing to smooth the wrinkles around your brow. 

“It’s a South Blue Crew,” you retorted.

“But you pronounce ‘where’ like you’re from Starport.” He bobbed his head exactly once. 

You thought about it for approximately two seconds before your brain gave up on you. You breathed in. “Where,” you said again.

Law’s smile widened, small but real. Moonlight caught faintly in his eyes. “Where,” he repeated back. 

Your bottom lip curled down. “That’s what I said.”

Law shook his head. “No,” he said, a quiet laugh slipping out with the word. “It isn’t.”

You stared at him for a moment, too exhausted to be properly embarrassed or logical enough to let the matter go.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“A little.”

You let out a long, labored breath and dragged a hand over your face. “Good to know I sound funny to you.”

“You don’t sound funny,” Law said. “You sound exhausted.” 

“I was working on that.” 

Law took a measured blink. “Out here?” 

You crossed your arms tighter over yourself, the night breeze turning colder. “I didn’t have much of a plan beyond getting out the window,” you admitted quietly. 

He looked at you flatly. “The window.”

“Don’t get me started,” you sighed. “I was just going to—”

“What? Sleep in a tree?” Law glanced toward the treeline, then back at you. 

Your gaze drifted toward the beach.

“I’m sure the sand is still warm,” you trailed off with a concerning amount of resignation. 

Law stared at you for a second. 

“No.” He shook his head curtly. “You’re not planning on sleeping on the beach.”

“It’s like camping.”

His mouth flattened as he stepped down onto the shore beside you. “You’ve clearly never been good at camping.”

Your breath hitched at the proximity, but he only passed by you a second later, tipping his head over his shoulder for you to follow.

“Where?” you asked.

“To get you somewhere to sleep,” he called, never once turning back. 

You glanced around the empty beach, then back at the quiet ships lined up along the shore. You hesitated just long enough for Law to get a few steps ahead before forcing your tired legs to follow.

The Polar Tang sat a little apart from the others, with the Thousand Sunny separating it from the Victoria Punk. Aside from the single lookout on the top deck, the ship was quiet and still. Even from the shore, it looked more orderly than most ships in port—no shouting, no drunken laughter, no brawls. 

You stopped short once you reached the gangway, your steps having grown heavier. 

Law noticed almost immediately. He turned to glance over his shoulder.

You looked past him at the dark ship, then back at the empty stretch of beach behind you. It was late. You barely knew him. He was a man you barely knew, leading you to an unfamiliar place in the middle of the night. 

Kid would kill both of you for the implication alone if he knew. 

Law shifted just slightly, his weight now on his back leg. 

“You can say no,” he said. 

You made the mistake of meeting his piercing, charcoal blue stare. You were convinced he could see right through you. 

“I’ve got a quiet cabin you can use. It locks from the inside if that’s what you’re worried about,” Law explained, his voice even. 

You took a breath in. After the lack of sleep you’ve been getting, nothing sounded better than quiet. 

Your lips parted, then closed. A beat of silence passed. 

“Why?” you asked.

Law’s expression didn’t change. 

“Because I’m not using it.”

He turned and started up the gangway without another word. 

You stood there for a beat, trying to wrap your tired brain around it all.

Not using it?

You didn’t even realize you’d hopped up onto the gangway to follow him. 

“What do you mean?” you asked from the dock. 

Law had already climbed the ladder up onto the deck. 

You really should have left. You should have turned around and found another place to spend the night. The sand felt warm, just like you’d assumed. You might even be cut out for a tree, apparently. 

But instead, without a second thought, you climbed the ladder. Law was waiting patiently for you. A woman stood at the far end of the deck, half-turned as she studied you with wide eyes out of the corner of her eye. 

Law didn’t acknowledge her. He continued to walk, leading you inside the Polar Tang. 

You nearly stopped the moment you stepped inside. This ship was definitely not the Victoria Punk. 

The Polar Tang smelled clean, though not sterile. You had expected a submarine to have an atmosphere thick with sweat and heat, but instead, soap, metal, and what smelled like a familiar cleaner laced the cool, crisp air. A consistent, cold breeze blew from the vents lining the hall.

And more importantly, it was quiet. 

A gentle hum rumbled throughout the ship. A round of muted laughter sounded somewhere in the distance.

No shouting from down the hall. No music, far too late. No boots pounding down the hall. The only aroma resembling alcohol was a vague ethanol scent. 

Law led you deeper down the narrow corridor. The lights were low. 

You followed a step behind, watching his back before he finally stopped at a door near the end of the corridor and reached for the handle. 

He stepped inside just enough to let you pass, but you didn’t follow. 

You didn’t have to know Law well to judge the made bed, the books and papers arranged neatly on the desk, and the coat hung by the door, as unmistakably his. The room he revealed was small and neat. Clean and quiet. 

You remained frozen where you stood in the hallway, just a step or two from the doorway. Exhaustion and caution swirled together in your chest. 

