#kryru

Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters belongs to Eiichiro Oda.

Rating: T Pairing: Zoro/Nami Genre: AU Note: Entry for the ZoNa Holiday Event 2025 @zonamievents! Prompt #8 – Ice Fishing

Summary: In the frozen wilderness of Swedish Lapland, a battle-hardened traveler encounters a skilled local guide.

The night train of SJ AB, which crossed all of Sweden from Stockholm up to Narvik, screeched to a halt at Abisko Östra with a metallic hiss that sliced through the air like a blade. A short, sharp whistle echoed against the sleeping mountains of the Arctic Circle. Outside, snow was falling in thick, hypnotic flakes, drifting out of the dim afternoon sky as if someone had torn open a sack of feathers. It was only three in the afternoon, but the Arctic winter had already swallowed every trace of light. The door of the last carriage snapped open, letting in a blast of icy air. A man stepped down. Tall. Broad. Imposing, not just physically. The kind of man whose presence seems to take up more space than his body actually does. His dark green jacket hung open despite the –15 degrees, revealing a black sweater stretched over his abdomen and, above it, the pale, long mark of a scar running across his chest. Another scar, thinner, crossed his left eye, an icy line that spoke of something few would have survived, and yet, far from diminishing his allure, it somehow sharpened it. The wind hit him mercilessly the moment he set foot on the fresh snow. His green hair, surprisingly natural on him, ruffled slightly under the gust. He inhaled deeply, then sighed. Long. Tired. Annoyed. “This place is just snow,” he muttered to himself, lips barely moving in a growl. “Snow, trees… and more snow. What the fu—” He stopped himself before finishing the curse. A scarf hung loosely over his shoulder, far too short and far too thin for anyone with the slightest instinct for self-preservation. But he wasn’t looking for comfort or common sense. He was looking for peace. Or at least something vaguely resembling it.

Roronoa Zoro was not a tourist, had never been one, and could never pretend to be. He was a man on forced break, a soldier with no mission, a weapon with a broken sheath, an adrenaline addict ordered to 'stay put.' And for him, staying put was worse than bleeding.

The wind carried toward him the scent of burning wood and old snow. His right hand moved instinctively to the inner pocket of his jacket, where he kept the document certifying his 'mandatory convalescence.' Ridiculous. He’d spent two years in desert regions, five in training camps at impossible altitudes and in operations no newspaper would ever mention. He’d survived explosions, chases, hunger, thirst, mountains, and men worse than mountains. But that station, with its identical corridors and its signs far too small, had managed to make him lose his way at least eight times. His hamster-with-a-drunken-compass sense of direction was legendary among his colleagues. Someone had even suggested implanting a top-tier GPS under his skin. Shame it would’ve been counterproductive in his line of work.

And now here he was, at the foot of Sweden’s Lapland mountains, squinting through a blizzard, with only three things certain around him: snow, wind… and the awareness that he had absolutely no idea where the exit was from that infernal place. His breath condensed into a white puff as he eyed the two metal stairways leading down from the platform. Right or left? Naturally, he chose the wrong direction. And naturally, he realized it only after walking twenty meters and finding… a dead-end wall. He stopped. Inhaled. Swallowed his frustration. Then, in a calm, flat voice, the dangerous kind of calm he had right before losing his patience—he allowed himself a “Fucking great.”

Once he finally escaped the station, an Uber was waiting for him with the engine running to avoid freezing over. The driver was a stout man with a white beard and rosy cheeks, the typical northerner who regarded this climate as a minor inconvenience, nothing more than a pebble in his shoe. He barely looked at him. “Aurora Lodge?” he asked in a gravelly tone. Zoro nodded, grateful the man felt even less like chatting than he did.

The ride took about ten minutes. The landscape was almost unreal: pine trees heavy with snow, white expanses broken only by yellow streetlamps bravely resisting the wind, a few scattered cabins, the Arctic afternoon sky already shading into deep blue as if night were close at hand. They pulled up to a two-story wooden building, with wide lit windows and a veranda that seemed to invite you to kick off your boots and drink hot chocolate. A mix between chalet, hostel, and sanctuary for souls in search of quiet. A small glowing sign read:

AURORA LODGE – Abisko

Below it, a smiling reindeer wearing a silly pink hat winked at him. Zoro sighed. He had seen terrible things in life, but a reindeer with a pink hat was almost too much. He paid, grabbed his backpack, and stepped out, but before he could reach the door handle, an explosion of energy hit him full force. The door flew open.

