#opla luffy

“oh, sanji!”

sanji stopped short as he entered the gulley. his blood heated slightly, stopping shortly to compose himself. you were always ransacking his kitchen. using ingredients— too many or too little— mixing spices that should never touch, overcooking oil, undercooking rice.

“good morning, love,” sanji exhaled slowly, adjusting his apron as he eyed you suspiciously.

“how do i know when this is done?”

you pointed sheepishly at the pan in front of you. sanji blinked once, fighting over the wave of hysterics washing through him. you were cooking fish. for breakfast… a specific fish that paired best with white wine and something sweet—

“i think it’s almost too done, love…” sanji kept his expression soft, ignoring the twitch in his eye.

“shit.” you frowned, turning back to look down at your culinary creation.

“that’s alright! don’t worry about it—“

even with the horrors you created in his kitchen, sanji could never be upset with you. you would frown and bite your lip and start overthinking your abilities and sanji folded instantly. he held your elbow and sighed softly, “it’s not beyond saving…” sanji lifted the pan and turned off the stove, “no, this is still edible…” he inhaled slowly, fighting away a gag at the smell of the mixed spices combining in ways that should never exist.

“you think it’s still okay?”

oh, godsdamn him… he could never ever hurt your feelings or disappoint you.

“i…”

white fish for breakfast.

“can you pass me the eggs?”

“the— eggs?” sanji nearly tumbled over at this, feeling his fingers twitch at his sides, “eggs? you’re making eggs? with—“ ah.

“yeah, i was thinking over easy!”

runny eggs with white fish. for breakfast…

no, it was fine–

it was alright—

of course someone who cooked for fun couldn’t know basic rules and flavor pallets—

“my muffins!”

sanji jumped as if he saw a spider, “you made muffins? you—“

sanji looked around quickly, noting the four all over the floor that he had missed earlier. flour on your shirt and pants where you had inevitably wiped your hands—

his eye twitched, jaw ticking—

“yes, chocolate and orange!”

that actually sounded good. however, with your culinary skills—

“oh, they smell divine, mon cherie—“

you opened the oven and smoke curled up like one of sanji’s cigarettes. he blinked once, fighting the urge to light one right then and there. you pulled them out, beaming proudly. they were lumpy and mushy in some spots, crispy in others— definitely not muffin shaped and most definitely missing baking powder and enough butter.

“oh—“ sanji breathed out, looking at them over your shoulder. now that you couldn’t see his face, sanji didn’t bother to hide his horrified expression.

“something smells good!” luffy had stormed through the door, bright eyed and nearly drooling. he looked to sanji expectantly before his eyes locked onto you. there was a slight blush and a moment of hesitation before he straightened again, returning to his grin.

“good morning!” luffy crossed the gulley to you, pulling you in for a suffocating hug before you could prepare for him.

“i made breakfast!”

luffy’s wide eyes flashed to sanji, chin resting on the top of your head where you couldn’t see his momentary panic. sanji swallowed slowly, keeping his jaw tight as he lit a cigarette. he shook his head very subtly and luffy breathed slowly.

“it smells very good… i can’t wait to try it.” he rubbed your back, keeping you tight against him, glancing over at the stove with a timid expression.

sanji had stomped on zoro’s foot and luffy had punched usopp beneath the table when their facial expressions gave away their reactions to you having made breakfast. they looked at sanji helplessly, while sanji just smiled proudly and helped you set the table. his jaw was entirely too clenched for his smile to be convincing, though luffy still just stared at you like you hung the stars.

“i hope it’s good! i tried something new…”

at this, nami lowered her fork immediately and gasped, “i forgot to check something!” she went running out as chopper and usopp watched her go longingly. sanji sat across from zoro and kicked him once again, not about to be part of you being offended or having hurt feelings.

luffy had already cleared his plate, hand on his stomach with a wide smile. he was looking at you, as if he couldn’t possibly be prouder. you blinked once, looking to him expectantly. you tilted your head, hopeful.

“amazing. you’re good at everything you do…”

sanji and zoro gagged down the first bite of muffins, washing it down with water and whatever juice they could find with enough flavor to cover your cooking. the fish was burnt and dry, the eggs were rubbery yet somehow undercooked and the muffins had three different textures in one bite.

you had just opened your mouth to try your own when luffy cleared his throat. he was looking at you softly, eyebrows raised in that way that made him look like a begging puppy. “could i have some more?” you blinked slowly, sanji and zoro’s mouths hanging open. luffy had cleared his plate and everyone else’s, still smiling widely. he was still watching you with that adoring expression and soft smile.

