#vignette

A pirate takes what they want, whether it’s legal or not.

It wouldn’t matter. Laws were chains to most men of the sea. Rules were a joke, whispered warnings, and the taste of freedom was far too sweet to surrender. Most pirates were selfish, self-serving, greedy, chasing power, wealth, or notoriety.

Shanks was not most pirates.

Selfish, perhaps. Self-serving, maybe. Greedy? Never. He was a different breed entirely. He was adventurous. Free. Freedom was the treasure he lived for and the same freedom he offered to those he cared about. His crew, his friends, his allies and even you.

You had been nothing special at first. A girl stuck in a small East Blue village, a life of predictable routines and unfulfilled dreams. But Shanks saw something others never did. A spark hidden behind your quiet demeanor, a fire in your eyes when they met the horizon. You stared at the sea as if it were a challenge, a promise, and perhaps a question: Would anyone dare follow?

Shanks did.

He approached you one evening as the sun dipped below the waves, painting the sky in streaks of gold and crimson. Your hair caught the wind, your eyes shimmering with the reflection of the open sea. “ Ever thought of sailing? ” he asked, casually, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. Not as a command, not as an obligation but as a possibility.

You laughed, thinking he was joking. “ Me? Sail? I- ”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made the world pause for a heartbeat. “ I’m serious. You can choose. Stay here, live as you’ve always lived…or come with me. See the world, and meet its wonders. ”

The fire in your heart answered before your lips could. That was the moment you became a part of his story, and he a part of yours.

Life aboard his ship was nothing like you imagined. It was messy, chaotic, and beautiful. You learned to climb the rigging, navigate by the stars, and laugh, because Shanks would laugh louder than anyone else, proving that nothing could ever be taken too seriously. He celebrated life in its purest form, and he made sure you did too.

Yet, amid all the adventures, he never lost sight of you. Not in the way that suffocates or confines, but in the way that sees and cherishes. He respected your freedom as fiercely as he did his own. Every choice was yours to make, every path your own to take. But he was always there steady, unwavering, a touchstone amid the storm of life at sea.

Months turned into years, and the bond between you deepened like the sea itself, vast, unpredictable, and enduring. You laughed at the same jokes, braved storms together, and shared quiet moments beneath the stars. And slowly, unspoken but inevitable, a promise took root.. a love not bound by land, not confined by chains, but forged in trust, and freedom.

It had been unexpected. Neither of you planned it. You thought yourselves too wild, too unmoored to settle. But here you were: two hearts intertwined, two souls daring to carve a life from adventure, laughter, and loyalty.

You had each other, and that, Shanks believed, was the greatest freedom of all.

The sea had a rhythm of its own, a pulse that seemed to sync with your heartbeat over time. Days blurred into nights and nights into days, but the ocean never felt the same twice. Waves whispered secrets against the hull, gulls cried overhead, and the wind carried the scent of salt and freedom. And through it all, Shanks was there.

He wasn’t the type to hover or fuss. That wasn’t him. But if danger ever crept close, his presence was immediate, sharp, and unyielding, like a sudden gust cutting across the deck. You could feel it even before your eyes met his, an instinct, honed over years of life on the edge of lawlessness.

One morning, the sun had barely begun to warm the horizon, and you were leaning against the rail, the chill biting your cheeks. A smaller ship appeared in the distance, sails taut, approaching fast. Your first instinct was excitement; the thought of a potential raid or trade made your pulse race. Shanks, however, moved differently.

“ Stay close, ” he said, his voice low but carrying over the wind. He didn’t sound alarmed, just alert. Protective. His eyes scanned the approaching vessel like a hawk watching prey, calculating, measuring. And in that moment, you realized it wasn’t ownership you felt from him, not control but a fierce, almost instinctual care that made your heart swell.

The crew scrambled as the ship drew nearer, weapons readied, orders barked, but you noticed something odd. Shanks didn’t shout. He simply moved among his men, guiding, redirecting, subtly positioning everyone, and yet always aware of you. One of the crew caught your sleeve, worried about the approaching pirates, and you felt Shanks’ hand brush your back, a small touch, grounding, saying silently, I’ve got you.

