Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lost & Found

"Oi, what's with this?" slurred the first man, leaning heavily against the doorframe of Shakky's Rip-off Bar. He squinted at the sign hanging crookedly on the door. CLOSED. "This place is never closed."

His companion grunted in agreement, tugging at his coat as if it would shield him from the sting of disappointment. "They’re only closed one day a month. Every last Friday. Some kind of tradition."

The first sailor groaned, slapping the door with his palm. "Of all nights... Why tonight?!" He turned to his friend, throwing his hands up in frustration. "What kind of bar has a damn holiday?"

The second man shrugged. “Come on, let’s try somewhere else.”

Grumbling, they staggered down the street, disappearing into the night.

The rhythmic click-clack of heels echoed down the cobblestone path, cutting through the silence. The soft, steady cadence stopped at the entrance of the bar.

An elegant hand, adorned with subtle rings, reached out and brushed against the closed sign. It swayed gently on its hinge, but the woman paid it no mind. She pushed open the door without hesitation, stepping inside as if she owned the place.

The dim glow of the bar’s interior flickered to life as Nami walked in, her presence commanding the quiet space. Her once fiery hair had deepened to a richer shade of orange. She carried herself with the same grace and confidence as she always had, but there was something different now — an air of wisdom earned through years of adventure.

Her heels tapped softly on the wooden floor as she made her way to the bar, ignoring the world outside and the sign that told her she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Behind the counter stood a broad-shouldered man with short, silver-streaked hair and a deep scar slashing across his right eye. His gaze was sharp despite his age, and his lips curled into a knowing grin when he saw her.

"Same old?" he asked, his voice rough but warm with familiarity.

"Same old," Nami replied, settling onto a stool in front of him with a graceful ease that belied the years behind her.

The bartender reached under the counter and retrieved a bottle — amber-hued, with a label hand-painted in faded ink. He poured the rich, golden liquid into a glass, sliding it toward her with practiced precision.

Nami picked up the glass, letting the scent of mikan liquor drift to her nose before taking a slow sip. She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth that spread through her chest. "Delicious," she murmured, setting the glass down gently. "Are you ever going to sell me a bottle of this?"

"Never," Roronoa Zoro the bartender replied flatly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. His one good eye glinted with amusement. "If you want to drink it, you’ve got to come here."

Nami chuckled softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Fair enough."

Zoro watched her for a moment before breaking the silence. "So, how are the girls?"

Nami’s eyes brightened at the mention of them. "They’re fine. But you know... they’re also a mess." Her voice softened with a hint of fondness. "I’ve got a handful of them running around, each one more mischievous than the last." She took another sip of her drink, savoring the warmth before continuing. "When are you going to meet them? They’ll be thrilled. I think they need to meet the grump I always tell stories about."

"Never," he said without hesitation, his tone cold and resolute. "I hate kids."

Nami shook her head with a teasing grin. "Why?!"

Zoro shrugged, reaching for a cloth and absently wiping down the bar. "Because if you hang out with them too much... at some point, they do cute stuff that makes you want to keep them."

Nami raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "You know that’s the exact opposite of hating something, right?"

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched — a failed attempt to suppress a smile.

Nami leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the bar. Her voice softened, her teasing tone laced with genuine curiosity. "Who would’ve thought Roronoa Zoro would turn out to be this grumpy old man?"

Zoro snorted. "And who would’ve thought you’d remain the same witch as always... as if a day hasn’t passed since those days on the Sunny."

Nami smiled at his words, recognizing the familiar pattern in how he spoke. Zoro had always hidden compliments under complaints, wrapping his rare moments of sentiment in rough words. Like now — telling her she looked as if not a day had passed, when it had been nearly twenty years since their pirate days. It was so very him, and it warmed her heart more than any straightforward praise ever could.

She couldn’t help but reach out, her fingers searching for his hand where it rested on the bar top, cloth in hand as he idly wiped at the surface. When she found it, she gave a gentle tug — not in teasing, but as a silent thank-you for his hidden compliment. Zoro’s hand shifted instinctively, his fingers wrapping around hers with a steady grip. Their hands lingered, brushing together in a fleeting moment that seemed to bridge the years they had spent apart. His touch was warm and familiar, grounding her in a way that words never could — a silent acknowledgment of the bond they still shared.

She glanced at him, her gaze softening. "Are you done for the night?"

Zoro nodded, tossing the cloth onto the bar with a casual flick of his wrist. He moved out from behind the counter, pulling out the stool next to hers and settling in with a quiet sigh. The distance between them closed, their proximity feeling natural, as if this wasn’t the first time they’d sat like this.

"Have you seen Shakky lately?" Nami asked, curiosity lacing her tone. The former owner of the bar — the one who had given Zoro the chance to run it — lingered in her thoughts. She remembered how Shakky had once described Zoro as someone who didn’t need a job but a place to belong.

Zoro leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the bar. "She came by a few weeks ago. She’s doing fine for an old hag, still bossing me around like always." A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "But these days, there’s less for her to correct. Guess I’m not messing up as much anymore."

Nami chuckled, her voice low and playful. "Mmm, that makes me jealous." Her eyes sparkled with a teasing glint as she leaned a little closer, watching his expression shift in surprise. He raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard by her words. 

Nami chuckled softly, her teasing words laced with affection. "You always had a thing for bossy women," she teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips as her fingers gently caressed his cheek.

Her touch was light, lingering, and intentional — a gesture that held years of familiarity and unspoken sentiment. 

Her actions drew a quiet chuckle from him, his gaze locking onto hers. "Not bossy women — just one bossy woman," he murmured, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. Without hesitation, Zoro leaned in, closing the remaining distance between them. His lips met hers in a tender kiss, slow and deliberate, as if savoring a moment they both knew had been a long time coming.

Nami broke the kiss with a soft smile, her lips lingering near his for just a second longer before she pulled away. Her hand slid down to take his, fingers intertwining naturally, as if they’d always fit together like that. Without a word, she began to guide him toward the narrow staircase at the back of the bar. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor, their steps quiet in the stillness of the night.

Zoro followed without protest, his hand warm in hers, the weight of unspoken words settling between them.

"I'm going to Zou," Nami said, glancing over her shoulder as they ascended the stairs. "I need to meet with Carrot. You should come with me." Her tone was casual, but there was a hopeful undercurrent beneath her words. "You can check on Chopper while you're there. He's the director of a hospital now, you know."

Zoro remained silent as they reached the landing. The room at the top was modest — a simple bed, a small desk, and a window overlooking the archipelago. It was his sanctuary, but now it felt different with her standing in it.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, breaking the quiet. "I'm busy here with the bar," he muttered, his voice low and gruff. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Nami sat on his bed, the mattress creaking softly beneath her as she gently tugged Zoro to sit beside her. Her touch was light but insistent, a pull he couldn’t refuse. Once he settled next to her, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Come on, Zoro," she urged, her voice carrying both warmth and familiarity. "Chopper will be so excited to see you after all these years."

Zoro’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers unconsciously rubbing at a scar on his hand. "I don’t think so," he muttered, shame lacing his tone. "I wouldn’t be if I were him."

His voice, usually so steady and strong, was quieter now — vulnerable in a way she rarely saw.

Nami’s expression softened, and without hesitation, she reached out, cupping his face with one hand. Her thumb brushed gently along his cheekbone, coaxing him to lift his head and meet her gaze.

"No one is mad at you, Zoro," she said softly, her words deliberate and full of certainty.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he said nothing. But his eye — dark and heavy with emotion — told a different story.

"I’m mad at myself," he finally confessed, the hurt in his voice cutting through the quiet room. His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded.

Nami’s heart clenched at the sight of him like this. She had always known Zoro to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but this… this was different. This was guilt, long buried but never forgotten.

Her hand never left his face as she leaned in, her voice firm but gentle. "Look, it was so long ago. We all know what happened to you. No one’s angry. No one’s holding anything against you."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn’t give him the chance.

"Luffy wouldn’t want you to be mad at yourself," she continued, her voice unwavering. "He would want you to keep going. To still be there for your nakamas."

Zoro’s jaw clenched at the mention of Luffy, and his gaze faltered. The name alone carried the weight of memories — of promises, laughter, and loss.

Zoro stood, rubbing the back of his neck as if the conversation had grown too heavy. "I’ll think about it," he said, clearly trying to change the subject. As he turned, he pulled his shirt up over his head, revealing his muscular and scarred chest. Even in his forties, his body was as athletic as it had been in his twenties, perhaps a little bulkier, but to Nami’s eyes, it made him look even better.

She couldn’t help but grin. "Oh, so you’re trying to seduce me to change the subject?"

Zoro chuckled, tossing his shirt onto a nearby chair. "Is it working?"

"It is," she teased, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her fingers traced the familiar scars on his back. "Hotter than in your twenties."

He smirked, his arms sliding around her waist, holding her close. "You got lucky I got lost for twenty years. Because if I had found you back then…" His voice trailed off, realizing too late that his thoughts were slipping out unfiltered.

Nami tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her eyes. "What? What if we had bumped into each other twenty years ago? A few years after the gang disbanded?"

Zoro’s brain short-circuited, and he scrambled to say something — anything — to divert from the dangerous territory his thoughts were heading toward. "I would’ve banged you 24/7."

Nami burst into laughter, clearly not expecting him to be so blunt. "Well, that’s not much different from the intentions you have these days."

Though she joked, a part of her knew he had censored himself, holding back something more heartfelt. But she wouldn’t press him now. She wasn’t about to ruin the mood.

Zoro smirked, leaning in to nuzzle her neck. "Well, yeah. But maybe at twenty-five, you would’ve been able to keep up."

That earned him a playful slap on the head. "Shut up, Roronoa. It’s not about quantity — it’s about quality."

She kissed him, silencing any further teasing. In that moment, words weren’t necessary. The connection between them, built over decades of shared history and quiet longing, spoke louder than anything they could say.

Their kisses deepened, each one carrying the weight of years spent apart, and without a word, they found themselves moving toward the bed. Zoro's hand found the back of her neck, his touch steady and reassuring, while Nami’s fingers trailed over his shoulders, savoring the feel of him after so long. They moved together naturally, shedding clothes with quiet urgency — not the reckless passion of youth, but the deliberate actions of two people who knew exactly what they wanted.

The intimacy between them was profound, the culmination of years spent apart yet always tethered by something unspoken. And as they moved together, it became clear that while time had passed, their bond had only grown stronger.

Later, Nami lay draped across Zoro’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over the scars that told the story of his life. His steady heartbeat beneath her palm was a comforting rhythm, grounding her in the present.

Zoro’s arm wrapped around her, holding her close. His gaze, usually sharp and guarded, was softened as he looked at her, his expression one of quiet contentment. “Do you really think that if we had bumped into each other 20 years ago, things would have been different?” she asked.

He sighed softly, his gaze dropping as if the weight of his thoughts was too heavy to bear. “Honestly… I don’t know what would’ve happened. I think I was too reckless back then. Living in the moment, like an idiot. I might not have even realized what I had in front of me.” His voice was low, laced with regret, and his disappointment in his past self was evident.

Nami reached out, her fingers gently caressing his face. Her touch was tender, grounding him in the present. “You did get on my nerves regularly,” she teased with a soft smile. “But looking back now, from this perspective… you made me feel things. Anger, passion, even admiration — you’ve always had a way of getting under my skin in more ways than one. ”

There was no shyness in her confession. She was a woman in control of her own life now, unafraid to share her feelings. She had nothing to lose, and nothing could shake her confidence in who she had become.

Zoro smirked, a quiet pride swelling in his chest at her words. For a moment, he looked at her with something between amusement and melancholy. “I liked you back then, you know,” he admitted, his voice thoughtful. “But I don’t think I would’ve understood it. Not at that time.”

When they’d met again after all those years, he hadn’t thought much about where it would lead. He assumed their reunion might be born out of loneliness — two old friends finding comfort in something familiar. He hadn’t expected it to grow into what it did. At first, he thought they were just two people sharing moments to feel good, and if it didn’t work out, it would be fine because they trusted each other. But now he realized it was far more than that. Being with her didn’t just feel good — it felt right. It gave him a new reason to live, something more meaningful than tending the bar. He found himself looking forward to her visits, knowing those nights together were what truly made him feel alive.

“But maybe if we’d spent time alone back then,” he continued, his voice softer, thoughtful, “eventually, this would’ve happened.”

Nami listened with a gentle smile, watching him wrestle with his thoughts. Seeing him struggle to open up stirred something deep within her — a tenderness, a curiosity. She knew how much it meant for him to share his emotions.

“You probably would’ve saved my life,” he added, his lips twitching into a self-deprecating smile. The words came out as if he thought it was the funniest thing he could say.
With her with him he was sure he wouldn’t have gotten lost, he would have been there in the final days of Luffy’s life.

But Nami didn’t laugh. Instead, her heart ached. She knew what he had endured over the years — the hardships, the loneliness. Knowing that he believed his life had only worsened after their time on the Sunny, broke her heart. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing over his cheek with a tenderness that conveyed more than words ever could.

The sorrow in her eyes made Zoro realize the weight of his words. His expression softened as he rushed to speak again, not wanting her to feel guilty on his behalf. “But I think it’s better this way,” he said, his voice more earnest now. “You’ve become even more incredible than you were back then. You make the world a better place, Nami.”

There was a pause before he added, with a smirk that was equal parts teasing and sincere, “And besides… back then, I probably would’ve put like three kids in you. You’d be stuck as the mother of three little demon children or something like that.”

His confession took her by surprise, rendering her momentarily speechless. He had thought about it — about having a family with her. The idea blew her mind.

As a woman, of course she had wondered what it would had been like to have a family. But her priorities had always been elsewhere: first being a pirate, then creating the map of the world, and eventually building the foster home at Amazon Lily. 

She’d never truly envisioned herself as a traditional mother. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t found someone who stirred that desire in her — someone she could imagine building a life with. But now, there with Zoro, she couldn’t help but wonder: if things had turned out differently back then, could he have been that man? 

“Maybe it’s not too late,” Nami said softly, her mind drifting back to the moment she first saw him again last year, after all those years apart. 

Back then, after not hearing from him for two decades — not even at Luffy’s funeral — she had assumed he was dead. So when she opened the door of Shakky’s bar and saw that tall, broad-shouldered man with white hair and a scar over his right eye, she couldn’t believe it. Her heart had almost stopped. It was like life had given her an unexpected gift: her friend was alive. 

“I mean, maybe it’s not too late for me to save you. You can come with me” she added, her voice filled with quiet determination. 

Zoro thought about her words, letting them sink in.
In a way, she had already saved him. His mind wandered back to that day when she walked through the door of the bar after he’d been working there for a year. The moment he saw her, panic gripped him — his worst fear had come true. He’d always dreaded the idea of running into one of his old crewmates. He thought they would be furious with him for disappearing for twenty years, for not being there during Luffy’s final days, for skipping the funeral altogether. But what happened completely caught him off guard. Nami had run straight into his arms, tears streaming down her face, hugging him as if he had just come back from the dead. 

The warmth of her embrace, the feeling of her holding him so tightly, was something he hadn’t realized he needed. It was the kind of closeness only a true friend — someone you trust and love deeply — could offer. And it moved him to his core. 

He allowed himself to dwell on what she truly meant — she wanted to save him. For so long, he had been lost, drifting without purpose. Shakky had given him something to do, a routine to keep him grounded, but what Nami offered was so much more. It wasn’t just about having a task; it was about reconnecting with the world he had once been part of — with people like Chopper, for example. 

The idea frightened him. For years, he had convinced himself that his old friends must hate him for disappearing, for not being there when it mattered most. But what if Nami was right? What if that wasn’t the case? What if there was still a place for him in their lives? The possibility gave him hope, a fragile, flickering light that he wasn’t sure he could trust. 

Even so, fear gripped him. He was terrified to step away from the bar — his safe harbor. What if he got lost again? What if he lost everything he had managed to hold onto? His life wasn’t much now, but it had meaning. Their monthly meetings, the nights they spent together, had become his reason to smile, to look forward to something beyond the daily grind. 

"Maybe…" he whispered, allowing himself to dream, just for a moment. Maybe they could be like this every day — a steady, shared rhythm. 

"But what if I get lost… again?" he added softly, his voice laced with vulnerability. His sense of direction had only worsened with age, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing what they had now. "I don’t want to lose this." 

His vulnerability moved her, and she gently caressed his cheek, her thumb tracing the familiar contours of his face. "You’re not going to get lost under my watch. That would reflect badly on me — the best navigator in the world." Her voice was steady, reassuring, and she leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "I’ll put you on a leash if I have to. Just don’t worry about that — leave it to me." She chuckled, her teasing tone lightening the moment.

A quiet laugh escaped him, his smile warm despite the lingering fear in his chest. It scared him — the thought of getting lost again — but what she said was true. No one could guide him better than her. "Oh, that would be cool," he said with a playful glint in his eye. "You could put one of those collars on me — like the ones the Tenryuubito used. If I move too far away from you, my head explodes." 

Nami burst into laughter, shaking her head. "Why are you always so dramatic and masochistic, Roronoa?" she teased, her laughter echoing warmly in the room. 

"Do you think Chopper would be okay seeing me?" Zoro asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Nami nodded without hesitation. "He’ll be so happy."

"You have a ship, right?" He glanced toward the horizon, his gaze distant. "I haven’t been on a ship in years… The sea…" His voice softened, and for a moment, he allowed himself to dream about traveling again.

"Yep," she confirmed with a warm smile, watching his eyes light up. Seeing him get excited made her heart swell.

"But you’re so busy and all… I don’t want to bother you." His excitement faltered as he thought about it. She always had a full schedule — helping kids, running projects around the world. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden.

Nami tilted her head, considering his words. He wasn’t a burden, and she wouldn’t let him feel like one. She thought for a moment, then offered a solution with a playful smirk. "You know, people keep telling me I should have a bodyguard. Just in case. I’m sure you could help with that."

Zoro chuckled, the idea making sense. Even as a bartender, he had never stopped training. His strength hadn’t waned, and protecting her would give him purpose.

"And," Nami added with a mischievous grin, "there are some people who think I’m a little too demanding. They say behind my back that I need to get laid to loosen up." She leaned in, her voice teasing. "Maybe you could help with that, too."

Zoro burst out laughing. "The bodyguard part makes sense. The other part… well, I have no problem being your sexual slave." His smirk turned playful. "But I’m pretty sure even that wouldn’t fix the fact that you’re a bossy pain in the ass."

Nami swatted his shoulder, laughing along with him. "Not funny, Roronoa."

He sobered, gently cupping her chin and locking eyes with her. "Joining you… it would mean a lot to me. It gives me hope — fills me with excitement I haven’t felt in years. Thank you."

Her heart melted at his sincerity. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. When she pulled back, her smile was radiant. "I’m glad to hear that. I think it’s going to be great having you around. Let’s do it."

Zoro grinned, his usual calm demeanor replaced with a rare spark of enthusiasm. "Yeah… Let’s do it."

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the years behind them lifting like a morning fog. Outside, the wind whispered across the sea, carrying with it the promise of new adventures — not grand, world-changing ones, but quiet, personal journeys they’d take together.

And maybe, just maybe, the best part of the story was still ahead.

Chapter Text

— A year before the events of Chapter One… 

(Nami:39)

The air smelled the same — salt and iron, sea and smoke.
Nami tugged lightly at the strap of her satchel as she wandered through the crowded paths of Sabaody Archipelago. It had been years since she last set foot here, and yet the energy of the Grove still vibrated under her skin, a restless heartbeat she remembered all too well.

She hadn't meant to stop.
Her route had been packed — a shipment of updated sea charts, a visit back to the Mikan farm in Cocoyasi to oversee the harvest, and an overdue inspection of the small foster home she helped support on Amazon Lily.

Busy. Always busy. Always something new to build, to fix, to map.

But something about today's current had pulled her here.
Not out of sadness, not from a longing she couldn't name — just a soft tug at her chest, a quiet reminder of another version of herself who once stood at these crossroads, starry-eyed and furious at the world.

Her feet moved without much thought, weaving through vendors and tourists until she recognized the familiar stretch of Grove 13. She slowed.

The bar was still standing. Weathered now, like everything else.
The old sign — Shakky's Rip-off Bar — leaned slightly askew over the door, like a stubborn old relic refusing to fall apart.

Nami chuckled under her breath.
She hadn't planned on staying long. A drink, maybe. A chance to sit somewhere thick with memory and laughter that belonged to another lifetime.

— (Zoro:40)

The glass in his hand caught the light as he wiped it down, slow and methodical.
Not because it needed cleaning. Habit, mostly. Something to keep his hands busy while the hours dragged by.

Zoro leaned back against the bar, letting his eye drift over the empty tables.
A couple of locals hunched over their drinks. No noise. No trouble.
The kind of day he could survive without thinking too much.

It was what he wanted.
Quiet.
Simple.

There had been a time when he drank to celebrate.
Loud, reckless nights with the crew — laughter spilling out over the deck, the taste of sake sharp and warm in his mouth.

Later, he drank to forget.
To drown the weight of what was lost. To push back the silence that fell too heavy after everything ended.

Now?

Now there was nothing to celebrate. That part was easy.
And the forgetting — well, that wasn’t an option anymore.
But at least the work kept his hands busy. Kept his mind from wandering too far.

Shakky had found him in the worst of it. Half-drunk behind some crumbling dock.
She didn’t lecture him. Just told him he could stay if he worked — and stayed sober.

"You drink on the job, you're out," she'd said, voice dry but not unkind.

He stayed.
He worked.
He didn’t drink.

The itch was still there sometimes. The old instinct.
But he let it pass now, like a storm he had learned to stand through.

The door creaked open.

Zoro didn’t look up at first — too used to the steady stream of people walking in and out.
He wiped down the bar for the hundredth time, his thoughts on nothing in particular, just the movements of his hands.
Then the steps fell — light, purposeful.

There was something about them that froze his thoughts.

His eyes shifted up without thinking, and the first thing he noticed was how she carried herself — sharper, a little more elegant than he remembered. Like she had grown into herself in a way that made the world feel quieter around her.

But even as the years had changed her, Nami still had that same fire behind her eyes. The same stubborn tilt to her chin. She was older now, sure. But under his gaze, she was still… Nami . She hadn't really changed at all.

Zoro found his gaze lingering just a second longer than he intended, before he caught himself.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled — no sounds from the bar, no voices from the street outside. Just her.
And then his gut twisted.

Shit.

He’d thought about this before — in nightmares, half-awake in the dead hours of the night.
Running into one of them.
Facing the anger, the disappointment they had every right to throw at him.

Especially Nami.
She never held back when someone deserved a tongue-lashing — and he deserved far worse.

He stiffened without meaning to, heart hammering in his ears. His hand dropped from the glass, fingers curling into a fist under the bar.

She was going to tear him apart.
He wouldn't blame her.
He deserved it.

Nami couldn't move.

For a second, she just stood there, the doorway framing the impossible.
The air around her thickened, like it was too heavy to breathe.

Zoro.

Alive.
Here.

Her brain struggled to catch up, firing off fragments — images of the Thousand Sunny's deck, his steady presence at her side, the roar of battle, the quiet victories, Luffy's wild laughter —
—and the funeral she'd attended without him.

Her throat closed up.
Her chest ached with a pressure she hadn't expected, after all these years.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes before she could stop them.
She blinked hard, furious with herself, but it didn’t help.
The rush of it all — grief, relief, joy — slammed into her like a tidal wave.

She stared at him, drinking in every detail.
Older, rougher around the edges, but so unmistakably him .
The scar across his face. The tired set of his shoulders.
But it was Zoro.

He was alive.

He was standing right there.

For a moment, the only thing Nami could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat.

Then she moved, her body acting faster than her mind.

"Zoro," she breathed out, the word catching somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
"You're alive."

She took a step forward, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with them.
The questions tumbled from her mouth before she could form them properly:

"Why—? How—? Where the hell—?"

