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A sharp pain on your right temple.
A nasty, red, angry thing crouching on your chest.
The blurry outline of a person leaning over you.
“Can you hear me, Zoro?”
You try to focus through the haze of pain dancing in front of your retinas, through the bursts of scorching heat erupting from the angry thing on your chest.
Cool fingertips touch your forehead.
“He is burning up.”
You want the fingertips to stay.
They feel … nice.
“Usopp, get Luffy down here. And some hot water and new bandages.”
You know that voice.
It feels familiar to your ears.
You dare to open up your eyes just enough so you can squint at the silhouette hunched over you.
Her hair is flaming red.
Not the same red as the pulsing on your chest.
No, the pulsing pain on your chest is a nasty shade of red. Ugly and mean and spiteful.
The hair is nothing like that you decide.
Nami’s hair is - … - Nami!
The hair belongs to Nami .
The voice belongs to Nami.
Satisfied, you close your eyes again. You knew the voice was familiar.
The cool fingertips are back.
Her fingertips are back.
And even through your closed eyelids you can see Nami’s hair shining warm and bright above you.
The angry thing on your chest is not happy you woke up. But then again, nasty things are rarely happy things you muse as your body pays the price for yesterday’s battle. The pain claws its way through your body, making it difficult to hear or feel anything beyond the rushing of the blood in your own ears.
Your consciousness dances on the edge of an abyss, your pain and exhaustion battling with your iron, stoic will to stay in the moment, chest wound and other injuries be damned.
In the background, you can hear Luffy talking a mile a minute, Sanji barking out something in response, Usopp moving about.
Nami’s fingertips keep gently rubbing circles on your forehead.
Her hair keeps on shining.
You take a deep breath.
The red, angry thing hisses and throbs in response, lashing out until your consciousness loses its wobbly balance.
But as you sink into the dark abyss, losing this battle for the moment, your mind clings to the sounds of your straw hats, to the color of Nami’s hair, to the knowledge that this is only your battle and no one else's.
You close your eyes.
No one else will get hurt.
Your crew is here.
Safe.
It will be okay.
~
The paper rustles as she moves it on the table. Her hands move steadily across it, careful, measured movements turning a blank canvas into an intricate map.
Her instruments and sketching utensils make slight scratching noises as she creates magic on paper, sorting through chaos until it makes perfect, neat sense.
It suits her, you muse from your position at the window.
Nami always seems to be the one to bring order and purpose into chaos, to sweet talk the pandora’s box that Luffy has opened yet again without meaning to until she has the upper hand, herding your crew into the right direction to clean up the mess of the day.
Nami is a magnet and a compass, she always finds a way, always at the ready to devise a cunning strategy in her head while creating a map with her hands.
It is fascinating.
You have found that watching Nami work on her maps is incredibly soothing. Something inside of you shifts and settles when her paper crinkles, when her hands move to cast their spells, when she wrinkles her brow and occasionally sighs, but otherwise stays in her cocoon of sacred silence.
You have shared a lot of that lately with Nami.
Sacred silences.
Next to her tangerine trees at sunset.
In the kitchen at dawn.
Outside, with the wind and sea around you.
You share space and time and ease and it feels… nice.
Right somehow.
Whatever agreement passed between the two of you that night on the deck next to her baby tree is still valid.
When at first it was only you finding yourself drawn to her side time and again, you now think that she is seeking you out as well. On purpose.
It boggles your mind how two people so different from each other, with so much broken trust and hurt between them and a physical attraction that could light your ship on fire manage to find this… ease.
Intentionally .
You are not used to being at ease.
To having time.
To building trust.
To … care . So much.
About others.
About yourself.
About Nami.
And your shared silences.
You like this. These silences. Sharing space and time and ease.
And so does she.
At least you think she does.
“Gods above, what is it, Zoro?”
Or maybe she doesn’t?
Nami’s face has taken on a thunderous expression, a cloud of invisible, furious bees buzzing inaudibly, ominously around her head. You can almost taste her annoyance on your tongue.
Huh.
The cloud of invisible bees turns darker, more threatening at your puzzlement.
The sacred silence around you shatters into a thousand tiny pieces.
You are not sure how to feel about that.
“What do you mean?”
That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. The bees around her turn apoplectic, expanding until her outrage fills the entire room.
You are quite struck dumb.
Where is this coming from?
“I mean that you have been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes and I’ve had enough of it.”
You have been staring? For fifteen minutes?
You look back at her, with her thundercloud of bees and flaming hair, with the compass in her hand and her glasses on her nose.
Her glasses…
“You are wearing glasses today.”
Okay, even you have to admit that wasn’t the smartest thing to say. Nami seems to emphatically agree.