“This is your room,” you said weakly.

“There are two locks on the inside.” Law took the heavy metal door in his hands, closing it just a fraction to demonstrate the thick deadbolts. 

You shook your head. “I can’t take your bed.”

Your gaze met Law’s. His expression hadn’t changed from the even look he gave you on the dock. 

“If you want to leave, leave,” he said. “If you want to sleep, sleep.”

Your eyes drifted to the bed behind him. It looked painfully comfortable. The blanket overtop even looked like Northern sheep’s wool. 

You exhaled slowly before stepping into the room. 

Law moved out of the way immediately. His hand lingered in the doorway just long enough to turn the light down before he stepped back into the hallway.

“Use the locks. No one’s going to bother you,” he muttered. “And don’t worry about stripping the sheets tomorrow.”

Then, he left, closing the door behind him.

You stood there for a few moments, listening as his footsteps faded down the hall. Before you could ask yourself what you were doing, you reached for the lock. 

The first deadbolt slid into the place, then the second. Your brain glazed over as you stared at the locks. 

You blinked, finally snapping yourself out of your hypnosis as you turned to face the room. 

Everything about the situation felt strange and wrong. It didn’t feel like you were supposed to be there. No, not in Trafalgar Law’s bedroom. It felt forbidden to kick off your shoes and drape your jacket over the back of his desk chair. But as you sat at the edge of his mattress, Kid and the rest of your crew were the furthest things from your mind. 

When you slid under the covers, a tired hum rumbled in your throat. The bed dipped just slightly under your weight, and you melted with it. It was warm and soft, just like a bed should be. 

And it smelled like him. Clean fabric. Soap. Nitrile gloves. 

Maybe you should have felt more self-conscious about how easily you curled up in the bed of a man you barely knew. If you weren’t so damn sleep-deprived, you might have been embarrassed by how quickly his scent coaxed you to sleep.

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You sighed and tilted your head back slightly; your neck was stiff and your shoulders aching. You had little idea what kind of mood Kid was in but the fact that he wasn’t stalking the deck while waiting for you was a little suspicious.  

The workshop door was swung wide open and you walked in, breathing in the familiar scent of oil and hot metal in the air. When you’d first boarded the Victoria, you hated how everything smelled of iron and grease, how it clung to your clothes and hair long after you left the room.

Now it comforted you in a way little else could. You’d missed all of it but mostly, you’d missed knowing he was somewhere close by.

Kid’s gaze immediately snapped to you, agitation brimming in his glare. “You’re a day late.”

“I know,” you huffed, tugging the cloak from your shoulders. You threw it over a scrap of metal and hoped it wouldn’t rip. “I came across a storm and had to wait for it to pass. That piece of driftwood I was in would have been underwater immediately.”

“Wouldn’t have been a problem if we sailed together. I’m surprised you didn’t drown with that thing.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered.

He did seem a little more on edge than you’d expected but you were far too tired to dissect what was under his skin this time.

If you’d had the opportunity to travel alongside him rather than in a tiny boat with less room than a cupboard, obviously you would have taken him with you. Then again, you’d realised that Kid often overlooked just how much you preferred his company.

You grabbed a ratty, old metal chair that had barely any padding left on it anymore and sat at the only clear table, lowering your head onto your arms.

It wasn’t the most comfortable spot but sleep sounded so nice at the moment.

To just rest and finally catch up on all the hours you missed while floating on that tiny soapbox…

“Oi, don’t pass out there! I need that table!”

“Work around me.”

“Like hell I will! Go and get some actual sleep!”

You opened one eye to give him an annoyed look. “Can’t. Everything’s too noisy down there.”

“What? Everybody’s awake and busy.”

“Then it’s too cold.”

“You have blankets enough.”

“Maybe I want to spend time with you because I’ve missed you.”

For a second, he didn’t respond, his eyes narrowed at you. Then he made a loud scoffing noise and turned back to the metal in front of him. “Whatever. If you get back pain from sleeping half on a fucking table, I don’t want to hear it.”

You hummed and closed your eyes again.

Truly, you probably wouldn’t actually be able to fall asleep like this. Kid had a point. It was uncomfortable and the cold steel of the table shoving into your ribs was horribly annoying. You adjusted yourself twice, trying to find a spot where it wasn’t impossible before you gave up and just stood.

Kid looked toward you immediately as though you might leave. You walked over to where he was sitting instead, squeezed between him and the table and straddled his lap, pressing your face tight against his chest.

So much better than the table.

“Hey!”

“Quieter please,” you mumbled against him. “I’ve had a headache for the past two days.”

“I don’t care,” he snapped but his voice was much softer now; a deeper rumble that you felt in your chest. “Why the hell are you sitting on me? I’m working.”

You shrugged in answer. “Comfortable.”