The enemy ship’s flag was raised, black with a red emblem. Shanks squinted, tilted his head, then laughed, a rich, unrestrained sound that cut through the tension. “ Well, well…looks like they’re in a hurry for trouble. ” He drew his sword slowly, spinning it in a way that seemed more casual than threatening. But you saw the precision in his movements, the promise that no harm would come near you if he could prevent it.

The skirmish that followed was chaos, but also beauty in its rawest form. Shouts, the clash of metal, the spray of sea, all of it interwoven with moments of quiet. Amid it, Shanks’ attention flicked to you more than once. He wanted you safe, free, and unscathed, even as he thrived in the danger around you.

After the fight, when the other ship fled, you found yourself leaning against the mast, heart racing, hands trembling. Shanks approached, brushing water and sweat from his hair, eyes glinting with both amusement and concern.

“ You’re shaking, ” he said softly. Not a reprimand, not a question that demanded explanation, just a statement of fact. His hand hovered near yours for a moment, almost like a shield, and when you didn’t move, he gave a small shrug and smiled. “ Good. That means you’re alive. And alive is better than…well, anything else. ”

You laughed weakly, trying to steady your breathing. “ You make it sound so simple. ”

He crouched slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. “ It is simple. Life’s simple. Survive, laugh, and don’t get yourself killed. ” Then, leaning closer, he whispered, almost conspiratorially, “ Though I won’t forgive you if you try. ” His grin widened, teeth flashing in the morning light.

And yet, even as he teased, you sensed the edge beneath his words, the same edge that kept you safe. That edge, sharp as a blade, was tempered with care, and it thrilled and comforted you all at once.

Days later, under the vast night sky, you found yourself atop the crow’s nest, gazing at constellations while Shanks worked the sails below. The wind tugged at your hair, the stars reflected in your eyes, and the sea stretched endlessly before you. Then, a shout from below: “ Captain! Someone’s approaching! ”

You felt a familiar stir of anticipation, and somewhere in the pit of your stomach, a flicker of unease. But before panic could set in, a hand, warm, confident, steady rested on your shoulder. 

“ I see it, ” Shanks said, calm, controlled. “ And it’s nothing we can’t handle. ”

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. In the darkness, his eyes shone like polished amber, fierce and untouchable. “ You always know, ” you murmured. 

“ I’ve learned a thing or two from the sea, ” he replied, voice low, almost secretive. “ And one of them is: you never let someone you care about walk into danger alone. Not unless they choose to. And even then… ” He let the sentence hang, unspoken but heavy with meaning.

As the ship sailed under the moon’s silver glow, you realized the truth of what life with Shanks meant. Freedom wasn’t just running wild, laughing at the law, or chasing treasure. Freedom was knowing that someone would stand beside you, sword in hand, heart tethered to yours, not to possess, but to protect.

The days at sea were usually predictable in their unpredictability, storms, squalls, or the occasional merchant ship but today, a different tension hovered over the ship, subtle but undeniable.

You noticed it first when one of the newer crewmates, a wiry man named Mammon, lingered too long near the deck where you were repairing sails. His glances were sharp, assessing, like he was measuring something he wasn’t supposed to care about. Shanks noticed too, of course but not in the way you might think.

He didn’t scowl. He didn’t confront Mammon immediately. He simply watched. From across the deck, leaning casually against the rigging, his eyes followed every movement, subtle but unwavering. The weight of his gaze was enough to make Mammon shift uncomfortably under it, though he didn’t leave.

“ You’re staring again, ” you whispered, brushing your hands on your trousers as if to hide your unease.

Shanks didn’t smile, not yet. “ I’m watching, ” he said simply, and the calmness in his tone carried a quiet authority that needed no explanation. “ He’s testing boundaries. I don’t like it. ”

You felt a pang of worry. Is it jealousy? you wondered, a small twinge twisting in your chest. But the way Shanks stood there, quiet, controlled wasn’t jealousy. It was something sharper, more refined: protectiveness. He wasn’t trying to claim you; he was making sure no one else could take advantage of your trust or safety.

By evening, the tension came to a head. Mammon approached the railing where you were standing, pretending to inspect the horizon, but his words were careless.

“ Ever think about leaving the captain behind? ” he asked, leaning just a little too close. “ Life’s bigger than this ship. ”

You bristled. “ I think my life is exactly where I want it, ” you said firmly, your voice stronger than you felt.

Before Mammon could reply, Shanks’ shadow fell over him. One hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, the other tucked casually in his coat pocket, but the presence was enough.