He didn't answer.
Just stood there, stiff as stone, watching her with an expression she couldn’t read.
Wary. Guarded. Like he expected something worse than her disbelief.

Nami barely registered it.
The next thing she knew, she was reaching out, needing — needing — to know he was real.
Her fingers hovered for a second, trembling, before brushing against his face — the rough line of his jaw, the old scar across his eye.

Zoro flinched.

For a split second, his instincts screamed brace yourself —
that she was going to hit him, strike him down for every stupid, cowardly mistake he had made.

But all that came was her touch — warm, light, real .

And when he finally forced himself to meet her eyes, he saw them —
wet, shining, full of something he hadn’t let himself hope for.

Not anger.
Not hatred.
Something else.

Something that made his chest ache worse than any punch ever could.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Zoro stayed frozen under her touch, the weight of all the years — all the failures — crushing down on him.

A hundred things tangled in his throat.
Explanations. Apologies. Excuses.

None of them good enough.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Only a rasp of air, rough and useless.

And somehow, Nami understood.

She’d learned, over the years, that some kinds of pain couldn’t be explained.
That sometimes the worst wounds were the ones people couldn’t put into words — the ones they carried alone because they didn’t know how else to survive.
Whatever had happened to Zoro, whatever had kept him away from them, she knew it had to be bad enough to silence even someone as stubborn as him.

And she wasn’t going to make him say it.
Not now.

Her hand shifted, the warm brush of her fingers turning into something firmer — playful, familiar.
She pinched his cheek hard, the way she used to when she got annoyed at him back on the Sunny, back when the world was still simple and whole.

"Zoro!" she scolded lightly, pulling at his face with a grin.
"Are you going to pour me a drink or what?"

The air cracked — not with tension, but with something else.
Something easier. Warmer.

Zoro blinked at her, stunned by how easily she threw him a lifeline.
The past didn't disappear — the guilt, the regrets — but for the first time in longer than he could remember, it wasn't the only thing he felt.

There was something else too.
Something that felt a hell of a lot like home.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
A soft smile pulled at the corner of his mouth — small, almost shy.

"Sorry," he muttered.
It wasn’t just for the drink.
It wasn’t just for now.

It was everything.

"I'll get you... something right away," he added, voice a little steadier as he turned toward the bottles, moving automatically, surprisingly obedient under her command.

Just like old times.

Zoro moved behind the bar, reaching for the shelves, but his hands stalled halfway.

He stared at the bottles like he didn’t recognize any of them.

Nami leaned her elbow casually on the counter, watching him for a beat.
"Alright... what've you got?" she asked, her voice easy.

Zoro exhaled through his nose.
Still, his answer came rough and low.

"Nothing good enough for you."

Without thinking, he added,
"You always had... refined taste."

It slipped out before he could catch himself.

Across the bar, Nami smiled — small, knowing, but saying nothing.

Her gaze flickered briefly around the place: the worn wood, the mismatched bottles, the quiet air of somewhere forgotten by time.

A smile tugged at her lips.

"I knew exactly what I was getting into when I walked through that door," she said, lifting a brow.

"Just give me a beer."

Relieved to have something he could actually give her, Zoro grabbed a bottle, cracked it open, and slid it across the counter.

She caught it with a casual grace, lifted it in a quiet toast, and took a sip.

For a moment, everything else faded — just two old friends, falling back into something familiar.

Nami took a sip from the bottle, savoring the cold bitterness, then smirked across the counter.

"Roronoa Zoro, the bartender," she said, her voice teasing but warm.
"Who would've thought... not me, that's for sure."

Zoro grunted lowly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Me neither, to be honest."

Nami chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

"I wouldn't have let you near a bar for a job," she said.
"Way too dangerous. You'd drink all the merchandise."

This time, Zoro actually huffed a quiet laugh — a real, genuine sound she hadn't realized she missed until she heard it again.

"Not drinking while working," he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Nami leaned back on her stool, studying him over the rim of her bottle.

Not drinking.
Zoro.

That alone was enough to make her tilt her head in curiosity.

Her gaze traveled over him — his broad frame still solid, maybe even a little rougher at the edges.
But there was something missing too. Something she noticed only now.

No swords.

Zoro. Without his swords.

The thought almost made her frown, but she caught herself.
Whatever had happened to him, it wasn't something he was offering to explain — not yet.
And she wasn’t about to pry.

Not tonight.

A part of Zoro found himself curious about her — about what she had been doing, where life had taken her.
He was enjoying this little chat more than he wanted to admit, the familiar rhythm of it almost making him forget how many years had passed.
Almost.

But he was still scared to let the conversation go deeper — afraid of opening up, of being judged for all he hadn't been.

He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at the door.
"You mapping this island again?"

It was his way of asking why she was here — without asking too much.

Nami smiled, setting her drink down.
"Nah. Just passing by. Docked my ship to stock some provisions and decided to stretch my legs. Started walking... and, well, memories hit me. Guess I ended up here. Luckily."

"Luckily?" he echoed, arching an eyebrow.

"Of course," she said, grinning wide.
"It makes me really happy to have found you, Zoro."

Zoro blinked, stunned by the sincerity in her voice.
Happy?
She was happy to find him?

Somewhere deep inside, something uncoiled — a tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

She didn’t hate him.

Without thinking, Nami reached across the bar and tugged lightly at his hand, a reassuring touch.

"You know," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye, "it's good to know I have a bar where I can drink for free now."

Zoro blinked, thrown off for a second.

"What!" he barked, before catching the teasing in her voice. He grunted, realizing she was messing with him — just like old times.

"Don't tell me you were actually going to charge me for that beer after twenty years of not seeing me!" she said, mock-offended.

"Hey, no — I never said that— geez," he grumbled, shaking his head.

Nami leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"Say it."

He frowned. "Say what?"

"If you really don't say it, I'm gonna start getting worried," she warned, a wicked little smile playing on her lips.

Zoro sighed heavily, like a man walking to his own execution.

"Witch," he muttered under his breath.

That earned a bright laugh from her — real and easy, filling the bar with a warmth that had nothing to do with the cheap lights overhead.

"I missed that," she said, her eyes crinkling with a kind of softness he hadn’t seen in years.

Zoro huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. A half-smile tugged at his mouth before he caught himself, fingers curling into a fist by his side. Old habits didn’t die easy.

He turned to wipe an already clean glass, just for something to do with his hands.

Nami leaned forward on the counter, resting her chin in her hand, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Alright," she said, smirking, "since you seem to be a little shy, I'll tell you what I’ve been up to these past... fifteen years, give or take."

Zoro grunted low in his throat — not quite a laugh, but enough to show he was listening. His arms crossed lazily over his chest, but his eye stayed on her, attentive in a way that made her smile inside.

"First," she started, counting off on her fingers, "I bought a lot of pretty things. Dresses, jewelry... I deserved it."

That earned a small, amused snort from him — he didn’t doubt it for a second.

"Then, some real investing. Nojiko and I poured a lot into the tangerine farm. We’re exporting all over the Grand Line now."

That caught him a little off guard — his eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed.
But when he thought about it, it made perfect sense. She was smart, ambitious, and stubborn as hell. If she set her mind to it, it wasn't hard to imagine the whole damn world eating her tangerines someday.

"And lately," she continued, her tone softening slightly, "I've been helping the Kuja tribe with a foster home they have on the island. Connecting some important people to help them out, and, well... helping the kids. That part’s always fun."

Zoro blinked once, slowly.
A quiet "Wow" escaped before he could stop it.

She had done all that. Built a life, made something lasting, something good — and still had time to take care of other people too.
He scratched the back of his head, a little awkward, but his voice came out steady.

"That's impressive..." he said, then after a beat, added, "Well... maybe not so much to me. I know you. All this you’ve accomplished — it makes complete sense coming from you."

Nami's heart warmed at his words.
Zoro wasn’t one for flowery speeches or delicate praise. His compliments came rough and real, the kind that meant more than anything sweetly packaged.
When they were in the crew, he never acted like she needed protecting or treated her like she was fragile — he respected her strength, her mind, her stubbornness.

For someone like Nami, who had built her whole life fighting to stand on her own two feet, having someone like Zoro quietly believe in her it meant more than any polished, sugary words ever could.

She smiled, soft and genuine, the kind of smile that lit up her whole face.
And across the counter, Zoro — who didn’t miss much — caught it and felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

The silence stretched between them.
“So… what about you?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “You said I’m impressive, but you came back to life, Zoro. That’s pretty damn impressive too.”

Zoro stiffened at the question, and his expression briefly flickered with something unreadable. He had never liked the idea of explaining himself, especially not when it came to things like this. "I was never dead..." he muttered, the words coming out rougher than he intended.

He could already feel the old frustration stirring within him as he struggled to find the right way to explain it. "I was..." The word hung in the air like a weight he had to drag out, even though it tasted bitter on his tongue. "I was lost."

Nami’s brow furrowed, caught off guard by the word he’d chosen.

Lost.

It wasn’t just that it was strange to hear — it was almost unthinkable.

Zoro had always hated that word. Even back when they sailed together, even when he was hopelessly off course, he would never admit to being lost.

For him to say it now, out loud, so plainly...

It shook something loose inside her — a realization that whatever had happened to him over the years had carved deeper wounds than she’d first thought

"What do you mean?" Her voice softened, less teasing now, more genuine.

Zoro leaned back against the bar, rubbing the back of his neck as if the motion could help him put the words together. "Well... at first, it wasn’t like I had anywhere I had to go. I wasn’t running from something, I just wasn’t... going anywhere." He sighed, letting his hand drop. "When I realized I wasn’t where I wanted to be, I just stopped trying. Technically, if you're not going to a specific place, you're not really lost, right?" He chuckled dryly, as if trying to make light of it, but it didn’t quite land.

The explanation didn’t settle the tension in the air. Nami could tell there was more beneath the surface. He wasn’t done, but she didn’t rush him.

Zoro’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, the world outside the bar seemed to fade away. "Then I needed to go somewhere," he continued, his voice quieter, rough with an emotion he wasn’t ready to face. "And I couldn’t. And that... that was the worst part."

Nami could see it now — really see it.

Wherever Zoro had been, whatever had happened, it wasn’t just about getting turned around or taking too long to come back.

He hadn’t been able to reach the one place he would have fought through hell to be — Luffy’s final days.

That was why everyone thought he was dead.

Because Zoro would never have missed it — and yet he had. And that must have truly broken him.

The realization settled heavy in her chest.

She didn’t push him for more; she didn’t need to. Nami let out a slow breath, steadying herself.

Then, with a small, sure smile, she said, "We know you wouldn’t have missed it. Luffy knew it too. He’d just be glad we’re still standing. Still nakama, somehow."

Zoro dropped his gaze, a small grunt escaping him — part thanks, part something he couldn’t quite voice.

Her words meant more than she knew.

But they didn’t erase the weight he carried.

Not even close.

Zoro shifted his weight behind the counter, glancing toward the half-empty glass in her hand.
"You want another?" he asked, voice rough but lighter — a clear attempt to steer the conversation somewhere, anywhere else.

Nami caught it immediately, her smile tugging wider. She opened her mouth to tease him — but at that exact moment, her Den Den Mushi began to ring.

She sighed, pulling it from her pocket. One glance at the caller, and her expression tightened. Duty was calling.

"I have to go," she said, clearly reluctant. She stood, smoothing her clothes with a quick sweep of her hands.
Zoro straightened too, something heavy settling in his chest at the thought of her leaving so soon.

Before she reached the door, his voice stopped her.

"Nami."
She turned, eyebrows raised in question.

He rubbed the back of his neck — awkward, almost sheepish, but serious too.
"Don't... tell anyone yet. That I'm here."

Her expression softened immediately. She could see how much it cost him to even ask that.

She stepped back toward him, her smile returning — a little sly, a little warm.

"Alright," she said, tipping her head. "On one condition."

Zoro grunted, suspicious. "What?"

"I'm coming back," she said simply, a glint in her eye.

For a beat, he just looked at her.
Then, something in him relaxed — not fully, but enough.

"Yeah," he said, voice low, almost rough. "That’d be nice."

She smiled — bright and sure — and then she was gone, slipping out into the Sabaody night.

Zoro stood there for a long moment afterward, the lingering warmth of her presence stubbornly refusing to leave with her.

Chapter Text

Nami had returned to her usual life — the meetings, the responsibilities, the late nights — but her mind kept drifting back to that bar in Sabaody, and to the man she’d found there.

Her nakama.

Like some strange dream come true.

He was alive.

After all those years, after everyone had given up hope — there he was, just as solid, just as stubborn. And yet, not the same.

Time had changed him. His hair was still the same wild green, but now streaked with silver strands at his temples. They suited him, somehow. He still looked tough — broad shoulders, sharp jaw, that same solid, unshakable presence.

But now there was something quieter underneath it. A calmness, or maybe just the weight of experience.
He seemed less like a man charging forward and more like one who had survived the storm and was still standing, quietly, in its aftermath. And woven into that — just barely — was something else.A trace of vulnerability.

It softened the edges. Made him human in a way he hadn’t seemed before. And somehow, all of that made him look good. The realization caught her off guard.

Zoro, looking good.

She blinked, then scoffed lightly at herself.
That was… unexpected.

She wondered, just once, if he saw her the same way. Older. Different. Stronger. Softer in some places, tougher in others. Did he notice?

No. Zoro didn’t notice things like that. Not unless they were pointing a blade at him.

Still... the memory lingered.

…

“Nami-san, it’s truly an honor to be working alongside you again.”

The words pulled her back into the present — into the polished, official version of herself — as she shook the outstretched hand of a high-ranking Marine officer. His uniform was crisp, his smile practiced, and the weight of a successful meeting lingered between them.

“Likewise,” she replied with a polite, composed smile. “I think this will be a great step forward.”

They exchanged a few more formalities, the kind that danced around real meaning. But beneath it all, a quiet victory hummed through her: they had agreed. The new foster home in Zou would move forward, backed by official support. It had taken months of negotiation, gentle pressure, and not-so-gentle persuasion — but it was done.

As the Marines walked away, their coats fluttering in the breeze, Nami’s posture relaxed just a little. The steel in her spine softened, just enough.

She stepped outside, the sun catching on the gleam of her heels, only for a sudden weight to slam against her legs.

“Auntie Nami!”

A little girl, no older than six, had launched herself at her knees with a bright grin and arms wide open. Nami laughed as she caught her balance, crouching to meet the child’s excited eyes.

“Hey, slow down!” she said, brushing a curl from the girl’s face. “You’re going to knock me flat one of these days.”

The girl giggled and reached for her hand, tugging her gently. “Come play with us! We’re drawing pirates again!”

“Pirates, huh? You better not be putting bounties on me again.”

“You already have the highest one!” the girl declared proudly.

Nami laughed — really laughed — and let the girl pull her toward the play yard just down the walkway.

And just like that, the weight of politics and formality faded, replaced by the tug of a tiny hand and the sound of children’s laughter echoing in the warm afternoon air.

—

Zoro’s days didn’t change much.

He went to bed late, after wiping down the counter and locking up the bar. He slept for a few hours — just enough — and then got up before the sun had fully claimed the sky. The morning was spent the same way it had been for years now: training. Silence, steel, and sweat.

He didn’t need variety. Discipline kept him grounded. Movement kept the noise in his head at bay.

By midday, the bar’s shutters were up, the floors clean, bottles restocked. He didn’t open until later, but it was routine. He followed it like ritual.

And still — even as he wiped down the same shelves for the hundredth time — her voice crept in.

You came back to life.

Zoro paused, cloth still in hand. He hadn’t expected Nami to smile when she saw him, let alone speak to him like… like he mattered. Like she was glad.

It had knocked him off balance more than he cared to admit.

He leaned against the bar, arms crossed now, gaze unfocused.

What would the others think, if they found out? He hadn’t let himself go there. Would they even want to see him? Would they be angry? Disappointed?

He shut the thought down before it could spiral.

Nami was probably just being kind. Maybe that was it. Maybe she had only been trying not to make things awkward.

She probably wasn’t coming back. She had a life — a real one, with purpose and people who depended on her. Not like this place.

He glanced toward the door, the empty stools, the half-stocked shelves.
Her voice. Her smile. The weight of her hand on his.
It had stirred something in him — something he’d been keeping buried.

Nakama.

That word hurt now, more than he wanted to admit.
Because it reminded him of everything he’d stayed away from.
Not just because he got lost.
Not just because he disappeared.

Because he didn’t know if they’d ever forgive him for not being there when it mattered most.

Better to stay gone.
Better not to hope.
He didn’t deserve it.

Zoro shook his head, jaw tight.

He’d survived being alone this long. Better not to invite something back in if it was only going to disappear again. Let the memory fade. Let her go. 

He turned back to his routine.

Just another day.

—

The soft rustle of parchment filled the quiet of Nami’s quarters as she sat at her desk, pen in hand, a warm cup of tea long forgotten beside her.

She dipped her pen again and smiled faintly, the lines flowing easily.

“Robin,

The deal finally went through. After months of meetings and a mountain of paperwork, the new foster home is officially approved. Zou, of all places! I never imagined the day would come, but the support there has been overwhelming. It’s… exciting. This could change so many lives.”

She paused, biting the end of the pen cap gently. Her smile lingered, but her thoughts drifted — not forward, to the future of the foster home, but back.

To him .

Zoro’s presence had lingered with her far longer than she expected. His voice. His eyes. The way he had looked at her — not as someone from a different life, but as if no time had passed at all.

She sighed softly and leaned back in her chair.

Robin would understand. Of everyone, Robin would understand. Nami wanted to write it out — the shock, the weight of seeing him alive, the warmth that bloomed quietly in her chest since.

But she didn’t.

Zoro had asked her not to say anything. And for all the questions still buzzing in her mind, for all the feelings she hadn’t fully sorted through yet… she would respect that.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the flutter in her chest when she thought about him. She was already trying to figure out an excuse to pass by Sabaody again — just to check in, maybe. Nothing more.

Right?

She drummed her fingers against the wood of her desk.

Why am I so eager? she wondered. Her life was full, bursting at the seams with projects and possibilities. She was proud of what she had built, of the woman she had become.

But the truth nestled quietly beneath the layers: she hadn’t looked forward to seeing someone like this in years.

Maybe reconnecting with that part of her life wasn’t just nostalgia. Maybe it meant more.

She leaned forward again and wrote one final line before signing the letter.

“Oh! One more thing — I can’t share much for now… but I’ve found a treasure. Hopefully, I’ll tell you more soon. ”

—

The broom scratched rhythmically against the wooden floor as Zoro moved between tables, sweeping up the last traces of last night’s dust and cigarette ash. The quiet was welcome — predictable. He liked it that way.

Then came the familiar thump-thump-thump of small feet bouncing from table to table.

“Oi!” he barked without looking up. “Feet off the damn tables. People eat there.”

A final hop and the girl landed square on the bar with a smug little grin. “You’re welcome for the dramatic entrance, old man.”

Zoro jabbed the broom at her feet. “Now I gotta clean all over again. You’re a damn nuisance.”

She just swung her legs and kicked her heels against the counter, unbothered. “I got what you asked about.”

That made him pause. He leaned the broom against the wall and crossed his arms. “Yeah?”

“Some place uptown. Backroom stock. Not on display,” she said with the gleam of a born schemer. “It’s gonna cost, though. Big time.”

Zoro squinted at her, unimpressed. “Expensive because it is… or expensive because you’re trying to extort me again?”

The girl shrugged dramatically. “Bit of both. Take it or leave it.”

Zoro scoffed, shaking his head as he reached for a rag to wipe the bar. “Tch. You’re just like …”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud. But the memory came anyway — Nami’s smirk when she’d cornered him into doing something ridiculous, just because he owed her. The smug tilt of her head. The way she always won.

He grunted. “Witch.”

Then glanced at the girl, who blinked at him with wide, curious eyes.

He sighed and corrected himself. “...Little witch.”

That got a chuckle out of her, soft and amused. “That’s new.”

Zoro slid the sandwich across the bar to her without another word, trying not to let his thoughts drift any further.

He watched her in silence for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Alright. I’ll take it.”

She brightened mid-bite, crumbs on her cheek. “Nice. But you’ll have to come with me. The box of tangerines is too heavy for me alone.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. He’d have the tangerines — the real ones. The kind that grew on the Merry and later the Sunny. He remembered how they tasted: sweet, fresh, a little sharp. Perfect for a snack.

Not that he was stocking them just in case Nami showed up again. Of course not. That would be stupid.

He just wanted to try them again, that was all. Pure coincidence.

Still… if she did come back and asked for one of her fruity drinks, well—this time, he’d be ready.

—--

Nami’s ship docked at Sabaody under a golden haze of late afternoon sun. The excuse had been easy—supplies, repairs, a short stop on the way to Cocoyashi. The truth nestled deeper, unspoken but persistent. The moment her boots touched the familiar boardwalk, a rush of nerves tightened in her chest.

Sabaody was loud and full of life as always, but her pace was measured. She passed shop stalls and street performers, each step bringing her closer to that quiet bar on the edge of Grove 13.

Her excitement rose with each turn, but so did the doubt. She was going to see Zoro again. But… what if he wasn’t happy to see her? What if he’d changed his mind? What if he wasn’t even there anymore?

She was putting too much into this, wasn’t she? He wasn’t the same boy she’d sailed with all those years ago. Twenty years had passed. People changed.

She’d always been a doer — someone who pushed forward, made things happen. That drive had built her life, earned her success. But not everyone wanted that kind of energy in their life.

Maybe she was being pushy without realizing it. Maybe Zoro didn’t want to be found. Didn’t want her showing up, dragging pieces of the past into whatever quiet life he’d chosen.

She stopped at the door, her hand resting on the wood, breath held. What if walking in changed something? What if it didn’t change anything at all?

…

Inside, Zoro stood behind the counter, stacking bottles with quiet focus. The bar was empty—too early for customers, but he kept it open all the same, just in case.

The door creaked slightly against the breeze, and he glanced toward it instinctively. No one came in. His gaze lingered, expectant —like it had, every day, since she left.
And when nothing happened, he looked back down at the glass in his hand. Of course she wasn’t coming back. She had a life, important things to do. He had been foolish to think—

The door swung open.

He looked up.

She stepped in.

For a second, neither of them moved. Her eyes flickered with hesitation, his with surprise. And then, something soft broke across her face—something hopeful, unguarded.

Zoro couldn’t help it.

He smiled.

So did she.

--- TBC ---

Chapter Text

The door swung open.
He looked up.
She stepped in.

For a second, neither of them moved. Her eyes flickered with hesitation, his with surprise. And then, something soft broke across her face—something hopeful, unguarded.
Zoro couldn’t help it.
He smiled.
So did she.

The tension didn’t dissolve so much as it shifted—drawn out and suspended between them, more alive than before.

Nami walked toward the bar, silent and sure. Her steps were smooth, steady, unhurried. There was a sway to her hips, the kind that might have turned heads on the street—but here, it wasn’t put on. It wasn’t a performance. It was the walk of someone who knew who she was, and in this moment, didn’t feel the need to second-guess it.

She wasn’t trying to impress him. She didn’t need to.

He was already watching her.

Zoro watched her approach, the soft clink of her heels against the floor the only sound in the room — a walk he recognized instantly. Not because it was practiced or flashy, but because it was hers: the kind of walk that didn’t ask for attention, yet always drew it. The walk of a woman who knew what she wanted — and knew she was going to get it.

He hadn’t seen that in a long time. Not from her. Not since—

His fingers curled around the edge of the counter. Yeah. That was the Nami he remembered — not just sharp, stunning, and in control, but sure of herself in that way that made you feel like she already knew the outcome and was just being polite enough to let you catch up.

Something tugged at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one.