“sanji, i think you’ll need to make more breakfast… i accidentally ate it all.”

sanji, relieved and almost too eager, stood up and adjusted his apron. zoro and robin looked so relieved it was almost comical and you just smiled to yourself, sliding your plate towards luffy, “are you sure? you liked it?”

luffy stood and kissed your head, thumb brushing over your forehead as he did. he smiled against your hair, “i liked it…” because he wouldn’t hurt your feelings. he would eat everything you ever made him just to see that smile. that proud, loving smile like you truly loved making food for him— “i love you.”

you glanced up at him with a soft smile, hand squeezing the hand that wasn’t on your head, “i love you too…” you closed your eyes as he stayed close, picking your plate clean as sanji started the real breakfast. “are you sure you don’t need help?”

“no—“

everyone answered too quickly. sanji glanced up with a soft smile, eyeing you like he was in disbelief, “quite alright, love. i’ve got it this time… it takes both of us to feed our captain, after all. it’s my turn, you just stay put…”

you missed the relief in everyone else and the way sanji was extremely good at turning you down politely without letting you feel the slightest bit of hurt. luffy kissed your head again as he finished the last of the muffins, licking his fingers clean as if he hadn’t just finished the entirety of the worst meal he had ever tasted.

because it had made you smile.

The days following your recovery on Drum Island were both a blessing and a curse. While you were grateful to be alive and back among your crewmates, you found yourself in an entirely new predicament—one that had nothing to do with physical wounds but everything to do with the chaotic state of your heart.

Luffy had become your shadow.

It started subtly enough. On your first day back on the Going Merry, you'd woken up to find him sitting cross-legged outside your cabin door, chin in his hands, watching you sleep through the crack in the doorway.

"Luffy?" you'd mumbled, rubbing your eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you're still breathing," he'd replied matter-of-factly, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

You'd laughed it off then, but as the days passed, his vigilance only intensified. He followed you everywhere—to the kitchen for breakfast, to the deck for morning stretches, to the bathroom (until Sanji and Zoro physically restrained him). He insisted on helping you with the simplest tasks, like tying your shoes or climbing the rigging to adjust the sails, his rubber arms wrapping around your waist "just in case you feel dizzy."

The crew found it both amusing and exasperating.

"Captain, she's not made of glass," Nami sighed one afternoon as Luffy tried to spoon-feed you soup. "She's recovered."

"But she almost wasn't!" Luffy protested, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. "Kureha said she almost died. I can't let that happen again."

You appreciated his concern, truly. But his constant hovering was driving you to distraction—and not just because of the lack of personal space. Every time his fingers brushed yours, every time he threw an arm around your shoulders, every time he flashed that brilliant, unguarded grin in your direction, your heart did a complicated little flip that left you breathless and confused.

You were falling for your captain.

Hard.

The realization had hit you like a physical blow two nights ago, as you'd stood on the deck under the moonlight, watching him sleep in his hammock. His face, usually so animated and expressive, was peaceful in repose, his lips slightly parted, his hat resting on his chest rising and falling with each breath. And you'd thought: I almost lost this. I almost never saw this face again. And the sheer terror of that possibility had been followed by an even more terrifying certainty: you were in love with Monkey D. Luffy.

An idiot. A rubber-brained, meat-obsessed, emotionally clueless idiot who, despite all evidence to the contrary, somehow held your entire world in his hands.

"What's wrong with you?" Zoro asked one evening, finding you staring moodily at the horizon. "You've been sighing every five minutes for three days."

"Nothing," you mumbled, turning away so he couldn't see the flush on your cheeks. "Just thinking."

"About Luffy?" he guessed, his one good eye narrowing perceptively. "Because he's been thinking about you. Constantly. It's getting annoying."

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. "Is it that obvious?"

"To everyone but him," Zoro confirmed with a snort. "Which is, frankly, impressive."

The crew had noticed. Of course they had. You and Luffy had always been close, but this was different. This was... something more. And while you weren't ready to admit it out loud, your behavior had changed. You found yourself seeking him out, your eyes automatically finding him in a crowd, your laughter coming a little easier when he was near.