“ Life’s bigger than this ship? ” Shanks repeated, tilting his head with that easy smile of his, but there was ice under the charm. “ And yet you seem to forget that freedom isn’t just about leaving, it’s about choosing. And she chose this life. ”

Mammon’s eyes flicked to yours, and then back to Shanks, understanding in a flash that the pirate before him was not to be trifled with. He muttered something about fresh air and moved away, finally leaving you alone.

Shanks turned to you then, his hand brushing yours lightly. Not a possessive gesture, just a touch that said, I'm with you.

“ You okay? ” he asked.

You nodded, but your chest still felt tight. “ I am…thanks to you. ”

“ Good, ” he said, voice softening. “ Because you don’t need anyone else to fight your battles. But I’ll always be here if someone tries to make it harder. ”

The subtle difference between what he felt and what Mammon had mistaken for jealousy struck you. Shanks’ concern wasn’t about ownership; it was about care, about safety, about ensuring your freedom stayed intact. The line between love and possession had never been clearer.

The two of you sat atop the mast, legs dangling over the edge, the stars spread out like scattered diamonds across the ink-black sky. Shanks hummed quietly, the tune almost lost to the sound of the waves, and his arm rested lightly against your shoulder.

“ You know, ” he said after a moment, “ I could’ve handled that differently. Made him fear me, or said things he’d never forget. ”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “ But you didn’t? ”

“ No, ” he said, smiling faintly. “ Because he wasn’t the threat. The threat would have been someone thinking they could decide your life for you. And that…that I can’t allow. ”

You leaned against him, breathing in the salty night air. “ I like how you do it. Quiet. Not angry. Just…watching. ”

“ Because that’s how you stay free, ” he murmured. “ And I like knowing you’re free. More than anything else. ”

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The ship rocked gently and the ocean whispering against the hull.

With Shanks, you could fly anywhere, face anything, and still feel safe, loved, and utterly unbound. In that knowledge, your heart was at ease. For the first time in your life, the vastness of the sea didn’t feel daunting. It felt like home.

The moon hung low over the Red-Haired Pirates’ ship, its silver glow bouncing off the waves. Below deck, the ship was quiet, mostly. You were curled up under a blanket, fast asleep, completely unaware of the disaster brewing above.

Above, the deck was anything but calm. Shanks, bottle in hand and flushed from both rum and emotion, teetered like a majestic, unsteady king on the edge of the railing. His hair was a mess, a few strands plastered to his sweaty forehead, and tears glimmered like tiny lanterns in his eyes.

“ SHE’S….SHE’S THE BEST! ” he bellowed, voice echoing across the deck and probably scaring the nearby fish. “ THE ENTIRE SEA…THE SKY…THE STARS….THEY DON’T HOLD A CANDLE TO HER! ”

Benn Beckman groaned, rubbing his temples. “ Oh gods above…here we go again. ”

“ Yeah, I think I’m gonna be sick from the love, ” Yassop muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hongo leaned lazily on the mast, shaking his head. “ Or from the rum. Or both. ”

Building Snake didn’t bother hiding the small smirk tugging at his lips. “ This is….something.”

Shanks stumbled forward, nearly tipping into the ocean, and flung his arms wide like he was giving the world a very heartfelt, very drunk TED Talk. “ AND SHE-..SHE LETS ME SAIL WITH HER! ME! OF ALL PEOPLE! SHE... SHE TRUSTS ME! I—I.. ”

He hiccupped violently, wiping at his tears, which did nothing but smear across his cheeks. “ HELL, I’LL MARRY HER!”

Benn froze, blinking. “ …Shanks. You already married her. ”

Shanks’ head snapped up, eyes wide and shimmering like twin lanterns. “ I DID?! I… I—oh gods—even better! I—hic!—I would marry her again! A thousand times! I would—hic!—fight the sea itself, wrestle every storm, and then propose with cannonballs if I had to! ”

Lucky Roo snorted, barely keeping it in. “ Wrestle storms and propose with cannonballs…classic Boss. ”

Shanks waved his arms dramatically, nearly toppling again. “ AND HER LAUGH! OH GODS, HER LAUGH! IT’S.. IT’S—like cannon fire… but in the best possible way! I… I… I CAN’T EVEN! SHE MAKES ME WANT TO SING LIKE A DRUNK SEAGULL, AND I… I- ”

He fell face-first onto the deck, hiccupping and rolling slightly, bottle sliding away. “ SHE’S SLEEPING RIGHT NOW! ASLEEP! SAFE! AND I… I.. I LOVE HER SO MUCH! ”

Benn muttered under his breath, exasperated, “ Someone…someone tie him to the mast before he starts declaring war on the ocean itself. ”

“ Or before he starts crying in all of our ears, ” Yassop added, shaking his head.

