Then came you—small, compact, utterly unassuming.

Barely over five feet, you stood on your toes to peek over a loom twice your height, smiling as though the sacred tools of the Dressmaster were trinkets in a toy shop. The air itself shimmered with her Coreflame’s grace, yet you only blinked at the golden motes floating past you.

“Morning,” Aglaea greeted, voice smooth as woven silk. “You’re early.”

“Yeah,” you said casually, flexing your hands, “had to make sure I didn’t accidentally punch through another door.”

Her composure fractured. “Another—?”

You gestured sheepishly toward the entryway. The marble arch was now half-pulverized, dust curling like smoke around your knuckles. “It was stuck.”

Aglaea blinked, then inhaled deeply through her nose, regaining composure with divine precision. “I see. Stuck.”

For a being who could thread the fate of nations, it wasn’t often she was baffled. You were a contradiction made flesh: small, soft-faced, eternally cheerful—and capable of casually ripping stone from the foundation.

But the day truly became mythic when she took you to the training grounds.

The courtyard shimmered with Okhema’s banners. Golden light reflected from polished armor, sparring blades ringing in rhythm. Aglaea stood tall beside you, her gold-threaded toga swaying gently. Her expression was serene, instructional.

“You needn’t fight like the others,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Grace is more powerful than brute—”

You nodded earnestly, then immediately punched the nearest practice dummy.

The sound was catastrophic.

The dummy didn’t merely break—it ceased to exist as an object, disintegrating into a thousand glittering splinters that whirled through the courtyard like an explosion of sawdust and despair.

Every soldier stopped. A silence deep enough to swallow prayers followed.

You blinked. “Oops.”

Aglaea’s hand remained midair, her serene expression frozen between horror and reluctant awe. A piece of the dummy’s head rolled to her feet and clinked once before dissolving into dust.

“...You said grace, right?” you asked innocently.

Aglaea closed her eyes. “I did,” she said softly. “Though I now see… grace may manifest in unorthodox forms.”

Later, while repairing the damage (with a very patient expression and an increasingly twitching smile), she found herself watching you from afar—how you crouched to help gather shards, apologizing to every piece of debris like they had souls.

Something inside her softened.

You were absurd. Unbalanced. Impossible. Yet... radiant.

That night, after the sun dipped below the gold-threaded towers, she called for you again. You arrived carrying a chunk of rock that had offended you (“It stubbed my toe”), which she found oddly endearing.

“Dear,” she said, walking toward you, the sound of her sandals like quiet bells. “Do you know why I weave?”

You shrugged. “To make pretty things?”

Her laughter was soft, distant, and achingly sad. “Once. But now I weave to keep the world from unraveling. To hold together all that might fall apart.”

You stared up at her, small but sturdy. “Then I’ll be your hammer,” you said. “If the world breaks, I’ll punch it back into shape.”

She stilled. Then—smiled. Not her public, perfect smile, but something deeper. Tender.

“You might very well do just that.”

And when she reached out, her fingers brushed your forehead, golden threads forming a faint halo around your silhouette. You didn’t see it, but she did—your strength was not chaos. It was her answer: the unrefined form of a Coreflame yet unnamed.

From that day onward, whenever Aglaea fought beside you, she didn’t try to restrain you anymore. She adapted—her golden threads forming shifting barriers to direct your strength instead of contain it.

To onlookers, it was the most beautiful absurdity: a divine weaver and a tiny juggernaut, moving in synchrony—threads and thunder, grace and devastation.

And Aglaea, poised as always, would sometimes hide a faint smile behind her hand whenever you broke another wall.

After all, what was beauty, if not the dance between fragility and power?

Cipher had seen some strange things.

She’d seen Titans lie, thieves ascend, and entire cities vanish overnight.

But she’d never seen a five-foot-tall Nameless yeet a fifteen-foot beast through a temple wall like a piece of discarded fruit.

The monster hit the marble with a thunderous boom, shaking dust from the rafters. You shook out your hand and muttered, “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

Cipher, perched casually on a toppled statue, stared, tail flicking in disbelief. “Oh no, no, you definitely know your strength. You just lack… restraint.”

You grinned at her, sunlight catching your teeth. “Hey, the thing was ugly. And loud.”

Cipher hopped down, landing beside you with the silent poise of a cat. “So’s Bartholos when he eats, but you don’t go launching him into the next province.”

She was teasing—but her voice trembled slightly from laughing too hard. Her eyes darted over your small frame, trying to reconcile the impossibility of what she’d just witnessed. You were barely up to her chest, with soft arms and an innocent face, yet your punch had collapsed a cathedral.

“What’s your secret?” she finally asked. “Ancient blessing? Demonic contract? Weird gym membership?”

You shrugged. “I drink milk.”

She stared. Then burst out laughing. The kind of wild, genuine laugh that echoed across the ruins, a melody of disbelief and delight. “Milk. Fantastic. I’ve been chasing Coreflames, divine tricks, and all I needed was dairy.”

The next few days became a running joke between you two. Cipher started calling you Tiny Titan, Pocket Hercules, Pint-Sized Calamity.

You retaliated by calling her String Bean (which earned you a mock death threat).

But under the laughter, something else brewed—a spark of awe. Cipher wasn’t used to being impressed by power. Trickery, yes. Wit, always. But you fought without malice, without ego. When she asked why you didn’t boast, you just shrugged again.

“It’s just what I can do. Doesn’t make me better.”

That answer haunted her more than any punch could.

Days later, the two of you stood on a cliff at dawn, overlooking a shattered battlefield. The air smelled like ozone and ash. You were perched on a boulder, swinging your legs idly. Cipher stood nearby, cloak fluttering, golden boots catching the light.

“You ever… get tired of it?” you asked suddenly.

She tilted her head. “Of what? Running?”

“Fighting. Running. Pretending everything’s a joke.”

That question cut deeper than you realized. Her smirk faltered, for just a second. The wind filled the silence.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Sometimes. But it’s better than standing still.”

You looked at her, tiny fists resting on your knees. “Then I’ll run with you.”

Cipher blinked. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. If you’re gonna keep running, I’ll punch the road clear.”

She stared at you for a long moment, tail twitching. Then—softly—she smiled. “You’re ridiculous. And reckless. And way too small to be saying things that heavy.”

But she took your hand anyway.

Later that night, while you slept under the stars, she sat beside you and whispered into the dark, “You remind me what it felt like to believe we could still change the world.”

Then she grinned to herself. “Still gonna call you Tiny Titan, though.”

Mydei had fought giants, Titans, and ghosts of war.

None of them startled him as much as the sight of you lifting an entire siege engine over your head like a sack of grain.

The Kremnoan warriors nearby froze, half in awe, half in horror, as you hurled the contraption straight into the enemy line.

The explosion that followed was—well—loud.

Mydei, regal as ever, lowered his sword slowly. “[Name],” he said after a long pause. “Was that… necessary?”

You brushed dust from your shoulders, the ground trembling faintly beneath your boots. “They had better aim than me.”

He exhaled. Deeply. “You are aware that siege engines are not… handheld weapons?”

“They are now.”

A distant explosion punctuated your words.