And Luffy, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to the shift in your feelings. He was just... Luffy. Overprotective, clingy Luffy, who saw you as something precious that had almost broken and now needed constant supervision.

"You're being ridiculous," Nami told you later that night, as you helped her with navigation charts. "Just tell him how you feel."

"And say what?" you gestured wildly with your compass. "Hey, Captain, I know you're mostly interested in adventure and meat, but I've developed this inconvenient romantic attachment to you that's making it hard to breathe when you're near me?"

Nami blinked. "Well, when you put it like that..."

"Besides," you sighed, slumping against the navigation table. "He doesn't see me that way. I'm his crewmate, his friend, his responsibility. Not... not someone he'd want to kiss."

"You don't know that," Nami said gently. "Luffy's not complicated, but he's not simple either. He feels things deeply, even if he can't always put them into words."

You shook your head. "It's better this way. The crew is finally back to normal. I don't want to mess that up."

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, your heart refused to listen. Every time Luffy laughed, every time he reached for your hand "to make sure you don't fall," every time he looked at you with that fierce, protective light in his eyes, you fell a little deeper.

The breaking point came a week later, during a fierce storm that had the Going Merry tossed about like a toy in a bathtub. The waves crashed over the deck, the wind howled through the rigging, and rain fell in blinding sheets. You were helping secure the sails, your fingers numb and clumsy from the cold, when a particularly large wave sent the ship lurching violently to one side.

You lost your footing, sliding across the slick deck toward the railing. Before you could even process what was happening, Luffy was there, his body pressing yours against the mast as the ship righted itself. His arms wrapped around you, his face inches from yours, rain dripping from his hair onto your cheeks.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

You couldn't speak. All you could do was stare at his lips, at the water droplets clinging to them, at the earnest worry in his eyes. And then, without thinking, without meaning to, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was brief, clumsy, and utterly perfect. His lips were warm and soft, tasting of salt and rain and something uniquely Luffy. For a moment, he kissed back, his arms tightening around you. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. He pulled back, his eyes wide with shock.

"Wow," he breathed, his expression unreadable.

And then he grinned. That wide, brilliant, Luffy-grin that made your heart do somersaults.

"Wow," he said again, and then he was kissing you back, properly this time, his lips moving against yours with an enthusiasm that was purely Luffy.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless and drenched, you couldn't help but laugh. The storm still raged around you, the crew still shouted orders, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the circle of each other's arms.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," you admitted.

Luffy's grin widened. "Me too! I just didn't know how. And I was worried you'd get sick again if I distracted you."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, Luffy."

"Does this mean you're not going to die anymore?" he asked, his expression suddenly serious.

"I'll do my best not to," you promised.

"Good," he said, nodding firmly. "Because I have a feeling kissing you is going to be my new favorite adventure."

And as he leaned in to kiss you again, you knew with absolute certainty that you were right where you were meant to be—caught in the storm, wrapped in the arms of your captain, your heart finally at peace.

The crew's reaction, when they finally noticed, was everything you could have expected and more.

"FINALLY!" Usopp shouted from across the deck, pumping his fist in the air. "I was wondering how long it would take you two!"

"Took them long enough," Zoro muttered from his spot by the helm, though he was smiling faintly.

Sanji swooned dramatically, hearts practically exploding from his eyes. "Oh, what a beautiful development! My dear navigator-slash-warrior and our esteemed captain! I must prepare a celebratory feast of love!"

Nami just shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips. "About time," she said, and you knew she was talking about more than just the kiss.

As the storm began to subside, leaving behind a calm sea and a rainbow stretching across the horizon, Luffy took your hand, his fingers lacing with yours. His hat sat firmly on his head, but for the first time, it felt like you were the one wearing it—a symbol of his trust, his protection, and now, his heart.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft.

"Hey," you replied, squeezing his hand.

"Ready for the next adventure?" he asked, his eyes bright with excitement and something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat.

"With you?" you smiled. "Always."

And as the Going Merry sailed toward the sunset, you knew that whatever came next, you'd face it together—no secrets, no fears, just love, laughter, and the endless promise of adventure.

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You wanted to be an artist.

You grew up surrounded by the arts. With your father being an author and your mother being a pianist, you were exposed to the various forms art could take from a young age. You saw how art existed in each and every person but differed in the way one expressed it.