She slid onto the stool without a word, her fingers tapping lightly on the counter. Then, as casually as if no time had passed at all, she said, “Beer.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow.
“There she is,” he muttered under his breath. “Bossy.”
Then, louder: “No.”

Nami blinked, caught off guard — she wasn’t used to hearing no. Not from anyone.

But he’d already turned his back, rummaging under the counter as if the conversation was over.
Glass clinked, and a cork popped with a soft, deliberate sound.

When he returned, he set a small glass in front of her — no label, no explanation. Just a rich, amber-gold liquid catching the light like it had something to prove.

“Oh, something special for me?” she drawled, not because she believed it, but because she liked how he reacted when she teased him.

He scoffed without looking at her, wiping his hands on a cloth.

She lifted the cup, sniffed it cautiously. Her brow lifted.

“Tangerine liquor?”

She lifted the cup, inspecting it with mild curiosity.
Zoro watched her closely from behind the bar, arms crossed, his expression unreadable—but there was something in his eyes. He was waiting. Not smug, not expectant—just quietly serious, like her opinion actually mattered and he didn’t want her to know that.

She took a small sip—and her eyes widened.
“It’s… really good.”

He didn’t say anything, but the smug curve of his mouth said enough.

“I’m taking the whole bottle,” she declared, slipping back into that commanding tone that had once bent entire islands to her will.

“No.”

She wasn’t the kind of woman who took no for an answer—never had been. And sure, she could’ve found a way to swipe the bottle when he wasn’t looking, walk out with a smirk and a wink. But that wasn’t the way to rebuild whatever it was they were finding again. Not with him.

So she tried charm. Soft voice. Sweetened tone.

“Zoroooo.” Her voice dropped into a dramatic whine.

But the moment the word left her lips, she remembered—he’d never fallen for those tricks. Not then, probably not now.

Her pout turned sharp. “You haven’t seen me in over fifteen years and you’re not going to give me the bottle?”

“No, I’m not.”
He didn’t even look at her when he said it—just kept wiping down a glass with deliberate calm, like he hadn’t just denied her twice. But she wasn’t fooled. There was a certain satisfaction in the tight set of his jaw, in the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. He was enjoying this.

She took a breath. No need to get pushy. Not yet.
Again, Nami wasn’t used to hearing “no,” not from anyone. Still, she’d show him how reasonable she could be.
“I’ll pay for it.”
She leaned forward over the bar, one brow raised, voice smooth, almost generous. Offering money wasn’t something she liked to do—but for this, she could make an exception.

“Money can’t buy everything.”
He finally met her eyes, and something flickered there. Not quite a smirk, but the edge of one. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he was definitely enjoying it.

“Then give me the brand. I’ll find it somewhere else.”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, sending a purposeful sweep of hair over her shoulder. Her stance was pure defiance—poised, stubborn, and just a little bit daring.

He snorted, shaking his head. “Ha. Good luck with that.”
His voice was smug, but there was a gleam in his eye—mischievous and warm. He wasn’t just teasing her. He was challenging her. And loving every second of it.

“Zoro!”
She slapped the bar with the flat of her hand, not hard—just enough to release her frustration. But there was no heat in it. Her eyes danced, exasperated but amused, as if testing how much of the old her he remembered. How much of himself he’d kept, too.

“If you want to drink this,” he said, finally meeting her gaze, “you have to come here. It’s the only way.”

The corner of her mouth curled into a smirk.
“Oh.”
It slipped out, surprised and soft. She hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected to lose and like it. But she did. It was rare, almost unheard of, for someone to outmaneuver her and leave her not only empty-handed, but oddly satisfied. Maybe it was because his answer gave them an excuse. Maybe it was because it meant he wanted her to come back—had planned for it, even. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was.
But somehow, in just a few words, he’d managed something very few ever had.

He’d left her speechless.
And without what she wanted.
Yet happy.

She let the moment settle, the silence between them charged but easy.

“Fair enough,” she said at last, with a tilt of her head and a spark in her eyes.

And he smirked—because he’d won, and they both knew it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. She took another sip, savoring the drink like it was something rare, while he busied himself behind the bar, drying a glass that didn’t really need it. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It settled easily, like something worn-in and familiar, the kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.

And that— that was strange.
Strange, and maybe a little dangerous.

It had been years. More than a decade. They shouldn’t have been able to fall back into this so easily.

He looked up. Met her eyes. And before he could stop himself, his mouth opened.

“So,” he said, voice low but steady, “how’ve you been?” It wasn’t much. But it was something.

She felt a flicker of warmth at the way he started the conversation again—subtle, but unmistakable.

“Oh, good,” she said, easing into her reply. “An important deal came through. I’ve been working on it for months, and last week it finally got accepted. So yeah… a really good week.”

He gave a small nod. “Whatever you put your mind to, you get done. Not surprised.” A short pause. “But congratulations.”

“You seem to have too much faith in me,” she teased, taking another sip.

The words felt oddly familiar as they left her mouth. He’d said something similar when they saw each other again—when she told him about her plans, her work, her life. He hadn’t hesitated then, either. Just looked at her like he already knew she could do anything.

“But I’m right,” he said, like it was just fact.

He didn’t say it to flatter her. Nami could be bossy, impatient, spoiled when she wanted to be—but it was exactly those sharp-edged impulses that gave her the drive to push forward, to fight for what she wanted until it was hers. She didn’t back down. Not from storms, not from warlords, not from the world. That kind of fire didn’t lose.

She huffed, playful. “Well… it’s not like everything I’ve tried in life worked out, you know.”

He leaned in slightly, arms folded as he looked at her with that unflinching calm. “Like what?” he asked. “Tell me something you failed at.”

“Well…” She paused, swirling the little glass between her fingers. It was hard to think of something—mostly because she was proud of how far she’d come, and failures weren’t exactly things she liked to dwell on.

Then her face lit up, amused by the memory. “Oh! I know. I tried to go blonde for a while. A few years ago. I don’t think it worked for me.”

Zoro snorted. “You? Blonde?” He shook his head, trying to picture it. “I bet that was weird.”

But then he added, more thoughtful, “Still... it’s just hair. Probably wasn’t bad on you.”

“It’s not just hair!” Nami argued, animated now. “Not every face can pull off every color. These days, Robin’s got her whole hair white and she looks damn cool. I was actually wondering if I should stop dyeing mine… but I don’t know if it would work for me.”

Zoro thought the conversation was drifting into shallow territory—but it gave him another excuse to tease her, and he was starting to enjoy that little game. With an exaggerated motion, he brushed his fingers through his now partially gray hair and shot her a wink. “Not everyone can rock the silver and still look this good.”

Nami looked at him differently this time. The way he smirked, the easy confidence, the lazy movement of his arm flexing as he pushed his hair back—it was… hot? Since when was Zoro hot? She blinked, slightly thrown by the realization.

But she didn’t answer fast enough, and his expression shifted. That brief flash of confidence folded into something quieter, more guarded. “But I guess whatever you do with your hair’ll be fine,” he added, eyes flicking away.

“Of course!” she said quickly, snapping out of it. She’d gotten distracted by the charm or the moment—or both. “But I guess I’ll keep being an orange-haired menace a little longer.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Suits you.”

“You, on the other hand, Grandpa…” she said with a smirk, tilting her glass toward him. “Lucky for you there’s still that faint green on your head. Once it’s all white, though—it’s gonna be weird.”

She thought about it for a second. Zoro’s grin, that cocky expression she’d known forever—imagining it with a full head of white hair was strange. Not bad, just… strange. Not that she’d tell him, but she had a feeling he’d still pull it off.

“Grandpa?” he echoed, narrowing his eye at her.

“Yeah,” she said with a grin. “If someone walks in now, they’re probably going to ask what a young lady like me is doing chatting with such an old man .”

He let out a short snort. “You don’t look that young, you know.”

She gasped and stood abruptly from her stool. “Zoro! You can’t just tell a woman in her—her f-… late thirties —that she doesn’t look young!”

He raised his hand and counted on his fingers, slowly, deliberately. “I’m forty-one. So that makes you… forty.”

“Shut up, you idiot!” she snapped, reaching across the bar to slap a hand over his mouth. She could feel him laughing underneath it, the sound muffled and vibrating against her palm.

“Oi, witch!” he pulled back, grinning. “You’re denying your age now?”

“I’m not denying anything ,” she huffed, lifting her chin. “I’m just letting people believe I’m not as… experienced.”

Zoro shook his head, chuckling. “You’re crazy.”

“Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. Nami was confident—always had been—but aging? That still struck a nerve.

Zoro didn’t flinch. “You look just fine, woman. Doesn’t matter if you’re twenty or forty—who cares.”

He wasn’t saying it to flatter her. He said it like it was just a plain fact. She was elegant, sharp, always put together. Why would she worry about it?

And coming from him , somehow… it felt like a real compliment.

“Well, men care—” she stopped herself mid-sentence, waving her hand in the air. “I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

“What?”

“Romance,” she said, blunt and final.

The word sat there for a moment—and then it hit him. They weren’t in their twenties anymore. Most people their age had long settled into lives with partners, maybe kids. He never really thought about it before. But now that she brought it up…

What if Nami was married? Had a family?

Not that it changed anything… right?

Except it probably would.

And yet… he should be happy for her. Shouldn’t he?

So why did it feel so weird?

“You married?” he asked—blunt, without thinking.

“What?” she stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “How the hell did we jump to that ?”

“You’re old—”

Her glare could have burned the bar down.

“ Old enough ,” he corrected fast, suddenly very aware of her death-glare. “Old enough to be married. Like… most people usually are. At our age.”

She let out a loud sigh, leaning back in her stool. “Well, I guess that’s something I haven’t accomplished in the past years.”

She didn’t say it with bitterness—just matter-of-fact, almost ironic. After all, he had said she could do anything she put her mind to. And yet… here she was, at an age where family was the norm, and that part of life had just never happened. 

And for some reason, that made Zoro smirk.

She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you smiling at that?” She punched him on the arm enough to make him flinch. “You think I’m some kind of loser or something?”

“Ow! Damn…” He rubbed his elbow. “No, I just figured… if you don’t have it, it’s probably ’cause you didn’t want it.”

“Exactly,” she shot back. That was what she believed too. Marriage, family—it was never part of the plan. Not like her goals, her maps, her freedom.

Her gaze drifted toward him, thoughtful. Zoro, of all people. He never seemed like the settling type. But people changed… maybe he had too.

“You?” she asked, careful not to sound too interested. Just curious. Just making conversation. Probably.

“Me?” He let out a small snort. “Nah.”

He said it like it was ridiculous. And maybe it was. Who would’ve settled with a guy like him? One week in a place, then gone for a year. Always chasing something.

And she felt… relieved. Why?

Maybe because she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t figured out the whole romance thing.

Or maybe… it was something else entirely.

Then the silence came. Not heavy, not awkward—just full. Familiar.
Like the kind that used to fall on the Sunny.
Except now, there was no clatter of Usopp’s tools, no Sanji yelling from the kitchen, no Luffy’s laughs in the distance.

Just wind against glass. Footsteps outside. Zoro’s quiet breath.

And she felt it—that shape in the silence.
What was missing.

Her fingers brushed the rim of her glass. Then, almost absently—
“You ever think about him?”

Zoro didn’t look at her. Just let out a long breath.
“…Every day.”

For a while, neither of them said anything.
Then—quiet, almost like it hurt to ask—he spoke again.
“How was it? At the end.”

Nami hesitated, surprised by the question. “Sad. Of course. But… you know him. He didn’t want anyone sitting around crying.”

His eyes stayed fixed on the counter.
“…Did he notice I wasn’t there?”

“Of course he did,” she said softly, without hesitation.

His jaw tightened, but he still didn’t look up.
“…Was he disappointed?”

There was a pause. Then she smiled, small and a little sad.
“We thought you were dead, to be honest. And none of us wanted to bring him bad news. So when he realized you weren’t there, he laughed.” She glanced at him.
“Said you probably got lost.”

Zoro didn’t move. Not even a twitch. But something in his shoulders loosened—just barely.
Not relief, not really. But something close.

Luffy hadn’t been angry.
Hadn’t been hurt.
He’d just… known.
Of course he had.

It didn’t erase the guilt. Didn’t fill in the years. But it gave him something to hold on to.

Then he looked at her.
She was quiet, lost in her own thoughts—probably remembering Luffy.
Of course she was. She missed him too. Just like he did.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low. Not just polite. Meant. “For telling me that.”

It didn’t erase anything. But it helped.
More than she probably knew.

She looked at him, and there it was again—that look.
Not the stubborn glare or dry indifference he wore like armor, but something raw beneath it, something that flickered through the cracks.
Hurt. Guilt.
And for once, no guard.

It moved her more than she expected, catching her off-guard in a way few things could.
Because he never let anyone see this. Not really.

And suddenly, she was glad—
glad she’d come,
glad she told him,
glad it gave him something, even if it couldn’t erase everything.

She stood up and said his name—“Zoro”—and somehow that was enough to pull him to attention. He looked at her, then down at the bar between them. A stupid slab of wood, and suddenly it felt like too much. Like a wall.

Without a word, he stepped out from behind it.

And she saw him then—really saw him. Taller than she remembered. Broader, heavier in presence. Stronger in a way that came with time. But somehow, still unmistakably him.

He looked at her too. She seemed smaller than he remembered—not fragile, but softer. Like something had shifted around the edges. Like time had carved into her gently, not unkindly.

The weight of the memory—the one neither of them had dared to fully touch—lingered between them, weakening something in her chest that hadn’t cracked in a long time. And before she could think better of it, she crossed the distance and wrapped her arms around him.

He froze, caught off guard by the sudden contact. She held him tightly, her face buried against his chest, and it took him a second to move. Affection like this wasn’t something he was used to. But when he felt her shoulders tremble, something clicked inside him. Slowly, almost cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice muffled against him.

He blinked, unsure what she meant. Why was she apologizing? He was the one who hadn’t been there. He was the one who’d left without a word. But before he could ask, he felt her quiet sobs against his chest, steady but small, and his arms tightened around her on instinct, trying to hold her together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” she said, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I should’ve known you got lost.”

The words hit harder than he expected. His throat closed, and all he could do was shake his head, stunned that she would feel guilty about this .

“No,” he said, low and firm. “Don’t say that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”

Her eyes met his, watery and aching, cheeks still damp and pink from crying, and his heart clenched at the sight. She looked so raw. So real. And so incredibly beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with looks at all.

“But I’m the navigator,” she said, a soft, broken laugh behind the tears. “I should’ve found you. I should’ve brought you back.”

-TBC-

Chapter Text

The weight of the memory—the one neither of them had dared to fully touch—lingered between them, weakening something in her chest that hadn’t cracked in a long time. And before she could think better of it, she crossed the distance and wrapped her arms around him.

He froze, caught off guard by the sudden contact. She held him tightly, her face buried against his chest, and it took him a second to move. Affection like this wasn’t something he was used to. But when he felt her shoulders tremble, something clicked inside him. Slowly, almost cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice muffled against him.

He blinked, unsure what she meant. Why was she apologizing? He was the one who hadn’t been there. He was the one who’d left without a word. But before he could ask, he felt her quiet sobs against his chest, steady but small, and his arms tightened around her on instinct, trying to hold her together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” she said, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I should’ve known you got lost.”

The words hit harder than he expected. His throat closed, and all he could do was shake his head, stunned that she would feel guilty about this .

“No,” he said, low and firm. “Don’t say that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”

Her eyes met his, watery and aching, cheeks still damp and pink from crying, and his heart clenched at the sight. She looked so raw. So real. And so incredibly beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with looks at all.

“But I’m the navigator,” she said, a soft, broken laugh behind the tears. “I should’ve found you. I should’ve brought you back.”

Chapter 5

He didn’t speak right away. Just held her, caught between everything he wanted to say and everything he couldn’t.

“You’re here now,” he said finally, voice rough. “You found me. That’s what matters. Don’t put this on yourself. I’m sorry… for making you worry. For making it take this long.”

He dropped his head slightly, forehead nearly brushing hers, and the silence that followed wasn’t heavy—just full of everything that had gone unsaid for years.

She hadn’t realized how scared she’d been — scared that he’d blame her, even just a little. That he’d resent her for not finding him sooner, for not dragging him back when it mattered most.

A memory rose — vivid and unshakable. Zoro, back in Arlong Park, hands bound, eyes steady, throwing himself into that deep pool without hesitation. Because even then, he trusted her. Knew her. Knew she wouldn’t let him drown, no matter what face she was wearing for Arlong’s crew. And she hadn’t. She’d leapt in after him without thinking, without pausing — because she knew he was right.

And yet... when he disappeared, she’d believed he was gone. Dead. She told herself it made sense. But deep down, she’d known it didn’t — not really. So why hadn’t she searched for him? Why had she let herself bury it?

Still... he didn’t blame her.

There wasn’t a trace of anger in his voice, not even disappointment. It was like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

And that… that undid her a little.

She was still in his arms, still holding on like she didn’t want to let go. Only now, she noticed how tightly he was holding her too.

His arms were strong—really strong. Solid muscle, warm and steady around her back. She could feel the tension in them, not stiff or awkward, but protective. She noticed the way his scent clung to him, something like steel and earth and just a hint of sake. And there was a trace of citrus too, but she knew that was her—her own scent brushing off on him, mingling between them.

It made her feel safe. Anchored. Which only made her more aware of how close they really were.

This is Zoro, she thought, heart suddenly kicking up.

She ducked her face again, burying it against his chest before she could think better of it. It was instinct, but also defense. She didn’t like showing vulnerability—had learned over the years to keep that part of herself locked away. But he was her nakama. She could open up with him… right?

Still, it had been a long time. Too long. Maybe this was too much.

But if it was, Zoro wasn’t showing it.

He didn’t loosen his hold. Didn’t shift or pull back. He just stood there, arms still around her, warm and solid and quiet.

And maybe he should’ve let go by now. Maybe it would’ve been the proper thing to do. But she hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t moved. And the truth was… he didn’t want to let go.

Not because he was enjoying it—he told himself that. It wasn’t about that.

It was just… the right thing to do.

A woman was crying. She needed someone, and he was here.

So he held her.

And if his hand moved just a little, resting lightly at the middle of her back—he didn’t think too hard about it.

Nami let out a quiet breath, the kind that trembled a little at the end. She didn’t move—not at first—but the awareness started creeping in. How close they were. How tightly they were holding on.

Zoro felt it too. The weight of her in his arms, the warmth pressed into his chest, the soft tangle of her hair under his chin. And with it, a flicker of doubt. Was he holding on too long? Was he making her uncomfortable?

He loosened his grip, just slightly.

She felt it. The shift. Not much—but enough. And she thought, maybe that was his way of saying he wanted to step back. So she did too, just a little. A slow, instinctive lean.

He felt her move. And his mind jumped— She’s pulling away.

So he let go.

And suddenly, they were apart.

Not by much. Just enough to let the air return between them. Just enough to feel the loss of it.

Neither of them looked directly at the other for a moment. Like if they did, it would unravel whatever fragile thread had held that moment in place.

Zoro stepped back first.

Not far, just enough to clear his throat and move toward the bar again — his safe ground. He needed to do something with his hands, something simple. He reached for the bottle of tangerine liquor without a word.

Nami eased back onto her stool, wiping beneath one eye with the side of her finger, quiet but collected again. She didn’t expect anything more. She certainly didn’t expect him to pour her another.

But he did.

She blinked as he placed the tiny glass in front of her.

“Another?” Her tone was light, curious. “I thought this was a one-time-only kind of deal. Guess I’ve been good.”

Zoro didn’t say anything at first. Just gave a faint shrug, like it didn’t mean anything. The drink was his way of thanking her again. But when she made that smug little comment, the corner of his mouth twitched, and the sound that escaped him was half a grunt, half a chuckle.

“Just don’t get used to it.”

Nami tilted her head, letting her elbow rest lazily on the bar, her body shifting into a more relaxed pose. The angle dipped slightly, just enough to lean into the conversation, just enough to be close. Teasing, out of habit. Comfortable. Maybe too comfortable.

“Oh, I have my tricks,” she said, tone playful, the smile on her lips easy — but when she heard herself, something tensed. Was she… flirting?

With Zoro?

Zoro had already noticed the shift in posture. The way her body curved over the bar, the slight lean that brought her just a little closer than before. Her neckline dipped, not dramatically — just enough to make him notice.

It was a classic Nami move. One he’d seen a hundred times — used on strangers, marks, men too dumb to realize they were being played.

It had never worked on him.

It wasn’t going to work now.

…Right?

His eye narrowed slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“Those won’t work,” he said, voice even, eyes still vaguely in the direction of her neckline before flicking up again — too casual to be convincing.

Nami grinned, lips twitching with delight as she caught the direction of his gaze. She leaned back just a little, sipping the liquor with exaggerated innocence.

“My boobs?” she asked, mock-offended, eyes wide and glinting with amusement.

Zoro didn’t answer. Instead, he placed the tiny cup in front of her again with a sharp clink.

“Your tricks ,” he clarified, deadpan — but the way his jaw tightened and his eyes flicked away betrayed him.

Her laughter broke free, bright and unrestrained. She leaned back fully, grinning now.

She knew those “tricks” wouldn’t work on him. They never had. Most men fell for the game — captivated, disarmed, easy to read. But there were a few who didn’t. A rare few who were immune to her charms, who saw past the bait and looked her straight in the eye.

And the funny thing was — she liked that. As much as she hated not getting her way, she loved a challenge. She respected men who didn’t see women as just a pair of walking boobs. And Zoro? Zoro had never looked at her like that. Even back then. That stubborn, oblivious, infuriating man had treated her like an equal, a threat, a partner — never a prize.

“I really like this,” she said, almost offhandedly — but the look she gave him wasn’t casual at all. It was subtle, but pointed. She knew what the drink meant. She wasn’t just enjoying it — she was letting him know she saw the gesture for what it was, and she appreciated it.

Zoro didn’t say anything. Just gave a small nod, the kind that said more than words.

Another silence settled between them. Not awkward. Not tense. Just quiet. Easy. Though under the surface, both of them were wondering the same thing — is the other okay with this silence? Should one of us say something?

Eventually, one of them did.

“So,” Nami said, twirling the tiny glass between her fingers, “what about you? How’s your week been since I last saw you?”

Zoro shrugged. “Uneventful.”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Wow. Don’t overwhelm me with the excitement.”

He smirked faintly but didn’t argue.

She leaned forward on her elbows, gaze curious. “So what do you do here? Regularly, I mean.”

Zoro lifted one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. “Wake up. Train a little. Open the bar. Serve drinks. Clean up. Go to bed. Repeat.”

“Sounds… thrilling,” she said dryly.

He chuckled — because even he knew it wasn’t.

“Don’t you get bored?” she asked, tilting her head. “Don’t you want to do something else? Something more… fun?”

“There’s not much to do around here,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“Well, what about going somewhere else?” she offered. “Like a vacation. A change of scenery?”

That stopped him. His hand froze mid-wipe along the counter. “I don’t want to go anywhere,” he said simply. A little defensive. 

She studied him for a moment, wondering. Maybe it was his sense of direction — or lack of it. From what he’d told her, it had only gotten worse over time. But to be so rooted that even leaving the neighborhood seemed out of the question?

“What if…” she started slowly, casually, “next time I’m here, we go for a walk around the island. Just a short one. And then come back.”

Zoro looked up. “Next time?”

His voice was neutral, but the small twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He liked the sound of that.

She caught it, and smiled, bright and assured. “Of course. I have to finish the bottle, don’t I?” she added, lifting her glass like a toast.

Zoro glanced at it, then at her — the way she said next time so easily, like it was already a given.

The idea of going out didn’t thrill him. He hadn’t been here long but staying put had become a kind of safety. A routine he could manage.

He didn’t leave the bar often. When he did, it was usually with someone who could guide him back. That’s how it had to be.

But somehow, Nami had understood that and now, she was offering the same — a way out, without pressure. Just a walk. Just her.