Despite his attempts at stoicism, Mydei found himself biting back a smile. You were chaos incarnate, yet somehow in perfect control. For all your childish stature, there was a strange majesty to you—like a storm pretending to be a cloud.

Later, as the two of you stood on the edge of the battlefield, the ichor dusk washing the horizon, Mydei studied you in silence.

“You don’t look at battle with hunger,” he said at last. “Only certainty.”

You turned to him, blinking. “Why would I? I know I’ll win.”

He couldn’t help it—a low chuckle escaped him. A sound so rare even his closest comrades would’ve doubted their ears.

“You remind me of the sea,” he murmured. “Small from afar. Endless up close.”

You tilted your head. “That’s kinda poetic.”

“I am a prince,” he said dryly. “It comes with the curse.”

The nights that followed blurred into rhythm: you breaking rocks like they were glass, Mydei offering increasingly exasperated commentary, the soldiers whispering legends about the “Pebble That Could Crush Mountains.”

In the quiet between wars, however, there was peace.

You would sit beside him by the fire, feet barely reaching the ground, and listen to him speak of the sea, of Kremnos, of things long lost. He rarely shared these memories—but with you, he did.

Once, during a rare moment of levity, you tried lifting his armors (which is just his gauntlets) at once. He watched, amused, as you hoisted the gauntlet like it weighed nothing. “You’ll hurt yourself,” he warned.

You grinned. “You mean your pride.”

That made him laugh—truly laugh—until tears shimmered in his golden eyes.

When the final battle came, the black tide surged across the horizon like a living nightmare. Mydei drew his blade, ready to lead. You stood beside him, smaller than his shoulder but crackling with raw power.

“Stay behind me,” he commanded out of habit.

You smirked. “Sure thing, big guy.”

You then immediately punched the ground, creating a shockwave that blasted the front line of the enemy straight into oblivion.

Mydei didn’t even flinch this time. He only sighed, smiled faintly, and said, “Of course.”

After the battle, as the dawn broke over a scarred world, he approached you while you cleaned his gauntlets by a puddle. “[Name],” he said softly, “if I fall, promise you’ll carry our flame onward.”

You looked up, frowning. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not falling anywhere.”

He nodded once. “Still—promise me.”

You clenched your tiny fist, then tapped it against his chest. “Fine. But you’re gonna have to catch up, Lion.”

He chuckled again, turning to face the rising sun. “Then I shall run faster.”

And somewhere amid the wreckage and light, the warriors of Amphoreus whispered tales of an impossible pair—

the Last Prince, tall as the mountains, and the tiny Trailblazer who could break them.

Another loud sigh comes from the only other occupied desk. You roll your eyes and snap, “Would you please quiet down. I can't think.”

“I can't believe this.” Megumi almost shouts, exasperated, “It's not like I used Mahoraga or Agito!”

“What's up?” You ask, sliding out of your chair to meet at his desk.

“The higher-ups are saying I used excessive means for one of my missions! It was actively putting someone in its mouth and I used Gama to save them.”

“That's it?” You ask in disbelief.

Sure Megumi wasn't one to just throw out his most powerful Shikigami for some low-level curse, but just Gama wasn’t quite believable either. At every chance he's used at least two shadows or more. You figured it was probably the amount of Shikigami he'd used, not which one.

“I had Divine Dog, too, but released it when I found the curse.” He answers, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“They seem stuck in their ways. Maybe we can talk to them and change their opinion?”

“It's no use.” He shrugs, stacking his folders together, “There's no consequences in place for stuff like this. It's more of a suggestion than anything.”

“It affects our pay.” You point out.

He spins quickly, “It does what?”

“Yeah, in tiny text at the bottom of each report it says pay will depend on overall skill, competence, and performance. Probably MeiMei’s doing.”

“I can't fucking believe this.” He almost shouts.

You shrug, gathering your own files and heading for the door. He jogs to catch up, ranting about the ethics of the higher-ups and how it was all Mei’s fault. He was right of course, the small text laid out all of the rules and how pay was handled. The two of you walk back to the Zen'in clan compound.

“What's for dinner, Megumi?” You ask, skipping ahead of him.

He shrugs, “Yuji ordered take out, so probably pizza.”

           To note, he has come at a time as considerate as possible, where one will not expect to intrude upon a meal, but a medium between, though for propriety may he still offer him a tea, and a snack. Yet, Francel seems tired of it all, but  remains bravely polite, and Vellguine can see how it strains him so. He will wonder then, who he has met with that will have stretched him so thin, knowing it is hardly his business, will not inquire unless Francel shall speak, and will instead endeavor to offer him a quiet place to recuperate.

           Vellguine will take his fur lined coat, and hang it by the door, the snowflakes which dust it will begin to melt in the ambient warmth of the little manor, and it shall hang to dry. And delicately, he will also remove Francel’s hat, the feather bobs as it is hung atop the coat, and Francel will turn up his head and offer him yet another little smile. Perhaps, especially because, Vellguine has, or rather was, unable to help himself but to reach out and fold a short upturned lock of hair behind one of Francel’s long ears, and tenderly, affectionately, will brush down the hair at the back of his head, to gently cup the back of his neck, Francel, sighing gently, taking in a deep breath then, will lean in as he is tugged forward, and allows their foreheads to meet. Vellguine closes his eyes only when Francel does, and together they stand in the little foyer breathing together.

           “I do not mean to interrupt, should I have.”

           Francel sounds uncertain, though the notion is unfounded, indeed.

           “There will always be time for you, my dear.”

           Vellguine will open his eyes only to meet the deep blues of Francel’s and shall offer only a kindly smile as the sweet boy flounders, and freckled cheeks dust pink.

           “What were you doing?” Francel will inquire.

           Vellguine takes him gently by the hand, leading  him from the hallway and into a warm study. A fireplace burns low, perhaps briefly forgotten about, there is a desk turned sideways by it, a stuffed armchair at its rear which Vellguine had been sitting in, a sofa at its front.

           “Why, simply writing.”

           And so he will lead him to the sofa, arm briefly alight thin shoulders comfortably before he lets go as Francel lowers primly to one side of it. He folds his hands neatly into his lap, legs tucked together and back straight.

           “But it was nothing important, a journal of sorts. The retired life hardly suits me, I have been trying to write down all I remember of my tenure in this new-found free time, it can be paused any time.”

           He can see Francel begin to relax in the knowledge he has not interrupted anything, soon coming to lean back against the rest of the sofa. Vellguine will reach out again, irresistible, to stroke a few fingers beneath Francel’s gently pointed chin, and Francel’s expression will soften further, and the corner of his mouth will quirk up in half a tired smile.

           “Allow me to get you something warm to drink, and a little snack. I cannot help but think and worry that you have had very little today.”

           Francel will appear a little sheepish and guilty, for a certainty it is noon-time, and while he has had a little breakfast early that morning, he has yet to have eaten again. That he should feel bad to have the older waiting on him though…

           “I will not hear anything for it.” Before he can protest. Vellguine is smiling affectionately.

           Before he leaves, he will stir up the fireplace and renew the embers, laying a few thinner logs across it to restore the flame, catching beneath his steady hands, he will endeavor to ensure Francel’s comfort, even should he be used to the cold. Then, he will leave him with a gentle close of the door. When Francel last was here, they had surely made straight for the bedroom, and thus spent their time there. So sitting here, he will take in the room as he begins to relax in full.