He smelled just as much like oil as the rest of his workshop did, sharp and metallic under the warmth of him. His chest was solid beneath your cheek, his breathing uneven with irritation, and still you buried your face deeper into his shoulder. You liked this top on him because it exposed so much of him, though given how miserable you were feeling, you wouldn’t have minded having his coat to wrap yourself in too.

“Why are you so tired?” he muttered. “Did you bump into trouble?”

“No,” you said. “You were right about putting the roger onto my boat. Anybody who saw it pissed off quickly.”

“They know our reputation.”

“Mm.”

He reached around you to grab something and you tilted your head to the disassembled equipment on the table. “Making something new?” you asked.

“Nah. It’s one of Killer’s punishers. He said the blade was loose yesterday so I’m taking it apart fully to make sure it’s still working.”

“Would suck if the blade came off while fighting,” you said, your voice slipping as you stumbled closer to sleep. “Just woosh, no more heads.”

Kid scoffed. “You must be fucking tired. You’re slurring all your words together.”

“I barely slept on the way back… it took so long.”

He shoved the table a little bit away and you settled properly on his lap, wrapped around him even as his chair creaked concerningly. “Don’t move around.”

“No promises.”

Sleep grabbed you embarrassingly fast once he started working again but when you woke up, it was to a rapidly darkening workshop. Not one of the lanterns was on and the dusky light of sunset was pushing through the window. Kid’s arm was heavy around your back, snores rumbling through his chest. You blinked blearily and lifted your head, still feeling the ache in your muscles.

You must have been really tired. It felt like you hadn’t moved in… however many hours had passed. Hadn’t you arrived in the morning?

You sat up a bit and Kid grumbled. His goggles were half on still and you pulled them off, snuggling closer to press a kiss to his cheek. And then to the corner of his mouth. Then to his jaw. Each time, he made a progressively more annoyed noise until you began to litter kisses over him.

He let you get away with it for longer than he would have admitted, his breathing still slow beneath you before irritation finally caught up with him. His hand came up to wrap around your mouth.

“Stop it,” he grumbled.

You kissed his palm playfully. “Guess you were tired too.”

“No, I just had a pain sitting on top of me so I couldn’t do anything else.”

“You couldn’t just sit up and move me?” you asked.

He didn’t respond. You laughed and slipped off his lap, feeling the stinging sensation of your muscles waking up again.

“Come on,” you said, tugging at his arm slightly. “I want to clean up and then sleep in a bed.”

“You’re fucking demanding, you know that?”

“I do. Want to shower with me?”

He spluttered at the sudden offer. At least he was awake properly now and you couldn’t help but laugh at the red tinging his face, something that immediately got you barked at to ‘stop’.

Kid didn’t take you up on it though. No sooner had you stepped into his quarters and he collapsed onto the bed, half crushing you against the mattress until you slipped into sleep with him.

Seemed you hadn’t been the only one not sleeping while you were away.

Still, you were home now and with him pressed tightly against you, you couldn’t imagine anywhere else you’d rather be.

You nearly sloshed liquor over the edges as you spun on your heel, balancing the tray carefully while weaving back toward your crew with a grin sharp enough to match your swagger. The Kid Pirates had claimed a whole corner of the bar and you dropped the collection in the middle of everyone, picking the best for yourself.

“Looks like I’m sponsoring tonight,” you said.

“I helped,” Hip said as she dropped into her seat, her smile almost as proud as your own.

She did but you always managed to get the most. You had no idea why but when it meant extra berry in your pocket after a night out, you wouldn’t complain.

Kid took the drink from your hand before you settled on the threadbare couch next to him, downing it in one tilt of his head. “We using you to get free drinks again?”

“Problem?” you asked.

He chuckled. “Nah. Let ‘em look at what they can’t have.”

He tossed a heavy arm over your shoulders, drawing you into his side firmly. It was lucky that you’d gathered up so many drinks in the first round because you immediately felt the attention on you vanish. Very few men, arrogant or not, would dare to challenge your crew over something like this.

The only problem was that you weren’t getting to have any of your own drinks. Each time you grabbed one, Kid would take it from you.

By the third time, you even feigned going for one so his hands were full before you took the one you actually wanted. Your captain simply plucked it away from you and gave it to Killer instead.

“Can I have a drink?” you asked.

“I’ll think about it.”

He was smirking and you sighed dramatically. “Rude.”

“You don’t get drinks from other men,” he said simply. “You want something, you ask us for it.”

You made a face like you were thinking about it before you reached for the one he’d taken. Kid immediately used his metal hand to lift it higher, arm too heavy on your shoulder. You huffed and shifted under it, crawling half into his lap to try and reach.

His arm locked around your waist immediately, hauling you flush against his chest hard enough that you felt the vibration of his laugh through him while he finished the drink in one swallow. He leaned past you to drop it unceremoniously on the table.

“Prefer you to keep sitting here,” he said, adjusting you closer. “Still want something to drink?”