“So? Don’t like what you see - look away.”
She might as well have thrown her cloud of seething bees at you; her words - no, your own words from long before hitting you right in between the ribs, stinging and smarting as they pierce your flesh.
Don’t like what you see?
Don’t like what you see?
But -
“I do like what I see.”
Ahh. There it is again. The silence.
In the room.
And inside your head.
Because… the moment you say it, you realize two things:
Number One: This is true.
You like Nami in her glasses.
You like watching Nami wearing her glasses, concentrating on a task at hand, you like your shared sacred silences, you like being close to the compass of your crew, to the person who makes sense out of everything; you like watching her create magic, you like ..
You like… you like Nami.
Another silence washes over you as comprehension dawns, a ringing, chilling, thrilling silence.
Because…
Number Two: Fuck.
Something stumbles precariously through your rib cage, kicking your heart twenty feet into the air, making blood rush through your body in loud, embarrassing waves.
You need a drink.
Several drinks.
You like Nami .
You like Nami.
Fuck.
You almost miss the surprised “Oh.” from her with all the kerfuffle going on on your side of things.
But then again, you don’t miss it because she is Nami and you have long since given up questioning why you always find yourself back at her side, why you notice things about her you wouldn’t even notice about yourself. Like how her bees have disappeared now, leaving so much space around her it makes you slightly dizzy.
She angles her head to the side, brows furrowed as she contemplates you.
You square your jaw and shoulders.
“Really?”
You could take it back.
You need time and several drinks to think about this, to understand what your brain just realized, to work out the consequences, to -
“Yes.”
Well…
In for a penny, in for a pound. You have never believed in cowardice as a way of life anyway.
Nami blushes; blushes so hard she has to look away while mumbling another “Oh”.
And you decide it’s alright to have a treacherous tongue and mouth if it means you can elicit such a reaction from someone as fierce as Nami.
She resumes her map making.
You try to close your eyes and find some sleep.
Maybe something has just changed.
Maybe it hasn't.
But you will not take it back.
You like what you see.
You like this.
You like Nami.
~
You have always wondered what people meant when they said there was an elephant in the room.
Try as you might, you can't remember a situation where this saying occurred to you as an accurate one, where you felt as though there was something so big and unacknowledged in the room that it needed to take a shape of its own.
But life is a thorough teacher and your wheel of fortune has come to an abrupt halt to grace you with this experience today.
Because you are in the kitchen.
And so is Nami.
And so is the elephant.
The fucking elephant .
You close your eyes.
You pinch yourself.
The elephant is still there.
It is huge .
Standing between the two of you, trying to curl up in a ball, hide itself somehow while you can feel the whole ship quiver and tremble from its weight and the tiny steps it takes on the spot.
You ignore the voice in your head that says you are mad, that points to the storm howling outside, shaking the ship in its grasp, to the fact that no elephant was boarding your ship yesterday when you left port, that there is no way in hell a fucking real life elephant is literally standing between Nami and you in the kitchen of your ship.
A ship.
Elephants are no sea creatures, they don’t just appear on ships.
No wonder it looks so uncomfortable.
The voice in your head is right. You are mad.
Nami seems to be as perturbed by the elephant as you are. Both of you stand rooted on the spot at opposite ends of the room, staring at the space between you like it really contains this giant gray creature so far from its natural habitat it’s ridiculous.
Whenever you open your mouth to say something, the elephant clumsily turns on the spot, looking down at you with the hope of a kicked puppy, flapping its ears and tripp-tripp-tripping over its feet- and the words die on your tongue, their chunky remains tumbling back down your windpipe, getting stuck somewhere uncomfortably close to your adam’s apple.
What the fuck is happening?
Nami seems to be in a similarly awkward state. Looking left and right, up and down, anywhere but you and the elephant, swallowing, clearing her throat, only to fall silent again.
This is ridiculous.
You have talked to Nami before. You have been in the kitchen alone with her before.
Hell, last night, you were holding her in her own bed, as her period tortured her relentlessly and it had been fine .
More than fine, if someone were to ask you. You thought she had been happy to have you here. And you were happy to be there.
In her bed, wrapped around her body, sharing as much of her pain and hurt as you could, providing comfort and support in the only way you could think of once you saw her, so tortured and almost feverish it made your heart ache.
The past few months were filled with many small moments between the two of you.
Moments of spending time together.
Moments of laughing together.
Moments of quietly taking care of the other, small little gestures that kicked your heart rate into overdrive and made something in between your ribs flutter and squeeze, that kept you awake at night and made you smile so often that even Luffy got suspicious.