           The environs are hardly revealing, for there is not a single picture of Vellguine, nor his family, so Francel discerns little, that is not to say that the room is devoid of life, there are some pictures, though not grandiose. There are some few of landscapes, and they are reminiscent of the wilds from before the freeze, before the fall. Here, a little painting of a field of white wild flowers, there are fluffy clouds in a blue sky, and the sun appears bright and yellow. It seems cheery. There is another though, and while clearly there is snow, it is not so bleak; streaks of light across a night sky, a smatter of stars vaguely present, in relief, a shadow of the stone fortress that is to be Falcon’s nest, but not so intimidating.

           The room grows warmer by the minute, and Francel feels a drowsiness eat a t  him, his eyes grow heavy even as he casts them over the organization of Vellguines desk. The man is in the kitchens, making fresh tea, or maybe even coffee, Fury knows he needs it, and a light  snack to help rejuvenate him, yeet… He does not think he shall make it so far… He will recline back comfortably on the sofa, rest his head against its back and let his heavy and weary eyes finally close. He is trustful of the company he is with, safe in the knowledge few would know to come looking for him here, and so will find long sought after privacy, then, that all shall go black and his breathing should come to be deep and even, where  before it felt each breath were a fight.

           This is how Vellguine will find him, gently tipping over, leaned upon the sofa, and he will smile fondly and with relief as he stands there by the sofas side, tray in hand. He had made little finger sandwiches of liver spread and mustard, and tea will steam away merrily, he had intended something light anyways so that Francel would easily find his rest, but it appears the exhaustion caught up to him first, and this is how he finds him. The food and drink will keep, Vellguine will think, as he sets the tray on his desk for when Francel will wake.

           For just a moment Bellguine will stand to watch, Francel’s neck is craned back against the back of the sofa, his pink lips gently parted and long lashes aflutter, he’ll wonder, should he be dreaming? Ah, but this cannot be comfortable, so he will fetch a wool blanket from a cupboard and come to sit on the other side of the sofa, and drape it across Francel’s lap. At first, as he will gently put an arm around Francel’s shoulders, the boy will softly awaken, a short gasp, his fingers twitch, his eyes lift, and he will sleepily, groggily turn towards Vellguine.

           “Shh, shhh. Come here, lay down your head, put up your feet. I am here.”

           Francel, blessedly, will listen. Though hesitant at first, the idea of relaxing and with good company wins out, and he will put up feet so that they rest over the arm of the sofa, and then gingerly, places his head into Vellguines waiting lap. After a pause, he will sigh as a contentedness overtakes him. It is very sweet, and Vellguine will make his hands at  home in Francel’s hair, his fingers thread through the blond locks, and his cut nails will scrape gently against  his scalp, and each time Francel will heave a steadying sigh, or take a deepened breath as he wavers between wakefulness and rest, or sleep. Vellguine will only continue to stroke through his hair, first one way, gently musing it until the shorter locks stand up as he brushes against how they normally lay, and then the other directions, smoothing them back down again until his hair lays flat and sound.

           Francel’s breath comes gently from between pretty pink parted lips, even and soft. He no longer twitches and stirs, his aching fingers folded over his stomach and pressed together. As Vellguine strokes his soft  hair with one hand,  the other will reach out to lay over Francel’s where they rest, and still he will not stir.

Nami gasped as the Thousand Sunny abruptly heaved, and she was thrown from her bed in her navigator’s quarters in a tangle of sheets. Fumbling in the dark as she attempted to disentangle herself from her bedsheets and stagger over the door, she could hear the drumming of the rain against the wooden ship and the sloshing of the waves against the wooden hull. She twisted the doorknob, and that was all it took for the wild wind whirling outside to wrench it open, nearly throwing it off its hinges and sending Nami tumbling onto her behind in the room. Rain sprayed across the dry wooden boards and soaked into the pretty rugs she had purchased for her humble home, and the papers on her desk went swirling through the air as the wind whisked them about. She crawled across the floor, unable to stand under the force of the gale, and pulled herself to her feet using the balustrade of the ship. As the lightning flashed overhead, it illuminated the sky above swirling with thick black clouds and the sea below frothing with foam as the waves writhed. The sails snapped in the wind, wrenched from their holdings in several places by its sharp fingers, and water was sloshing all over the deck as it spilled over the banisters. She moved to scream for the rest of the crew, but the words were ripped from her as the boat heaved again and she went sliding across the slick wood, landing roughly against the other side of the boat. If she had been fully standing, she no doubt would have gone overboard.

“What's goin—Whoa! What a storm!” Luffy cried as he stormed out from below decks, holding his hat to his head as the wind tried desperately to carry it away. He dipped his head back down to yell into the bowels of the ship and rouse his crew before hopping over the banister and landing next to Nami. “Nami! How are we gonna get outta here?”

“I’m working on it!” she grunted, pulling herself up once more to peer off into the horizon. It was dark, and hard to tell where the edge of the storm was; as she attempted to calculate their escape, the boat tipped precariously once more, and she and Luffy went flailing head-over-heels towards the opposite side. Nami once again landed securely against the thick wood, but Luffy had been standing upright, sending him careening over the edge. She felt her heart stop when she heard the splash below, and without even thinking she vaulted herself over the side of the boat to dive into the water. It felt like knives pricking her skin as she met the cold water, but she swam through it nonetheless, grabbing her captain by the front of his shirt to drag him back up to the surface. He was impossibly heavy, and with the waves constantly swelling above her, she was afraid she would not make it. Just as her lungs had begun to burn, her head broke the surface, and she sucked in as much air as she could before she focused on getting his head above the water. He coughed and hacked, still stubbornly holding onto his hat.

“This isn't good,” he frowned as they floundered alongside the Thousand Sunny. Nami groped at the side of the boat, trying to find a hold, then screamed as a wave crashed down upon them and pushed them back beneath the surface. She fought her way back with Luffy in tow. When her tangerine head popped above the water she was alarmed to find that the ship was now several yards away, and the current of the swells was carrying them further away by the minute. She tried screaming for her crewmates, but the wind tore the words from her throat, filling it instead with the bitter saltwater. All she could do was helplessly cling to Luffy as the rocking ship grew rapidly farther away, and they were carried into the storm and into the night…

When Nami awoke, she thought for a moment that she may be dead. She was lying on her back on a beach, the gentle waves playfully lapping at her feet while the hot sand warmed her chilled body. The sky above her was brilliantly blue, the only remainder of the violent storm fluffy white clouds moseying along peacefully. The sun was bright, spilling its rays over the near-drowned navigator. However, she knew she was not dead from the pulsing in her muscles and the dryness in her throat. She blinked a few times, trying to find the will to sit herself up, and gradually became aware of the fact that she was not alone. She turned her head to see Luffy sprawled out beside her, and her arm was slung over his chest with her fingers still tightly clutching the fabric of his shirt. She instantly panicked, afraid that he might not have made it, but was quickly cooled by the cold flush of relief when she saw the rise and fall of his chest.