It was a good offer and besides… the bar didn’t have much to offer someone like her. She was polished, sharp, used to bigger things — meetings, deals, places that mattered. This place? It was just a quiet hole in the Grove. He didn’t want her to get bored of it. Of him.

He glanced at the almost-empty glass in her hand, the way her fingers curled casually around it, the glint in her eyes when she smiled at him.

“It could be a good plan,” he said, low and even — but the faint curve at the edge of his mouth gave him away.

Nami took the last sip of her drink, savoring it for a second longer than necessary. The warm citrus lingered on her tongue, but her thoughts had already shifted.

She hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way — the quiet rhythm, the gentle back-and-forth, the comfort of being near him again. It felt… easy. Familiar in a way that tugged at old instincts. For a moment, she let herself believe this could last — that they could fall back into something steady.

But then, just as easily, a flicker of doubt crept in.

Maybe it was too easy. Maybe she was reading too much into his calm replies, mistaking politeness for interest. She’d come here with so much certainty, so eager to reconnect — but what if she was pushing too hard? What if she was overstepping, imposing herself on a life he hadn’t invited her back into?

The warmth didn’t vanish, exactly — but it dimmed. Just enough to make her shift slightly in her seat. Maybe it was better to leave now, before comfort turned into awkwardness. Before he felt like she was prying into something she no longer had a right to claim.

With a soft exhale, she slid off the stool.

“I should go,” she said, gathering her things with practiced ease. “Long trip tomorrow.”

Zoro didn’t move from behind the bar. He just nodded once, slow. “Right.”

He kept his face neutral, his stance easy — like it didn’t matter.

But inside, something tightened.

He kept his posture relaxed, arms loosely crossed, gaze fixed somewhere near the bottles — not at her. But inside, something tensed. He hadn’t wanted her to go. Not yet. Not when the silence between them had just started feeling good again. Familiar.

He replayed the last few moments in his head, trying to figure out what shifted. She’d been smiling. Laughing, even. So why was she pulling away now?

Of course she was leaving. What was he expecting? This place wasn’t exactly exciting. Just a quiet bar in a forgotten corner of Sabaody. Nothing special. Nothing that would hold the attention of someone like her — polished, sharp, always moving. She belonged in places with shine and significance. Not here. Not with him.

He didn’t let the disappointment show. Didn’t ask questions. He just stood there, arms folded loosely, pretending he hadn’t noticed the way her energy had cooled. Pretending it didn’t mean anything.

She lingered at the door for a second longer than necessary, eyes flicking back to him. The air between them felt heavier than it had a moment ago — not cold, just... uncertain. Like something had been left unsaid.

She caught the gloom settling in behind the bar — the stillness of him, the way he hadn’t moved since she said she was going. And because she couldn’t stand to end it on that note, she offered a smile — the kind that held a little more than it let on.

“Next time… we’ll take that walk, yeah?” she said lightly. “It’s a date.”

The word slipped out before she could stop it. Too fast. Too loaded.

Zoro blinked, surprised.

“Not a real date,” she added quickly, waving a hand, laughing it off. “Just—whatever. You know what I mean.”

But the damage was already done — or maybe it wasn’t damage at all.

Because for the first time since she stood up, his expression shifted. Just slightly. The edge of his mouth curved, small but real. She saw it — that rare smile — and something in her chest loosened.

He nodded once, voice low but sure. “Of course.”

That smile — his smile — told her enough. He wanted her to come back.

And just like that, her own confidence returned.

She smiled too, softer now, and turned to leave.

And that was it.

She stepped out into the Sabaody night, the fading light catching in her hair as the door clicked shut behind her.

Zoro stood still for a beat, then started clearing the bar again like nothing had happened. But he was slower this time. Distracted.

Outside, Nami walked a little more slowly than usual, boots tapping softly against the boardwalk.

Inside, Zoro glanced at the empty stool she’d left behind.

They both tried to tell themselves it was fine. That it was just a visit. That it didn’t mean anything.

But the truth was—

They were already thinking about next time.

Even if it wasn’t a real date.

— TBC —

Chapter Text

The table was still warm from dinner, though most of the dishes had been cleared away. A few plates sat stacked by the sink, and the soft clink of cutlery being sorted in the background added to the gentle hum of the house. Outside, the sky had dimmed into the soft indigo of early evening, and the open window let in the cool breeze of Cocoyashi’s coastal air.

Nami sat back in her chair, her legs tucked up beneath her. A half-empty cup of tea steamed lazily in her hands. Across from her, Nojiko was wiping her hands on a dish towel, her expression content but curious as she leaned against the counter.

“Your stew’s gotten even better,” Nami said, smiling around the rim of her cup.

“Don’t flatter me,” Nojiko grinned.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only years of closeness could make comfortable. The voices of Nojiko’s husband and kids drifted faintly from the other room, grounding the house in a peaceful, lived-in rhythm.

Nami set her cup down, fingers idly tracing the rim. “Hey… do you know if any of our tangerines are going to liquor producers?”

Nojiko glanced up from where she was drying a plate. “Not that I’m aware of. Most of our shipments go to restaurants and grocery stores across the West Blue. A few supermarket chains outside the region, but that’s about it. Why?”

“I just…” Nami paused for a second, her gaze drifting to the window as the memory of a quiet bar in Sabaody flickered through her mind. The dim light, the taste of the drink, and the familiar man behind the counter. She felt her heart tug, but she pushed it back down. She wasn’t ready to explain all of that. Not yet.

“I had a really good tangerine liquor recently. It reminded me of home, that’s all.” She smiled, a little too brightly. “Thought maybe it was made with our fruit.”

Nojiko tilted her head. “Where’d you drink it?”

Nami hesitated just a beat too long. “Eh… I don’t remember. Somewhere during a stopover. Just passing through.” She waved it off, reaching for another slice of tangerine. 

Nojiko grinned. “Nice! Do you have the bottle? I can check the producer.”

Nami hesitated just a beat too long. “Eh… I didn’t take it. Just tried a glass.”

Nojiko frowned. “You didn’t take the bottle?”

Nami shrugged, overly casual. “Didn’t think to. It probably wasn’t even from our stock.”

Now Nojiko’s brow furrowed. “Come on, you? You taste something that might be from our farm and you just let it go?” She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “You’ve chased down suppliers over less.”

Nami gave a strained smile. “It was just one drink.”

Nojiko didn’t buy it. “Alright, so where was this bar? I can check the island. Maybe one of our clients expanded.”

Nami shifted in her seat. “I don’t remember. It wasn’t important.”

Nojiko raised an eyebrow, then let out a soft snort as she walked back to the table and dropped into the chair across from her. “Right. Nami, the greatest navigator in the world, doesn’t remember an island?”

She grinned as she folded her arms on the table, resting her chin on them. “You’re up to something.”

Nami hesitated, her fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of her cup. Zoro’s words echoed in her mind — “Don’t tell the others.” But that had meant the crew , right? The old gang. Nojiko wasn’t one of them. She was her sister. Besides… it wasn’t like anything had really happened. She’d just bumped into an old friend. Nothing strange about that.

Still, the secrecy clung to her like humidity.

She let out a quiet sigh.

“I bumped into someone I wasn’t expecting,” she said, eyes fixed on the tea she wasn’t drinking. “An old nakama . But he didn’t want me to share that I found him. At least… not with the others.”

“An old nakama?” Nojiko tilted her head, not pushing, just listening. “I see. So, not the ones you still meet up with now and then. Not Usopp, or Sanji, or Robin.”

Nami shook her head slowly.

“Zoro.”

Nojiko’s eyes widened. “ What?! We all thought he was dead !”

Nami smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth tinged with something softer—relief, maybe. “He’s not. He’s… a bartender. In a bar in Sabaody.”

Nojiko didn’t press—not right away. She just nodded slightly, drying her hands on the towel as she glanced out the window into the fading dusk. Then, softly, “How’s he doing? I mean… is he okay?”

Nami hesitated. “Physically? Yeah. He looks… ok, actually. Strong. Healthy.”
She paused, her voice dipping. “But something’s… off. It’s like he’s carrying something. Heavy. Like he’s stuck.”

Nojiko’s brow furrowed with quiet concern. “Poor guy. So was he okay seeing you?”

A faint smile touched Nami’s lips. “He was surprised. But I think… he was happy, relieved. Like he thought we’d be mad at him or something.”

Nojiko sighed, folding her arms. “Poor guy,” she echoed. “Maybe drinking that liquor with him just brought back all those memories. The crew. Those days. That’s why it felt like home.”

Nami looked down at her tea, thoughtful. “...Maybe.”

Nojiko watched her sister carefully, then tilted her head, her voice gentle but probing. “And he doesn’t want anyone else reaching out? That’s why he asked you not to tell the others?”
She paused, then added thoughtfully, “Still… maybe you should talk to Usopp. Or Robin. Maybe visit him again—with someone. If he was okay seeing you, he might be okay seeing the rest too. Might help him loosen up.”

Nami shifted, her eyes dropping to her cup. Steam curled softly from the surface, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her face.

“I already did,” she said quietly.

Nojiko blinked. “What?”

“I saw him again,” Nami admitted, a little reluctantly. “A few times, actually. I didn’t tell anyone.”

Nojiko sat back, blinking in surprise. “You’ve been seeing him and keeping it to yourself?”

Nami gave a small shrug, trying to seem indifferent. “He asked me not to say anything. I didn’t want to make it into a big deal.”

Nojiko raised an eyebrow. Then her smirk returned. “He was kinda cute when he was younger. How’s he doing these days, huh?”

Nami scoffed. “Was he? I don’t really recall…” She trailed off, then added a bit too casually, “I guess… he’s still fine. I don’t know.”

Nojiko snorted. “Oh, you liked him a little.”

“I like him because he’s my nakama ,” Nami shot back, defensive and just a little too sharp.

Now Nojiko leaned forward, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Is that why you’ve been taking your time coming back from Amazon Lily lately?”

“That is not —that’s not the reason!” Nami flared. “We needed to restock somewhere and Sabaody just happened to be very convenient , logistically speaking.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Nojiko leaned back, arms crossed and grinning.

“I just want to help my nakama,” Nami insisted.

“Oh, I’m sure you do…” Nojiko said, the teasing clear in her voice.

At that moment, Nojiko’s husband wandered into the kitchen, stretching his arms overhead. He glanced at them, then at Nami, then back at his wife. “What’s going on here? Are you cornering your sister again?”

“Nothing!” Nami said quickly.

Nojiko laughed, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist. “Nami’s having a nakama with benefits situation.”

“I am not— !” Nami leapt to her feet, scandalized. “That’s not what this is!”

Her brother-in-law chuckled as he dropped into the seat beside Nojiko, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “Well, whoever the guy is, I hope he sticks around. Nami’s always running on overdrive—might be good for the business if she finally found a way to… relax.”

“You two are idiots,” Nami muttered, already halfway out the door, cheeks flushed and cup in hand. “Bye.”

The door clicked shut behind her. From inside, their laughter followed her into the warm Cocoyashi night.

“Bye, Nami! Go get laid!” Nojiko called after her, grinning.

—---

The bar was quiet, just the way Zoro liked it before opening.

He moved around in easy, practiced steps—restocking the low bottles, checking the taps, wiping down the counter that didn’t really need it. His hands worked on muscle memory, but his mind was elsewhere.

He’d have to talk to Shakky soon. About taking that Friday off.

He frowned.

She was going to ask why , and then he’d have to bring it up. The outing. Not a date. Definitely not a date. Just... a proper meeting. With Nami. One where he wasn’t behind the bar, reeking of lemons and old wood polish.

That was all.

Right?

Just as he was debating whether to lie or mumble something vague, the front door creaked open. He glanced up—and immediately dropped the rag in his hand.

“Oi, Baba, what the hell are you doing?”

Shakky stood in the doorway, leaning slightly on a slender cane, several bags looped over her other arm. Her steps were slow but deliberate, eyes sharp behind her violet-tinted lenses.

Zoro was already moving toward her, muttering curses under his breath as he grabbed the bags out of her hand.

“You could’ve called me, you know,” he said, eyeing the bags. “What’re you doing carrying all this crap by yourself? You’re like eighty.”

“Eighty-four,” Shakky corrected coolly, brushing a lock of silver hair from her face. “And I used to be an Empress of Amazon Lily, remember? I don’t need a man to carry my bags.”

Zoro rolled his eye. “Yeah, well, you’re not in your Amazon days anymore.”

He snorted, but didn’t argue. Just took the bags and walked her to her usual table.

As he set them down, she gave the room a once-over. Her nose wrinkled.

“This place used to be the kind of bar where pirates, revolutionaries, and admirals came through—back when names meant something. Now it smells like damp towels and mediocrity. You need to care more, Zoro.”

Zoro pulled out a chair for her, unfazed. “Times are different.”

Shakky slid one of the bags onto the table and nudged it toward him. “That’s for you.”

Zoro frowned. “What is it?”

“Clothes,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Rayleigh’s old ones. I was going to toss them, but then I thought—well, you dress like a damn beggar half the time, and you’re about his size.”

Zoro opened the bag and peered inside. A few neatly folded shirts. A dark, well-kept jacket. A pair of trousers that actually looked like they had buttons. He was no fashion expert, but even he could tell this stuff was… decent. Like, not embarrassing.

Immediately, his thoughts flicked to Nami. Their outing. Not a date. Just two old friends spending time together. But he’d been wondering what the hell he was going to wear that didn’t scream “I live in a bar and own two shirts.”

This... actually helped.

“Tch. Fine. Thanks.”

Shakky lit her cigarette with a flick of her thumb. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling. She didn’t look away from him — not just a glance this time. She was watching. Measuring.

Zoro avoided her eyes, but he could feel it.

The weight of her silence.

He grabbed a towel and wiped a spot on the bar that didn’t need cleaning.

Still nothing from her.

Finally, she spoke — casual on the surface, but loaded.
“So. Anything new?”

He blinked. “Mmm… no.”

She didn’t look convinced. Just kept staring at him with that subtle, shark-like smile.

Zoro frowned, trying to hold his ground. “What?”

More silence.

He sighed, knowing exactly how this game worked.
“Anyway. I need the day off next Friday.”

That got a response. Her brow arched slowly. “Why?”

“Personal matters.”

Shakky snorted. “Personal what? ”

“It’s not your business.”

She took another slow drag. “It is my business,” she said coolly, “since you might vanish into the wind the moment you step out that door.”

Zoro groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not disappearing. I’ll be back.”

A beat passed.

Then, like it was nothing, she tapped her ash into the tray and said,
“Is this about the redhead?”

He froze.

Jaw clenched. One eye narrowed.

“…What?”

Shakky smirked, taking another drag without missing a beat. “I thought so.”

She gave him a look — not mocking, not smug, just quietly amused.

Then, more softly, more knowing:
“You know, kid… your woman’s a big fish around here.”

Zoro’s mouth opened—then closed again. He had no idea where to start. She’s not my woman. What the hell is she talking about? Why does she even know it’s Nami?

“I don’t know what you’re doing to keep her coming to this —now—hell hole,” Shakky went on, gesturing around the room, “but she’s smart. Important. And yeah, beautiful. Don’t mess this up. She could be your ticket to something that matters in your life.”

Zoro groaned and stood, dragging a hand down his face as the pieces clicked together. The clothes. The bar complaints. The smug looks.

“It’s not what you think,” he grumbled. “She’s just… an old friend.”

Shakky stood as well, heading for the door.

“Whatever,” she said with a shrug, pushing it open. “Just don’t mess it up. Take her somewhere nice. Have a good night for once. You deserve it.”

The door shut behind her with a soft click .

Zoro stood there, scowling at nothing in particular.

—---

The streets of Sabaody were alive with the glow of lanterns and the hum of nightlife, but Nami barely noticed. Her steps were steady, heels clicking lightly against the worn stone paths as she neared the bar.

She adjusted the collar of her jacket for the third time.

It wasn’t cold, not really — the jacket was mostly there to hide the top of her dress. Something about showing up in heels and a backless number felt… obvious. Even if it was the kind of thing she wore all the time. She was a dress-and-heels woman, always had been — but tonight, she second-guessed it more than usual.

Not a date, she reminded herself again.
She just liked to look good when she went out. That was all.

Still, a flicker of self-consciousness crept in as the bar came into view.

Zoro was waiting outside, sitting on the old bench by the door.

Black shirt. Black jeans. Actual shoes. He was wearing shoes. And none of it was his usual stuff, clean lines and good fabric, the sleeves rolled just once at the forearms. It didn’t scream effort, but for him, it was definitely a shift.

He glanced down at himself, uneasy.

Part of him wondered if it was too much. The shirt. The boots. The way he’d actually bothered to button everything properly and not look like he just rolled out of a nap behind the bar. What the hell was he doing?

He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. Never had been.

And deep down, he knew that no matter how much effort he put in, it probably wouldn’t measure up to her. Not really. She lived in a different world now — clean lines, sharp words, always one step ahead.

Still... he wanted to try. Stupid or not.

He scowled.

Damn Shakky and her big mouth. Filling his head with crap about taking her somewhere nice and not messing it up . As if this was something to mess up.

It wasn’t a date. No point in overthinking it.

Nami spotted him before he saw her.

Sitting on the bench outside the bar, Zoro looked… different.

Clean black shirt, sleeves rolled. Boots. He’d shaved. His hair looked neater than usual, like he’d actually looked in a mirror and done something about it.

She slowed down without meaning to.

Had he… dressed up?

For her?

No. That was ridiculous. It wasn’t like he liked her back.
Right?

Back!?
What the hell was she thinking? Damn Nojiko. Putting ideas in her head.

She wasn’t thinking. She was just noticing. That was all. Noticing a clean shirt and a little effort. That didn’t mean anything.

Pull it together, Nami.

They met at the middle of the sidewalk, a little awkward, a little amused.

“Hey,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yo,” he replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets like it was no big deal.

For a moment, they just stood there — two old friends pretending this was nothing special. Then she tilted her head toward the street.

“Shall we?”

He nodded, falling into step beside her.

And like that, they started the date, I mean NOT a date.

Chapter Text

The streets of Sabaody were quieter at night, wrapped in the soft glow of the island’s famous bubble-lit trees. Their light shimmered above like stars caught in slow motion, drifting lazily through the warm air. Somewhere in the distance, music floated from a bar half a grove away, carried by the sea breeze that always made the boardwalk feel just a little nostalgic.

Zoro and Nami walked side by side, their steps unhurried. Close enough that their arms occasionally brushed, but not quite touching. The kind of distance that felt deliberate.

Zoro’s gaze, however, barely left her.

Not because he was watching her — not exactly. It was just... necessary . He had no idea where he was going, not really. The streets of Sabaody were a maze on the best of days, and tonight he wasn’t trusting anything, just her position at his side. She was the only point of reference he could afford to lose. So he didn’t.

Nami tilted her head toward the sky, stretching slightly as they rounded a corner. “So,” she mused, more to herself than to him, “where are we supposed to be going?”

She wasn’t expecting a real answer. She’d mostly said it to fill the quiet.

But Zoro paused, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded napkin, worn soft at the edges. He handed it to her wordlessly.

She blinked, surprised, and opened it.

It was a map. A crude, uneven, hand-drawn mess of grove numbers and street markers, scrawled in thick ink — but it was definitely a map. And in one corner, a little star marked the destination with a single word beneath it:

“Here.”

She stared at it for a long second, and something in her chest tightened.

He’d made this.

Zoro. The man who couldn’t find his way out of a straight hallway. He’d drawn himself a map — for her. So he could take her somewhere. So he wouldn’t mess it up.

And as she looked a little closer… she realized it wasn’t entirely his doing. The layout actually made sense. The markers were accurate. Someone had helped him, probably — maybe even walked him through it.

But that just made it sweeter.

Because Zoro asking for help? That wasn’t nothing.

It meant he’d cared enough to get this right.

It wasn’t just kind of sweet.

It was really sweet.

Not that she was going to say that out loud.

Instead, she folded the napkin carefully and tucked it into her pocket, her voice softening with just the hint of a smirk.

“Alright then,” she said, stepping ahead of him, “I’ll lead the way.”

They walked in silence for a while — the kind that didn’t need to be filled. No small talk. No teasing. Just the quiet comfort of being near each other, steps falling into rhythm like it had always been this way.

Then they reached a fork — a split between a crowded main walkway and a quieter, curved street lit by dim paper lanterns.

Nami veered naturally to the right, the quieter path, barely pausing.

Zoro didn’t.

He took two more steps forward, straight into the bustle of the main road — then froze.

He blinked, disoriented. The noise, the lights, the movement — all of it broke the fragile thread he’d been following. He turned slightly, searching for her.

She was already behind him.

Nami stepped up, calm and sure, and gently reached for his hand.

He didn’t flinch — just looked down at her, surprised.

Her fingers wrapped around his like it was the easiest thing in the world. Warm. Familiar. Not demanding, not dramatic — just... there.

“Roronoa,” she said softly, her voice a little amused but mostly warm, “I’m not letting you wander off.”

There was a beat of stillness between them, stretched out just enough to notice. Because holding hands? It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t nothing.

It felt… intimate .

But necessary.

Nami didn’t look at him. She just kept walking, hand still in his, like this was no big deal. And in a way, it wasn’t. It had to be done. She couldn’t put a leash on him — even if she was tempted — so this was the next best thing.

Still, she wasn’t blind. She could feel the shape of his hand around hers — rough, warm, solid. She hadn’t touched him like this in a while. Not like this.

Not that he’d ever been one to follow quietly. Back then, she usually had to yell at him, drag him by the wrist, or — on more than one occasion — make him carry her on his back just to get him to listen.

But that was then. That was when they were young — reckless, loud, always moving.

Now... they were different. Older. A little softer in the edges that mattered. This wasn’t about dragging him somewhere anymore.

This was just... a quieter way to guide him.

And he let her.

And Zoro?

Zoro didn’t see the point in getting embarrassed about it. He’d walked around town plenty of times with Mariko’s tiny hand curled in his — just to make sure he didn’t get turned around. If he could handle that, why would he flinch at holding Nami’s? She was an adult. His friend. A woman who knew him better than almost anyone else.

Yeah, sure — people who passed them might think they were a couple. But he wasn’t a teenager. He wasn’t going to lose his cool over holding hands with a beautiful woman just because it looked like something more.

So instead of pulling back, he straightened a little. Chest out. Shoulders squared.

If anything, he felt a flicker of pride.

Not-a-date or not, he was the one walking beside her tonight.

They turned the corner, and the restaurant finally came into view.

It sat quietly at the edge of the grove, tucked between two old stone storefronts. Warm, golden light spilled from tall windows, and paper lanterns swayed gently above the door, casting soft shadows across the front step.

Nami slowed as they approached, eyebrows lifting slightly.

It was… nice.

Nicer than she expected. Elegant. Polished. The kind of place with starched napkins and real silverware.

They stopped at the door.

And only then did she realize — their hands were still joined.

There was a pause. Just long enough to notice.

Neither of them moved at first.

Zoro glanced down, like he’d only now remembered they were still connected. His thumb twitched, not quite pulling away.

Nami hesitated too. Not because she minded — but because… well, why was it suddenly so hard to let go?

He shifted slightly, clearing his throat. “I’ll go check in.”

“Right,” she said, her voice a little too casual.

They let go.

The space between their hands felt colder than it should have.

He stepped ahead of her as they entered, approaching the host stand. Nami stayed just behind, taking in the low lighting, the soft piano music drifting somewhere from the back.

The hostess gave them a polite smile.

“Reservation name?”

Zoro cleared his throat. “Roronoa.”

The hostess flipped open a slim, well-worn ledger and scanned the names with a fingertip. After a moment, she looked up with a small, apologetic shake of the head. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing under that name.”

Zoro blinked. Panic flickered in his chest — just for a second.

He knew the reservation had been made. He’d asked for help. That little gremlin swore she had it covered.