“Welcome to the Aurora Lodge!”

The voice was so bright that Zoro had to squint for a moment, as though someone had flashed a light directly into his eyes. The girl who rushed toward him had a blond bob, two big fluffy locks that looked almost like bunny ears, bright eyes, and a vitality that warmed the room more than the heating system. She wore a white wool sweater embroidered with snowflakes, an absurdly long red scarf, and a pom-pom hat that bounced with every movement.

“You must be the new guest!” she declared, planting her hands on her hips and leaning forward as if to inspect him closely. “I’m Carrot!”

Zoro stared at her for a second, as if checking whether this incongruously energetic being, whose name had never been more fitting, was real and not a character from a children’s TV show.

She smiled even wider.

Zoro blinked once. “Roronoa Zoro… hi.”

Carrot almost hopped toward the reception desk with an agility strangely incompatible with such a slippery floor. “Let’s see… oh! You’re the one from the 14:59 train! I thought you weren’t coming anymore!”

Silence. Glacial silence. Colder than the weather outside.

“Did you get lost?” she asked with utter innocence.

Zoro, eye twitching, had to count to ten in his mind to avoid responding with vocabulary wholly inappropriate for the situation.

Oblivious to the danger of being launched through a window, Carrot scanned his reservation. “Anyway, don’t worry! Abisko confuses lots of people! That’s why, especially if you’re here for outdoor stuf, I recommend a guide. Actually: THE guide. Nami is the best!”

Zoro frowned. “Nami?”

“The best guide in Swedish Lapland! She knows these mountains like the back of her hand! Zero risk of getting lost! She’s like a GPS… but cuter.” Carrot winked, as if she were revealing some universal secret. “And trust me, she’s great with lost causes.” she added with a mischievous smirk.

“Hey, I’m not a lost ca—” BOOM.

The side door of the hall burst open in a whirlwind of snow and icy air. “Carrot! Was it you who ate the chocolate I was saving, or do I need to hunt someone else down this morning?!”

The voice was clear, sharp, with a touch of exasperation and authority that left no room for misunderstandings.

Zoro turned toward the entrance and saw a figure outlined against the white Arctic light like a flash of warmth in the cold. She wore a burnt-orange insulated jacket, cream trekking pants, and boots dusted with fresh snow. Her long, copper hair was tied in a high ponytail, slightly damp, snowflakes melting slowly and making it shine like strands of fire. Her skin was flushed from the wind, a rosy glow across her cheeks that made her look alive, vibrant, intensely present. And her eyes… amber, clear, deep, intelligent. Eyes that didn’t just see, they seemed to read you. Eyes that could cross a blizzard without losing their way. Exactly as Carrot had said.

Nami paused only for a heartbeat when she saw Zoro. Used to meeting all sorts of tourists, her mind instantly registered size, posture, clothing, apparent emotional state. And that man, who looked around her age but wore scars and weariness that suggested otherwise, caught her gaze more than he should have. A striking physical presence. Broad shoulders, controlled movements, the unmistakable air of someone with military training, even if he tried to hide it. And at the same time… that slightly lost expression, which clashed delightfully with the rest. An interesting contrast. Very interesting.

“Nami, this is the new guest, Roronoa Zoro!” Carrot announced, bouncing behind the counter. “Arrived a little… um… disoriented.”

Zoro clenched his jaw. If that hyperactive girl repeated that word one more time…

Nami crossed her arms over her chest, a natural motion that made the fabric of her jacket stretch in a… notable way. Zoro noticed immediately and silently cursed himself for it. But ignoring a woman like her was nearly impossible.

“Disoriented?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “In a station with one single exit?”

Carrot nodded enthusiastically.

Zoro inhaled slowly, very slowly. “I wasn’t disoriented.”

Nami took her time looking him up and down, noting every detail: the rumpled green hair, the scar across his eye, the open jacket as if the cold didn’t touch him, the fighter’s posture, the sculpted physique… and that offended, proud expression typical of men who hated being teased. She knew the type well. The strong, stubborn, self-reliant ones. The ones who wouldn’t ask for help even if they were freezing to death. This Zoro was the exact opposite of a standard tourist. Which made him infinitely more interesting.

“Mmh,” she murmured, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “Sure. And I’m Santa Claus.”

Carrot snickered behind her hands.

Zoro blinked slowly, like a big cat deciding whether to reply or claw someone. “I have an excellent sense of direction.”