You chose to express it on a canvas.

Your dream wasn't far-fetched or nearly impossible like ones you'd hear, yet you couldn't reach it. Not because you stopped loving it, not because you were being forced to pursue something else, but because you couldn't find yourself to think anymore when you held the paint in your hands.

Through the years, motivation had grown to become your worst enemy.

You'd wandered every street in Loguetown, scanned each face in the crowded streets, visited more markets than you could remember. You'd done everything you could to reignite the passion in you to no avail.

The world around you had grown dull. Loguetown had paled in colour since the last time you'd went out.

Your eyes that once used to observe the distinct features of individuals on the bustling streets now perceived them all as similar. You'd tried forcing yourself to paint but you found yourself hating each creation. It had no life, no soul, it didn't feel like you had painted it. You could no longer feel the thrill you once felt when you saw a blank page.

And what was the point of art if it wasn't portrayed by your heart?

It'd reached a point where you'd began questioning whether you even wanted to pursue art in the first place. A year had passed and you'd only made two paintings, both of which ended up in the trash due to your dislike of them.

You avoided leaving your apartment as much as you could, exposing yourself to the lifeless world outside felt worse than remaining inside your stuffy abode. You'd seen every sight in Loguetown but couldn't find yourself intrigued by any of them anymore.

However, when you ran out of all the meat in your fridge, you knew you had no other choice but to give the butcher's shop a visit. You had to suck it up and get out there into the real world, where your dreams no longer held any value and the entire town seemed faded away.

Your steps were stiff as you put on a coat and left, the breeze an inconvenience as you joined the overwhelming crowd. You'd only just stepped out yet you couldn't wait to go back to your tiny room in a building that looked moments away from collapsing, where you could be hopeless in peace.

The moment you arrived, you took a quick survey of your surroundings and considered going back the way you came. Starving seemed less inconvenient than having to stand between all the people while the strong odor of the variety of fishes and meat filled your senses.

You stood beside a man with annoyingly bright, blonde hair and a kid with a straw hat that seemed around your age. You watched as he eyed the meat as if he was a second away from jumping onto the counter and devouring it right then and there. Your face unable to hide your judgement as he got reprimanded by the blonde guy with an accent.

Your attention then drifted to his strange attire.

Were straw hats the new trend? The colours of his clothes were an eyesore, the red top contrasting harshly against his blue pants. You couldn't remember the last time you saw someone sane wearing such an odd outfit, but you brushed aside the thought. Each person had their own preferences, you had no right to judge. Not to mention, you could only see their backs and you hadn't even been in the shop long enough to form a fair judgement.

The butcher, whose name you couldn't recall but recognized to an extent, immediately approached you from the other side of the counter. He'd witnessed you grow up before his very eyes, witnessed the way the passionate spark in your eyes had dimmed through the years.

"Well, there's my favourite customer! Finally remembered to visit me, did you?"

He exclaimed proudly, attracting unnecessary attention from the nearby customers at the counter as you stood there. Despite your initial irritation towards his enthusiasm upon seeing you, you managed to cover it with a small smile. At least you always had someone here that would always be excited to see you, you really needed to learn to be more grateful for him.

"It's good to see you too."

You replied politely, pretending not to notice the pair of eyes digging onto you from the side. You may not remember the butcher's name but you certainly remembered his face, he'd always been kind to your family and had even looked after you a few times when your parents were busy.

"How's the painting thing going? Still following your parents' footsteps?"

You nearly scoffed at his question but instead, you glanced away to avoid meeting his gaze. It hurt knowing there were people out there who believed in you that you were disappointing, to know how far you were drifting from the one thing you'd lived your whole life for.

You'd never felt like more of a disappointment than when people mentioned you in the same sentence as your parents. Your parents that had given you every opportunity to pursue your dreams the same way they had, your parents who'd traveled across the world to showcase their passion before cheering audiences. Your parents who'd left you in a heartbeat the moment you were old enough to survive on your own. Your father traveled West, your mother went East, and you were still stuck here like some sort of landmark for them.

"I'm not sure painting is for me anymore."

You confided quietly, watching as he grabbed a whole pound of meat and shoved it inside a plastic bag for you. When your words reached his ears, his face snapped up at you as if he couldn't believe it.