And then it clicked.

Of course.

He leaned in a little, muttering, “Try… Marimo?”

The hostess’s face lit up. “Ah! Yes. Table for two.”

Zoro exhaled, almost too quickly.

Nami hadn’t heard. Or if she had, she didn’t comment. She was already looking around the room, eyes trailing over the soft lighting and high ceilings, the glass vases full of floating petals at every table.

Zoro followed the hostess in silence, his spine a little straighter than usual. He wasn’t sure if this place was too much — too polished. It definitely wasn’t him. But this was Nami. The woman who negotiated with the world government, who closed business deals across continents, worked on humanitarian projects across the seas.  She moved in circles where people wore suits and used titles — the kind of places that didn’t smell like salt and sawdust.

He just hoped this was the kind of place she’d like.

But when he glanced at her again, he didn’t see mockery. Just surprise. Curiosity.

And something close to being impressed.

That gave him the tiniest bit of confidence.

He kept walking.

The hostess led them through the softly lit dining room, past murmured conversations and clinking glasses. The place smelled like citrus and sea salt and something sweet roasting in the kitchen. Not overwhelming — just subtle enough to make the whole place feel expensive.

Their table was near the window, tucked into a corner with a wide view of the water.

As they reached it, there was a moment — small, but noticeable — where neither of them moved to sit.

A beat of hesitation. Like stepping across a line neither of them had drawn.

Then Nami eased into her chair with practiced grace, smoothing the edge of her skirt as she settled in. Zoro sat opposite her, quieter, slower. His hands rested on the table, fingers briefly touching the place where hers had been.

Outside the window, the bubble-lit trees swayed in the coastal breeze, their glow reflected in the dark water below. It was peaceful. Almost surreal.

Nami let out a soft breath, her eyes tracing the view.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, honest and unguarded. “Good choice.”

Zoro glanced out too, then back at her.

He hadn’t even thought about the view.

He just wanted to find a place that felt like something she might like.

So when she said that, his shoulders relaxed just slightly. The tension in his jaw loosened. And even though his voice came out gruff and quiet, there was something in it that gave him away.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered.

But it wasn’t nothing.

And she knew it.

A moment later, the waiter arrived and placed two menus in front of them — tall, leather-bound, and far too heavy for what they were.

Nami opened hers and scanned the page. Her eyebrows lifted immediately. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath, more amused than annoyed.

Across from her, Zoro flipped his open. His eye moved over the lines slowly — and then again, more slowly.

He had no idea what any of this meant.

The dish names were in some language he didn’t speak, and even the ones that were in plain writing sounded like something out of a noble’s kitchen. Foam reductions. Caramelized fig compotes. Everything was stacked or infused or deconstructed. Even the word “grilled” seemed suspicious.

He stared harder, like maybe if he glared at it long enough it would translate into grilled meat.

Nami glanced over her menu, then raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Wow. I see the Mugiwara crew’s treasure is still lasting you.”

Zoro looked up, his expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

She paused, mid-sentence — not alarmed, just… puzzled.

“The treasure,” she said again, watching his face.

He shrugged, casual. “I mean… yeah, I guess we had some treasure. Back then.”

“You guess ?”

Zoro didn’t flinch, but he was clearly bluffing now. “Sure. Bounty money and all that.”

Nami narrowed her eyes, her voice lowering just a notch. “Zoro. You’re not seriously telling me you don’t remember the split?”

He tilted his head. “What split?”

She blinked, setting her menu down. “The crew’s treasure split. When we disbanded. Twenty years ago.”

Zoro frowned. “We split it?”

“ Yes! I organized the whole thing — put the money into accounts for each of us. I even left instructions.” She leaned forward now, fully incredulous. “Wait. Are you saying you never claimed yours?”

Zoro blinked. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

She stared at him, stunned.

Twenty years.

Twenty years of untouched treasure. Compound interest. Investments. That account would’ve tripled by now.

“Zoro,” she said flatly. “You’re rich.”

He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look like this was no big deal. “Well. Huh.”

Before she could properly process how much that annoyed her, the waiter reappeared with a pen and notepad.

Nami pivoted effortlessly. “I’ll have the grilled snapper with citrus glaze, and the tangerine rice on the side.”

Zoro closed his menu without looking. “Same as her.”

The waiter nodded and left.

Nami gave him a long look across the table.

“You really had no idea.”

“Nope.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’ve got a fortune just sitting there.”

Zoro shrugged. “Not getting it now. Don’t even know how.”

Nami leaned back slightly, still eyeing him like he’d just confessed to losing a ship.

“Well, I do,” she said, already thinking it through. “I still have contacts at the bank on Botanica. I’ll send a message when I get back — let them know to start locating the account. I’ll make sure everything’s still there and properly registered.”

Zoro blinked. “You’re seriously going to do all that?”

She gave him a look. “It’s your money. And honestly, I’m a little offended you’ve let it sit for twenty years collecting interest without even enjoying it.”

He scratched his cheek. “I guess that’s fair.”

She was already mentally composing the letter — pulling up names, numbers, branch codes from memory.

Zoro watched her for a second, then gave a small nod. “Thanks. I mean it.”

She looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

Money didn’t mean much to him — she knew that. But she liked it. Loved it, even. And the fact that he let her help with it, without making a fuss or brushing it off, meant more than he probably realized.

“Anytime,” she said, her lips curling just slightly.

The food arrived with perfect timing — two elegant plates, delicately arranged, set down with a flourish.

The waitress smiled as she placed them.
“Mr. Marimo, your dishes.”

Nami blinked. Then let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Zoro frowned, already regretting everything. “Just… Mr. ”

She turned toward him, grinning. “ Marimo? Really?”

He sighed, jaw tight. “Wasn’t my choice.”

“Oh?” Her smirk deepened. “So whose idea was it?”

“I had help with the reservation.”

“Help?” she echoed, leaning in with amused suspicion.

Zoro shifted slightly. “A friend.”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “You have friends now?”

He grunted, avoiding her gaze.

She waited — but he didn’t elaborate.

“So,” she said slowly, still watching him, “this friend of yours… the one who thought Mr. Marimo was a good idea…”

Zoro exhaled and muttered, “She thought it was funny.”

Nami blinked. “ She? ”

There it was.

Nami caught the pronoun immediately. She.

Her smile froze for the briefest moment. “She, huh.”

Zoro winced — not because of the assumption, but because he could’ve clarified. Should’ve. But what was he supposed to say? That his closest companion lately was a sharp-tongued eight-year-old who’d insulted him into accepting directions?

It sounded ridiculous even in his own head.

So he said nothing.

Across the table, Nami took a sip of water. Her face was unreadable. Not angry. Not even cold. Just... neutral.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she didn’t care.

But for a flicker of a second, something small and unwelcome tugged at her chest. A quiet, unreasonable pang.

She pushed it down. Hard.

“Well,” she said, folding her napkin into her lap with practiced grace. “Sounds like she’s got a good sense of humor.”

Zoro grunted. “She thinks so.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

But the flicker stayed — quietly, unspoken — beneath the surface.

Dinner passed in a rhythm that felt dangerously close to familiar.

They talked easily, the way they used to — swapping stories, trading jabs, letting memories slip into the space between courses. Old names came up like they’d never left. Usopp. Chopper. Franky. Sanji. Luffy.

There were jokes about food fights and death-defying escapes, about near-mutinies and treasure hauls gone sideways. Zoro grumbled about old injuries; Nami laughed until her eyes crinkled.

At some point, she forgot to be cautious. He forgot to be guarded.

They were just… them.

The plates were cleared, the wineglass Nami hadn’t meant to finish was empty, and the candle between them had burned low, its flickering light catching in the polished glass of the window beside them.

The waiter returned with a subtle bow and set the bill down in the center of the table.

Nami reached for it without hesitation.

Zoro moved at the same time, reaching a hand across the table. “I’ve got it,” he muttered. “My treat.”

But she was faster. The check was already in her hand, her eyes flicking down to scan the total.

She raised an eyebrow.

Then looked up at him.

“Zoro,” she said, a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth, “you don’t have the Mugiwara treasure, and you’re paying for this with your bartender salary ?”

Zoro groaned under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

He didn’t answer.

But in his head, he was doing the rough math — and yeah, this place probably cost half a year of tips and night shifts.

Worth it?

Maybe.

Still sucked, though.

The restaurant buzzed with low conversation and the quiet clink of fine glassware. Around them, well-dressed diners laughed over multi-course meals, sipping wine older than some islands. Nami’s eyes lingered on a woman at the next table, dripping in jewelry that could’ve paid for a small ship.

The whole place shimmered with the kind of wealth that didn’t feel earned — just worn.

The check between them was easily a small fortune. Practically a treasure chest in paper form.

Nami set the check down, still smiling, still amused — but something in her expression shifted.

It was subtle at first. A flicker in her eyes. A slight change in posture.

Then she leaned in.

Slowly.

Her fingers brushed the rim of her empty wineglass, tracing it with idle precision as she let her gaze lift — not rushed, not teasing — but deliberate.

Zoro noticed immediately.

His spine straightened. The air between them felt suddenly warmer, tighter.

Her voice, when it came, was soft — low and smooth, like it was meant just for him.

“When was the last time you did it?”

Zoro blinked.

His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

He stared at her.

She was watching him now — eyes half-lidded, head tilted just enough to make his brain do dangerous things.

Her fingers paused on the stem of the glass.

Zoro’s thoughts stalled.

She couldn’t mean…

His jaw clenched slightly, like that would stop his face from reacting.

Nami’s lips curled.

She knew.

And she was enjoying it.

“...Did what?” he asked carefully, voice hoarse despite himself.

Her smile widened — slow, wicked, and undeniably pleased with herself.

“Something… pirate-ish ,” she said, voice still silky, eyes still locked on his.

Zoro blinked again, trying to reset his brain, but it was too late.

Nami leaned forward slightly — close enough that he could smell the hint of citrus still clinging to her skin.

“You see something,” she murmured, her voice slow and sultry, laced with a dangerous kind of amusement. Her eyes didn’t leave his — sharp, bright, and full of heat.

“A treasure. Beautiful. Dangerous.”

Zoro swallowed. Her gaze was steady, unblinking. She wasn’t teasing — not exactly.

“Maybe it’s not yours. Maybe it never was.” She tilted her head just slightly, her breath brushing the air between them.

“But you want it.”

She leaned in, her voice dipping lower — softer, more intimate.

“And then... you take it.”

Zoro stared at her, trying to catch up — unsure if they were still talking about treasure, or if the ground had quietly shifted beneath his feet. But Nami didn’t give him time to sort it out. She leaned back with a slow stretch, eyes gleaming, the candlelight catching in her hair like firelight off gold.

“Let’s leave without paying,” she said lightly.

The words hung there — bold, absurd, and yet completely in character.

Zoro blinked.

It was ridiculous.

It was reckless.

It was… pirate-ish.

Chapter Text

Her smile widened — slow, wicked, and undeniably pleased with herself.

“Something pirate-ish ,” she said, voice still silky, eyes still locked on his.

Zoro blinked again, trying to reset his brain, but it was too late.

Nami leaned forward slightly — close enough that he could smell the hint of citrus still clinging to her skin.

“You see something,” she murmured, her voice slow and sultry, laced with a dangerous kind of amusement. Her eyes didn’t leave his — sharp, bright, and full of heat.

He wasn’t sure where this was going, but it was getting harder to focus — harder to breathe. She was close. Too close. His gaze dropped — not intentionally — but he couldn’t help it. Her lips were moving, soft and deliberate. Glossed just enough to catch the light. Pink. Shiny. Distracting.

“A treasure. Beautiful. Dangerous.”

Zoro swallowed. Her gaze was steady, unblinking. She wasn’t teasing — not exactly.

“Maybe it’s not yours. Maybe it never was.” She tilted her head just slightly, her breath brushing the air between them.

“But you want it.”

She leaned in, her voice dipping lower — softer, more intimate.

“And then... you take it.”

Zoro stared at her, trying to catch up — unsure if they were still talking about treasure, or if the ground had quietly shifted beneath his feet. But Nami didn’t give him time to sort it out. She leaned back with a slow stretch, eyes gleaming, the candlelight catching in her hair like firelight off gold.

“Let’s leave without paying,” she said lightly.

The words hung there — bold, absurd, and yet completely in character.

Zoro blinked.

It was ridiculous.

It was reckless.

It was… pirate-ish.

He didn’t answer immediately — he just watched her with that unreadable, battle-ready look, as if weighing the risk.

The bill had been steep — outrageously so — and yeah, it would’ve wiped out half a year of his bartender salary. But he’d invited her here. He was ready to take the hit. That’s what a man does.

Still... this wasn’t about the money anymore.

She wanted something else. Something more reckless. More them. And honestly, it sounded kind of fun. It had been a long time since he’d done anything even remotely bold or criminal — longer still since it had felt this natural.

So, after a beat, he gave the tiniest nod.

He was in.

Nami lit up. Not just amused — thrilled. She rose from her seat with the easy grace of someone on a secret mission.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said casually, already turning. “Scout the exits.”

Zoro watched her go, his heart pounding harder than it should. Not from nerves — from adrenaline. From her. From the way she’d said take it.

He turned back toward the table, eyes scanning the room. The waitress was making her way back — probably to settle the bill. He set his jaw. He was ready.

Just... not sure how.

Meanwhile, down the hallway, Nami walked slowly, deliberately — calm on the outside, but buzzing beneath her skin. She hadn’t felt this alive in years.

Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she passed elegant sconces and delicate lanterns. Every table she glanced at seemed draped in gold — necklaces, watches, brooches. Jewelry glittered under the low lights like bait. The patrons were soft, spoiled, and oblivious.

It would’ve been easy.

She peeked around a corner. The hallway split: one way toward the kitchen, another toward a slim emergency exit. At the very end, glass doors opened to a balcony — a long wooden platform that curved around the trunk of the Sabaody tree, overlooking the sea.

She smiled to herself. Two escape routes. Minimal chaos. Maximum effect. She was already running the timing in her head.

And then—

A blur.

Boots pounding. Heavy. Fast.

Before she could even react, Zoro barreled past her — full sprint, head down, eyes blazing with some wild, reckless determination.

“Zoro?!” she gasped, but he didn’t answer.

He grabbed her mid-step — one strong arm catching her around the waist like she weighed nothing — and kept going.

“Hold on,” he said simply — then leapt off the balcony with her in his arms, into open air, toward the dark water below.

They were airborne. The wind whipped around them, and for a second, it was just open sky and the shimmer of water far, far below.

Nami’s expression shifted instantly — from thrilled to panicked. She looked down — and what she saw wasn’t open sea, but jagged rocks and crashing waves.

“ZORO—”

Her voice spiked in sheer alarm. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

Zoro glanced down mid-fall. He hadn’t looked first.

“...Uh-oh.”

“UH-OH?!” Nami shrieked. “WE’RE GONNA DIE, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON—”

They were falling fast — wind whipping around them, her body pressed tightly against his. Zoro held her firmly, but his eye was locked downward now, jaw clenched as the rocks rushed up to meet them. There was no open water — just jagged stone, sharp and slick with sea spray, getting closer with every heartbeat.

At the last possible second, Zoro twisted midair — and threw her.

Nami didn’t even have time to scream. One moment she was clinging to him, bracing for impact against jagged stone, and the next, she was weightless — launched into the sky.

Her body jolted from the force. The air whooshed past her ears. She flailed, startled, disoriented. She hadn’t seen it coming — hadn’t realized what he was doing until her feet were no longer falling, but rising.

For a second, all she saw was open air and glinting sea below — and then she started to drop again, her breath caught in her throat.

Below her, Zoro didn’t land — he crashed.

He hit the rocky slope hard, his back taking the brunt. A sharp grunt tore from his throat as his body rolled, shoulders and limbs slamming against moss-slicked stone. Dirt and pebbles scattered under the impact. For a moment, he didn’t move.

But he didn’t go down.

With a growl and a shake of his shoulders, he pushed himself up — unsteady, but standing. His eye tracked the air above him. Hands already lifting.

And then — she dropped into them.

Clean. Effortless.

Zoro caught her like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just body-checked half a cliff. One arm beneath her back, one under her knees — solid, secure, bridal-style.

Nami landed hard in his chest, hands fisting instinctively in his shirt. His body was warm, solid — all muscle and damp heat. Her hair stuck to her cheek, her heart was pounding, but she was in one piece.

She blinked, staring up at him, utterly breathless.

“...You idiot,” she muttered, her voice still stunned. Too stunned to scream. Too overwhelmed to make sense of anything.

But he was already smirking, the barest edge of a grin curling at the corner of his mouth — like this had gone exactly according to plan.

He smirked, breathing hard. “Didn’t you want something pirate-ish?”

And that did it.

“PUT ME DOWN!” she yelled, fists slamming into his chest. “So I can kill you with my bare hands!”

Her voice cracked from fury and adrenaline, but Zoro didn’t flinch. Her punches landed hard — sharper than most men could handle — but he took them like he always did: like they barely registered.

Just as she began to shove against him, trying to wriggle free from his arms, the rocks beneath Zoro’s boots gave a low, ominous crack.

A heartbeat later — the ground shifted.

Zoro didn’t wait. Instinct roared to life and he launched himself forward, legs bending and springing like a coiled weapon, leaping from the unstable slope onto the tangled roots of the nearest Sabaody tree.

“Zoro—!” Nami yelped, her breath catching mid-curse as the world dropped out from under them again.

The moment they were airborne, her arms flew instinctively around his neck. Her body pressed tight against his chest, clinging — not because she forgave him, but because self-preservation demanded it.

“YOU MANIAC—” she shrieked, voice rattling in his ear. “You didn’t even know what was under you— I SWEAR TO GOD, if I die in your arms—!”

Zoro didn’t answer. Barely even heard her. His focus was absolute — honed like an old blade. The wind tore past them as he moved: one powerful leap, then another. His body twisted midair to absorb impact, boots finding their mark on thick, moss-covered branches. He didn’t slow. Didn’t stumble. Each movement was precise, honed from years of combat and instinct.

He carried her like she weighed nothing — like his body still remembered exactly how to protect something precious, even after all these years.

Nami felt it too — the speed, the heat, the strength. It wasn’t just brute force. It was him. Zoro. Still impossibly fast. Still sharp. Still maddening.

The wind tangled her hair, salt stung her eyes, and her heart thundered in her ears. But even as she clung to him, half-screaming in his face, a part of her — the pirate part, the part she didn’t talk about anymore — thrilled at the rush.

Finally — one last leap. Zoro landed hard, boots slamming into the thick slope of a wide root near the shoreline. The moss squished slightly underfoot, but he didn’t falter.

He exhaled through his nose, a deep breath steadying his frame. His grip on her shifted — still firm, still protective — as if to say: Told you I’d make it.

She was still in his arms.

Still furious.

Still alive.

He exhaled. His shoulders loosened. Slowly, he let her down, careful not to jostle her.

The second her feet touched the ground — bam. Her fist crashed into his chest.

He grunted. That one actually hurt.

“I HAD A PLAN!” she shouted, grabbing him by the collar, eyes blazing.

Zoro didn’t flinch — not from the volume, not from the grip — but her intensity hit like a slap to the face.

“I scoped the exits. I mapped the back halls. I had the kitchen staff distracted and the servers rotating every seven minutes. All you had to do was wait!”

She shoved him once, hard, her voice rising with every word.

“That was reckless! Idiotic! You jumped off a tree from twenty stories up with no clue what was underneath!”

She shoved him again. He barely moved. But she was clearly furious — soaked, breathless, and still seething with adrenaline

“We’re adults now, Zoro! We don’t just jump off cliffs for fun anymore! We don’t get to do that — we’re not nineteen!”

She was wild. 

Zoro’s eyes were locked on her.

Hair tangled from the wind. Skin damp with sea spray. Eyes blazing. Her chest rose and fell with the force of her frustration, every line of her body brimming with fire. She was furious — utterly, unapologetically furious — and she was alive in a way that stopped him cold.

She was beautiful.

Not delicate, not composed — but fierce, wild, completely unfiltered. This wasn’t the strategist, the diplomat, the careful captain of trade routes and maps. This was Nami at her core: untamed, unyielding, breathtaking.

Her fists were still clenched in his shirt, knuckles tight, jaw set like she was two seconds away from punching him again.

She hadn’t moved. Still furious. Still yelling — or maybe about to. But he barely heard it anymore.

Because as he looked at her — wild, furious, beautiful — something in his chest cracked open.

And the words she’d said earlier came flooding back:

You see something beautiful. Dangerous. Maybe it’s not yours. Maybe it never was. But you want it. And then… you take it.

His voice came low, rough with meaning.

“Take it.”

She blinked — stunned, still gripping his shirt —

And before she could say another word, he kissed her.

Chapter Text

Her fists were still clenched in his shirt, knuckles tight, jaw set like she was two seconds away from punching him again.

She hadn’t moved. Still furious. Still yelling — or maybe about to. But he barely heard it anymore.

Because as he looked at her — wild, furious, beautiful — something in his chest cracked open.

And the words she’d said earlier came flooding back:

You see something beautiful. Dangerous. Maybe it’s not yours. Maybe it never was. But you want it. And then… you take it.

His voice came low, rough with meaning.

“Take it.”

She blinked — stunned, still gripping his shirt —

And before she could say another word, he kissed her.

The world went quiet.

Or maybe it didn’t — maybe the wind still howled through the trees, maybe the sounds of the grove still echoed around them — but in her head, it all cut out. Silenced. Like someone had pulled the plug.

Because suddenly, his mouth was on hers.

Zoro. Kissing her.

Her breath caught mid-curse, the words evaporating on her tongue before they ever formed. Her fists were still clenched in his shirt, knuckles white with leftover rage, but her body stopped. Froze. Heart hammering, nerves lit up like warning bells. She hadn’t seen it coming.

Not the kiss.

Not the heat.

Not the way his arms wrapped around her without hesitation, drawing her flush against the hard lines of his chest — all solid warmth and sharp breath. Not the way he kissed like he meant it, like this was inevitable, like he’d been holding back for a decade and just now let go.

His lips were rough, familiar and not. His tongue brushed hers and her stomach flipped so hard she forgot what she was mad about.

It felt good. Too good.

Warmth flooded her chest, her hands loosening from his shirt without even thinking. Her body responded faster than her mind could catch up — fury melting into something softer, deeper. A slow, aching pull in her gut that made her knees weaken, made her press closer. Made her kiss him back.

Because damn it, she wanted to.

And in that moment, she didn’t care what it meant.

Zoro wasn’t a man of overthinking.

He didn’t plan it. Didn’t weigh the odds or talk himself into it. He just moved — the same way he always did when something felt right.

And kissing her? That wasn’t a question.

It was instinct. Immediate. Certain.

And when she didn’t shove him away — when she froze, then leaned in, lips parting just enough to let him in — something inside him lit up. The kind of rare, blinding thing he’d stopped expecting from life.

She kissed him back.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Zoro thought maybe — just maybe — his luck had come around again.

He held her tighter, one arm firm around her waist, the other braced against her back. She was so close it nearly burned. Her mouth was warm, familiar in a way it had never been, and yet totally new. Her body melted against his like it was meant to, like this had been waiting for them all along.

The kiss was deliberate — steady, sure. Like him.

But he didn’t rush it.

He took his time, let himself feel every second of it — the way she softened under his hands, the way her breath hitched when he deepened it, the way his heart pounded in his ears and he didn’t even care.

Hell, he might’ve forgotten to breathe. Just to keep kissing her.

Eventually, they broke apart — just enough to breathe.

Their foreheads hovered close. Nami’s hand was still curled in the front of his shirt. Zoro’s grip hadn’t loosened from her waist. They stared at each other — stunned, breathless, caught somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to want.

No words. Just heat and silence.

He didn’t move away.

Neither did she.