His sleeping habit nearly gave me a heart attack! She thought with a slight groan, and she finally forced herself to sit up. It hurt, as her muscles were stiff from a night being soaked in cold seawater and fighting the fierce waves.

“Luffy. Wake up,” she said as she leaned down to shake his shoulders. Her voice was hoarse from her raw throat, likely from swallowing a healthy amount of saltwater. She coughed, trying to clear her throat, and her voice was much stronger when she repeated the statement. He groaned as she shook him, and lazily swatted at her hand.

“I don't wanna,” he muttered and rolled onto his side. At the very least, he's not hurt, she thought wryly before wrenching him back over and shaking him more violently. “Okay! Okay! I’m up! Leave me alone!” he cried and bolted upright, glaring at her grumpily. He was none too happy to be woken up from his nap. After a minute, his drowsiness was gone and he hopped to his feet to look out at the ocean. “Whoa! The storm carried us to this island, huh? I wonder if the Thousand Sunny can find us,” he snickered.

As always, joyful despite the completely hopeless situation, she thought and rolled her eyes. Luffy whirled on his heel, throwing sand as he marched up the beach.

“C'mon, Nami, let's go find some food! I’m starving!”

Nami could argue that they needed to try to signal their comrades somehow, but she knew that once he had food on his mind there was going to be no stopping him until he was satiated, so instead she got up and marched after him. The island was covered in a dense jungle, no doubt containing some sort of beast or another that Luffy would grapple with, and she groaned.

“Man, this sucks,” she muttered as she plunged into the green with her captain. Luffy flitted about like a little bird, poking sticks into bushes and holes and overturning rocks to see what sort of critters were about. Nami was looking for more practical things, like berries and nuts, and wasn't really paying attention to him. She walked along the path, eyes swiveling about. She gasped lightly as she bumped into his back. Luffy had planted himself right in front of her and was staring resolutely into the jungle with his hands coiled into fists. “Luffy…?”

“There’s someone with a really strong Haki headed this way. Just stay behind me.”

Nami’s heart rate accelerated, not only from the threat of danger but the idea that he was so intent on protecting her. Nervously, she peered over his shoulder, listening to the rustling of bushes and snapping of twigs that were rapidly approaching. Luffy went stiff and she unconsciously grabbed onto his arm, as the stranger stepped out into the open. It was a red-haired man with three parallel scars across his face and one of his arms missing. “Shanks!” Luffy gasped in shock.

This is Red-Haired Shanks? Nami thought, raising her eyebrows at the equally surprised pirate lord.

“Luffy? What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” he shot back, ignoring his question completely and pointing an accusing finger at him. “I’ve been sailing all over the Grand Line, and you’re holed up on some hole-in-the-wall island? What gives?” he whined, obviously disappointed that the man he looked up to was not out on the seas plundering and making even more of a name for himself.

Shanks laughed heartily, his shoulders shaking as he regarded Luffy happily.

“I’m too old for all that tomfoolery. I prefer to just sit and watch as the younger kids go at it. Speaking of which, I’ve heard you've amassed yourself quite a bounty,” he mused, dark eyes glittering with happiness and pride.

Luffy snickered and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. Nami could feel his body shaking, and she realized with a small gasp that she was still clinging to him. She hastily let go and scurried out from behind him, bringing herself to Shanks' attention.

“Oh? Who is this?”

“This is my navigator, Nami! We got swept off our ship during a storm and wound up here,” he grinned and grabbed her around the shoulders to pull her close to him.

Nami blushed, suddenly put on the spot, and waved sheepishly at Luffy's idol.

“That so? Well, it looks like you've had a rough time of it, haven't you? You still haven't lost your magnet for trouble, Luffy!” he chuckled before turning around and waving for them to follow. “Come on. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Fooooood!” Luffy crowed and threw his hands in the air, then dove into the underbrush after the pirate captain.

Nami hurried after them, clambering through the knee-high grasses and bushes and brambles. Shanks and Luffy were embroiled in a fervent conversation about his adventures, and his laughter echoed through the empty forest. She had to smile despite their circumstances. He seems so happy. She had never seen such a bright smile on his face; it was practically blinding, and his eyes sparkled with joy as he conversed with the legendary man. Suddenly, the jungle fell away to reveal a large clearing, which was stuffed to capacity with brawny men gathered around a roaring fire, over which a large boat was roasting. Luffy's mouth dropped to the loamy forest floor when he saw the meat, and he squealed with delight, catching the attention of all the pirates gathered around.

“Look sharp, lads, I brought ya a present!” Shanks chortled, and all the men erupted into shouts and cheers when they realized just who was standing there. Nami hung back as Luffy was bombarded by the men he knew from childhood, and they clapped him on the back and dragged him into the center of the campsite to shower him in affection and ale. Nami watched with a warm smile, but part of her felt in pain. I feel… Out of place. She didn't know these men or this part of Luffy's life, and that slightly hurt, though she didn't know why. She watched with a bittersweet feeling as they gushed over the up-and-coming pirate captain until suddenly Luffy shouted at them all to be quiet.

“I wanna introduce you to my navigator! Nami, come here!” he smiled and beckoned her over, and her cheeks took on a pink haze as he suddenly addressed her. Shyly, she walked over to the pirate crew and introduced herself while Luffy sang her praises. It made her feel nice, to be appreciated, but also that Luffy was including her.

The day deepened, the sun traveling across the sky, and the two Straw Hats settled into Shanks' crew, listening to Luffy relate his various adventures. Of course, when lunchtime came, Luffy fell onto the meat with gusto, and they became more enamored with how much food he could put away. Nami watched in amusement from a log, nibbling at her own, much more human-sized piece of meat. She glanced up as Shanks suddenly stretched out beside her with a long sigh, a tankard of ale in his hand and a smile on his face as he watched Luffy interacting with his men.

“So, how did you and Luffy meet? More importantly, how'd he rope in a smart girl like you?”

“Right, he hasn't told that particular story yet,” she mused. “It's kind of a long story.”

“Well, time is something I happen to have in abundance,” he smirked up at her. “Come on, tell me, I wanna know!” Listening to him childishly plead with her, she could tell where Luffy had acquired some of his quirks. She slipped down from the log to settle into the soft grass, getting herself comfortable.

“Well, it all started with Captain Buggy.”

“Whoa! You guys tangled with Buggy? Man, me and him go way back!” he interrupted with a stupid grin. “Sorry, it's just a name I haven’t heard in a while. We were apprentices on a ship together! We got into all sorts of trouble together!” Nami giggled, amused by his enthusiasm.

“That's all right.”

She told him about her first encounter with Luffy, how they had defeated Buggy together and moved on to recruit Sanji and Usopp. By the time she got around to her abandoning them at the Baratie to head back to Arlong, the crew had become aware that she was telling the tale and gathered around to listen. Luffy was still stuffing his face. She became a little self-conscious with the large audience but continued nonetheless. She proceeded on, telling them of her servitude to Arlong and his ruthless hold on her village, and how Luffy and the others had fought valiantly to free her and her village. “After that, I just couldn't let him go, now could I?” she chuckled. “I knew he was going to get into all sorts of trouble, and he needed a good navigator to steer him in the right direction!”