Hongo shrugged. “ I’m done. Let him be a disaster. ”

Building Snake smirked. “ I mean… it’s entertaining. A legendary pirate reduced to puddle-level simping.”

Lucky Roo leaned against the railing, chuckling so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “ Look at him! He’s actually trying to out-love the ocean. I can’t even. ”

Shanks rolled dramatically onto his back, gazing at the stars with one hand clutching his chest. “ EVERY STAR… EVERY WAVE… EVERY PIRATE—hic!—EVERYTHING… IT’S… NOTHING.. COMPARED TO HER! ”

“ And yet, ” Benn muttered dryly, “ he thinks shouting at the sky will convince her of that. ”

“ SHUT UP, BENN! ” Shanks roared, sitting upright, eyes sparkling with drunken determination. “ I… I LOVE HER! I LOVE HER! I LOVE HER! ”

He flopped onto his stomach again, sobbing softly, hiccupping between every tearful declaration. “ AND SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE HER! SHE DOESN’T KNOW… SHE DESERVES… SHE DESERVES THE ENTIRE WORLD! ”

Lucky Roo, barely containing his laughter, nudged one of the younger deckhands. “ I’ve never seen a pirate this melodramatic before. It’s…beautiful. ”

Benn, Yassop, Hongo, and Snake all groaned in various degrees of exasperation, but even they had to admit, it was kind of adorable.

Shanks rolled to his back again, arms wide like a victorious general, hiccupping, tears streaming down his face. “ AND I’LL MARRY HER AGAIN! YES! A THOUSAND TIMES! I WOULD—hic!—I WOULD FIGHT EVERY—EVERYTHING FOR HER! ”

Lucky Roo collapsed into laughter. “ I can’t… I just can’t… ”

And there he stayed, the Red-Haired Pirate of legend, sprawled across the deck, loudly, dramatically, and hilariously simping for his asleep wife, while the crew alternated between exasperation and amusement, the moonlight catching the glint of tears on his flushed face.

Below deck, you slept peacefully, unaware that the loudest, goofiest, and most hopelessly in-love pirate in the world was proclaiming his undying devotion in a very, very public and very, very drunk-way.

The ship was quiet, but not perfectly so. The remnants of last night’s revelry lingered in every corner. Empty bottles rolled lazily across the deck, the smell of spilled rum mixed with sea salt, and the creak of the wooden ship sounded unusually loud in the stillness.

The crew were scattered across the deck, passed out in improbable positions. Benn’s hat had fallen over his face. Yassop was draped over a barrel like a human hammock. Hongo snored softly on a coil of rope. Even Snake was snoring, head resting on Lucky Roo’s shoulder. It was a scene of total chaos, the aftermath of too much celebration, and yet it was peaceful.

Shanks stirred first. His eyes cracked open, still bleary and red from sleep or maybe from last night’s emotions and he yawned loudly, hiccupping mid-yawn. The bottle in his hand had rolled away, but he didn’t care. His mind was already elsewhere.

He stumbled, barely upright then steadied himself against the railing. The sun was just beginning to stretch its fingers across the horizon, painting the sea in soft gold and pink. He took a shaky breath, still feeling the lingering warmth of rum in his chest, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

His gaze shifted below deck, where he had left you sleeping.

There you were, curled up in a blanket, hair spread over the pillow, breathing soft and steady. Even half-asleep, your presence seemed to fill the entire room with warmth. Shanks’ chest tightened in a way only you could do to him, and he let out a hiccupping chuckle.

Careful not to wake the crew or you, if he could help it, he stumbled down the steps, each step a wobbly negotiation with gravity.

When he finally reached you, his smile softened into something entirely different: gentle, reverent, full of adoration. He paused for a moment, just watching you breathe, memorizing the curve of your face, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair caught the faint morning light.