Zoro’s smirk came slow and cocky, tugging at the corner of his mouth — the kind of grin he got after winning a bet or landing a hit in a spar. Because he’d taken the shot… and it hadn’t blown up in his face.

It had worked.

And he looked damn pleased with himself.

That was her breaking point.

Nami scowled, breath still uneven. “I’m still mad at you,” she muttered, voice low and warning.

But Zoro didn’t flinch. He just leaned in again, clearly intending to repeat the tactic. His logic was simple — if it worked to calm her down once, it would work twice.

Nami narrowed her eyes the moment she saw the smug curve of his lips.

She knew that look.

He thought he’d won. That he could kiss her into silence, smooth it all over, skip past the fact that he’d completely demolished her carefully-laid plan.

And the worst part?

It had almost worked.

But Nami didn’t lose.

Not even when she wanted to.

So when Zoro leaned in again — clearly thinking one more kiss would settle everything — she didn’t dodge. She let him get close. Let him think he was winning again.

And then she bared her teeth and bit his lip.

“—Ow!” he hissed, pulling back just slightly.

She didn’t give him time to complain.

Because a second later, she yanked him back in by the collar — hard — and kissed him like she meant it.

It was fierce, unapologetic, and nothing like the first kiss.

It was a fight.
All tongue and teeth and heat. A challenge.

Zoro’s thoughts flared somewhere between her nails digging into his shoulder and the scrape of her teeth against his lip.

What the hell was that? he thought, half-dazed, half-thrilled. Did she just bite me?
She had. She absolutely had.

He grunted into the kiss, narrowing his eye. Crazy woman.
Was she angry? Turned on? Both?
Impossible to tell — and Zoro wasn’t about to stop and ask.

Especially not when she was kissing him like that.

She kissed like she was trying to prove something — like this was a spar, and she intended to win.
Tch. Good luck with that.

She wasn’t the only one with pride. Or experience.
And he was not letting her take the lead just because she had sharper teeth.

His hands moved — not to pin her, not to restrain, but to ground them both. One gripped her waist tight, the other fisted in the back of her jacket.
If she wanted a fight — she had one.

They kissed like they argued — intense, sharp-edged, and unapologetic. Every motion was a clash of wills, every tilt of the head a negotiation of control. Nami pushed. Zoro met her halfway and pushed back. Hands tangled in clothes. Bodies pressed too close.

It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t sweet.
But it was them.

And for once, they were on exactly the same page.

Just as things were heating up, a shout shattered the moment:

“There they are!”

They broke apart like lightning had struck, breathless and blinking, lips still tingling from the kiss.

Zoro’s reflexes kicked in — he stepped in front of Nami, body taut, hand twitching like a sword should’ve been there. Voices echoed across the grove, boots pounding the wooden walkway.

“They stole Mrs. Demond’s necklace!”

He turned sharply to look at her, eye wide. Necklace?!

His brain scrambled. This whole mess was because she stole something?
She’d been furious at him — calling him reckless, him idiotic — and the whole time she’d lifted a necklace?!
Sure, okay, maybe jumping off a balcony hadn’t been the most subtle move, but still — this was her doing!

He opened his mouth, scandal loading — and then she gave him that smile.

That damn cute, smug, tongue-out, not-even-sorry smile.

Before he could speak, she hopped onto his back like it was routine, arms around his neck, breath warm against his ear.

“I had to take it,” she whispered, all sugar and mischief.

Zoro groaned — of course she did.
No time to argue.

He bolted.

Zoro tore through the grove like a cannonball, Nami clinging to his back, arms looped around his shoulders, her breath hot against his ear as the wind tore past them.

Behind them, the chaos rose — voices yelling, feet pounding, someone definitely calling for the Marines.

“This is your fault!” Zoro growled mid-sprint, dodging a low-hanging sign and vaulting over a crate. “You were the one yelling at me like I ruined your plan, and you’re the one who stole something!”

“You didn’t pay the bill!” Nami snapped. “That’s on you! ”

“That was your idea!”

“And you jumped off a damn balcony with no plan! Who does that?! I had a route—an actual plan!”

Zoro swerved hard, narrowly avoiding a bubble-cart and a startled tourist. “How was I supposed to know the cliff had rocks?!”

“Because you’re supposed to look before you leap, you absolute maniac—LEFT!”

He jerked right.

“The other left!” she shrieked, smacking his shoulder and pointing with her whole arm. “Follow the bubble-tree with the red awning—no, not that one— that one!”

Zoro grunted, shifting direction again, his feet skimming effortlessly over roots and platforms. Despite the yelling, the insults, the mild threats of bodily harm, he never slowed. His grip was sure. His speed relentless. And not once did she feel like she was going to fall.

He was fast — really fast. Still sharp, still strong, even after all these years. Her heart raced from more than just adrenaline.

She clung tighter, guiding him with a mix of directional commands and increasingly frustrated insults.

“Up there, the branch that splits at the pink sign—no, not that—okay yes, that works, FINE—keep going, you beautiful idiot!”

“That better not have been sarcasm.”

“It was, but you’re doing great!”

Their footsteps echoed through the elevated streets, drawing stares and confusion as they blurred past vendors and diners. Nami ducked her head as they tore under a low-hanging banner, leaves brushing her cheeks.

Still behind them: shouting. Somewhere, a whistle.

But they were ahead of it.

And somewhere in the middle of all the shouting and sprinting, of nearly crashing into food stalls and leaping across bubbling roots, something shifted.

Nami started laughing.

Not sarcastically. Not bitter or breathless with disbelief.

Just… laughing.

That real kind — bright, a little wild, pulled straight from her chest. She hadn’t laughed like that in ages.

Because this? Zoro charging headfirst into trouble, her yelling directions he mostly ignored, the two of them running like hell from a crime they definitely committed?

It felt like they were twenty again.

Like they were back on some lawless island, running from Marines or pissed-off pirates, bickering the whole way. Him carrying her like it was nothing. Her navigating through chaos like it was second nature.

She wasn’t mad anymore. Not really.

She was exhilarated.

She was happy.

And in that moment — arms around him, hair whipping in the wind, heart racing for all the right reasons — she felt like herself.

The version of herself that only existed when she was a Mugiwara, all those years ago, when she was with him.

It felt like them.

Zoro didn’t laugh, but his eye glinted. Her weight on his back, her voice in his ear, her hands on him — it didn’t feel like chaos.

He was using every ounce of focus to follow her orders — twist left, duck under, jump that root — and for once, the idiots chasing them had fallen behind. He could feel it. The tension easing. The bar was just ahead.

Then he heard it.

Her laugh — bright, unrestrained .

Zoro scowled, sort of. Why was she laughing? She punched him, kissed him, bit him — and now she was laughing? Crazy witch.

But even as he grumbled to himself, he felt his mouth twitch. He couldn't help it. That sound — her laugh — it hit somewhere deep. Familiar. Good.

They reached the bar. He skidded to a stop just as Nami hopped down from his back, landing lightly beside him.

Her smile was wide, wild, too pretty for her own good.

He forgot, in that moment, why he was supposed to be mad at her.

Not that it mattered.

“You crazy witch,” he muttered, half a growl, half a grin. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

Before she could answer, he stepped forward — fast — and pinned her gently against the door, his arms caging her in.

“Shut up,” she said — and kissed him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down, fearless and firm. Not afraid of being pinned, not afraid of him. Zoro barely had time to react before her mouth was on his again, hot and demanding.

“Oi— that’s my technique,” he muttered against her lips.

But it didn’t matter. She kissed him harder, and he didn’t hesitate to give it right back. His hands slid up her sides, greedy and rough, crushing her against the door like he meant to keep her there. The kiss was loud, messy, all heat and need — the kind that left no room for thoughts, just instinct. Taste. Touch.

He forgot they were still outside. Forgot the street, the bar, the world beyond the shape of her body against his and the heat of her mouth.

Nami felt the rush hit her like a wave. Excitement. Hunger. Want. She wanted all of it — but not here.

Not yet.

She broke the kiss suddenly, pressing her hand to his chest, breathless.

“I want my drink,” she said, flushed and firm, eyes glittering with challenge.

Zoro blinked — caught between dazed and desperate. He looked like a man yanked out of a dream mid-sprint, stunned but still trying to look cool.

He cleared his throat. Nodded.

And without a word, turned and unlocked the bar door.

They stepped inside, the familiar scent of polished wood and citrus-soaked air wrapping around them like a memory. Zoro moved first, heading straight for the bar. He grabbed the bottle — her bottle, the tangerine liquor — and set it down along with two cups. No flourish. No performance. Just muscle memory.

He didn’t go behind the counter.

He stayed right there beside one of the stools, still riding the rush of everything they’d just done. Everything she’d made him feel.

Nami followed, slower, more composed. She moved with that easy elegance she always had — even now, after jumping off trees and kissing him senseless in the street. She gently smoothed her clothes, fingers adjusting a strap, tugging her skirt into place. She caught her reflection in the window — barely visible in the dim light — and touched up a smear of lip gloss with her fingertip.

Then she slid onto the stool beside him, crossing one leg over the other, like this was any other night. Like her heart wasn’t still pounding.

Like she wasn’t already planning how this would end.

He slid her cup a little closer, then grabbed his own — and without hesitation, knocked it back like a shot. The glass hit the bar with a quiet clink.

Nami turned toward him, brows lifting. “So rushed,” she said, half-scolding, half-amused. She shook her head, lips curling into a slow smile. “You’re supposed to enjoy it.”

She took her own glass and raised it delicately to her lips, eyes never leaving his. “Take your time,” she murmured, voice sultry and full of teasing promise.

Then she sipped — slow, savoring — and let the flavor bloom on her tongue. Her smile widened, lazy and satisfied, like she’d just remembered how good it really was.

Zoro watched her with a smirk. God, she was a tease. Always had been. He knew it — wasn’t surprised by it. Well… maybe a little surprised by how much it was affecting him now. But he could handle it. He’d handled worse.

He dropped onto the stool beside her, casual, almost relaxed. Then his hands found the edges of her stool and pulled — just enough to slide her between his knees.

Nami’s grin sharpened. She didn’t resist. She liked that look in his eye — controlled, patient, but barely. Like he could wait… but the second she said go, he was going to ruin her.

And honestly?

She was counting on it.

Zoro slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. His voice dropped low — husky, rougher than usual — right against her ear.

“You really like it, do you?”

His lips ghosted her earlobe. She shivered.

Her fingers slid over his knee, slow and deliberate — then found his hand. She tangled her fingers with his, and with a firm, teasing pull, brought it onto her thigh.

“Soon,” she murmured, eyes gleaming, “That bottle will be mine.”

Zoro huffed a breath against her neck — amused and aroused all at once. “Ha. You wish,” he muttered. “Over my dead body.”

He started kissing her neck, slow and deliberate — lips brushing the soft curve of her throat, tasting her skin like he had all the time in the world.

Nami took another sip of her drink. Swallowed hard. Holding her composure was getting harder by the second.

Damn smooth, sexy swordsman.

“I’ll take you both if I have to,” she breathed — the bottle and the man.

Zoro chuckled, low and warm — but the sound faded fast. He was lost in her now — in her scent, her warmth, the way she leaned into him just slightly, inviting more.

His hands were rough, but his touch was soft — too soft.

Too good.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Nami downed the rest of her drink in one sharp swallow, slammed the glass on the bar, and stood with her eyes blazing.

“Your room,” she said, breathless, demanding. “Now.”

Zoro eased back a fraction when she slammed her glass down, an unsteady grin cutting across his face.

“Guess we’re done * taking it slow*,” he rumbled.

Her hand was still clasped in his, so when she straightened he simply kept hold of it, lacing his fingers through hers as though it was the most natural thing in the world. He tipped his chin toward the narrow staircase at the back of the bar.

“Stairs are that way,” he said—half invitation, half warning. He didn’t need her to guide him this time, but gods, it was hot that she clearly meant to.

Nami didn’t rush, but every step felt charged. Zoro followed at her heels, practically vibrating with impatience, jaw clenched, breathing hard. By the time they reached his small room—a plain bed, a battered desk, blades resting in the corner—he’d already fisted his shirt at the hem.

She closed the door, turned—and froze.

The fabric was gone in one motion, sliding over broad shoulders and scar-laced muscle. He was big: all shadowed lines and rippled strength, the candlelight catching on the long seam of the wound that carved across his torso. That scar—she hadn’t really looked at it in years.

Nami stepped forward like she was being pulled. Her palm skimmed the center of his chest, fingertips tracing the raised edge of the old injury. She’d seen it a hundred times—bandaging him after battles, barking at him to sit still—but never like this. Never slow. Never reverent.

Zoro’s eagerness quieted under her touch. Her hand was warm, gentle, almost… tender. It stole the air from his lungs.

He bent his forehead to hers, eyes half-lidded, and slid a hand to her shoulder. His fingers slipped beneath the thin strap of her dress, brushing skin.

“May I?” he asked, voice low and unexpectedly soft.

The question pulled her from her trance. She looked up, met the sincerity in his single, steady eye, and something inside her melted. Passion still burned hot between them—electric and undeniable—but beneath it ran a new current: something careful, something precious.

Her answer was a whispered “Yes.”

And the strap slid from her shoulder, slow as a sunrise.

When the dress slid from her shoulders and pooled soundlessly at her feet, time seemed to still.

Zoro stared.

She was breathtaking — all curves and shadows, legs long and bare, hips hugged by black lace, a matching scrap of fabric across her chest that could barely be called a bra. It was the kind of lingerie meant to be seen, not hidden — confident, stunning, deliberate.

But she wasn’t flaunting it.

That was the difference.

Nami had never been modest. He’d seen her in bikinis, in towels, in short skirts that flirted with scandal. She knew she had a body that turned heads, and she’d always carried that power with casual ease. But this wasn’t casual.

She was here.

For him.

And for the first time, he understood why people said men passed out over this woman. It wasn’t just how she looked — it was how she owned it. Unafraid. Unapologetic. And his, if only for this moment.

Zoro’s breath caught. His jaw flexed like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

And Nami saw it.

The raw hunger in his gaze — that wasn’t usual. Not from him. She’d seen it in plenty of men, bored or desperate or charmed. But never like this. Never from him.

Not focused. Not reverent. Not like he was about to break apart and rebuild himself just to hold her.

It was new.

It was thrilling.

Her hands moved without thinking, fingers sliding to the hem of his pants — bold, unhesitating.

Because that look in his eyes — raw, hungry, completely undone — lit a fire in her chest.

It was like he wanted to devour her, and the heat of it made her feel wild. Reckless. She wanted him just as badly. Maybe more.

And if he looked at her like that for one second longer, she wasn’t sure either of them would survive the wait. — but before she could go further, he reached for her face. His hand was rough and warm, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing the line of her jaw as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Soft. Grounding.

Intimate.

And then he kissed her lips again — slower now — as the last of the space between them vanished.

They didn’t rush. Not after everything.

What started in heat settled into something slower, deeper — like they'd been waiting for this moment far longer than they realized.

It had been a while for both of them. That much was clear. But their bodies moved like they knew what the other needed — whether it was experience or something closer to instinct, it didn’t matter. It worked.

Zoro wasn’t loud about it — he rarely was — but the way his hands moved, the way he listened to every shift in her breath, said enough.

He wanted her. He wanted her to feel it — not just wanted, but cared for, seen, craved.

And Nami, who'd always guarded her heart like treasure, let herself fall into it. Let herself enjoy the way he touched her like it meant something — because it did.

They spent the night not just making love, but learning each other — in a way neither had felt before. Not with anyone else.

And somewhere between the laughter, the sighs, and the stillness after, both of them knew:

This wasn’t just about letting go. This was the start of something they couldn’t take back.

Chapter Text

Nami woke to sunlight and silence.

The light filtered in soft and golden, casting lazy beams across the modest room. The bed was warm, the sheets tangled, and the scent that clung to them was unmistakably his — clean and sharp, like steel and citrus and something woodsy she couldn’t quite name.

She stretched slowly, every muscle loose and content, then rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. His pillow.

A quiet, involuntary smile curled against the fabric. It was ridiculous, really — how relaxed she felt. How calm. How... giddy.

Ugh. She was not the type to get giddy.

She sat up with a quiet groan, sweeping her hair out of her face. The room was small, neat, almost painfully spartan — a bed, a single desk, and not much else — but it felt lived in. Real. His. And somehow that made it better.

Still no sign of him.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and spotted a plain white shirt slung over the back of the chair. She padded over and pulled it on. It was soft from wear, a little too big, and it smelled faintly like him too.

“Don’t be a teenager,” she muttered to herself, eyeing her reflection in the tiny mirror above the desk.

But then she caught her own smile — again — and sighed.

It had just been a really, really good night. That was all. She was relaxed. And satisfied. And feeling... lighter than she had in a long time. That didn’t have to mean anything.

Right?

She crossed the room, absently smoothing the hem of the shirt as she glanced around. No shoes by the door. No sound in the hallway.

Her brow furrowed slightly.

Where was he?

The first flicker of doubt crept in — subtle, but sharp. What if he’d taken off? What if this didn’t mean anything to him? What if she was being stupid?

She shook her head. No. That wasn’t him. He wasn’t like that.

Probably just downstairs.

Still... the nerves didn’t entirely go away.

She squared her shoulders, took a breath, and headed for the stairs.

She padded down the stairs quietly, the old wood creaking softly beneath her bare feet. She told herself not to jump to conclusions — not to read too much into anything. Maybe he was just out back. Maybe he—

She turned the corner.

And stopped.

Sunlight flooded through the wide windows, casting the bar in warm, honey-colored light. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, drifting through the quiet like the island was holding its breath.

Zoro stood behind the counter, barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of dark boxers that sat low on his hips. His back was to her at first — all muscle and old scars, broad shoulders moving with slow, deliberate ease.

He was pressing tangerines into a glass.

Not a juicer — just his hand and the citrus, working with quiet focus like this was the most natural thing in the world. There was a small bowl of mikans beside him, peeled and halved. Another glass was already full.

Then he turned slightly, sensing her. His eye caught hers over his shoulder.

And he smiled.

It wasn’t smug or cocky. Just a simple, quiet smile. Familiar. Warm. Like this was normal. Like they’d done this before — a hundred times.

Nami froze.

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Her mouth went dry.

Because in that moment — that stupid, golden, domestic moment — everything hit her at once.

Not just the view, which was absolutely unfair, by the way, but the fact that he was there. That he’d stayed. That he’d gotten up and made her juice — her juice, with tangerines that she loved.

That he looked happy to see her.

And she, apparently, was not immune to any of that.

“...Oh, fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

Because that was the moment she knew.

She was completely, hopelessly gone.

Zoro smiled the moment he saw her.

There she was — barefoot, tousled, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not. His shirt hung off one shoulder, long enough to brush the tops of her thighs, and the look on her face was all surprise and sleep and something softer he didn’t have a name for.

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

The tangerine was still in his hand.

But before that—

He’d woken up with her curled against him. Bare skin on warm skin. Her hair tickling his chin. Her breath steady where her head rested on his chest. And for once — for once — he’d slept well. No tossing. No nightmares. No waking up halfway through the night wondering where the hell he was.

Just… peace.

He stayed there, awake, not moving, for maybe half an hour.

Holding her.

Listening to her breathe.

Watching the way her nose scrunched when the sun started sneaking in through the blinds.

He didn’t remember ever seeing her like that. Nami — the real one, the one underneath all the smirks and strategies and walls — completely relaxed. Unarmored. Just herself.

And it hit him like a damn punch to the gut.

How lucky he was to see that version of her. How easily she let him close last night. How right it felt to wake up with her in his arms, like she’d always belonged there.

Eventually, he slipped out from under the covers, careful not to wake her, and headed downstairs.

He figured he’d make breakfast. Something simple. Bread. Maybe eggs. And juice — her juice. He still had a few mikans left, and he didn’t need a reason to use them.

He just wanted to.

He’d been mid-squeeze when he sensed movement — turned his head, and found her there.

And now she was looking at him like she’d never seen him before.

And maybe she hadn’t.

Not like this.

He wasn’t sure what was happening between them — what it meant or what came next.

But he knew one thing for damn sure:

He didn’t want it to stop.

Nami padded quietly across the wooden floor, still barefoot, still wearing his shirt. It hung off one shoulder, oversized and soft, smelling like sleep and him. Her hair was a little messy, her legs bare, and for once, she didn’t care. Not when the sight in front of her made her feel like something inside her had already melted.

“Breakfast?” she asked softly, voice warm with disbelief.

Zoro glanced over, met her eyes, and smiled — that quiet, easy smile that barely showed teeth but lit up his whole face. “We need to recover some energy,” he muttered.

Nami chuckled and stepped closer, eyes drifting to the juice glass. She picked it up, gave it a curious sniff — and paused. The taste hit instantly. Bright. Sweet. Unmistakable.

Her tangerines.

Even when she exported them, it was rare to find them outside the East Blue. Nearly impossible on islands like this. Which meant…

Her eyes flicked to Zoro.

Then her eyes snapped to Zoro, wide with surprise. “These are my tangerines.”

Zoro glanced up, nonchalant. “Maybe.” He was still calmly pressing another fruit, like this was nothing. Like he hadn’t somehow tracked down something that reminded her of home — of her grove — and made her a glass of it first thing in the morning.

She set the glass down slowly.

“You’re dangerous,” she said, almost to herself.

Zoro looked over, genuinely confused. “What? For making juice?”

Nami just shook her head, smiling faintly, and didn’t answer.

Because if he kept doing things like this — thoughtful, subtle things that made her feel seen — she was going to fall for him. Hard.

And that was dangerous.

Nami took a bite of the eggs, still smiling. “You made me breakfast with my favorite fruit. You took me out to a fancy restaurant. You kept the date… entertaining,” she added with a little smirk.

Zoro shrugged, sipping his juice. “I like tangerines.”

She narrowed her eyes, teasing. “I bet you like them because they remind you of someone.”

He thought about it, leaned back slightly in his stool. “Don’t think I know someone that sweet.”

Nami gasped with mock offense, placing a hand on her chest. “Wow. Rude.”

He looked at her again — hair tousled, lips pink from the juice, cheeks glowing with quiet amusement — and something in his chest tugged.

Without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.

Just a brush of lips at first. Soft. Unhurried. Not claiming anything — just touching. Just enjoying.

Nami let out a breath against his mouth, her fingers curling lightly around the edge of the bar. She leaned in, met him halfway.

It was warm. Familiar. Sweet.

They broke apart a few seconds later, foreheads briefly touching, smiles lingering like the taste of fruit on their tongues.

Nami teased, “Not sweet enough?”

Zoro shook his head, returning to his food with a casual shrug. “Not yet. Might need to keep trying.”

His arm slid around her waist — slow, lazy, possessive in a way that didn’t ask permission.

Nami arched a brow, amused. “Look at you, cheeky swordsman. Already finding excuses to kiss me again?”

Zoro chuckled, low and rough. “I don’t need an excuse. I can take it… steal it. That’s what I learned.”

Nami laughed, warm and a little breathless. “Damn. You learn too fast.”

They finished eating in a comfortable quiet, his hand tracing slow, absent-minded circles on her back.

After the last bite, Nami stretched and yawned, arms overhead, Zoro’s shirt riding up to reveal a flash of bare thigh.

He didn’t mean to stare — but he did. Couldn’t help it.

Then she stood.

Zoro’s heart jumped a beat. Instinctive. Stupid.

“You leaving?” he blurted out, sharper than he meant.

Nami blinked, caught off guard. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast. Too real. “I mean… if you want to leave…”

“I don’t want to leave yet,” she said, reaching for his hand with quiet certainty. “I’m having a great time.”

She didn’t hedge. Didn’t tease. Just told the truth.

Zoro’s breath left him slow. His hand closed around hers — big, warm, calloused — grounding himself in the fact that she was still here.

She stepped closer, resting her head against the curve of his neck.