“And a damn good navigator she is!” Luffy suddenly crowed, and his foot came down on the log right between herself and Shanks. She had been so involved in the story that she had not noticed he had stopped eating, finally, and had circled around to sit behind them and listen. “Nami's a lifesaver! Ya know, she’s the one who fixes my hat when it gets torn,” he beamed as he pulled it off and flipped it in his hands.

“Oh! So you're Luffy's girlfriend?” Shanks grinned

Nami short-circuited for a second, bright red and sputtering.

“No! Why the hell would you ask something like that?” she shrieked. 

“Well, that’s something a girlfriend would do.”

“That’s something anyone would do!” she shot back and crossed her arms, fuming and embarrassed. It didn't help that everyone in the clearing started laughing, even Luffy, who probably didn't even get what was going on.

“Hehe, Luffy, Nami sure is cute,” Shanks mused.

“Yeah, I guess she is,” he responded nonchalantly and plopped his hat back on his head, and while Nami’s heart stopped and all the blood rushed to her face, he looked around with a frown. “Is there any more food?”

After another hour or so, one of the scouts Shanks had posted around came to report that a ship was nearing the island. Luffy and Nami reasoned that it was their crew finally coming to collect them, and bade their farewells to their host and his merry companions. Shanks accompanied them to the beach, and Luffy suddenly stopped and pulled off his hat to hold it out to him. “You said the next time we met that I could return this.”

Nami stared at him in shock, completely floored that he would so willingly give up his prized possession; Shanks was equally shocked, and he stared at the hat for a moment before smiling warmly.

“No. It's not time for that yet, Luffy,” he asserted. Luffy blinked in confusion, but obediently replaced the hat back on top of his head. Shanks looked him up and down for a moment, then smiled warmly and plopped his hand on top of his head. “You've really grown strong, Luffy.”

“Hehe!” he grinned cheekily. “I’m gonna get even stronger until I’m the King of the Pirates!” He then looked to Nami beside him. “Though, I'm only as strong as I am because of all my friends! Right, Nami?”

“Mhmm!” she nodded encouragingly, then blinked when Shanks gave her the same treatment, ruffling her tangerine hair.

“You take care of Luffy now, you hear?” Nami nodded vigorously. Luffy was a handful, but she felt up to the task. They both turned when they heard Sanji shouting at them over the crashing of the waves. They had pulled out the rowboat to come claim them since there was no dock of any kind. “Well, there's your cue. Next time, Luffy, I hope I can meet your whole crew!” he smiled at his young protégé.

“Me too! You'll really like ‘em!” he snickered. Shanks gave them a dip of his head before whirling about, his black cloak billowing in the sea breeze as he plunged back into the jungle. As he vanished, Luffy's shoulders slumped slightly. “Man… I was hoping that Shanks could meet everybody. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him again for so long, and I didn't even give the hat back,” he moped.

“You’ll see each other again! Next time, you'll be Pirate King!” she told him encouragingly, and he turned to grin at her.

“Hehe! You're right, Nami!” he smiled and then whipped about to shout at Sanji. “Row faster, slowpoke! I’m hungry!”

Nami chuckled as Sanji yelled back some curse. Well, I guess everything turned out all right after all, she thought as she gazed out at the glittering waves and the ship beyond. It was the ship that bore them all toward the future, to grand adventures laced with triumphs and struggles, to things unknown. Though it was frightening, it was exciting, too. She looked out of the corner of her eyes at Luffy, who was waving and grinning.

I can face a lot of things now, thanks to you. You make me brave. You make me strong… she thought with a small smile.

I’m not scared of the future, because I know you'll be by my side…

Dan Heng’s expression softens just a touch. “It’s fine. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself.” He tilts his head, faintly amused by your shy, nervous demeanor. “I respect how you handle everything carefully, even if you get flustered.” He leans slightly closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t have to carry the world alone.”

Your heart stumbles, but you bow again. “I just want to help as much as I can… Even if I make mistakes.” You bite your lip, embarrassed, hoping he doesn’t notice your slight tremble.

Dan Heng nods once, sincerely. “I’ve seen worse. You have more strength than you think.”

You arrange the papers meticulously on Jing Yuan’s desk, mindful of the armor clinking softly as he watches you from his seat, eyes sharp yet gentle. “General Jing Yuan, the latest diplomatic proposals... are here,” you whisper, bowing, suddenly aware of the imposing figure before you.

He chuckles softly, “No need to be so formal around me.” His voice is warm but carries that unmistakable authority. “You’ve done well, considering your nerves.”

You glance away, cheeks flaming. “I just... I always want to do better. But I’m afraid my pacing isn’t enough.”

Jing Yuan’s gaze softens as he stands, reaching out to lightly adjust the accessory in your hair—a small gesture that makes your breath hitch. “Your dedication is what matters most. Even I was once new and unsure. Keep this up, and you’ll outpace us all.”

Your voice catches, “Thank you, General. I-I’ll try my best.”

In the dim, quiet workshop where Blade sharpens his broken sword, you approach hesitantly, clutching a bundle of scrolls filled with tactical reports. “Blade, I-I brought the updates... I hope they’re... useful.”

His eyes flash with curiosity beneath his long hair. “You don’t have to be so timid. Speak up.”

You nod quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I-I’m always worried I’ll slow things down… or forget something important.”

Blade’s lips curl into a rare, slight smile. “You’re like a breeze on a hot day—quiet, but steady. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

You glance at his bandaged arms and the cracks on his sword, feeling a swell of sympathy and respect. “I admire your strength… even when you seem broken.”

Blade looks away, voice low. “Strength can be a curse. But maybe... your kindness is my salvation.”

You enter the grand library of the Intelligentsia Guild, bowing as Ratio looks up from his texts, hair falling over one intense eye. “Dr. Ratio, I have the latest research notes... I’m sorry if some are incomplete. I’m still learning,” you say softly, hands trembling.

He studies you, eyes gleaming with intellectual fire. “Don’t apologize for being earnest. Most wouldn’t dare to seek knowledge so humbly.”

You blush deeply. “I’m just afraid I’m too slow or forgetful.”

Ratio stands, adjusting his owl-shaped shoulder pieces. “That’s the mark of a true scholar—recognizing one’s limits and striving beyond. Come, I’ll help you sharpen your mind. Together, we can illuminate the darkest corners.”

Your breath catches at his rare kindness. “I-I would like that very much.”

In the quiet of the frontier bar, you nervously approach Boothill, noticing the mechanical parts of his torso and the steely glint in his black eyes. “Boothill, I’ve gathered the intel from the latest IPC movements,” you whisper, hands wringing the papers.

He grins, sharp teeth flashing. “Ain’t used to folks coming to me so meekly. You got guts, I’ll give you that.”

Your cheeks flare red. “I-I just want to help... I don’t want anyone else to suffer like you did.”

Boothill’s expression softens—just a bit. “Heh. That means more than you know. You keep working like this, sugar, and maybe we’ll tip the scales.”

You exhale shakily, feeling a rare warmth amid the harshness of his world. “I’ll do my best. I swear it.”