You crossed your arms as though pouting and tried to shuffle away only to find yourself effectively pinned against him now. All the posturing made you smirk. For a man who got flustered when you surprised him with a good morning kiss, he became very confident in places like this.

Nobody else in the crew had even turned their heads at what was happening.

“I do,” you said. “And I worked hard to earn all these drinks.”

“Sitting and looking pretty ain’t work,” he chuckled.

“Aw, but it’s really difficult to look pretty and approachable when my big meanie man is hovering over my shoulder,” you teased.

Kid chuckled, clearly proud. “Says a lot about how arrogant these assholes are that they still tried their luck.” He turned toward Heat and nodded to the bar. “Grab her something she’ll like. I’m keeping her here for now.”

Heat stood and you sighed dramatically. He knew your preferences well enough that whatever drink he brought would be exactly what you liked but still.

“What if it comes wrong?” you lamented.

“It won’t. They’ll think it’s for him and they ain’t going to chance it with Heat.”

You leaned heavier against Kid, adjusting yourself only when Heat got back, passing you a drink that you thanked him sweetly for. You brought the glass to your lips, taking the tiniest sip and making a show of swirling it around your mouth.

“It tastes odd,” you decided.

Heat rolled his eyes and sat back down. “It’s the same thing you always get.”

“Here, try it,” you said to Kid before you took another sip, leaning in to join your lips together.

You opened your mouth slightly, letting the liquor spill warm between your lips and into his. The taste barely registered after that; drowned out by the rough drag of his mouth against yours and the sharp grip of his hand in your hair. Your glass knocked clumsily against the wall as he kissed you harder, careless enough that cold droplets splashed down your wrist.

When you moved away, your lips were smeared with red. A few members of the crew chuckled at the display.

You downed what remained of your drink a little too fast and you pulled a face at it before you sighed. “Ah, I spilled half of it,” you sighed. “Maybe I should get something else then…”

Kid looked almost irritated when you pulled away, grip still tight in your hair like he hadn’t finished with you yet.

But he looked over the lipstick stains on your mouth before he chuckled and loosened his hold on your hair. You slipped from his lap and strolled back over to the bar, signalling the bartender for a refill.

He nodded stiffly and you turned back to your crew, waving playfully at Kid whose gaze hadn’t left you once.

But when your drink arrived, it didn’t come alone.

The bartender winced when he put two in front of you, one your order, and the other with a note scrawled onto a napkin beneath it.

For you, not your captain.

It didn’t take observation haki to spot what was wrong with it.

Pale residue clung to the rim of the glass in uneven streaks, half dissolved into the liquor. Your gaze lingered on it for a second too long before sliding toward the bartender. He still refused to look at you, jaw tight enough to creak.

Judging by his expression, he’d been threatened into carrying it over. What a stupid fucking idea.

You picked up both drinks and stalked your way back to the table, fun mood immediately replaced by irritation as you put the glass down purposefully in front of Kid. Maybe a little harder than you needed to as the drink splashed over the edges and dripped onto the table.

He picked it up and tilted it, his expression chilling. “You’ve got to be fucking with me.”

His voice came out as barely a growl and you nodded. “Seems like we’ve got some real idiots here today.”

Kid put the drink back down on the table, his eyes flashing over the patrons. The bartender seemed to notice something was about to happen because he started talking but it didn’t matter.

Kid stood and Killer was on his feet immediately. Mosh and Wire rose at the same time, Heat following not long after. You could see the expressions of the rest of the crew as they interrupted their conversations to join in.

You leaned back in your seat and nursed the drink you’d gotten for yourself. Did you want to get involved?

Every piece of metal in the bar moved at once.

Swords tore from sheaths with violent screeches. Forks and rusted cutlery ripped across tables. Loose nails shrieked out of the floorboards hard enough to split wood apart. Tankards overturned as chains, buckles, cookware, and scattered weapons launched through the air toward Kid’s outstretched hand. You heard a yell as someone with metal ringlets in their hair lost their accessories.

You didn’t know if you did want to fight. It was already very late.

All that metal gathered around Kid’s hand and for a second, there was a silent panic before he brought it down into the bar. Wood smashed and splintered, flying in every direction as chaos erupted.

“Which fucking moron thought they were going to try me?!”

You took another slow drink from your glass. Yeah, it was too late for you to get involved in this.  

The cramped bar collapsed into violence almost instantly. Tables overturned hard enough to crack against the walls and people stumbled over each other trying to draw weapons that were no longer in their hands. You watched as other crews turned on each other, throwing punches that landed on nothing. Heat’s laugh drew your attention briefly to a body crashing through a table. The whir of Killer’s punishers somehow loud enough to hear through the yelling.

Blood splattered against the walls, bodies hit the ground.

A man lunged toward Kid only to find half the kitchen’s metal repelled into him, sending him flying back and through the wall. The wall exploded apart beneath the impact, splintered wood scattering across the docks while cold night air rushed through the hole left behind.