He slid his other arm around her waist, pulling her in with a quiet kind of care — not needy, not rushed, just solid.

They stood like that, wordless, just holding each other.

It wasn’t about passion now. It wasn’t even about comfort.

It was about presence.

For Nami, it felt like safety. For Zoro, like home.

No need to move. No need to speak.

Just them. Breathing in sync. Still.

“Let’s nap,” Nami whispered against his neck.

Zoro loosened their embrace just enough to lead them back toward the room, their fingers still linked. He smirked. “I’ll try.”

She shot him a sideways glance, amused. “You’ll try to nap? Roronoa refusing a nap?”

“It’s your fault,” he muttered. “You’re too distracting.”

They reached the room. The bed wasn’t exactly built for two — not comfortably, anyway — but Nami didn’t hesitate. She climbed on top of him, settling her weight over his chest like she belonged there.

She tapped his brow with a lazy finger. “Now close that eye, and we nap.”

Zoro huffed a laugh, his arm sliding back around her waist. Her body fit against his like it had always been meant to. Soft. Warm. Too perfect.

Relaxing was impossible.

He chuckled under his breath.

“What’s so funny?” Nami murmured, leaning in to kiss him.

“I don’t want to nap,” he admitted against her mouth, his hand drifting lower, fingers brushing the curve of her butt.

She grinned against his lips.

And just like that — the nap was officially postponed.

What began as a half-hearted attempt to rest — her sprawled on top of him, his arms lazily wrapped around her waist — quickly unraveled into something else entirely. Another kiss. A soft laugh. A hand drifting just a little too low.

And then it happened again.

Slower this time. Less about urgency and more about connection. A kind of quiet, affectionate lovemaking filled with sleepy smiles, lazy kisses, whispered compliments and teasing murmurs. No one was in a rush. No one needed to win. They were just… together. Closer than before. Like the last traces of tension had melted away, leaving only warmth.

By the time the sun set again, they hadn’t left the bar.

They hadn’t needed to.

Saturday passed in a haze of comfort and skin and shared meals and tangled sheets. They barely got dressed. They didn’t talk about what this meant. They didn’t have to. The way they touched each other — carefully, playfully, like something rare — said enough.

And when they finally fell asleep again that night, it was without hesitation. Like they’d done this a hundred times. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

---

By Sunday, the light was soft and golden, stretching across the bed like a whisper. Nami lay sprawled over his chest, legs tangled with his, her fingertips drawing slow, lazy lines across his skin. Sometimes she traced his scars. Sometimes she just listened to his heartbeat.

Neither of them moved much.

They barely talked. Just murmured little nothings — the kind that meant everything and nothing at once. She teased him about the stubble on his jaw, said he might look good with a beard, and smirked when he grunted in response. He muttered that she was dangerously hot when she got bossy, and then immediately regretted giving her that power. They complimented each other in sideways ways — soft jabs, half-smiles, a tug of the blanket or the brush of a thumb across a collarbone.

The morning had long since slipped into noon, and still, they stayed like that — skin to skin, warm and content, with no plans but each other.

Zoro’s arm rested securely around her back, his thumb brushing small circles along her hip. He hadn’t opened his eye in a while. Not because he was asleep — just because this felt like something you didn’t interrupt. Not even with words.

It was quiet. It was soft. It was… kind of perfect.

A moment suspended in time.

Nami rested her head just beneath his collarbone, fingers idly tracing the long scar that cut across his chest. She wasn’t thinking, not really — just feeling. Breathing. Letting it stretch a little longer.

Then, after a moment, she shifted slightly and exhaled.

“Hey…” she murmured, almost like it might not matter.

Zoro grunted — not quite a response, but not a dismissal either.

Nami hesitated. Her finger paused in its tracing. “Can I ask you something?”

He cracked an eye open. “You’re already asking.”

She smiled faintly, but the question weighed behind her lips. “Can I tell the others?”

Zoro blinked.

“Tell them we had sex?” he asked bluntly, voice still rough with sleep.

“Not that!” she groaned, giving him a light punch to the shoulder — more exasperated than angry. “That you’re alive. That I found you.”

His body stiffened just enough for her to notice.

She didn’t push — not yet.

Zoro’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling, jaw set tight. “I don’t know if they’d want to know.”

Nami studied him, quiet but steady.

“They will,” she said. “They do. You’re still one of us. That doesn’t disappear just because you disappeared.”

He didn’t answer.

So she reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing the stubble at his jawline.

“Zoro… they loved you. They still do. You’ve always been family.”

He closed his eye for a second — just one slow beat. She saw the fight in his throat, the doubt lodged so deep he couldn’t quite say it.

But then, finally, he nodded. Small. Barely there.

“Alright,” he muttered.

Nami leaned in, her forehead bumping lightly against his.

“Thank you.”

There was a long silence between them, soft and full of weight.

And then — just enough to break it —

Zoro smirked faintly. “Just… don’t tell Sanji we slept together. He might die from rage.”

Nami snorted, laughing into his shoulder. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t need to know that part.” 

The afternoon sun had shifted — lower, warmer — casting the room in a golden haze that made everything feel slower. Softer.

Nami stretched lazily, her hair still tousled from sleep and everything after. She glanced toward the window and let out a small sigh.

“I was supposed to be out for one night,” she murmured, half-amused. “Kind of disappeared for two days.”

She started smoothing her hair with her fingers, already slipping back into her composed self — the one who had things to do, schedules to meet.

Zoro sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt over his head. He didn’t say much.

“Shakky’s probably going to kill me,” he muttered after a moment. “I closed the bar all weekend.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then added, quieter, “Still worth it.”

Nami smiled — small, proud, and a little smug. She didn’t say anything right away, just watched him, warm satisfaction blooming in her chest. Knowing she was worth it… yeah, that felt good.

Neither of them rushed. But neither of them lingered, either.

She clipped her earrings back in. He reached for his boots. There was a soft tension to it — not uncomfortable, just… present. The kind of hush that comes when no one wants to say out loud that it’s time to leave.

When she was ready, Zoro walked her to the back door.

The same one she’d first come through, days ago. Except now everything felt different.

They stood there for a long second — nothing between them but sunlight and the familiar weight of things unsaid. The alley outside was quiet, the grove dappled with warm light.

Nami reached for the handle.

Zoro stepped forward and kissed her.

It wasn’t heated. It wasn’t desperate.

It was slow. Intentional. The kind of kiss that says I meant it. The kind you feel hours later, when everything is quiet again.

Her hand lingered at the hem of his shirt. His never left her waist.

Eventually, she pulled back — just enough to speak.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks?”

Zoro nodded, voice low. “I’ll be here.”

She gave a small smile, then turned and walked down the alley, her steps steady.

She didn’t look back.

But she did slow, just a little, at the end.

Inside, Zoro stood in the doorway long after she’d gone. Arms crossed, leaning against the frame, watching the empty space she left behind.

The bar was quiet.

And in the stillness that followed, both of them felt it — a little ache.

Not regret.

Just that soft crash after something really good.

And maybe, beneath it all, a flicker of fear.

Chapter Text

The soft chime of silverware against china echoed like a whisper through the open-air café. Light spilled in through tall windows, casting clean, golden lines across white tablecloths and delicate crystal. A string quartet played somewhere nearby — subtle, unobtrusive — blending into the hush of clinking glasses and quiet conversation.

It was the kind of place where people spoke in low voices and servers moved like ghosts. Where every dish was art, and the tea came in porcelain pots with fresh flowers on the tray.

Nami sipped hers carefully, letting the warmth settle in her chest as she watched the steam curl upward.

Across from her, Robin smiled — that calm, composed kind of smile that never gave too much away, but still managed to make you feel seen.

“A foster home in Zou,” Robin said, setting her cup down gently. “That sounds like something very meaningful.”

Nami nodded. “It is. It’s been a long time coming.” She paused, then added with a small smile, “Feels good to build something.”

Robin’s smile deepened, eyes glinting with quiet approval.

“Well, I’m not surprised,” she said gently. “You’ve always had the ability to turn ideas into reality. The foster home in Amazon Lily proved that.”

Nami chuckled softly, lowering her cup. “That one was a little more impulsive.”

“Maybe,” Robin allowed, “but this one’s been on your mind for a while. I remember you mentioning Zou — even back when it was just a vague idea. It’s nice to see your plans take root.”

Nami leaned back slightly in her chair, gaze drifting toward the sun-dappled glass. “It’s been a lot of work, but… yeah. It’s worth it.”

Robin watched her over the rim of her teacup, serene and unreadable. “You sound happy.”

“I am,” Nami said.

Robin set her cup down lightly, tilting her head. “That’s good to hear. Especially after your last letter… the one where you mentioned finding a treasure.”

Nami blinked — then smiled, too wide, too fast. “Oh. Right. That.”

The spark in her eyes — bright, unguarded — was more than Robin had seen even when they’d talked about the foster home. A little too eager. A little too personal.

She didn’t say anything — just observed. Noted the change.

Nami laughed, then fumbled slightly. “Well, I didn’t tell you right away because… he didn’t want—”

She started with the excuse, the one she’d settled on because she knew she should’ve said something sooner. He was Robin’s nakama too.

But she didn’t get to finish.

Robin’s eyebrow lifted, elegant and precise. “He?”

Nami blinked, caught mid-thought.

Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that. It was too soon. She hadn’t even explained who—hadn’t framed it right.

Robin tilted her head ever so slightly, the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “So the treasure is a he .”

Nami flailed internally. “I mean—he’s not the treasure, exactly. That’s not what I meant.”

Robin said nothing — just watched, calm and unreadable.

Nami squirmed. Carefully picked up her teacup like it might shield her. She tried to reel herself back in, but the damage was done. Robin’s silence was worse than teasing. It was waiting.

Nami sighed, resigned. She hadn’t meant to spill it like this — not so clumsily, not so fast. The whole carefully built story she’d meant to share had just… crumbled.

And now she didn’t want to make it a thing , didn’t want Robin to get the wrong idea before she even got the facts out.

So she just said it, plain and direct, like ripping off a bandage.

“I found Zoro. He’s alive. He’s… working as a bartender in Sabaody Archipelago.”

Robin’s expression shifted in an instant.

The amusement vanished — not replaced by shock exactly, but something still and deep. Something real.

Her eyes widened just slightly, and then softened, like the meaning of the words was still catching up to her.

Nami watched it land — not as gossip, not as romance — but as news. As what it was. The kind that made the past tilt under your feet.

Because he was her nakama too. And she had thought he was gone.

Robin set her teacup down gently.

“I see,” she said softly. “That… is significant.”

Robin’s composure held — as it always did — but the change in her was visible. A soft exhale. A quiet kind of wonder. Her smile was small but unmistakably real, edged with something like relief. Maybe even emotion.

“I’m glad,” she said. “Truly. I’d wondered, more than once… but it had been so long.”

Nami nodded, setting her own cup down. “He’s… he’s not the same. I mean, it’s still him. Still Zoro. But…” She searched for the right word. “He’s quieter. He’s been living alone for a while now — running Shakky’s bar in a forgotten corner of Sabaody.”

Robin tilted her head slightly. “That sounds… peaceful.”

“It is. But also lonely.” Nami glanced out the window, then back. “He’s been carrying a lot. Mostly guilt. For not being there when Luffy—” Her voice caught for half a second, but she pushed through. “He missed the end. And I think… it broke something in him.”

Robin was quiet for a moment.

Then she nodded slowly, folding her hands in her lap. “It makes sense. He was always so devoted. Missing that… I imagine it would haunt him.”

Robin’s gaze lowered, thoughtful and still. “And none of us looked for him.”

Nami didn’t flinch. She wasn’t surprised Robin said it — because she had thought it too.

She set her teacup down gently, her fingers lingering on the rim. “I know,” she said quietly. “I feel it too.”

Because the truth was, they hadn’t looked. Not really.

Back when they were still a crew — back when they were pirates, in every wild, chaotic sense — they would’ve. They had. When she’d gone to Arlong Park, they’d come for her. When Robin had been dragged to Enies Lobby, they’d crossed the world to bring her home.

But Zoro disappeared later.

When they were older. When the ship was docked for good. When they were no longer a unit held together by adventure and danger and Luffy’s gravity.

He had slipped away in that quiet, slow way you don’t notice until someone says, Where did he go?

And by then, it had already been too long.

“We weren’t the same anymore,” Robin murmured. “Not in a bad way — just… older. Everyone had their own things. The connection was still there, but—”

Nami nodded. “The tide had changed.” She looked down at her hands. “I think we thought he’d be fine. He always was. We assumed he just needed space. Or maybe we didn’t want to think too hard about why he was gone.”

There was a pause. Not heavy — just full.

Then Nami’s voice softened even more. “Luffy asked about him, near the end.”

Robin’s eyes flicked to her, startled. “He did?”

Nami smiled faintly, a sad sort of warmth behind it. “Yeah. I told him Zoro wasn’t there. And you know what he did?”

Robin shook her head.

“He laughed. He said, ‘He’s probably lost.’”

Robin’s expression shifted — something like grief and affection tangled together.

“None of us laughed,” Nami continued, her voice distant now. “Because we thought... no. He wouldn’t miss this. Not this. Not Luffy. If Zoro wasn’t here, then something awful must’ve happened. Something final.”

Robin whispered, “But Luffy was right.”

Nami nodded slowly. “He was.”

Robin let the quiet settle again, but only for a moment. She tilted her head, gaze softening with curiosity.

“So… tell me more about him,” she said gently. “Was he surprised to see you? Are you planning to see him again?”

She paused, sipping her tea with a small smile. “Maybe next time I’ll join you.”

That made Nami stiffen — just slightly. Barely a blink. But Robin caught it.

Nami tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing down at her cup. “I mean… yeah. He was surprised. I think.”

Robin arched an eyebrow.

“And… yeah, I’ve seen him again. A couple of times.”

She said it too fast.

Then immediately followed it with, “You know, just to check in. Make sure he’s okay.”

Robin didn’t say anything right away.

Just let the words hang there — like steam curling off porcelain. Watching. Weighing.

Nami shifted again, suddenly very interested in the lemon slice floating in her tea.

Robin’s smile curved, subtle but sharp.

“A couple of times,” she repeated, as if testing the words on her tongue.

Nami opened her mouth — maybe to clarify, maybe to change the subject — but no words came out.

From there, Nami started fumbling. “I mean, you know how it is — Sabaody’s kind of in the middle of my usual routes. When I go from Cocoyashi to Amazon Lily, it’s… convenient.”

Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t looking up. Her fingers played with the edge of the napkin. And she was, unmistakably, blushing.

Robin raised her teacup slowly, hiding her smile behind the rim. “Convenient,” she echoed, as if tasting the word. Her tone was mild — almost too mild.

Nami didn’t respond.

Robin set her cup down, gently. Tilted her head.

Nami blinked. “What— I mean— I’m just—checking in on him.”

Robin nodded, slowly. “Of course. Like a good crewmate would.”

“Exactly.”

“So how many times have you checked in, then?”

Nami froze. “...A few.”

“A few,” Robin repeated, like she was writing it down.

Nami tried to rally. “I mean, not that many— I’ve just— the timing lined up, and—”

Robin arched one elegant brow.

Nami’s shoulders sank. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” Robin admitted.

There was a long pause. Nami reached for her tea. Missed the handle on the first try. Robin waited — patient, amused, impossible to dodge.

Finally, Nami sighed. Quietly. She didn’t meet Robin’s eyes.

“Something’s… happened.”

Robin said nothing.

Just smiled — that knowing, satisfied smile — and stirred her tea.

“I thought so.”

Nami blinked. “What do you mean, you thought so?”

Robin gave a small shrug, unbothered. “Back when I first joined the crew,” she said, voice calm, “I actually thought something had already happened between you and Zoro.”

Nami nearly dropped her spoon. “What?!”

Robin’s lips curved. “You had that kind of tension.”

“Tension?”

Robin nodded, perfectly serene. “Zoro getting annoyed every time Sanji flirted with you. You yelling at Zoro just a little louder than you did anyone else. It felt…” She sipped her tea. “Like chemistry. Or history. I wasn’t sure which.”

Nami stared at her, clearly caught off guard.

Robin’s smile softened. “You know. Like when two toddlers have a crush and show it by hitting each other.”

Nami chuckled, leaning back in her chair as she glanced out toward the water beyond the glass.
“Nah,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Nothing happened back then.”

Robin arched a brow, clearly unconvinced but gracious enough not to say it.

Nami smirked faintly, then softened. “I mean… we bickered, sure. But that was just us. We weren’t…” She paused, searching. “We weren’t thinking about that. Not really.”

She turned her eyes back to the window. “Our heads were somewhere else. Big dreams. Big goals. I don’t think we were ready for love — not the real kind, anyway.”

Robin nodded slowly, her expression gentling. “And now?”

Nami hesitated. Her fingers toyed with the corner of her napkin. “That’s not what I mean. We just… hooked up. Once.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, tone light but precise. “Oh? So it’s a friends-with-benefits situation?”

Nami flushed and looked away, visibly squirming. “Yeah. I mean… maybe. I don’t know.”

Robin didn’t press. Just waited.

Finally, Nami sighed — then reached for her purse.

She pulled out her wallet, rifled through the inner pocket, and drew out a small piece of paper folded carefully into quarters. She hesitated, then placed it on the table between them and unfolded it.

“He gave me this,” Nami said, her voice softening. “We were supposed to go out — nothing big, just something casual. I went to pick him up, and he was… kind of dressed up. Like, actually made an effort.”

She slid the paper across the table. Robin leaned in. It was a hand-drawn map — uneven lines, a few scribbled notes in the corners. Clumsy, but oddly charming. Unmistakably Zoro.

“He didn’t want to get lost,” Nami explained, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “So he made a map. Thought it’d be useful. But… it was kind of sweet. I don’t know.”

Robin smiled gently. “I do.”

Nami shrugged, but the warmth in her voice betrayed her. “He did stuff like that all night. Thoughtful little things. Nothing flashy. Just… him. Not even trying.”

She paused, her eyes still on the folded map. “That’s the thing — he wasn’t trying to impress me. He just… said things. About my work, my plans. The way he talked about the foster home project — like of course I’d pull it off. Like it was obvious I could do anything I put my mind to.”

Her voice dipped a little. “People compliment me now, sure — I’m a powerful woman, I get that. But Zoro’s known me since before that. And the way he says it… it’s not flattery. It’s not patronizing. It’s like he just sees me clearly — like he’s describing me the way I see myself. And somehow… it’s exactly right.”

Robin was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Then she smiled — not teasing, not sly, but something soft and genuine. “That kind of honesty,” she said gently, “is rare. Especially from a man who never bothers with words unless he means them.”

Nami met her gaze, and for a breath, neither of them spoke.

Then she laughed under her breath, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “The date completely fell apart, by the way. Went off the rails in a way only the two of us could manage. But it was fun. Really fun.”

She paused — then added, too quickly, almost in a single breath, “And then he kissed me. And… it was hot.”

Robin raised her teacup, hiding her smile behind the rim.

Nami groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh. I sound like a teenager.”

“You sound like someone,” Robin said delicately, “who has a rather serious crush on Roronoa Zoro.”

Nami peeked at her through her fingers, visibly mortified. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Robin’s smile deepened — graceful, knowing. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Nami. Even fiercely independent women need something steady, now and then. It doesn’t make you any less strong.”

Nami let out a slow breath and leaned back again, letting the breeze from the water cool her cheeks.

Light crept in through the blinds, soft and pale across the ceiling. He shifted onto his back, arms stretched above his head, muscles stiff from sleeping in one position too long.

The bed was small. Just his side slept in.

Still — something lingered.

Not warmth. Not weight.

Scent.

Faint, but clear. Tangy-sweet. Not the bar’s usual smell of wood and salt and whatever was on his clothes. This was different. Clean. Bright.

Tangerines.

He turned his face into the pillow beside him, and there it was — sharper now. Her.

His brow twitched slightly. For a second, he just stared at the fabric, confused by the contrast. It didn’t belong there. Didn’t match the rest of the room — too bright, too fresh.

Then he remembered her voice, teasing: “You like them because they remind you of me.”

He snorted softly.

Still, he didn’t move. Just lay there a little longer, face half-buried in the pillow like the scent might fade if he got up too fast.

The bed felt emptier than it should’ve.

Not cold — he hadn’t expected her to still be there — but… noticeably quiet.

Weird.

Zoro wasn’t used to waking up with someone in his space.

And yet, the weekend hadn’t bothered him.

All that closeness — the talking, the teasing, the way she’d sprawled over his chest, tracing lazy circles on his skin like she belonged there — it should’ve made him restless. It didn’t.

He’d liked it.

Hell.

Was he missing it?

He sat up with a grunt and ran a hand through his hair. No point lying around thinking about it.

The shirt he’d tossed to the chair yesterday was still there — wrinkled and clean enough. He pulled it over his head in one motion, followed by his pants, then tied the waistband fast. Movements efficient. Mechanical.

Still, he moved slower than usual.

Like something in the room had changed.

Like something in him had.

He shoved the thought away and headed for the stairs.
The bar wouldn’t open itself.

The day moved the way it always did.

He swept the floor. Took inventory. Unloaded a crate of cheap whiskey from the back. Polished the counter even though it didn’t need it. Routine. Muscle memory. The kind of work that left his hands busy but his mind… untethered.

Too quiet.

His eye drifted to the calendar tacked behind the bar. Friday was circled — not this one, the next. A tiny mark, probably from a pen he’d been chewing on when she said she might be back.

He stared at it a second too long before looking away.

Later, scratching at his chin absently, he caught the bristle under his fingers. Thought about the way she’d smiled at him and teased, “You might look good with a beard.”
He’d rolled his eyes at the time.

Now, he wasn’t sure if that meant he should shave… or not.

He caught himself checking the mirror behind the bar and immediately felt stupid.

Around mid-afternoon, someone asked for something citrusy.

He grunted, turned to grab the usual bottle — but his hand hovered a little too long over the shelf behind the counter.

The tangerine liquor sat near the bottom, tucked away, half-forgotten. Except it wasn’t forgotten. Not really.

He kept it out of sight for a reason.

No one ordered it but her.

He grabbed something else.

Didn’t even look back.

He closed the bar late. Mopped the floor, locked the doors, wiped the counter one last time like it mattered. Then climbed the stairs slowly, step by step, until the bar was quiet again.

The bed felt smaller than it had all weekend.

He lay on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. He told himself not to think about her. That she had things to do, important places to be. That she probably wasn’t thinking about him.

Still, he turned his face into the pillow that smelled faintly like citrus and sighed.

On the other side of the world, Nami sat at her desk in a quiet corner of Cocoyashi Village, staring at a blank sheet of parchment.

It was supposed to be a map — she’d meant to redraw a trade route, polish an older version of the island’s northern cliffs. But her pen had run dry minutes ago, and she hadn’t noticed.

Her agenda was full. Her deadlines looming. And yet…

She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

She wondered — just for a second — if he might be thinking about her too.

And somewhere, impossibly far apart but just near enough to ache, two people sat in silence — each pretending not to wonder what it meant.
Because maybe they’d found something precious they didn’t know they were allowed to want. And now that it was here — quiet, steady, unexpectedly soft — it was terrifying.

Because what if they lost it?
Worse — what if they never even had it?

One was used to getting lost, but this time… he might know exactly where this was going.
The other had built her life around knowing the way — but right now, she was completely lost in the feeling.

And next?

Maybe the route would appear.

Maybe the signs would make sense.

But even if they did… would it be worth the risk?

Chapter Text

Zoro woke up a little earlier than usual. Took a longer shower. Shaved.

The bar didn’t need to be spotless, but he wiped the counter down anyway — twice. Rearranged the bottles he already knew were in order. Replaced the candle on the corner table she liked. Swapped it for the one that didn’t smell like cheap cinnamon.

Nothing too obvious. Just little things. Subtle. So subtle they almost didn’t count.