Part I

Sanji exhaled deeply when he paused to glance up at the blazing blue sky above his head, then ran the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe away the thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated there. I hope everyone is hanging in there. We’re almost done! He hoped as he glanced back down at the deck of the ship, which was bustling with activity as the cooks under Chiffon’s command frantically ran hither and thither. To appease Big Mom’s murderous rage, he had been assisting the twenty-second daughter of the Emperor in baking an exact replica of the wedding cake for the last several hours. They were so close to finishing, but with no news of how the rest of the crew was doing, he was admittedly anxious. I just have to have faith. 

“Sanji!” The Straw Hat pirate turned as his name was abruptly called, just in time to see the pink-haired, brawny pirate wife tottering toward him. “It’s nearly ready! Here! Taste it!” she insisted as she held out a fork with a bit of the spongey iced cake on the end. Sanji did as bid, and as the sweet taste spread over his tongue, he could not help but grin devilishly. 

“It’s absolutely divine, Chiffon! This cake will stop Big Mom right in her tracks! I guarantee it!” As he smirked triumphantly, the cooks cheered happily, and the crew began scrambling around once more to set course for the island on which they were rendezvousing with the rest of Sanji’s crewmates. Sanji approached the towering wedding cake, occasionally barking orders at the cooks who were providing finishing touches to the icing. He could see Pudding hovering off to the side out of the corners of his eyes, staring hard at him. Pudding really is cute. Too bad my heart belongs to another woman, he thought apologetically. The image of the beautiful, tangerine-haired navigator flashed into his mind for a brief moment. He wondered if she was all right. Before his mind could descend into frightening scenarios, he hastily bent his thoughts on the cake. I can’t worry about her… I have to believe that Luffy will protect her—all of them, but especially her. 

“Sanji, I have a question for you!” Chiffon chirped at him suddenly, and he turned once more to face the large woman. “What is Nami’s favorite kind of cake?”

Sanji had to admit that he was surprised that she would ask so suddenly about the woman, especially when he had just been thinking about her. 

“Why would you ask about her?” Pudding snapped grumpily. At the mention of the navigator, the caramel-haired baking expert had rushed to Sanji’s side, glaring daggers at the clueless Chiffon. She still kept her distance from him, though, her fingers twitching anxiously as she watched to see how he would react. Sanji looked back at Bege’s wife, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

“Yeah, Chiffon, what’s up with this all of a sudden?” he agreed. 

“Nami is Lola’s friend, yes? I’ve heard a lot about the good things she did for her,” she explained with a big smile. “So, Nami is my friend too. I just want to bake a small cake for her, to thank her for helping Lola so much.”

It sounded like a good enough reason to Sanji, so he pulled out one hand to rub his chin thoughtfully. 

“Hmm, I see. Well, Nami loves tangerines, for sure, but she also likes fruits in general. She’s partial to berries, though—especially strawberries. Those are her favorite. As for cakes, angel food cake is definitely her top choice, but strawberry cake and vanilla cake are close seconds. She prefers whipped frosting over creamy frosting,” he babbled, and as he continued to talk about her, a smile naturally formed on his face. It had taken a lot of trial and error and careful observation to discern what her food preferences were. He could just see that little smile on her face as she sat bent over her work desk, nibbling at some confection or another he had prepared for her. She always hid in her office when he made something just for her, but she left the door cracked to let the sea breeze in; he would always peer into her room to see her reaction for just a brief moment. She would always bring him the plate when she was done with a simple “thank you,” but when she turned around, there would be a flash of happiness on her face that Sanji always managed to catch. 

“You like Nami, don’t you?”

Sanji was snapped out of his fantasizing by Chiffon’s amused question, and he looked back at her to see her smiling knowingly. He could feel Pudding bristling next to him, quaking with rage, but he wasn’t going to lie for her sake. 

“I don’t just like her. I love her!” he confirmed with a big, happy grin. Sanji really did, though he had played it off all this time—mostly because he knew that his past would eventually catch up to him one day. Now that everything was out in the open, though, why did he have to hide it? 

“Sanji, what about me?” Pudding pouted beside him, her face taking on that dark, murderous shadow he had seen many times over the strange roller-coaster ride that was his captivity in Big Mom’s empire. He looked down at her, and, not missing a beat, flashed her an alluring smile. 

“Oh, but you’re beautiful, Pudding,” he told her smoothly, and she squealed and clapped her hands to her cheeks, gushing over the compliment. That ought to appease her for the moment, he thought with a slight sigh. Pudding had turned out to be not that bad after all—more than anything, he just felt bad for her. All her life, she had been told she was a three-eyed monster and a tool. Though Sanji admittedly felt nothing romantic for the girl, he always wanted to make women feel beautiful and worth something, and Pudding was no exception—despite her murderous alter ego. As the girl scampered away to swoon, Sanji looked back at Chiffon. “I love Nami,” he repeated, “but I don’t know how she feels about me.” 

“You haven’t told her yet?” Chiffon asked him with a deep frown, and he shook his head with a small sigh.

Sanji glanced over the side of the boat out at sea, where the waves were writhing as if mirroring the maelstrom that was their dismal situation. The sea always reminded him of Nami. In the brief moments of respite during his tortuous two-year training period, he would stand on the shore with his boots off and his pants legs rolled up, ankle-deep in the surf, and watch the waves roll in and out. He would wonder where she was, what she was doing, and if she was safe. He had thought of her even more while he was a prisoner in the vast castle complex of Big Mom. He could tell himself that he felt something for Pudding and would be able to live with marrying her all day, but when night fell, and he would lay in his bed alone with his thoughts, his mind was bent on Nami. Her smile, her beautiful tangerine hair, her robust confidence and brazen personality—everything he loved about her, and he would regret holding his tongue. I should have said something, he would think. Now it’s too late. 

Things were different now, though. There was a pretty good chance that he could escape Big Mom’s clutches. What would he do now? All his life, he had lived expecting this to be the end, and now his future was uncertain. Chiffon patiently watched him think, then chortled loudly, bringing him back to the present.

“Would you like to help me bake the cake for Nami?” Chiffon suggested. 

“Of course.” Sanji never missed an excuse to cook something. He glanced over at Pudding, who was mumbling under her breath about winning Sanji or something along those lines. “Pudding? Would you like to join us?” 

“Absolutely not! I won’t make anything for that woman!” she snapped hotly, her caramel pigtails whipping about as she shook her head wildly. He chuckled at her blatant refusal and shrugged, accompanying Chiffon across the deck. Naturally, Pudding stood there for a few minutes, fuming, before stomping after him. She hovered over his shoulder as he assisted Chiffon, alternating between gushing over his cooking prowess and hissing about the fact that he was making something for another woman. Within half an hour, they had a little two-tier angel food cake with tangerine whipped frosting garnished with a couple of tangerine slices. 

“Oh! It’s perfect!” Chiffon cried in delight. 

“It isn’t anything special,” Pudding retorted with her cheeks puffed out defiantly and her slim arms crossed with displeasure. One of the cooks brought them a box, and they carefully put the cake inside and tied it shut with string. 

“Make sure you get this to Nami, Sanji, safe and sound!” Chiffon told him as he took the box and carefully slipped it into one of the pockets on the inside of his coat. It made an obvious bulge, but it was the safest place he could think to keep it in the coming chaos. 