You heard the bartender’s shout – something about taking it outside – but it was quickly cut off by the shattering of every bottle behind him.

The screech of metal made you wince as it clustered together. You saw somebody try to run only for Quincy to step in front of the door, her expression murderous. Honestly, you thought the crew was being pretty restrained.

You wouldn’t have been.

Several men, all already bleeding, pointed toward somebody at the back of the room. Kid’s attention shifted and Killer’s blades were already resting against the man’s throat.

He was a seedy little pirate; hair so dirty you didn’t realise it might have once been blond and with rat-like eyes darting around. He met your gaze for a second and you shook your head in disbelief that he’d even thought to try it.

“What a fucking joke,” Kid snarled as he walked forward.

The man gave a drunken, arrogant response, eyes flashing with defiance. You didn’t bother trying to make it out – distracted when Heat held his hand out to you. You took it, rising to your feet and making your way to the entrance. Broken wood and glass littered the sand outside and you stepped carefully over it, door swinging closed right as you heard a sickening wet crunch and bloodied choking.

How annoying. You liked a quiet night every now and then.

The half of the crew that had followed you out were lamenting the ruined night; most of them wanted to head deeper into the city to look for more trouble or better drinks but you waved off any offers to join them.

The whole evening had soured for you and you found yourself more than annoyed that somebody had pulled that crap.

“If you want to go back to the Victoria, I’ll walk you there,” Heat offered.

Heavy footsteps on the sand joined before you could answer, Kid’s expression stormy. “Don’t bother,” he said, voice gruff. “I’ll take her.”

Heat nodded and stepped away. He honestly didn’t look like he cared for joining the rest of the crew in their troublemaking but you didn’t need two guards that evening.

You licked your thumb and wiped a thin line of blood from Kid’s cheek – a small cut that must have been from a stray piece of broken glass. “We’re not going to be welcomed back onto this island.”

He rolled his eyes. “If this shit is all it offers, I don’t give a crap. Come on.”

Anger rolled off him in suffocating waves as he stalked beside you through the dark docks. The sea breeze cooled your skin but did nothing for his temper. The metal on the surrounding ships trembled with every heavy step he took. Thick anchor chains groaned up out of the water inch by inch before crashing back down again, seawater spraying across the docks. You watched them curiously before you looked to him, boots heavy against the dock.

“You’re quiet,” you said.

“Mm.”

“I’m not sure I like it. Brooding doesn’t suit you.”

He scoffed but didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed firmly ahead, metal hand occasionally screeching.

“Did you get the right one?” you asked.

His eyes slid sharply to you. “I didn’t chance getting the wrong one.”

“You still pissed then?”

“Obviously.”

“At me?”

Kid gave you a look. “Don’t be stupid.”

You smiled, reassured somewhat as you stepped into his path, stopping him from walking. You moved into his space, wrapping your arms playfully around his neck and he couldn’t have been furious because he let you do so, leaning down toward you to accommodate the movement.

His hand settled roughly against your waist, grip tight and strangely lingering. His thumbs brushed over your hips in a strangely soothing contrast to his obvious agitation.

“You’re calling me stupid?” you repeated sweetly.

“Why the fuck would I be mad at you? You didn’t do anything.”

You shrugged half-heartedly. “I just wanted to check. You know, attempted poisoning aside, I had fun tonight. We should spend more time together like this.”

“We do this shit all the time.”

“Oh right, we do. The evening’s just felt like it’s missing something… hm… I suppose you normally kiss me a whole lot more.”

His eyes flicked to your lips for just a second. “You want a kiss?”

“More than one.”

He chuckled. “Keep mouthing off and maybe I won’t.”

You huffed. “You would never.”

The kiss was rough immediately; all lingering frustration turned bruising against your lips. His hand tightened around your waist, hard enough to bruise. You could feel the press of metal on your side as he moved too close for you to avoid the prosthetic, its jagged edges catching on your clothes. Your fingers curled in his coat and you laughed softly.

He kissed you harder in response to the sound, grumbling against your mouth. “Think this was funny?”

“A little,” you admitted.

Before he could respond, you kissed him again. His tension seeped into you. Not all of it. Not even most of it but just enough that when you moved away again, the chains around you looked less like they were about to fly toward you at dangerous speeds.

“Better?” you asked softly.

Kid stared at you for a long moment before his hand slid from your waist to the back of your neck, grip possessive and grounding.

“Somewhat,” he muttered.

Then he pulled you back in before anything in the harbour could piss him off again.

He raised a brow, curiosity crossing his face “What’s that?” 

“We… we need to keep it from Drake,” you said softly, looking down for just a moment. “Not forever, but… for now. I don’t think he’d… understand yet. I don’t want him mad at you… or at me.” 