Without thinking too much, he crawled slowly, deliberately, over to you, careful not to jostle you awake.

“ Morning… my love… ” he murmured softly, hiccupping. His voice was low, intimate, uncharacteristically quiet for the Red-Haired Pirate, who had spent most of the night shouting at the stars about how wonderful you were.

He reached out, draping an arm over you, tugging you close. You stirred slightly, shifting in your sleep, but didn’t wake. Shanks’ cheek rested against your hair, warm, rum-scented, and entirely devoted.

“ You…you’re safe and I’m here…Always… always here, ” he whispered, closing his eyes against your hair. “ No storm, no pirate, no ocean..nothing could touch you while I’m around. Not today. Not ever. ”

A quiet breath, a hiccup, then a soft sigh. He hugged you closer, just holding you, the way someone holds something precious they never want to let go of. He could feel your warmth against him, the rhythm of your breathing, and it settled him more than any sea or adventure ever could.

For a while, the world outside, the sleeping, snoring crew, the gentle sway of the ship, the faint pink of morning sunlight didn’t matter. There was only this: you, him, and the soft, quiet sanctuary of a hug that said more than words ever could.

Even drunk, even loud, even chaotic Shanks had never felt more at peace.

And in that moment, wrapped around you, he knew exactly what freedom meant: not the open sea, not adventure, not treasure but this. You.

The world could wait.

The warmth of Shanks’ embrace pulled you gently from sleep. At first, your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light that filtered below deck. The ship swayed lightly, a gentle rhythm that usually made you feel at peace. Today, though it was interrupted by the faint, unmistakable scent of alcohol lingering in the air.

“ Shanks… ” you murmured softly, trying not to startle him. His face was nuzzled into your hair, still flushed from sleep or last night’s rum and he gave a contented, sleepy sigh.

“ Mmm… morning, my love, ” he mumbled, voice rough and thick with sleep. His arm tightened around you instinctively, as if even in slumber he feared letting go.

You wrinkled your nose. “ Shanks….you smell like a tavern, ” you said, half-amused, half-exasperated. “ I told you not to drink so much… ”

He was mumbling incoherently, then buried his face deeper in your hair. You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “ One of these days, I’m going to have to give you a proper scolding for this, ” you teased, gently adjusting your body so you were more comfortable.

Shanks shifted slightly in his sleep, letting you take the lead. Your arms curled around him, guiding him into a more snug, protective position. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, slow breaths syncing together. You chuckled softly at how utterly unbothered he seemed by last night’s antics.

“ Better? ” you whispered, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

He groaned softly, hugging you closer without even opening his eyes. “ Mm… better… you’re…… perfect… ” he mumbled, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he could somehow hold onto the feeling forever.

Your heart swelled. You stroked his hair gently, careful not to wake him too abruptly. “ I love you, ” you murmured, voice barely louder than a sigh.

“ Love…you too, ” he muttered in response, sleepy, his voice muffled against your hair. His hold tightened just slightly, and you could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart relax.

You let yourself settle into the quiet comfort of him, the sway of the ship, and the lingering warmth of his embrace. The scent of rum and the faint traces of last night’s chaos faded against the safety of this moment.

Shanks, still half-drunk, half-asleep, fully content, let out a satisfied sigh and melted further into your arms. You felt him drift back into sleep, murmuring incoherent but unmistakably affectionate words in the quiet of the morning.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and let him rest. For now, there was nothing else in the world that mattered but the two of you, tangled in warmth, love, and the slow, comforting rhythm of the sea.

Shanks slept satisfied, and you stayed there, holding him close, knowing that this.. this simple, quiet moment was more precious than any treasure in the world.

The first rays of sun spilled across the deck, lighting up the aftermath of the previous night’s chaos. Empty bottles, spilled rum, and snoring crew members were scattered in every direction, creating what could only be described as organized chaos.

Shanks, blissfully unaware of the world outside, was still curled around you below deck. His arm was draped over your waist, and his face was buried in your hair. You stirred slightly, savoring the warmth and security of his hold, but let him sleep, still half-drunk, half-sleeping, and completely smitten.

Above deck, the groans of the waking crew began.

“ Ugh… my head… ” Yassop muttered, rubbing his temple as he rolled off a barrel.