“I will, Chiffon,” he assured her.

One of the cooks started yelling that the island was in sight. He walked over to the side of the boat, placing his hands on the wooden railing as he watched it slowly approach. His friends were out there. Nami was out there. 

I have to deliver this present safely to Nami for Chiffon… He glanced over his shoulder at the large woman, who was grinning mischievously at him while Pudding sulked beside her. Use this present to tell her how you feel, she was telling him. Sanji looked back at the swirling ocean, at the island rapidly growing larger on the horizon, at the battle he had yet to fight, at his uncertain future… 

I’m coming, Nami.

Part II

Sanji took a long drag from his cigarette as he stood at the railing of the ship, gazing quietly out at the endless expanse of indigo waves stretching out in all directions before him. It was funny how often things were taken for granted when they were always present in the backdrop of life. As soon as they were torn away, it was suddenly evident that that thing was impossibly necessary, and its absence became something painful. The rolling sea was such a thing for Sanji, as he had spent an agonizing time apart from its gentle melodies of sloshing water and soft kisses of salty spray. Perhaps it was not merely just the sea itself, but the act of standing upon the Thousand Sunny looking out at it that had been what had made his heart yearn while he was held captive by Big Mom and her massive brood of destructive children. Either way, that aching chasm had been filled once his gaze had landed upon the horizon, filling him with an odd sense of completeness.

Night had fallen once more. The Thousand Sunny was currently sailing full-speed for Wano after successfully, albeit narrowly, plucking Sanji from the vicious claws of the giantess. After such a tense experience, the ship had descended into a restful slumber. The cook, however, felt no ounce of drowsiness within his being and had thus meandered out onto the familiar yet foreign deck to turn his eyes upon the tapestry of ocean spread beyond its sturdy frame. As the smoke swirled in wisps before his face before gently being swept away by the breeze, he stared out at the two-toned landscape. The continuously rolling sea seemed to capture the starlight for itself, replicating it in forms like glittering diamonds tossing about in the foamy spray. The moon hung low in the sky tonight to bathe the world in its mute white brilliance; the streams caught in Sanji’s blonde strands to turn them a pale cream. He remained in his white tuxedo, having not the energy or thought to change as of yet, and its thread seemed to soak up the moonlight to glow with all the splendor of freshly fallen snow. Truly, it was a calm night, and per the recent events, Sanji relished it. Calmness was also something he had taken for granted, the ability to simply be without the intrusive thoughts that one’s actions could lead directly to another’s death. It was a burden he was glad to be rid of.

Sanji finished the last of his cigarette before removing it from his teeth and flicking it out into the sea. The waves greedily swallowed the bud, its burning ember point vanishing under the assault of the overwhelming blue. As his body shifted to act, he became aware of a lump within his inner coat pocket; with a raised eyebrow, he fished it out. In his hand was a small box tied with string, or rather, that’s what it originally was. The package had been deformed, pushed in at odd places with creamy frosting leaking out of one of the seams. Nami’s cake! Though he had been charged by Chiffon to see the dessert safely to the navigator, he had tremendously failed at the endeavor. His mood plummeted as he stared down at the crumpled package and the promise he had carried, the promise to himself to finally profess his feelings to the woman who held his heart.

“Whatcha got there?”

Sanji whirled about as he while hiding the pathetically injured box behind his back. He knew, of course, who had spoken, because how could he forget that lovely voice of Nami’s? She had awoken from sleep and wandered out onto the deck for a bit of fresh air. She probably came to stargaze—which she often did, as he had noticed—and spotted him inspecting the tiny parcel. Sanji tried to play it off, chuckling nonchalantly as he rubbed the back of his neck, but really, he just made himself look more suspicious. It seemed that the acting skills he had displayed on Whole Cake Island had made a hasty getaway.

“Nothing at all, Nami-swan! What are you doing awake at this hour? A beautiful woman needs her rest, you know,” he trilled while continuing to laugh breathily. Nami’s brown eyes narrowed, and she stomped over to him to attempt to peer around his well-built frame and catch a glimpse of what he was hiding. Sweating now, Sanji weaved around her piercing gaze. “Really! I’m not hiding anything!” he protested.

“I’m not an idiot, Sanji. Lemme see!” Desperate to get at the secret, Nami unabashedly pressed herself against him while groping behind his back in an attempt to grab it. Sanji’s face turned the color of ripe apples as her chest pressed against his, and steam nearly blasted out of his ears as the gears in his mind went into screaming overdrive. He almost fainted there on the spot at the sensual touch that Nami was utterly unaware of because of his fixation on the hidden present, but Sanji managed to steel himself and remain conscious. She stuck out her tongue as she pushed further, literally pinning him against the balustrade of the vessel. He had to jerk his arm out over the frothing sea to avoid crushing the little cake and splattering all across his well-tailored white tuxedo. He pondered for a moment whether or not to just drop it into the sea and be done with it, making the embarrassing little thing vanish, but he did not. Rather, he could not; he would never be able to face Chiffon, who had helped him bake the present for Nami that carried his purest feelings.

“Dammit, Sanji, stop being mean! I just wanna know what you’re hiding!” she pouted up at him like a child, her chin resting in the middle of his chest. It was quite clear that she was trying to use her feminine wiles to her advantage and was frustrated that Sanji did not melt into a puddle of obedient gush at the slightest application of them. Sanji exhaled deeply, too tired from trying to do just that, and planted a hand on her shoulder to firmly pry her body from his.

“All right, fine, but you can’t laugh,” he sighed. 

“Why would I?” she blinked at him with a frown. She crossed her arm and cocked her hip, finger tapping furiously against the muscle of her forearm—impatient as she ever was. Sanji straightened himself up, and, very hesitantly, revealed the crumpled box. Nami’s nut-brown eyes widened slightly as she beheld the unassuming little parcel she had been so adamant about clapping her eyes on.

“It was supposed to be for you, but… It kind of got damaged with all the fighting. Sorry,” he admitted quietly. He wasn’t quite sure how she would react, so he just stood there with his eyes downcast. He saw Nami’s delicate little hands reach out, hesitate for a second in front of the parcel, then enclosed around the side of the box. His gaze followed it as she pulled it to herself and slowly untied the string. It fell away, writhing like a snake as it fell to the ground and coiled between them. Her silence unnerved him, and so his gaze flickered upward to her face so that he could read her expression. Her eyebrows were raised slightly with her eyes fixed upon the disaster that must have been that small cake, and her lips were parted slightly. He could tell she was a little surprised, but he could not gauge where the conversation would go next. He fidgeted nervously, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one leg to another. This isn’t how I wanted it to go; it’s not right… “Look, I know it looks awful now, so can you just—"

Without a word, Nami plucked a tangerine half-smothered in frosting and popped it into her mouth. As he gawked at her, her eyes turned upwards to meet his while chewing on the citrus slice calmly.

“It’s delicious, Sanji,” she answered tranquilly when she swallowed. Sanji, having not expected such a reaction, just continued to stare at her with his mouth hanging open as she delicately pulled a piece of the angel food cake from the box and stuck it in her mouth. Admittedly, his heart fluttered slightly as she licked the frosting from her fingertips. Nami’s eyes had his own locked within a vice grip the entire time, and she must have known had maddeningly sexy the whole display was. “Did you make this?”