Kid blinked, surprised, his jaw tightened for a second before he nodded slowly. “You sure about that? He is your brother, are you okay with lying to him?” 

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, meeting his eyes. “It’s… safer this way. For now, it’s our secret.” 

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible,” he muttered. Then he leaned closer, brushing his forehead against yours. “Fine. Our secret.” 

“Promise me,” you whispered, holding onto his hands, “you won’t tell him. Not yet.” 

Kid’s eyes softened. “I won’t for you,” he said quietly, voice rougher than usual. “But one day, he’ll know. I’ll tell him. I want him to like me... eventually.” 

“Eventually,” you agreed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “For now, just us.” 

He squeezed your hands, a silent promise. “Just us.” And in that quiet café corner, you sealed it: the start of something real, something serious but secret. But secrets have a way of coming out.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

You never thought anyone could make your heart race like this. One evening, you met Kid on the rooftop of a half-empty parking garage, the city lights stretching out like fireflies below. He leaned against his care hands shoved in his pockets. 

“You know you’re crazy,” you teased, walking along on the edge  

He grinned, stepping closer, catching your hand. “Crazy enough to be with you.” 

You laughed, letting him pull you close into a kiss. The kiss was quick, electric, and completely yours. Your secret, your world. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Another time, you found him waiting outside your apartment, a small bouquet of daisies in hand. “For you,” he said, trying not to grin too much. 

“They’re pretty,” you said, smiling brightly. 

He shrugged, shoving them toward you, and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. “I like seeing you smile.” You leaned into him without thinking, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours. Nobody else needed to see this. Nobody else had to understand. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

On lazy Sunday afternoons, you’d sneak over to his garage under the pretense of getting help with a “car problem” that didn’t exist. 

“You’re really bad at lying,” he said, smirking as you crouched next to him under the hood. 

“Maybe I like sneaking around,” you teased back. 

He laughed, rolling onto his back under the car. “You’re impossible.” You leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from his face, and the world narrowed to just him and you.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

One night, you were huddled on his couch, binge-watching terrible reality TV, snacks strewn everywhere, your legs tangled together. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, elbowing him lightly. 

“Only for you,” he whispered, eyes locking on yours. You leaned in, and for a moment, time slowed.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Sometimes when Killer was gone you would stop by the shop the “help”. 

Kid had just caught you leaning too close while pretending to examine a car part. “You’re impossible,” he said, voice low. Before you could answer, his hand was at your waist, pulling you in. Lips met in a kiss that lingered, greedy and warm. Your fingers tangled in his hair. Hearts racing, breaths mingling, you forgot everything outside that moment. 

Until the sound of footsteps and the garage door squeaked open. Killer froze at the threshold, eyes wide.. You and Kid jolted apart, faces flushed, breathing heavy. “…Uh,” Killer started, scratching the back of his neck, “I...didn’t mean to...” 

Kid muttered a quick curse under his breath, “Killer! Not now!” You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. The secret, so carefully guarded, was discovered.  

Killer cleared his throat, trying not to grin. “Right… sorry. Carry on,” he said, but you both knew the grin betrayed him. He’d seen enough to know exactly what was going on. 

Well, at least it wasn’t your brother.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The garage smelled like oil, metal, and burnt rubber. Classic rock hummed low from an old radio near the workbench. The late afternoon light slanted through the high windows, catching in the haze of dust and exhaust. Eustass Kid was bent over the hood of a silver sedan, wrench in hand, red hair pulled back loosely to keep it out of his face. 

The bell above the garage door jingled. Kid didn’t look up. “If you’re here to rush me, you can turn right back around.” 

Drake stood just inside the bay, arms crossed over his chest, expression carved from stone. “I’m here to check on the progress,” Drake said flatly. 

Kid snorted. “Engine will be done by tomorrow.” 

Drake’s eyes moved over the shop. Looking over the wide array of tools and parts and finally over to. “Fine I’ll be back tomorrow for her car.” Kid shrugged and went back to what he was doing. 

From across the garage, Killer straightened from the workbench, wiping his hands on a rag. His gaze flicked between them. The air felt tight. Drake eventually stepped away, moving toward the back of the shop near the storage shelves and out of the main bay. 

While he was out of sight, he wasn’t out of earshot. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A few minutes passed. Then Killer’s voice cut through the voices on the radio. “When are you going to tell him?” 

Kid didn’t answer at first. Metal clinked and the wrench tightened in his grip. “Tell him what?” Kid muttered. 

Killer walked closer. “Don’t.” 

Kid pulled himself away from the vehicle standing upright now. “Don’t what?” 

“Play stupid.” 

Killer lowered his voice, but not enough. “You think he’s not going to notice? She keeps bringing her car here like it’s the only garage in the city.” 

Kid’s jaw flexed. “She can bring her car wherever she wants.” 

“That’s not the point.” 

Kid tossed the wrench onto the workbench. “Then what is?” 