"All you've ever done is paint since you were a kid. I've seen you paint, I've never seen you happier than when you have a brush in your hands."

You sighed at his words, contemplating whether you should tell him the truth or not. You shook your head and swallowed back the lump in your throat as you finally confessed how you'd lost the only way you could express yourself without any restraint. If there was anyone you could communicate your struggles to, it would be him. He'd been there for you through everything despite him surely knowing you couldn't even put a name to his face. You'd been out of it for a while now, barely even living in the same reality that he did.

"I can't paint anymore. Not here, at least. I want to paint but I can't find anything worth painting anymore."

Your eyes never tore from the ground, hands stuffed in the pockets of your coat as you felt his gaze fall upon you. You'd disappointed everyone that believed in you. You'd disappointed yourself. Saying the words out loud made it real, as if you'd engraved your incapabilities into reality. Losing your art meant losing yourself, and in this moment, you'd never felt more lost.

You waited for his response, only to be surprised when the weird teenager beside you spoke up instead.

"Then why not leave?"

He asked so casually as if he was stating the obvious answer, your head finally lifting up to look back at him. You looked at him as if it was a stupid question to ask, which it was. If you could leave, you would have.

But before you could voice anything out, you noticed his face.

For the first time in ages, you noticed a person's features. His face was peculiar, he certainly wasn't from around here. You let your gaze drift over each feature of his, committing them to your memory. His eyes stood out to you the most, followed by the scar on his cheekbone.

His large eyes were so full of passion, gleaming as they stared back into your plain ones. They were reflective, filled with childish naivety. Then came his stitched-up scar that clearly implied that there was more to him than meets the eye. He had history, he had a tale to tell. The hat, the attire, the scar; all of it intrigued you as much as it weirded you out.

You found yourself unable to form words, exhausted eyes glued onto his. He took it as a sign to continue.

"If you can't find anything worth painting here then it might help to find some other place instead."

"It's not as simple as you make it sound. We're surrounded by seas, where would I even go?"

"Someplace different. Anywhere."

"You make it sound like nothing to just leave,as if it's that easy."

"Because it is nothing. You're the only one making it a big deal."

Instead of responding again, you looked away from him. You weren't going to bother having a conversation with someone who clearly didn't understand that the answer to every question wasn't simple.

It seemed he had better things to do as well considering the moment the blonde left, he walked away in the other direction too. You ignored the way he was quickly caught by Bartholomew, the infamously horrible thief of Loguetown. He likely had nothing to offer the thief anyways. If he had any berries, he should've gotten a different pair of pants.

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You had to paint him.

For the first time in ages, you had something worth picking up a brush for.

When you arrived, you didn't even bother taking off your coat before grabbing the closest blank canvas and your messy paint palette. You sat at your desk in front of the window, picking up the dried brush between your fingers.

For the first time in ages, you felt the familiar racing of your heart upon seeing the blank canvas.

That day, you skipped all your meals. You never left your desk once. You had to paint him before your mind forgot even a single aspect of his face. Your brush moved on its own, sliding swiftly across the canvas in soft strokes.

Hours later, you ended the painting by dipping a small brush into the white acrylic paint. This was the most important part of the painting, the reason you felt so intrigued to create this in the first place. You carefully lowered the thin tip of the brush onto his right eye, your hand steady as you prepared to give the painting a life of its own.

You repeated the step over his other eye, staring down at what you'd now made. Your breath left your lungs, your heart pounded in your chest, your cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink.

It was perfect. It was a portrait of him but it felt so you.

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It was late outside when the lack of a proper meal finally got to you, but you were still too fueled up to ease your appetite. You'd hung the painting on the wall near your bedside, a reminder of the boy that had changed so much by merely existing. By looking the way he did. He may have been dense, but he was interesting. You stared at it for a long time, before picking it back up and holding the canvas carefully beneath your arm.

You finally made a return to the butcher shop to meet your good old friend again, now leaving your house in an entirely different mood.

There was a smile on your face, there was a spark in your eyes.

There was hope.

You passed the same sights again in Loguetown, they seemed brighter now. The moon was high up in the sky, its beam shining down on you like a spotlight. The stars flickers as if applauding you for returning to yourself, like an audience at the end of a musical.

However, there was one thing you regretted.