Nami’s smile widened, shamelessly unconvinced. It was the smile of someone who had already figured him out. “Oh really? Then how come you took the wrong exit at the station?”

Zoro froze. “And how do you know that?”

“Abisko is small,” she replied serenely. “If someone gets lost, I know.” She added, in a tone half professional, half teasing: “It’s my job.”

Zoro had no comeback. He already hated her. And yet… he couldn’t look away.

“Anyway…” Nami continued, friendlier now but still amused. “Welcome to the Aurora Lodge. I’m Nami. Local guide. Specialized in Arctic excursions, navigation, ice-fishing… and in putting in line anyone who thinks they can challenge Lapland without knowing where they’re stepping.” She winked.

For a moment, Zoro felt a flare of heat right under his sternum. Annoying. Very annoying. “Putting in line, huh?” he replied, lowering his voice. “Interesting.”

Nami tilted her head, amber eyes gleaming like she’d found a new toy. “Usually the stubborn types who think they can handle everything are the first to get in trouble.”

Zoro crossed his arms, unintentionally lifting his scarred chest. “I’ve gotten out of situations far worse than a wrong turn or an Arctic fish refusing to bite.”

For an instant, the hall fell silent, as if even the snow outside held its breath.

Nami stared at him without blinking. He stared back.

A spark, neither hostile nor peaceful, flared between them.

“So,” she said a little more quietly, “do you need a guide to learn ice-fishing without freezing to death? Because I’m not hiking out to rescue you if you fall into a lake.”

Zoro gave her a slight smile, slow, sharp and it made her heartbeat quicken, though she’d never admit it even under torture. “I don’t fall into lakes.”

She stepped closer, just enough to close the distance. “We’ll see.”

The world seemed to shrink to that precise point between them.

Zoro stepped out of the lodge’s hall and saw her immediately. Nami was bent down beside the snowmobile, moving two helmets onto a wooden bench. The Arctic dawn cast a pink veil over the snow, setting her side braid aflame, her hair looked almost incandescent, like molten copper. She wore a fitted orange thermal suit, black gloves, and a neck buff that framed a face flushed from the cold. She was beautiful. And dangerously capable of scrambling a man’s thoughts.

The moment she saw him, she tossed him a helmet. “Put it on properly. No macho nonsense. Out here the wind will slice your face open if you’re not careful.”

Zoro caught it midair and pulled it on. The visor fogged up as he sighed. Perfect, five seconds in and she had already thrown him off balance. Nami swung onto the snowmobile in one smooth motion. “So, ready for your first Arctic outing?” He met her eyes, those amber eyes that said far more than she wanted them to. “I was born ready.” She laughed, and that laugh slipped straight into his stomach as warmth. “Great. Then hop on behind me.” “Behind? I’m not driving?” She fixed him with the calm, exhausted expression of a woman who has already run out of patience too many times in her young life. “You? Drive? A snowmobile? In Lapland?” He nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Nami gave him the smallest, sharpest little smile, more provocative than she probably intended. “You get lost in the station hallways. If I let you drive a snowmobile, we’ll find you in Finland tomorrow.” Zoro opened his mouth… then closed it again. It hurt to admit she had a point, so he chose to sit behind her without comment. The moment the engine roared beneath them, the machine vibrated. Zoro lost his balance for a heartbeat, and his hands went straight to her hips. Not on purpose, instinct. Nami stiffened at once. Not annoyed, surprised. Very much trying to hide it. He felt her breath hitch for the briefest instant. Felt the tension in her muscles through his gloves, the awareness of the contact. And he blushed. Just for a fraction of a second, hidden by the helmet, but he did. He snatched his hands away as if burned.

“You can… uh… hold onto the handles behind you,” she said, trying very hard to sound normal.

Zoro tilted his head. Suddenly, he found this amusing. She’d been teasing him nonstop since the day they met, and all it took was his hands brushing her hips to shake her? Very interesting. Instead of grabbing the handles, he leaned in again by a few centimeters, just enough to make sure she felt his presence. He didn’t touch her hips again… but he didn’t sit back like a nervous tourist either. “I’m fine like this,” he murmured, his deep voice vibrating under the helmet. Nami stiffened again. “The handles exist for a reason.” “And this position works,” he said. Half a smile, a calm provocation that sounded dangerously like: let’s see who cracks first. She huffed loudly, but didn’t move. Didn’t tell him to back off, didn’t even make a serious attempt to push him away, and that betrayed her more than any words could.