“Chiffon and I did. She wanted to know your favorites to make you a cake as thanks for helping Lola.”

Nami nodded at his explanation, continuing to just casually eat the cake with her fingers as if she was not intentionally provocative about it the entire time. Sanji’s heart, initially stopped in his chest, had taken up a furious tempo; his fingers twitched slightly, as his senses drowned in the joy that Nami was enjoying his creation. However, there was just something off about the entire thing; the way that she was behaving had his instincts buzzing. Nami was like an unpredictable tiger, currently content and purring and playful, but who knew if that invitation would lead to a painful mauling? It was almost as if she knew there was a deeper meaning behind the little cake and was intentionally being coy to draw it out of him. It was certainly in her wily nature. He continued to watch her eat the cake, and she watched him, calculating and daring. It’s not like Sanji was unwilling; he had spent agonizing hours in the thrall of his regret of not telling the gorgeous navigator the true depths of his feelings. Even if it isn’t how I envisioned… It’s still my chance.

“Nami,” he murmured and reached out to lightly catch her elbow. Her eyes did not falter from his for a moment; it was like she was searching him, trying to riddle out if the words that were going to pass his lips were some fleeting fancy. “Nami, I—" He was suddenly silenced when she shoved a rather large chunk of the cake into his open mouth. He recoiled with large eyes, the confection only limply held between his teeth as the frosting began to melt on his tongue, spreading its sugary goodness across his taste buds. He was hardly aware of it because he was so reeling with confusion. Nami grinned coyly as she sucked a bit of the whipped frosting from her finger. Unpredictable vixen… he thought with a resigned sigh, his mouth curling upward into a smile.

“It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a taste of the wonderful cake you made, now would it?” she laughed lightly as she tossed the now-empty box aside.

Sanji was now chewing thoughtfully on the cake. He honestly had no clue what was going on anymore; the situation had spiraled rapidly out of control. The ball was in the navigator’s court, and he had decided he was just going to stand there and let her run the show. She placed a hand on his hip as she regarded him levelly. It now seemed as if she were searching herself, whether she wanted to hear what he had to say at all. After a moment, she very softly murmured, “Now… What were you going to say?”

“I love you, Nami,” he spit out immediately. Now that he had committed, he could no longer contain himself. He grabbed her by her upper arms, firmly but not violently, as he took a step closer to her with his eyes boring intently into her own. “I mean it, really, I do.” Sanji knew that the odds were not in his favor. He knew he had a penchant for cherishing women; it was just the way he was. He couldn’t help but want to make every woman feel like a goddess. But Nami was his supreme deity, the queen of them all, the one whom he yearned to please the most. “Even if you don’t feel the same way, I want to know tha—"

Once again, he was silenced, this time by Nami’s lips smothering his own. He went rigid with shock as she stood on her tip-toes to softly kiss him, her hand sliding across the back of his neck to tangle her fingers into the ends of his blonde hair. He was still a statue carved of stone when she pulled back with a small smile.

“You had frosting on your mouth. I couldn’t let it go to waste.” At her utterance, he suddenly regained the ability to move and looked down at her incredulously. Then, he was seized by an overwhelming burst of passion and need to have her mouth against his own once more. His lips crashed against hers, feverish, desperate. His hands rose to cup her soft cheeks as their lips began to dance together in a passionate samba before one of them moved to the back of her head to mingle with her wild waves of tangerine hair. Nami’s body molded against his, fitting her every curve against his rigidly sculpted muscles like an interlocking puzzle. Sanji tried to pour every ounce of his undying love for her into that kiss, silently conveying everything he could not in words. He could never put it into words, the way he felt about her, how she was the center of his world, this divine being that he worshipped, whom he wanted to hold and cherish and treasure for the rest of his life. He knew he wasn’t worthy of her, she that shone with all the power and majesty of the sun; he was just a meager weed begging to be graced with her shimmering waves. He kissed her hungrily because he had been starved of her, she that was a life-giving spring he so drastically wished to bathe in after spending so long at the edge. Sanji felt all this and so much more, and Nami received all of that willingly. In return, he got her acceptance, her admission, her divine graces.

His hands had begun to explore the nuances of her body, carefully marking every curve in the perfect roadmap that she was. Imploring, he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, and she graciously complied, parting her lips to allow him entry. He pushed the kiss further, angling his head while pulling her tongue into a tumultuous tango, swirling within the ballroom that was their mouths. Nami’s fingers curled into the thick fabric of his tuxedo as her breathing began to grow ragged, and that sound of exertion sent Sanji into a high. The sweet taste of her like the purest honey over his tongue, the sound of her light gasps that was like a harmonic symphony in his ears, the electric pulses that her touch sent rocketing through his nerves—it was all enough to get him drunker than he had ever been. Barely thinking straight anymore, he pulled back to pepper her face in light kisses, everywhere he could reach, whispering that he loved her between every breath while tears fell from his eyes. He loved her so much that it hurt, a tightness in his chest like he was suffocating. His Nami, who had given herself to him, who he would give his life for and wanted to raise to the goddess that she was in his eyes—he showered her in all the love he had to offer and more. In his fit of ecstatic delirium, he wondered if he had fallen into some seductive nightmare and would soon awaken to find that he had fallen prey to lucid fantasies and nothing more.

But when he regained himself, panting heavily from exertion and overwhelming feeling, she was still there in his arms, her face hovering just beneath his. Her finger traced patterns down his jawline while her other curled around a strand of his hair, and she was smiling like she was waiting for him to say something.

“You had frosting on your mouth,” was the first thing that came to mind. She giggled, and Sanji recalled that he absolutely adored the way she laughed; it sounded like the clearest of tinkling bells. After she finished laughing, she purred almost like a cat, and the way her chest rumbled against his made Sanji almost want to pull her back into another heated kiss.

“I love you too, Sanji.” Every cell in his body sang as she whispered that, and he did not even try to hide his delight; his smile nearly broke his face as he leaned down to touch their foreheads, not even able to speak because of how stupidly and strongly he was grinning. She chuckled again. She continued to leave those tender touches along the side of his face while he ducked down to give her another soft kiss as a sign of his gratitude for returning his affections. It was a slow, gentle kiss, nothing like the intense display before. As he pulled back, she was smiling warmly too. “Just never pull another stupid stunt like that again, okay?” Though her tone was light, he could tell from the tightness in her facial muscles that she was nearly begging him.

“Of course. I’m never, ever, ever leaving your side again, Nami-swan.” She rolled her eyes playfully at his rather overdramatic response because she knew Sanji would literally cling to her like a burr to clothes.

“Don’t go overboard.”

Sanji chuckled breathily and, so intensely in love with the bold, powerful woman, once again swept her up into a kiss. With only the moon and stars as witnesses with the wind and sea providing orchestra for the two lone performers of passion, the Thousand Sunny sailed on, bearing him and Nami onward into an uncertain future… But he was not concerned, because he had the woman he loved at his side, and she had him at hers, ever-locked in a bond of devotion and trust.