It took a lot of effort to keep up your gruff appearance, but you managed it in the end because you feel fiercely protective over this thing between you and Nami.
When Luffy had suggested an extra watch for Nami when she was on her period six weeks ago, it had taken all of your restraint not to volunteer for every night. You managed it, barely, and you tried to quell all thoughts of worries and - heavens above - jealousy when it was someone else’s turn.
But then Nami had looked like hell warmed over yesterday morning and you had thrown all caution to the wind, telling Luffy in no uncertain terms that you would be taking his watch tonight. Bless Luffy’s soul, he didn’t ask any questions, only throwing a half-knowing, half-confused look your way. You didn’t care.
Nami had taken care of you too many times now, Nami’s care had mended things inside of you with time and silence and ease and if Luffy found out about whatever it was that was going on between the two of you, then so be it. Nami was hurting, hurting so badly, and you couldn’t watch her in pain anymore, so you did what needed to be done.
Granted, you are sure no one else from the Straw Hats on ‘Nami Watch’ would have climbed into her bed to soothe her. Or held her in their arms. Or pressed a kiss to her hand and hair. At least you hope none of them would have thought of that. Jealousy truly is a ridiculous thing.
In the embrace of night, with Nami so desperate, it had all felt natural to you, nothing to worry about.
But now, with brutal daylight tentatively shining through the stormy clouds outside, with this blasted elephant and so much unnatural, heavy silence between the two of you, you can feel uncertainty and doubt creeping up your back, breathing wetly onto your neck.
Did she really want you to be there last night?
Was holding her the right thing?
And why did you kiss her hand?
The elephant keeps turning on the spot, wobbling precariously, unconsciously mirroring the state of disarray of your internal organs. You can almost feel your insides tying themselves into knots.
It is nauseating.
Your ears are burning now, drops of sweat rolling down your neck while your uncertainty claws at your jaw and forehead with icy fingers.
You are so wrapped up in all of this that you only notice Nami has moved once she appears directly in front of you.
The elephant sways dangerously on the spot, ears and tail flapping as if it feels as unbalanced by Nami’s sudden change of position as your do.
You swallow.
Nami looks up at you, her eyes wide and large.
A beat of silence.
And another.
And then you have two arms full of Nami, her entire body pressed up against you, her arms around your torso like a vice.
This situation is giving you whiplash.
Your elephant seems to agree.
Disoriented and confused, it starts running towards one of the windows, hitting chairs and cupboards, making a right mess of Sanji’s tidy kitchen on its way out.
You wince and close your eyes, hiding your face in Nami’s hair as you wait for the impact, your arms closing around her body like a protective shield.
But all stays silent.
The impact doesn’t come.
You keep your eyes closed as the storm outside resumes its howling. Distantly you notice that your hands have started to caress Nami’s back, that her head has turned so she can comfortably rest on your chest.
You breathe consciously in and out, praying fervently that the elephant has well and truly disappeared, that this entire episode was merely a trick played on you by your mind and now you can just stay in this moment indefinitely with your arms full of Nami.
But you can’t.
Nami gently extricates her body from yours, untangling fingers, arms, heads and chests.
A wave of relief washes over your back as she doesn’t go far, staying close enough that the warmth stays between you.
“I wanted to say thank you.”
She is talking to your feet.
“For yesterday night.”
One of her hands tangles with your own, lifting it up in the air.
Your heart beats uncomfortably loud, making the tips of your ears pulse.
Her face finally turns to look up at you.
And lifts the back of your hand even higher.
Her eyes find yours.
The beat of silence is unbearably loud this time.
And then Nami presses a kiss onto your hand.
For a heartbeat, the two of you stay frozen.
Her breath warm on the back of your hand.
Her lips soft and slightly chapped on your skin.
Then, a ball of happiness explodes inside of you, big, bright, yellow happiness, throwing off the uncertainty and doubt still crouching on your neck, enveloping all of you in a soft, warm, safe glow.
You smile.
“Was that okay?”
You pull her close again, pressing a kiss to her hair, yellow happiness and orange excitement pulsing through your veins.
“Yes.”
Your heart still beats unbelievably loud in your chest and through your shirt. Her hand is shaking just a little bit inside yours and you have to smile again. What a pair the two of you make.
Luffy’s voice echoes inside your mind.
“Being a pirate means being free.”
You are not sure what this embrace, this thing between you means.
For Nami.
For the Straw Hats.
For you.
But for now, you want to enjoy this moment.
Right here.
Right now.
And be free to do so.
~
It is ironic, you muse bitterly, how grief is the one enemy in your life you have failed to conquer. No matter what you do, grief just continues to show up in new guises, new places, new people.