Nami accelerated, as if speed could dissolve the thread stretched too thin between them. The engine roared, snow burst out beneath the treads, and the snowmobile surged forward, shooting out of the lodge and into the endless white. The wind was razor-sharp, but she drove with flawless confidence, her body fluid, attuned to the machine as though it were an extension of herself. Zoro noticed everything, but most of all… he noticed her. The way she anticipated every change in the terrain, the ease with which she shifted her weight, the precision in every movement. And for the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about anything. Not the accident, not work, not the scars he carried. Only the cold slicing the air, the snow opening ahead of them, and Nami’s warmth just inches in front of him. The frozen lake waited for them, but in that moment, Zoro would have sworn the journey was already the best part.

The snowmobile’s roar died away, giving way to an immense silence. A living silence, made of snow suspended in the air and the wind caressing the vast white expanse of the lake. Zoro dismounted first, stretching out his numb legs. The cold nipped at his skin through the thermal suit, yet the clean air filled his lungs like a shot of freshness no city had ever given him. Nami climbed off right after. She removed her helmet, and her copper braid slipped over her shoulder, shimmering like a gentle flame in the endless white. “Welcome to Torneträsk.” Her voice was calm, almost affectionate, as she extended an arm toward the horizon. “One of the largest lakes in Sweden. In winter it becomes a slab hard as granite.”

Zoro gazed out at the landscape, a frozen sea, distant wind-sculpted mountains, a pale sky fading into the dawn’s soft pink. It felt vast. Cold. Silent. Perfect. “It’s… peaceful here,” he admitted, voice softer than usual. She smiled, a gentler smile than before. “It is. And it can be very generous, if you treat it right.” Then she switched back into professional-guide mode. “Okay. Let’s see… Do you at least know what an ice-drill is?” Zoro pointed to the tool as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “A tool to make holes.” Nami paused. “…Yes. Technically correct.” She tossed him the drill. Zoro caught it with a single hand, effortlessly. “Make a hole here. I’ll set up the lines.” He began turning the crank. The ice gave way quickly, forming a perfectly round hole. She stopped moving and stared at him. “…Have you done this before?” “Never.” “Then how are you… so good at it?” “Strength.” A pause. A steady, direct look. “And control.” Nami wrinkled her nose. “Arrogant.” But that perfect hole left her with no argument. She knelt to arrange the gear. The hood slid down her back, revealing the elegant line of her neck. Zoro looked away, perhaps just a moment too late.

“Okay… now we wait.” “How long?” “Depends on the fish… or our luck. By the way, besides strength and control, do you also have plenty of that?” Zoro met her eyes, trying to keep a serious tone. “I can’t complain.” She blushed faintly. “I meant fishing-luck, idiot.” “Sure.”

They sat side by side on the thermal mat. Their shoulders brushed, only a touch, barely a point of contact, yet impossible for either of them to ignore.

"This lake had been used by the Sámi for centuries. Their traditions spoke of the ice as a living being… one that listened, that watched. See these?” Nami said, pointing to a few small, colorful feathers. “We use them as bait for Arctic fish. They say the colors should be a bit of the earth, a bit of the sky.”

Zoro took them in his hand, examining them closely. “Who taught you this?”

“An old family friend. Sámi. He brought me onto the ice for the first time when I was a child. He said nature is never the same twice. You have to watch it, listen to it, respect it.”

Zoro looked at her.

She turned her gaze toward the lake. “That’s why you’re a guide.”

Nami made a small, playful grimace. “One of the reasons.”

“What’s the other?”

The question was direct, but not aggressive. Simply… curious.

Nami frowned slightly, as if deciding whether to answer. Then she looked at the clear sky. “My mother. Bellmère.” Her fingers played with the line, but her voice was steady. “She was a hurricane in human form. Brave, stubborn. One of those people who teaches you everything with a kick in the ass… but always out of love.”

Zoro said nothing, but he listened in a way none of her tourists ever had. Not out of politeness, but genuine interest.

“She was a retired police officer who came to live here. She raised me alone. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. She taught me a lot of what I know. She always said that if I learned to read the sky, nothing in life could ever catch me off guard.” She smiled, a small fragile smile. 

“She was right,” Zoro said.

Nami blinked, almost surprised by the simplicity of his answer. Then, to lighten the mood, she nudged him gently with her shoulder. “And you? What kind of past makes you… so mysterious?”

Zoro stared at the lake for a few seconds before speaking. “I was part of an international unit. High-risk operations. I was good… too good.” He swallowed. “Until an accident happened. A dirty mission, bad intel. I got out with this…” He brushed the scar across his eye. “…and this.” He gestured to his chest.