“ Never. Again, ” Hongo added, collapsing onto the deck with a dramatic groan.

Lucky Roo peeked around a stack of crates, snickering. “ I think Boss went full melt last night. ”

“ Full what? ” Benn asked, lifting his hat from his face to reveal a very unimpressed expression.

Snake, standing nearby and barely able to contain his laughter, muttered, “ He’s gonna get in trouble if he wakes her up like that. ”

Curiosity or perhaps mischief got the better of Benn, Yassop, and Hongo. They crept down the stairs, trying to see what their captain had been babbling about all night.

And then they saw it.

Shanks sleeping like a content, drunken teddy bear with his arm around his wife, who was now fully awake and adjusting herself to curl closer to him. His face was flushed, lips slightly parted, murmuring soft, incoherent words. His hand occasionally twitched as if emphasizing a point, probably about how amazing you were.

Benn snorted, shaking his head. “ Of course he does this. Who else would melt like a puddle over his wife while half-drunk? ”

Yassop groaned loudly. “ I’m going to regret living on this ship. ”

Hongo simply shook his head, muttering, “ I give up. ”

Lucky Roo, however, doubled over in laughter, pointing a finger. “ Look at him! Boss’ a disaster. And a cute disaster! ”

“ Disaster is one word for it, ” Benn muttered dryly, “ melted puddle of goo is another. ”

Shanks stirred slightly, mumbling in his sleep, “ Don’t.. leave her…” His voice was muffled against your hair, completely oblivious to the audience.

You giggled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “ Shhh… he’s asleep. Let him be. ”

Yassop shook his head, chuckling. “ You really are the only one who can handle this. Anyone else would have run screaming. ”

Benn sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated. “ I think I’m going to need another drink just to recover from watching this. ”

As the crew slowly dispersed, some snickering, some grumbling, you adjusted yourself closer to Shanks, wrapping your arms around him. He pulled you in tighter instinctively, murmuring in his sleep, “ Love you… ”

“ I love you too, ” you whispered softly, pressing your cheek to his.

Shanks sighed contentedly, finally letting the chaos of the world fade completely. The Red-Haired Pirate, drunk, dramatic, and completely hopeless in love, slept satisfied in your arms, while the crew outside shook their heads, muttered complaints, and secretly smiled at the ridiculous, beautiful mess that was their captain.

And in that quiet, chaotic, sunlit moment below deck, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, perfect, happy, and utterly in love.

Later, when duties are done for the day and the hustle and bustle of Okhema embraces you, Phainon takes you out for food. “Order whatever you want,” he insists, leaning back in his chair with that charming mischief dancing in his eyes, gesturing grandly at the menu like he’s offering you the world. You pick something ridiculous just to make him laugh. Something with too many ingredients and a name you can’t pronounce.

Phainon watches you, really watches. Not just glancing up from his own plate, but paying attention to the way you pause before tasting, considering. Listening to the little hum of surprise when the flavors hit your tongue, absorbing the crinkle at the corner of your eyes when something tastes just right, noting the unconscious way you lean forward when you’re enjoying yourself. He memorizes these things as though committing lines of a favorite poem.

“Here,” you say, shoving a forkful toward him, “try this.”

Phainon opens his mouth obediently, eyes bright, equal parts proud and embarrassed. When he tastes it, his eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise.

“That’s actually-” he starts, then laughs. “You have excellent taste in ridiculous food.”

There’s a garden Phainon likes to take you to because you once mentioned, in passing, how much you loved the way certain flowers smell in the rain. He leads you past the manicured hedges like a conspirator planning something wonderful, his hand warm in yours, pulling you toward hidden corners where the wild things grow.

“This one,” he says, stopping beside a climbing vine heavy with pale, star-shaped blooms. He picks one carefully, twirling the delicate stem between his fingers before tucking it behind your ear, his knuckles brushing your cheek in the process. The flower is cool and silky against your skin. “Is the sort that keeps its beauty even in bad weather. Like you.”

The compliment catches you off-guard, delivered so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment to sink in. When you find a patch of wildflowers growing rebelliously through the garden’s careful order and start weaving them into a crown, he watches with fond exasperation.

“I will not be seen wearing such frivolity,” he declares when you approach him with your handiwork, but he’s already bending his head toward you. His hair is soft between your fingers as you settle the crown of wildness and life on his head, and he sighs dramatically while fighting back a smile.