You regretted going silent abruptly instead of finishing the conversation with the straw hat man, likely giving him a bad impression with how quickly you'd left the previous day with your meat.

You now stood before the same butcher whose name you still didn't remember, a gentle smile on your face that you didn't have to force this time. He stared down at you, not even bothering to mention the earlier situation. It was like he knew you had a reason. He could see the way your eyes lit up again the same way they once did when you were much smaller.

He stared down at you, waiting for you to initiate the conversation this time considering you clearly looked like you had something you were struggling to hold back.

"I painted."

You said the words with the biggest childlike grin on your face. Your shoulders felt lighter, your life had a meaning again. You had a purpose again, and you couldn't wait to tell him about it. His smile mirrored yours, your joy was contagious even to the few workers beside him that didn't know you one bit.

"What did you make?"

You lifted the canvas and turned it around to show him, the same way you used to as a kid when you were drawing stickmen with crayons.

His hands took the canvas from yours, his grip on it gentle yet firm as if it were the most fragile thing he'd ever held. You couldn't read his face, his gaze analyzing the painting keenly as if he was some sort of critic, his analytical eyes trailing from top to bottom. He didn't even blink once until he was done observing every last detail.

"It's the kid from earlier."

"Do you like it?"

"It's your best work yet."

He handed the canvas back to you, his grin now wider than yours. You felt a warmth spread through your whole body, emerging from your heart that had not once stopped pacing since you'd seen the teenager, recalling the advice he'd given you earlier. You hesitated for a moment before speaking up again.

"I think it's time I left."

You declared quietly, placing the canvas back beneath your arm as you glanced up at him. You saw the way his expression changed before his gaze softened, staring down at you.

"I think you're right."

He smiled down at you, reaching a hand across the counter to pat your head, setting down your disheveled hair with his hand. He looked so proud of you, it'd been a long time since you saw that look on someone's face directed towards you. You couldn't help the tears that welled up in your eyes, realizing you'd have to leave him as well if you were truly going.

"But how will I leave? There's nothing but sea surrounding us."

"The kid from earlier is a Captain, his friend is their cook. He has a ship. Apparently they're leaving tonight though. See if you can catch them."

Your mind clouded with thoughts. Even if you did somehow manage to catch up with them, it wasn't guaranteed that they'd let you on their ship. Let alone, you knew absolutely none of them. They may have looked nicer than they actually were, they may even try to kill you for daring to ask such a question.

However, now wasn't the time to hesitate. This was your only shot at leaving this place and truly pursuing your dreams, the one you'd give up everything for, the one you could actually dream about again. You gave your old friend a quick embrace over the counter before speeding away. You made a beeline for your apartment, shoving all your necessities and art supplies into one bag. As you left the building again, you were greeted by the sight of a crowd in just as much of a rush as you.

They were all either running towards the execution platform of Gol D. Roger or away from it. Regardless, it caught your interest.

You stopped by the butcher shop again, tossing him the keys to your room and requesting him to take care of it until you returned someday. He agreed cheerfully, his face full of emotion as he witnessed the young kid he'd basically raised finally stand on their own two feet.

You clutched your bag in one hand with the painting in the other (there wasn't nearly enough space left in the bag for you to keep it inside) and went to the execution platform, greeted by the sight of an insane number of pirates dressed up in strange costumes. You'd lived here your whole life but you didn't exactly remember there being a circus here, a tent near the platform from which clowns with painted faces emerged. There were also a few marines, but the clowns outnumbered them greatly.

It was then that you finally took a look around and spotted the same blonde from earlier, now accompanied by three other people who all somehow had different hair colours. That wasn't the biggest concern here though. You then saw how these three were skillfully taking down all the clowns, each one running to strike them.

But where was their captain?

Before you could finish the thought, one of the clowns began to sprint towards you. It'd probably assumed you were a part of their diverse group considering you had neither a uniform nor a costume on. You'd never really been much of a fighter, spending most of your life holed up in your room or painting the outside world.

Instinctively, you took your bag and smacked it across the clown's head. Since your bag was full of hard art supplies, various kinds of glass and plastic containers, and smaller boxes full of your necessities, it served as a powerful weapon against the clown. You were surprised when the clown got knocked down by the force of your bag. You reached into your bag and took out a blade you had brought along for cutting the edges of paper and smoothing over acrylic paint on a canvas, holding it carefully outwards despite how terrified you were to actually use it.