Nami held her breath for a second. “And they sent you on forced leave.”

“Something like that.”

She didn’t laugh. No irony this time. “And now you’re trying to figure out what to do… with the time they gave you.”

“Exactly,” Zoro replied. “And I’m not good at… figuring things out.”

“Least of all at finding your way.” This time, her smile was tender, not teasing.

Before he could respond, the line trembled like it had been struck by an electric pulse.

“…Wait,” Nami whispered.

The tip of the rod bent sharply. Zoro seized the line with a fluid, flawless motion.

“Don’t pull like a gorilla!” she screamed.

“I never pull randomly.” With a firm motion, Zoro reeled in a huge fish, silver and glinting in the pale sun.

Nami’s mouth fell open. “It’s enormous! How?!”

“The lake listens, right?” He gave her a glance that made her blush. “Maybe it likes me.”

Nami opened her mouth to argue, but something stopped her. Her gaze shot to the horizon. The wind shifted with a sharp gust. “…Oh no.”

“What is it?” Zoro sprang alert.

“The pressure’s dropping. Can you feel it?” She touched her earlobe, then inhaled. “Humidity’s changed. And look at the cloud line to the west: too low, too dense.” She rose suddenly. “A storm is coming. Strong. Fast.”

Zoro tried to follow her reasoning. “How do you figure that out so quickly?”

“Climatology.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him up. “I’ve studied it for years. The rest Bellmère taught me. Let’s go!”

They ran toward a wooden shelter a few hundred meters away. The wind pushed from behind like an icy punch. Snow whipped up in spirals. Nami yanked the door open, and Zoro slammed it shut behind them. The silence was immediate, warm, almost intimate.

Nami removed her hood. Her braid partially fell loose, strands of copper sticking to her flushed cheeks.

“You’re trembling,” Zoro noticed.

“I’m fine.” But her voice betrayed her.

He took her hands, warm and strong, covering hers.

Their breaths mingled.

“Now, yes,” he murmured softly.

Nami lifted her gaze, just a moment too long. Too close. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, barely audible, a trace of tremor in her voice. Not anger, not fear: just the awareness of how real that touch had been.

“Why?” Zoro asked, breathing slowly, his hands still enveloping hers.

“Because… warmth is distracting.” Her head dipped slightly, as if trying to control an impulsive urge. Her face was near his, and Zoro caught the subtle citrus scent of her hair balm, mingled with the Arctic cold, a contrast that made him tense. “From what?”

“From everything.” Her voice quivered faintly. For a moment, Nami stared into his gray eyes, so intense it seemed impossible to look away. Their breaths mingled in the cold shelter air, forming little clouds that vanished almost instantly, testifying to their tension.

Zoro stayed still, but a small smile curved his lips. He said nothing. The moment alone was enough, the gaze that followed him, the warmth of hands that would not let go. He felt that she wanted to push him away… yet, in that instant, it was impossible to tell who was more drawn to whom. She turned slowly, breaking the suffocating intimacy, but her movements were full of grace and tension. Her hands brushed a rope hanging on the wall, seeking distraction. Every gesture was a compromise between self-control and the awareness that the space between them was too small, too electric.

He lowered his face slightly, observing the curve of her neck beneath the copper hair, her delicate features illuminated by the soft light of the shelter. For a moment, the outside world, the storm, the lake, all of it seemed to vanish. There was only her, the beat of her heart, and her breath, so close.

When the storm subsided and the wind weakened, Zoro leaned against the doorframe.

“So…”

“So?” she replied, hands on her hips.

“What other excursions does a guide like you offer?”

Nami laughed, a low, soft, almost incredulous laugh. “Better in plain clothes, Rambo!”

“Why?”

“Because with my rates…” Her amber eyes seemed to burn in the shelter’s light. “…you’d end up in debt.”

Zoro grinned. “I might take that risk.”

“Careful, Zoro. Debts with me don’t disappear easily.”

He stepped toward her, deliberate, silent, dangerously confident.

Art Trade with @kryru at our wee coffee m8d8 <3

Wow... WOW! Isn’t this amazing?! Kryru made this beautiful piece for today’s theme, Tradition. Here’s the description:

"At the winter solstice, the Japanese take a yuzu bath (yuzu-yu). Yuzu are a Japanese citrus fruit, sometimes called "Japanese grapefruit." They are very sour or tart, and very fragrant, slightly smaller than a billiard ball. "