He ends up marching down Okhema’s busy streets with petals in his white hair and his chin held high, utterly unbothered by the curious stares. When someone does a double-take, he just grins wider and takes your hand more firmly, as if daring the world to say something about his flower crown. You carry the memory like a secret treasure. The way he looked both ridiculous and radiant, completely unashamed of loving you enough to be silly in public.

At night he sits cross-legged on the floor beside the bed with a stack of books, his back against the wall, and reads aloud in the lamplight. He changes his voice for different characters, drops his tone for dramatic passages, speeds up during action scenes until you’re hanging on every word. His theatrical timing makes you laugh until you’re breathless, clutching your sides.

“You missed your calling as an actor,” you tell him one evening, still giggling at his over-the-top portrayal of a particularly pompous villain. You almost regret saying it when you remember how he has to put on a persona every day, but Phainon simply raises an eyebrow at your teasing.

“Acting requires pretending,” he says, grinning. “With you, I prefer being genuine.” And you both ignore what hangs in the air: the truth that he has to put on an act every day for the public. Instead, you lean closer to him so you not only hear his voice when he reads, but feel it in every pore.

Once, feeling bold, you hand him a slim book of love poems you found tucked away on a bookshelf. You watch the color creep up his throat as he reads the title, his fingers tracing the worn spine.

“This is…” Phainon starts, then clears his throat. “These are quite… intimate.”

“Only if we let them be,” you say softly, meeting his eyes.

He chuckles at that, his cheeks turning red slightly but his smile never leaving his face. “Then, let’s.”

He opens to a random page and reads the lines in his natural voice. No performance this time, just him and the words and the space between you growing warm. When he finishes, he looks at you as if the poem was written specifically for this moment, as if the words were only ever meant to be said to you in this exact light, in this exact room.

“Again,” you whisper.

His voice drops lower for the second reading, more intentional, and you realize you’re holding your breath.

There are times the world makes you too heavy to smile. You come home with your shoulders carrying too many things. Tasks and disappointments and the particular exhaustion that comes from caring too much about everything. Phainon takes one look at your face and closes the door behind you without comment, without questions. He doesn’t try to fix the world today. Despite his duty, he knows that’s not always possible, knows sometimes the best thing is just presence.

“Come here,” he says softly, and his hands are gentle as they remove some clothing, as he guides you to the bed. “Lie down with me.”

You collapse beside him, and his hand moves in slow, measured circles on your back—not trying to massage away the tension, just reminding you that he’s there. That you’re not carrying everything alone.

“Cry,” he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “If you need to.”

He means it. There’s no impatience in his voice, no desire to rush you toward feeling better. It’s small, it’s steady, it is the thing that keeps the night from swallowing you whole. His breathing evens out beside you, a calm rhythm you can match until the weight starts to lift, piece by piece.

When he senses the heaviness easing, he pulls you against his chest and begins sharing small anecdotes. Stories from his childhood in Aedes Elysiae, glimpses of his life in Okhema. His words are as vivid and rich as when he reads aloud, and they paint pictures in the dark until you find yourself smiling softly into him. You swear you feel his chest move with a quiet laugh, too.

But there are mornings of pure silliness too: pillow fights that escalate into tickle wars, frantic attempts to steal the duvet that end with you both tangled in sheets on the floor.

Laughter echoes off the walls until your neighbors probably wonder what kind of chaos you’re creating. He’s merciless with his tickling, using his longer reach to his advantage, until you’re gasping for breath and begging for mercy.

“Surrender!” Phainon demands, grinning down at you, hair falling into his eyes.

“Never!” you gasp, managing to get your hands around his ribs and making him yelp with surprise.

When you’ve both collapsed in a breathless heap, he lifts your chin with gentle fingers, tilting your face toward his. His touch is warm, slightly callused from fighting.

“I win,” he declares, voice half triumphant, half teasing, but there’s something softer in his blue eyes now.

You scoff and shove playfully at his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him under your palms. “No. I win.”

He laughs, all warmth and mischief and affection rolled into one sound, and then his expression softens into something that makes your heart skip. “My love,” he says, pulling you closer until you can count his eyelashes, can see the exact moment his playfulness melts into sincerity, “I win every day. Because I can call you mine.”