Killer held his gaze. “You’re dating his sister.” 

There it was, out loud and in the open. Kid didn’t flinch. “So?” 

“So, you can’t keep pretending this isn’t going to blow up. You or (Y/N), need to tell him.” 

Kid scoffed. “I’m not asking him for permission.” 

“You don’t need permission,” Killer shot back. “You need honesty.” 

Kid’s eyes darkened. “Stay out of it.” 

“I would,” Killer said evenly. “If it didn’t involve you looking like you’re hiding her from everyone.” 

“I’m not hiding her.” 

“Then why doesn’t he know?” That question hung in the air. The radio crackled softly between songs. Kid didn’t answer, mostly because he knew that you didn’t want Drake to know. And in the quiet, there was the faintest shift of boots against concrete, that neither of them noticed. 

Killer exhaled slowly. “If he is blindsided or if he finds...” 

“He won’t.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

Kid stepped closer, voice low and sharp. “I’ll handle it.” 

The silence was deafing. 

Then, the sound of the side door opening. Both of them turned instinctively. Drake stood there, expression unreadable, car keys already in hand. He didn’t look at Kid.  “I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” he said evenly. The door shut behind him. The echoing of door banging shut lingered. For a second, neither of them moved. 

Then Killer spoke, “…How long was he standing there?” Kid’s stomach dropped, slow and heavy and he swore under his breath, already going for his phone. He had to tell you. Killer’s voice was quieter now. “You said you’d handle it.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered. And for the first time since they started this, he wasn’t sure he still could. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The drive to your apartment felt longer.  

Drake didn’t speed. 

Didn’t blast music. 

Didn’t call you. 

He drove in silence, hands steady on the wheel, jaw tight enough to ache. 

You’re dating his sister. 

The words replayed in his head like a bad echo. 

It wasn’t the dating Kid that bothered him. Well, it did bother him, but what really bothered him was the fact that you lied to him.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

He parked outside your apartment building and cut the engine and for a long moment, he just sat there, the conversation between Kid and Killer running through his head like a song on repeat.  

Then he grabbed his keys and got out. Flipping through the keys, he found the one he was looking for, the copy of your apartment keys. You’d insisted he keep one “in case of emergencies.” 

He supposed this counted. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Inside, your apartment was warm and softly lit. The faint smell of fresh baked cookies lingered in the air. You were at the small desk by the window, laptop open, headphones on, completely absorbed in whatever you were working on. A notebook lay open beside you, pen moving quickly across the page. You were focused and completely unaware of your apartment door being unlocked and your brother walking in.  

Drake closed the door quietly behind him, taking a step towards you almost calling out your name. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe he misunderstood. He could turn around now and forget this whole silly idea of you and Kid dating.  

On the kitchen counter, your phone lit up. 

Kid ❤️ – Incoming Call 

It buzzed repeatedly until your voicemail picked up,  

Then went dark. 

A minute later another call and the same thing again. 

You kept writing, nodding slightly to whatever was playing through your headphones. 

Drake’s eyes watched the screen like a hawk, and the name that was enough confirmation for him. His chest felt strangely hollow; you really had lied to him. His little sister, the one who would tell him everything no matter how mundane. You couldn’t even keep a present you bought him a secret for more than a day. But dating Kid, how long had you kept that from him. 

The phone buzzed again. Drake stepped forward and plucked it off the counter. Another call came through almost instantly. He stared at it for a second before declining it. 

The buzzing stopped. 

You finally sensed the movement behind you and turned in your chair, pulling your headphones down. “Oh hey,” you said, surprised but smiling. “Sorry I didn’t hear you come in.” 

Drake didn’t smile back. 

Your smile faded a bit; something was off with your brother. You glanced down at what was clutched tightly in his hand, it was your phone. “Why do you have my phone?” Another call started; the name lit up the screen again. This time you saw the call, and you could feel the life drain out of you. Drake watched the realization hit you, watched the exact second you understood, that he knew.  

“How long?” 

You don’t look at him at first, afraid to look him in the eyes and see is disappointment and anger. “Drake...” you start, voice trembling, but he cuts you off with a quiet sharpness that makes your stomach twist. 

“How long have you been seeing him?” The calm way he asks is worse than any shouting. Your phone buzzed again in his hand, “When were you going to tell me?”  

You take a deep breath. You have to be honest, even if it hurts. “I… I kept it from you,” you admit. Your voice is small, but steady. “I knew you wouldn’t trust him, and I… I didn’t want to hurt you. But I love him, Drake. I really do. I was going to tell; I just wanted to find the right way to tell you.” 

His eyes harden. There’s anger there, yes, but it’s mixed with something heavier, concern, disappointment, and something that twists your chest. “You kept it from me,” he says slowly. “You went behind my back and lied to my face. Hiding this from me.” 

“No! It wasn’t like that!” You protest, heart hammering. “I wasn’t hiding because I didn’t care about you. I....” 