Thankfully, you didn't have to. The entire area paused as a laugh echoed from above, garnering everyone's attention to the top of the execution platform. You recognized the blue-haired clown from the wanted posters placed everywhere, Buggy, you recalled, but then your attention went to the person kneeling in front of him.

It was the captain from earlier, grinning like a madman as he stared downwards at everyone, while the clown held a sword to his neck from behind. He was laughing, stating how he was going to die like it was a joke, with his hands tied before him. He was greeting death so mockingly for a guy who appeared to be the same age as you, so courageous for someone so young.

You froze in place, not out of shock or fear for what would happen next. No, you froze in complete admiration. Your breath left your lungs as you stared up at him, the same guy you'd judged for wearing a straw hat only a few hours ago. His eyes were so full of determination, gleaming with joy as if it was an honor to be executed the same way Roger was on the platform.

He looked so eerily similar to Roger, it was as if the famed man had appeared on the platform himself. Your eyes stayed glued to him, the world around you a blur as you took in every last expression of his, every sound he let out, the way his grin creased his cheeks, the way his eyes were so wide open, the way he laughed at his own demise.

His laugh was identical to Gol D. Roger's, you knew everyone else was probably thinking the same thing by the way they all stilled. When Buggy lifted his sword and prepared to strike down, you continued staring at the captain. For a moment, you could've sworn he glanced down at you and met your gaze. You could've sworn he held your eyes onto his for a moment too long, as if acknowledging your presence there for his execution.

You didn't have long to ponder onto the thought when lightning struck down on the red-nosed clown, electricity visibly running all the way from the tip of his sword down to his feet. It was as if the skies itself refused to let such a strange being's life end before he'd achieved whatever it was that he wanted. Luffy's hat fell off from the floor and swayed in the wind, landing right before your feet.

You looked away from the sight as the clown's chopped up body came apart, although he was still whining and protesting as all his joints scattered away. Everyone scattered away as various parts of what was once a full man came raining down on them. You swung your bag back up on your shoulder and picked up the straw hat from the ground, carefully lifting it and holding it by its edge in one hand while clutching your canvas tighter in the other.

You looked up from your hat only when you saw a pair of shoes step into your view, glancing back up at the same guy who'd casually dropped life-changing advice like it was the most obvious thing ever before nearly getting executed in the span of a few hours. Those eyes of his that shined like jewels staring back into yours.

"Yours."

You said as you returned the hat to its rightful owner, the canvas still hidden beneath your arm as he took it from you. He put it back on top of his ruffled hair which set it down immediately, his attention now entirely focused on you. He didn't even notice his crew standing there, waiting for him to hurry up so they could leave for good before things got worse.

"The painter, right?"

You couldn't explain why but being called a painter by him sent a surge of warmth through you. Maybe it was the fact that he still considered you a painter despite only knowing of the fact that you'd previously given up, or maybe it was the fact that you actually felt worthy enough of the title again.

However, you quickly snapped out of your trance and gave him a hurried nod in response, remembering the real reason you were standing here. Before you could even utter a word, your lips parted to begin, his eyes diverted to your canvas.

"Oo, is that a painting you made?!"

"I just made it a while back but–"

Yet again, he didn't let you finish speaking. To your horror, his hands reached out to take the canvas. Your grip on it tightened but not enough to secure it from his oddly rubbery arms. You could practically feel the blood creeping up to your face, the tips of your ear a burning shade of red, your heart beating so quick you felt like you'd faint.

What if he judged you for painting him? What if he thought you were some creep? What if he didn't like it? And finally, why did what he think matter so much when you didn't even know his name?

He turned the canvas around to stare back into his own face, his gaze running across it to catch even the tiniest details in the realistic painting. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, the hyper teen suddenly freezing as he took it all in. The scar on his face, the red ribbon on his straw hat, his stupid clothes that you still thought was a terrible combination, and his curly hair. He could've sworn it was a photo, if not for the texture of the paint against his skin. If not for the tiniest imperfections in the nearly perfect painting.

You could've probably done a better job painting his hands but hey, it was still pretty good for someone who hain't painted properly for ages.

"Look, it's– I just saw you and I couldn't help it. You looked very...interesting. But I totally understand if you'd rather I throw it away, it is kind of creepy to draw a stranger now that I think about it..."