Later, at one of the secluded waterfalls, everything changes like a quiet tide. The water is shockingly cold when you splash him first, and his startled yelp makes you dissolve into laughter. He retaliates immediately, sending an arc of water that soaks through your shirt and makes you shriek. Soon you’re both drenched and breathless, the sound of your combined laughter mixing with the constant rush of falling water.

“Truce!” you finally gasp, hands raised in surrender.

“Only because I’m merciful,” Phainon says, but he’s grinning as he wades toward you. The sunlight hits the sun-shaped tattoo at his neck, and your eyes catch on it. Gleaming, alive, like even his body refuses to forget what it carries, even while Phainon allows himself this moment of bliss. You reach without thinking, fingertips brushing the warm skin there, and his grin grows into something softer, something that feels like letting go.

Afterward you lie tangled together on the blanket you brought, water still beading on your skin, your clothes drying in patches. The world feels made small and private around you, nothing existing beyond the circle of faded fabric and the sound of water on stone. His hair is slightly darker when wet, clinging to his forehead, and you reach up to brush it back from his eyes.

He catches your wrist gently and presses a kiss to your palm. Then he’s leaning down to kiss you properly. At first slow and exploratory, like someone who has read a thousand theories about gravity but wants to experience the fall for himself. His mouth is warm despite the cool air, soft and sure against yours.

His lips move to your neck, down your back, across your shoulders, and over your bare stomach, slowly and thoroughly, memorizing each place that makes your breath catch. You can feel his smile against your skin when you sigh, and it makes something flutter in your chest.

You breathe him in—clean water and sun-warmed skin and something uniquely him—and your hands find the curve of his spine through his damp shirt, holding him like an anchor in rushing water.

“Don’t do that,” you murmur when he starts to pull away, your voice barely audible over the waterfall.

“Don’t do what?” Phainon whispers, voice rough with vulnerability and want. His breath is warm against your ear, sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cool air.

“You make me forget how to be ordinary,” you admit, fingers tangling in his hair.

His chuckle is low and pleased, vibrating against your throat. “Good,” he says, pressing another soft kiss just below your ear. “Neither of us was meant to be ordinary.”

Then his lips find yours again. More intent this time, a little more urgent, like he’s made up his mind about something. He kisses like someone collapsing a hypothesis into proven fact. Precise but hungry, reverent but demanding. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours and you can see every fleck of gold in his eyes.

"Your eyes," you whisper, studying the intricate blue pattern that seems to shift and shimmer in the light filtering through the trees. "They're like looking at the sky through colored glass. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Phainon blinks, clearly caught off-guard by the observation. A flush creeps up his neck, and for a moment he looks almost shy, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.

"I..." he starts, then seems to lose his words entirely, which makes you smile.

For a moment Phainon just stares at you, as if trying to process how easily you've unraveled him. He takes a shaky breath, and you watch as he tries to gather himself. Then a slow smile spreads across his face, part wonder, part mischief. Something warm blooms in your chest as you watch his confidence slowly returning to his expression.

“I am very good at winning things,” he says finally, voice so soft you could have missed it under the sound of falling water.

You smile against his mouth, close enough to share breath. “And I’m good at letting you chase and keep them.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks, and there’s something heated in his voice now, playful but with an edge that makes your pulse quicken.

“Everything with you is a challenge,” you murmur. When you smile at him, it makes his eyes sparkle in the sunlight. "But I also feel like I finally belong," you admit quietly. "I never have to pretend I'm someone I'm not."

Phainon swallows at that, his composure visibly cracking. You trace every line of his face, quietly peeling away the layers of burden he carries, and for a moment he lets you. His breath hitches under your touch, heavy with everything unsaid.

Then, gently, you nudge him, breaking the tension before it swallows you both. "I believe we were in the middle of a romantic waterfall kiss. Or do you want me to read about this kind of moment in one of your poetry books instead?”

He presses a hand to his chest in dramatic protest, lips twitching with a smile he can’t quite contain. “Don’t you dare.”

"Then show me how it's done," you tease him, nibbling at his earlobe gently.

Phainon closes his eyes and laughs, quiet and rich and full of promises, and the sound mingles with the rush of water as he kisses you again, like a secret you can keep together in this hidden place where the weight of the world can’t reach.

⋆ ✦ ⋆

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :) Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. They fuel my writing. :)