Grief clings to you like a needy shadow, wrapping its slimy arms around your neck when you least expect it.
You saw a girl with her eyes today.
You saw a girl with Kuinas eyes today and grief stabbed you in the back with so much force you couldn’t breathe.
You still can’t breathe.
What a shitty day.
You close your eyes, willing the memories away, stuffing the sadness and despair back down your throat, back inside your bones and into the dusty corners of your soul.
It’s no use.
Days like these always hit you particularly hard.
The unfairness of it all. The utter and absolute helplessness you felt that day. The reality of Kuina’s death yapping at your feet like a relentless dog on a hunt, reminding you time and again that she will never come back, that you have well and truly said your last goodbyes. The sheer, obscene banality of death, of something you experienced, you caused on too many occasions to count and yet Kuina’s death manages to incapacitate you like nothing else in your life.
And all the while the sun is shining.
And you are breathing.
And Kuina is dead.
“Hey.”
Nami sits down next to you, her eyes searching your face.
Your grief can’t bear it, forcing you to look away.
“Can I sit here for a moment?”
You gesture your consent. You keep looking out onto the sea as the warmth of her body seeps through your clothes.
“You’ve been real quiet all day.”
You don’t want to talk about it.
You want to drink yourself into oblivion and blissfully forget about all of this for just a moment.
You want to scream your throat raw and claw your eyes out, you - you …
You want - … you don’t - … you can’t …
Fuck!
Heavy silence fills the space between you.
“Lay down for me?”
You arch one eyebrow.
She arches one back.
Grudgingly, you round your spine and tilt your center of gravity back. The floor is warm as your back hits the ground.
Just as you want to lift your eyebrows to Nami again with a silent “Happy now?” she swiftly follows the movement of your torso, her head landing gently on your ribcage, her right arm and leg wrapping around you tightly.
It feels odd.
It feels nice.
She doesn’t say anything for a long while and neither do you, the small up and down stroke of her thumb on the side of your hip the only movement next to the rise and fall of your ribcage.
It is hypnotic.
“I like how soft your skin is.”
Her words gently float through the air.
You can feel them on your skin.
You can feel them on your grief.
You don’t know what to say.
Then, her right hand mirrors the movement of her thumb, stroking up and down along your hip, bunching the fabric of your shirt until there is no fabric left.
Until the skin of her hand, the skin of her entire arm is touching the skin of your torso.
You can’t breathe.
“Is this okay?”
Nami peers worriedly up to you, brows furrowed, hand almost withdrawing from your skin.
Your own hand shoots out to cover it as your eyes slam shut, pressing her hand firmly into your skin.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Your lungs still fight for air.
Your skin breathes in Nami’s touch.
“Yes, it is okay.”
Nami smiles.
Your heart beats wildly, loudly in your chest.
You know what is about to happen, you feel the warmth of her hand before her fingers touch your desperate skin, before her fingertips tenderly stroke alongside your hip bone.
Your navel.
Your lower ribs.
Your sternum.
Your neck.
Her leg is still firmly wrapped around your knees and you almost have a seizure as she lifts her torso slightly, rucks up her own shirt and lays back down again.
The skin of Nami’s stomach is touching yours as her fingers resume their mapping out of your torso, their careful investigation of your soul.
The sun is still shining.
You are still breathing.
Kuina is still dead.
Time stretches and twists like sticky syrup, blurring the hard edges of your grief, wrapping itself around the two of you, almost standing still.
Your skin breathes Nami’s kindness, her affection , in and out.
In and out.
In and out.
Her fingers move over the ridges and valleys of you and you wonder if she can feel the grief clinging to your skin.
You wonder if your grief is as desperate for kindness as you are.
“You know, I was alone for a long time too.”
Her breath travels over your ribs.
“Had my own thing going on.”
You can feel her smile at the use of your own words.
It shifts something inside of you and then there is lightness in your lungs. Not much. But enough to breathe with more ease.
“I just… you don’t have to, you know? Be alone, I mean.”
The words seem to pull her into a more upright position, her torso lifting away from yours.
Your skin is crying.
And then it is singing again because Nami maps out the lines on your face.
“You are my friend. With or without any of this -”
Her hands gesture between you.
“- you are my friend . And I care. I care .”
Something has lodged itself squarely into your windpipe.
Breathing is difficult again.
Talking seems to be impossible.
But your hands have found a solution, because you can see them reach up and behind Nami, searching and finding her shoulder blades.
You look into her eyes and apply gentle, questioning pressure.
She smiles and comes willingly.
With the sun going down in the background, Nami and her wonderful skin find a comfortable position on top of your body again.
Your skin sighs happily.
And your voice manages to whisper a thank you into her hair.