He finally looked up at your words, the largest grin forming back on his face as he met your gaze like he always did for some reason. Unlike you, he seemed to love holding eye contact.

"Throw it away?! Creepy?! This is the best painting I've ever seen, and it's of me! You only saw me once but you even made my scar! I look better than a picture!"

You felt incredibly exposed at the fact that he now knew you'd found a muse in him, but relieved at his positively loud reaction. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, skin still flushed as you broke away from his eyes to stare back at the canvas in his hands. You couldn't hold his gaze for long, not when it felt like staring straight into the sun.

You finally had a chance to speak again as he continued looking at you with awe, as if he saw you in a completely new light instead of the lazy demotivated artist you'd previously appeared as.

"You made me want to paint again. I don't know what it was about you, I've never encountered someone as weird and strange as you and I don't think I ever will. I couldn't help but paint you so...thank you for giving me a purpose again. For giving me hope that I could maybe make it someday."

Your voice was low as you carefully thought out each syllable before saying it, entirely aware of how backhanded your compliment seemed despite how oblivious he was to it. You weren't even looking at him yet you could feel his gaze on you soften before an arm clapped on your shoulder to stop you from speaking, forcing you to look back at him as he now stood far closer than before.

You two were the same height, looking into his eyes was unavoidable when this was the proximity he stood in. You felt like Icarus, melting under the gaze of the sun, yet unable to keep away from it.

"I was–"

"We could use a painter in the crew, especially one with your sort of memory. I mean seriously, you saw me once and painted me down to the last detail. You said you were sick of this place, right? Then leave. This is your chance."

He spoke so softly that you were surprised this was the same guy that had previously been laughing like a maniac while almost getting executed. He was convincing you to join his crew as if you hadn't made your decision already, like you weren't just about to ask for permission to hop on the ship with them.

It was almost as if he knew you felt a bit hesitant to ask and saved you the trouble.

"I'd love to."

You smiled slightly, carefully taking the canvas back from his hands to hold in your own. It felt bittersweet. You were leaving the place you'd grown up in, the place you never thought you could learn to grow tired of, the place you never thought you could bring yourself to leave. But now here you were, ready to leave everything behind because some guy you met a few hours ago told you to.

"Any day now," The green-haired one said, muscular arms crossed in front of his chest as he rolled his eyes.

"He's got a point, we have to hurry up before the marines return," The one with orange hair added on in a far more polite tone, unlike the other guy. Meanwhile, the cook from earlier was simply smiling at you without a word. The captain turned his attention towards him, holding out his arms towards you and shaking his hands as if this was some grand reveal.

"Guys, this is our new crew member! A painter!"

He announced, diverting everyone's attention to you. You turned towards them and waved awkwardly, suddenly feeling smaller under their calculative looks, as if they were assessing you solely based on how you existed in that moment.

"Always lovely to have someone so gorgeous aboard," The blonde broke the uncomfortable silence with a grin, pointing the cigarette between his fingers towards you.

You gave him a forced smile before turning your focus back to the others, watching as they went from staring you down to welcoming you to the crew. There was one guy who seemed close to Luffy's age that walked up to you and patted your back, wearing an orange bandana on top of his locs.

"Welcome aboard! Now seriously guys, we have to go. Like, right now," He hurried, concluding the welcoming as he set off on his way towards where the ship was docked. The others followed after him, and so did Luffy. You walked at the same pace as him, your shoes hitting the ground in sync with his sandals. The silence was interrupted when his voice quietly broke through it, his words solely for you to hear.

"And by the way, I didn't 'give you' a purpose. You always had one and you found it on your own, but I'm glad I could be the vessel for you to do so! You're a really good painter, and I know you'll make it one day."

He added casually before catching up to the rest of the crew, as if he hadn't said the words you didn't know you wanted to hear for so long. He believed in you. Someone actually thought you would eventually achieve what you have been striving for your whole life. How could someone like him go from being the strangest person you've ever met to someone spilling philosophy that affected you so deeply?

That night, you slept on a hammock that was incredibly uncomfortable and would not stop swaying due to the movement of the ship but you slept soundly. In fact, it was the best sleep you'd had in a while. You couldn't wait to wake up and paint the seas you were now in the middle of. You were exhilarated simply by the thought of all the sights you'd witness during this adventure.