“You weren’t honest,” he cuts in, jaw tight. “And you’re supposed to be my little sister. That’s… that’s what hurts the most.” 

You look down, ashamed; you truly didn’t mean to hurt him. “I know,” you whisper. “I know I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t find the right time or words.” 

Drake exhales slowly, running a hand over his face. His eyes soften just slightly, he was still your big brother, and despite everything, you were his sister. He loved you and at the end of the day you just wanted you to be happy. “You’re my sister,” he mutters, “And I…” 

But before he could finish his sentence, the door bursts open. With his red hair, anger, determination, Kid storms in, eyes locked on you before looking Drake in the eyes.  “Stop,” he says, voice cracking through the apartment like a shot. “This is on me. All of it!” 

You blink in surprise and Drake freezes. “I’m the one who’s been seeing her,” Kid continues, chest heaving. “I didn’t hide anything because I was ashamed.... I love her! I swear I do! You don’t have to...” 

“Kid…” you start, but he shakes his head, cutting you off. 

“No. I take the blame. Every bit of this mess is mine. She didn’t do anything wrong, I told her we should keep our relationship secret. She’s honest, she’s amazing, and I… I love her!”  

Drake’s jaw tightens again. There’s tension, but also a grudging respect. His sister’s happiness matters more than pride, more than anger. And despite not wanting too, he sees Kid’s sincerity. 

Kid’s chest is still heaving, eyes blazing, as he stares at Drake. You can feel the fire radiating off him, but you also sense the weight of responsibility he’s trying to shoulder. Taking the blame for your idea. Drake doesn’t move for a long moment. His gaze is steady, sharp, as it cuts through Kid. “You think yelling your feelings makes it okay?” Drake asks finally, voice low but unflinching. “You think telling me you love her fixes the fact that you’ve been sneaking around behind my back?” 

Kid flinches at the words but holds his ground. His hands clench into fists at his sides. “No. I know it doesn’t,” he says, voice raw. “I’m not trying to erase what I did. I just… I’m saying the truth. I love (Y/N) and I want to stay with her.” 

Drake exhales, slow, measured, eyes never leaving Kid’s. “You’re serious about her?” Drake asks, each word deliberate. “You’re not just playing around?” 

“I swear,” Kid answers immediately. “She’s not a game. She’s everything. I’ve never felt like this before.” 

You watch as Drake’s expression tightens for a second, his jaw flexing. He steps closer, and for a moment, it feels like he might snap, but instead, he stops just short of touching Kid, and the anger melts into a quiet, heavy assessment. “She’s my sister,” Drake says finally, voice quieter now, but still firm. “If you hurt her, if you even think about breaking her heart, I will make sure you regret it.” 

Kid nods quickly, eyes wide, swallowing hard. “I know,” he says. “I won’t. I swear. (Y/N)’s the only one I care about. I’ll protect her. I’ll...” 

Drake cuts him off, shaking his head slightly. “Good. Because (Y/N) deserves that. And you better mean every word.” 

There’s a long pause. The tension hangs in the air, thick and electric. You step forward, heart hammering, finally able to speak. “I love Kid,” you say quietly, but firmly, looking between the two men who love you in different ways. “I didn’t tell you sooner because I knew… because I didn’t want to hurt you. But I love him. I’m not lying. I never lied about that.” 

Drake’s eyes soften just a fraction as he looks at you, and you feel the slightest shift, the tiniest crack in his armor. “I know you mean that,” he says, tone still firm but less sharp. “(Y/N), I can forgive you. But I won’t ever stop watching out for you.” 

Kid exhales, finally able to relax slightly, the tension draining from his shoulders just enough for a flicker of relief to show in his eyes. “That’s fair,” he says quietly, looking at you. “I’ll prove it. I’ll do right by you.” Kid stands near the doorway, hands still slightly trembling from adrenaline. Drake leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes softened but still watchful. And you, heart pounding, chest tight, finally let yourself breathe. 

“So…” Drake starts, voice measured, “if this is really what you want, and he’s serious, then I’ll give you my trust.” 

You blink, unsure if you heard right. “Your… trust?” you repeat, voice small. 

Drake shrugs slightly, but there’s a faint corner of a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but reaches enough to ease some of your fear. “I’ll be watching. Every step,” he says quietly. “But I’m not going to get in your way. Just… don’t make me regret it.” 

Kid exhales, relief flooding him, and steps closer to you, gaze locked on yours. His hand finds yours before you can react, fingers warm, firm, grounding. “I won’t,” he promises, voice low but steady. “I swear. You’re mine, and I’ll protect you. Always.” 

You squeeze his hand back, heart soaring, emotions colliding all at once, relief, love, and a little bit of leftover fear, but mostly love.  

Drake straightens, glances between the two of you, then shakes his head almost imperceptibly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You better not screw this up,” he mutters, voice half-teasing, half-warning.