He wasn’t waiting. He was just… prepared.

Nami usually came in the afternoon.. She’d walk in like she owned the place — hair messy from the wind, expression sharp and unreadable until she smiled.

He didn’t expect anything different today.

So, around noon, he checked the time.

Then again at two.

Then again at four.

By six, the sunlight had started to shift — sliding lower across the wooden floor — and Zoro, pretending not to look at the clock again, opened the bar.

He told himself it was just in case someone came by. Business was business.
And maybe he could use something to distract himself.
He hadn’t planned to open the bar if she showed up — no, if she’d walked through that door, he would’ve locked it behind her.

But she hadn’t.

So the lights were on. The door was open.
And Zoro was behind the counter, pretending he wasn’t checking the time.

Nami liked to be in control.
She built her entire life around precision — maps, weather, planning, strategy. Being late? That was unacceptable. Infuriating. Borderline criminal.

So when the ship from Cocoyashi didn’t sail on time, she snapped.
The crew scrambled. The dockhands practically hid from her glare.
She spent the whole trip barking orders, rearranging sails, pacing the deck like a storm about to break.
Ruthless didn’t begin to cover it.

And yet — by the time they finally reached Sabaody, it was nearly midnight.
Late. Unforgivably so.

But nothing — nothing — was going to ruin her night.

She didn’t hesitate.
Her feet knew where to go, and she walked with purpose — a little too fast if she was being honest with herself.

She reached the bar door and stopped.

Just for a second.
Smoothed her hair. Straightened her blouse. Adjusted the strap of her bag like she hadn’t just power-walked across half the grove.
Then — cool, composed, like she had all the time in the world — she opened the door.

She hadn’t expected the lights to be on.
The sound of muffled laughter, low voices, the clink of glassware — it hit her the second she stepped inside.

The bar was open .
Half a dozen customers scattered around tables. Two drunk regulars slouched at the counter.

Her brows lifted.

Seriously?

So he hadn’t been waiting for her? Or maybe… maybe it was because she was late.
Maybe he thought she wasn’t coming.

She was going to kill that sailor who hadn’t prepped the ship on time. But right now, she wasn’t about to let Zoro see one drop of her disappointment.

If he hadn’t expected her — if he’d given up on their night — she was going to be mad .

The thought barely had time to simmer when the door creaked shut behind her — and Zoro looked up.

Their eyes met.

And just like that, he smiled.

It wasn’t big or smug. Just… his smile. That steady, unbothered grin that made her stomach twist in a way she absolutely refused to acknowledge right now.
He looked so damn handsome . Relaxed. Broad-shouldered. Like he hadn’t missed a second of sleep.
Like he hadn’t spent the whole day hoping she’d walk through that door.

She hated how much she’d missed him.

They should be making out in the back by now.

But no — this idiot opened the bar.

And if he thought she was going to just forgive that , he had another thing coming.

Nami said nothing. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk.
She simply adjusted her posture, straightened her shoulders, and walked toward the counter like she owned the place.

No — like she wasn't even trying to own it.
Like she was the hottest woman on the face of the sea and didn’t need anyone to confirm it.

She leaned a hand on the bar, crossed one leg over the other with casual grace, and gave him a sweet, dangerous smile.

“ Bartender, ” she said, dragging out the word just enough to sting, “a beer.”

Because oh, he was going to know she was mad.

And if he was smart, he’d figure out exactly why .

His heart stuttered — just for a beat — when the door creaked open and he saw her silhouette.

She came.

A small thing, maybe. But it hit deeper than he expected.

She walked in like she owned the night. Head high, hips swaying just enough to knock the breath out of him. Like the delay never happened, like she knew he’d still be here.

And gods, she looked good.

Too good.

He froze halfway through wiping a glass. Just stopped, cloth dangling from his fingers, body instinctively still.

It wasn’t just him.

Every man in the bar turned to look — subtle, but obvious enough. One of the drunk regulars blinked like he’d seen a mirage. A guy at the table near the window nearly knocked over his drink.

Zoro’s jaw tightened.

Damn it.

He shouldn’t have opened tonight.

He’d told himself it was just to kill time — something to do while he waited. But now, seeing her here, walking across the bar like sin wrapped in confidence, surrounded by half-drunk losers who didn’t know better than to stare ?

Yeah. He regretted it.

For a second, he even considered yelling fire just to clear the damn place out.

But then she reached the bar, leaned in like she’d done it a hundred times, and said:

“ Bartender, a beer.”

Zoro frowned, just a little, when she called him bartender.

Weird. She’d never used that voice with him — all sugar and edge. But maybe she was just being playful. Or maybe she really wanted a drink before anything else. He wasn’t gonna overthink it.

He grabbed one of the big pint glasses, filled it from the tap, and slid it in front of her with a low nod.

Nami raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in a smirk. “Wow. Bar’s open tonight, huh?”

Her tone dripped with irony. But Zoro missed it entirely.

He leaned an elbow on the counter, casual. “Yeah. Thought I’d keep busy until you showed up. Didn’t expect you this late.”

He said it with no malice. If anything, he sounded... relieved. Like of course she came. That weird, soft flicker in his chest hadn’t been lying after all.

Nami sipped her beer, watching him over the rim. He really didn’t get it.

Of course she’d come. Of course she was late — they’d never set a real time. It wasn’t her fault the ship left late, or that she nearly sprinted here. And now what? She had to spend her night surrounded by drunks and loud voices while the idiot worked behind the bar?

She set the glass down with a faint clink and raised her chin.

“So you didn’t think I’d show up, and just decided to move on?” Nami said — too sharp, too fast.

The words hung in the air between them, louder than she meant them to be.

She didn’t clarify. Couldn’t. Because was she mad about the bar being open… or was it something else?
The metaphor hit her the second it left her mouth. Move on . Like she was just a passing plan — a maybe. A placeholder until something else came up. 

Zoro blinked, confused. “Huh?”
He looked like he was about to ask her to repeat it — or maybe clarify — but then a voice called from one of the tables. A drunk customer waving for another round.

Zoro hesitated for half a second, his brow furrowing, clearly torn. But duty — or habit — won out. He gave Nami a nod that was meant to be casual and turned away.

She watched him walk off, jaw tightening.

Damn it.

She wasn’t even sure what she was mad about anymore. The bar being open? Him not picking up on her tone? The fact that she’d arrived already half-spiraling and now felt like she’d dragged herself here for nothing?

It wasn’t fair. Not to him. She knew that.

But still…

She grabbed her pint and drank the rest in one go. Fast. Like she needed something — anything — to drown the sharp, sour taste of disappointment in her throat.

The glass clinked softly when she set it down again. Empty. Just like the seat beside her.

Zoro returned from the table a few minutes later, towel slung over his shoulder, and immediately noticed her empty glass. His gaze flicked from the pint to her face, then — wordless — he slid onto the stool beside her.

“Long day?” he asked, voice low and casual, like nothing had happened.

His hand found hers where it rested in her lap — warm, rough, familiar.

Nami glanced at their joined hands and let out a slow breath.

Clueless idiot.

He smelled like clean soap and something faintly citrusy. Like he’d actually made an effort. That, and the way his thumb rubbed gently against her knuckles, made her want to kiss him stupid.

And maybe punch him for making her feel like this in the first place.

“Yeah,” she said tightly. “I was supposed to meet someone — but the IDIOT is working.”

She said it sharp this time. No innuendo, no tease. Just straight-up frustration.

But Zoro only chuckled — that low, amused rumble that vibrated in his chest.

“Oh no,” he said, leaning closer like he was letting her in on a joke. “That guy sounds like a real loser. I’m sure he’ll wrap up whatever he’s doing real fast and come crawling back to you.”

He gave her a pointed look, lips twitching. “I’ll get you another beer on his behalf.”

Nami stared at him for a beat — then rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

At least he was finally catching on.

“He better hurry up,” she muttered, playing along now. “Or he’ll be in serious trouble.”

Zoro set the fresh pint down in front of her with a soft clink . His hand brushed hers again, intentional this time.

“I bet he already is,” he said.

She took a sip. Warmed by more than just the drink.

And nodded. “Damn right.”

While Nami nursed her beer, Zoro moved quietly through the bar, stopping at each table. His voice was low, firm, polite — not exactly apologetic, but final.

“We’re closing early tonight.”

Most people didn’t argue. A few groaned. A couple left. Within ten minutes, only three patrons remained — regulars who didn’t mind finishing up quick.

As Zoro returned behind the counter, he noticed one of them — a stocky guy with too much cologne and a sleazy grin — sliding off his stool and wandering toward Nami.

Zoro paused, frowning.

He wasn’t the jealous type.

He really wasn’t.

And it wasn’t like Nami needed saving. She could handle a drunk flirt and way more. He knew that.

Still, his eye narrowed. Just a little.

He stayed behind the bar. Waited.

The guy leaned against the counter next to her. Sloppy casual. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Nami didn’t even flinch. Just arched an eyebrow, lips curving in a slow smirk.

“Can’t say no to free stuff,” she said, then turned deliberately toward Zoro. “Bartender—” her tone laced with irony again “—I’ll have my favorite.”

A quiet scoff escaped his nose. Damn flirt. Zoro met her eyes, already reaching for the bottle tucked behind the others. The one no one else knew about.

His special Mikan liquor.

He poured it slowly, carefully, the scent of citrus rising between them. When the glass was full, he slid it toward her with a subtle smirk, his fingers brushing hers on purpose.

Nami took it without breaking eye contact.

Then, before anyone could react — especially the guy next to her — she reached across the bar, grabbed Zoro by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him in.

Kissed him.

Right there in front of everyone. Open-mouthed, full heat, no shame.

Zoro made a low sound — startled, aroused, completely on board — as she pulled back with a wicked grin.

“Yummy,” she murmured, licking the taste from her lips. “My favorite.”

The guy beside her blinked. Visibly stunned.

Zoro raised a brow, not even glancing at him.

“Bar’s closing,” he said flatly.

The guy blinked, half-registering it. “What—now?”

Zoro didn’t answer. Just stood straight, rolled his shoulder once, and turned his gaze to the rest of the bar — calm, solid, unmoving.

The two guys still nursing drinks exchanged a glance.

One of them — an older man who’d clearly been here before — raised his glass in surrender. “Yeah, alright. You did say early.”

Zoro gave him a nod. “Drinks on the house next time.”

The man grinned, pocketed his lighter, and started toward the door without fuss.

The other guy — younger, smug — leaned back in his chair. “Seriously? I just got this round.”

Zoro looked at him. Just looked. One brow raised, one hand reaching for the dish towel like he might start wiping something down… or use it to break a bottle.

“I said,” he repeated, voice even, “we’re closed.”

The guy stood — too quick to be brave, too slow to be defiant. “Yeah, alright, whatever.” He slunk toward the exit with a muttered insult under his breath.

Zoro didn’t care enough to listen.

He locked the door behind them, flipped the sign, and turned back around.

The bar was quiet again.

Nami stood by the counter, one hand on her hip, watching him with a look that was equal parts sultry and smug.

“Finally—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Zoro crossed the distance in two strides, one arm wrapping firmly around her waist as he pulled her in and kissed her — properly this time. No teasing, no distractions. Just everything he’d meant to do the second she walked through the door.

Her arms slid around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt. She kissed him back without hesitation — deep, warm, victorious.

When they finally came up for air, her lips were pink and curved in a satisfied grin.

“You owe me two hours,” she murmured, breathless, “for all the things we could’ve been doing.”

Zoro groaned, head tipping forward to rest lightly against hers. “Oh god, I’m in debt again…”

Then he bent down, arms sweeping under her thighs in one smooth motion.

“I’ll pay it back,” he said, already walking toward the stairs. “With interest. And I know your interest rates are criminal.”

Nami laughed, her arms tightening around his neck. “Usurious,” she corrected, grinning.

“Figures,” he muttered, carrying her upstairs.

And this time, nothing got in their way.

—-

The morning light spilled through the curtains in long, lazy stripes — warm gold brushing across bare skin and tangled sheets.

The room was quiet.

Outside, the world stirred — muffled voices, distant gulls, the soft hum of Sabaody waking up — but inside, everything was still.

Zoro lay on his back, one arm slung over Nami’s waist, the other curled behind his head. His breathing was deep, steady. Asleep, he looked younger — the tension gone from his jaw, the faint crease between his brows smoothed by peace.

Nami lay half-draped across him, her cheek against his chest, their legs tangled. The slow rise and fall of his breathing rocked her slightly, like a tide she didn’t mind drifting with.

The stillness didn’t last.

Suddenly — slam.

The bar door flew open below with a bang, followed immediately by a shrill voice echoing up the stairs.

“OLD MAN! THE SHIP’S HERE! YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S IN TOWN — WAKE UP, YOU LAZY ASS!”

Zoro bolted upright like someone had lit a fuse under him.

“What the—?!”

In one smooth motion, he was out of bed, grabbing for his pants with the kind of speed that could only be muscle memory. Nami flinched at the sudden noise, sitting up with the sheet clutched to her chest.
“Who the hell—?” she rasped, voice still thick with sleep.
Was that a girl’s voice?

He didn’t answer. He was already gone.

Still tangled in the covers, Nami blinked toward the door, heart pounding. What the hell was going on?

—

Downstairs, chaos had a name.

“ ZORO, YOU LAZY  ASS—WAKE UP! YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S SHIP IS IN PORT! ”

The kid was standing on a table , hands cupped around her mouth like a living megaphone, proudly announcing to the entire bar like it was a damn parade.

“ Shut up, brat!! ” Zoro hissed, scrambling across the room.

He leapt up and clamped a hand over her mouth. She squealed, wriggling like an eel.

“ Mmmpphf! ” came the muffled protest.

It took Nami less than ten seconds to appear at the top of the stairs, hair mussed, Zoro’s shirt barely buttoned, wearing a pair of his shorts that definitely weren’t meant to be worn that way.

She stared at the scene:
Zoro, red-faced, holding a hand over a child’s mouth.
The child, clearly not alarmed, clapping even with a grown man trying to silence her.

“Zoro,” Nami said, voice sharp, “what are you doing?!”

Zoro froze like a criminal mid-heist.

Mariko pried his hand free and beamed. “Oh hey, she ’s here! You still owe me for coming here to tell you, y'know—”

“ Shut up! ” he growled, louder this time, glaring down at the kid like he could will her into silence.

Too late.

Nami was already halfway down the stairs.

She walked straight up to them, calm as ever, clearly assessing the chaos like a commander surveying the battlefield.
“Zoro,” she said sweetly, “let the girl go.”

Zoro backed off immediately. Mariko dropped off the table like it was a stage and dusted herself off proudly.

Nami crouched slightly to meet her gaze. Her tone turned gentle. “Hi,” she said with a smile. “I’m Nami.”

“I know,” Mariko chirped brightly, extending a small hand. “I’m Zoro’s… associate. ”

Zoro rolled his eye with a long-suffering sigh.
Nami had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. This tiny, street-smart gremlin was Zoro’s friend — not some woman yelling about being his girlfriend, but this. A clever little spy. Probably the one behind the reservations. The map. Everything.

“Associate?” she echoed, raising a brow as she shook the girl’s hand.

“Yes,” Mariko said solemnly. “I assist him with occasional tasks. Notifications. Certain operational logistics.”

Zoro groaned and walked away.
Defeated. Completely.
He made a beeline for the bar and started pulling out ingredients.

Nami watched him go, amused. “Like… telling him when I’m in town?”

“Our arrangement,” the kid said with a smirk, “is classified.”

Nami bit her lip, fighting a laugh — but something warm unfurled in her chest.

This girl was too clever for her own good. Sharp-eyed, bold, and clearly proud of herself. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the thought of Zoro — stubborn, emotionally constipated Zoro — reaching out to this kid, asking her, in his own ridiculous, roundabout way, to tell him when Nami was in town.

Not asking Nami directly. Not admitting he was waiting. But putting this little system in place anyway, like he couldn’t quite help himself.

It was absurd. It was sweet.

It was him .

And it made something in her ache, just a little.

Of course he hadn’t said it out loud. Of course he’d stationed a tiny, brilliant spy to keep track of her movements.

Because even if he couldn’t say he missed her… he still wanted to know when she’d be back.

The kid jumped up onto a stool. “I want pancakes.”

Zoro didn’t even look up. “ I know. ”

Nami blinked, smiling as she took the seat beside them.

Zoro cooked with quiet focus, as usual — three plates, nothing fancy, just eggs, rice, and grilled fish. A couple of extra sweet things for Mariko snuck in without fanfare.

Nami stole glances as he moved behind the bar’s small kitchen corner. Barefoot, sleeves rolled up, grumbling under his breath when the pan sizzled too loud. Her mouth twitched into a smile.

Mariko kicked her legs under the barstool, chin propped in her hands.
“What was that noise? Guess you make him nervous — now he’s burning the pancakes,” she said casually.

“Does he?” Nami raised an eyebrow, sipping her juice with exaggerated innocence.

“Mm-hmm,” the girl nodded, all smug confidence. “Yesterday he made perfect pancakes. Today? Total disaster.”

From behind the stove, Zoro let out a low, warning grunt. “I can hear you, brat.”

“I know ,” Mariko said sweetly, not looking the slightest bit sorry.

Nami chuckled and leaned her chin into her palm. “So, how long have you been his… ‘associate’?”

“Long enough,” Mariko said proudly. “He said you’re a smart thief.”

Nami’s brows lifted in mock offense. “A thief ?”

“A smart one,” Mariko insisted. “Prove it.”

“I don’t steal from kids,” Nami replied, feigning dignity.

Right then, Zoro set two plates down in front of them — pancakes stacked high, still steaming.

Mariko crossed her arms, unconvinced. “Convenient excuse.”

Zoro gave Nami a side glance, smirking as he slid into the seat beside her. “Are you sure about that?”

Mariko blinked.

Nami, all composure, reached into her pocket and pulled out a small coin — one that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago — and flipped it onto the bar with a neat little spin.

It landed in front of Mariko.

The girl’s eyes widened. She slapped a hand over her shorts, checking her pocket, then looked back at Nami like she’d just seen a magic trick.

“No way.”

“I told you,” Nami said, smug. “I don’t steal from kids. I borrow .”

Mariko lit up. “Can you teach me?”

Zoro set the third plate down with a quiet grunt, not even trying to hide his sigh.

They dug into breakfast, laughter filling the space between bites. The banter between the three of them came easy — like they’d done this before. Like this wasn’t new, just unexpected.

Nami, between sips of juice and teasing jabs at Zoro’s “burnt-on-purpose” pancakes, gently shifted the conversation. Her tone was light, casual, but her questions were carefully placed — letting Mariko do most of the talking.

“So,” Nami said, nudging her plate aside, “do you live nearby?”

Mariko shrugged, stuffing a bite into her mouth. “Kinda. Depends.”

Nami tilted her head. “Depends?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I crash at Shakky’s. Or behind the fish market if it’s dry. Or Old Man Tenji’s stairwell. He pretends not to see me, but he always leaves out extra soup.”

Zoro’s fork paused midair, but he didn’t look up.

Nami kept her expression even, though something in her chest tightened. “And school?”

Mariko rolled her eyes, like the word itself was an insult. “Nah. Waste of time. Got better things to do.”

Zoro finally spoke, voice quieter. “She’s not wrong about the neighbors helping, though. She’s got half the damn block watching out for her.”

Mariko grinned proudly. “I’m resourceful.”

But Nami wasn’t smiling anymore. She leaned back in her chair, her appetite suddenly gone.

Resourceful was one word for it. But all Nami could see was a kid too clever for her age, too alone in a world that didn’t take care of kids like her.

Nami tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the rim of her juice glass, then looked over at Mariko. “Ok let me teach you something, Got any money on you?”

Mariko narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

Mariko dug into her pocket and pulled out a few coins and a couple of small, folded bills. “I don’t usually show my stash,” she warned, placing them on the bar.

Zoro glanced over. “Should I stop this?”

Nami waved him off with a smirk. “It’s educational.”

She picked up a 10-beri note from the pile. “Let’s say I owe you ten beri. But I only have a 20.”
She took Mariko’s 20 and handed back the 10. “So we’re even, right?”

“Right,” Mariko said, nodding confidently.

Nami kept going. “But then — surprise — you find a 10-beri bill in your pocket after all. So you give that one to me instead, and I give you five back.”

Nami slid a 5 toward her, kept the 10, and set her hands down calmly like the game was over.

“Now,” she said, “how much did I end up with?”

Mariko squinted at the table, counting under her breath. “You gave me… five. I gave you twenty… no, ten, then… You have ten, I have fifteen. So… it’s even?”

Nami grinned. “Nope.”

Mariko blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You gave me twenty,” Nami explained, “and then ten more — that’s thirty. I gave you back ten, then five — that’s fifteen. Which means…”

“You have fifteen.” Mariko’s jaw dropped. “You still owe me fifteen!”

Nami gave her back her money with a small, smug smile. “Now imagine I did that while selling you a pair of boots or charging you for information.”

Mariko slumped back on her stool, wide-eyed. “That’s evil.”

“That’s math,” Nami said sweetly. “And if you want to keep up — if you want to be smarter than every pirate and merchant out there — you’d better learn to count faster than they can lie.”

Mariko stared at the bills, then glanced sideways at Zoro, who was already shaking his head.

“Don’t look at me,” he muttered. “You’re the one who asked for lessons.”

Mariko blinked at her, eyes wide.

“Think about it,” Nami added softly, sipping her juice again.

“I will,” the girl muttered. “Maybe.”

She pushed her empty plate forward, hopped off the stool, and gave them both a sharp salute. “Thanks for breakfast, old man.”

“I’m not old,” Zoro muttered.

She then grinned at Nami. “Later, lady. You’re fun.”

And she was gone — the door slamming behind her like punctuation.

Nami watched the empty spot she left behind for a second longer than necessary.

Zoro just sighed. “That one’s gonna be trouble.”

Nami smiled faintly. “She already is.”

They finished breakfast and slipped easily into the rhythm of the day — talking, teasing, moving around each other like they’d done it a hundred times before.

But even as the hours passed and the sunlight shifted, something lingered in the back of Nami’s mind.

A small, clever kid with sharp eyes and no place to go.

And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop worrying.

The sun had dipped low by the time Nami finally brought it back up. She’d been quiet for a while, half-watching Zoro restock bottles behind the bar, a thoughtful crease between her brows.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, casually. “About Mariko.”

Zoro glanced over. “Yeah?”

Nami leaned her elbow on the counter, fingers playing with the rim of her empty glass. “She’s smart. Sharp. But she’s still a kid. She shouldn’t be living like that.”

Zoro let out a slow breath. “I know.”

“She needs school. Structure. Somewhere safe to sleep every night.”

“I help when I can,” he said. “Everyone around here does.”

“That’s not the same.”

Zoro didn’t argue — just waited.

After a beat, Nami added, “I could talk to someone. At Amazon Lily. The foster center there… it’s not perfect, but it’s a start. They’d take her in.”

Zoro scratched the back of his head, clearly thinking. “She’d probably fight it.”

“Of course she would,” Nami said gently. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing.”

He nodded once. “I’ll try.”

Nami looked at him — really looked at him — and something about that answer stuck in her chest.

Try.

Just that.

The Next Day – A Walk through the Grove

They walked together through the bubble-lined walkways that afternoon. The sun filtered through trees, casting dappled shadows across the wooden platforms.
Nami was quiet. Zoro didn’t notice at first — or if he did, he didn’t say anything.
She was turning things over in her mind.
Mariko.

It hadn’t been like this the night before — when they were tangled up in sheets and kisses and heat, when his hands had been on her waist and her mouth on his throat. Then, she’d forgotten everything. The rest of the world had gone quiet. She’d let herself get swept up — by him, by them — and for a while, it had been perfect.

But after — in the silence that followed, in the way they moved around each other through the morning and the hours that came after — the feeling returned. The worry. The weight.
She couldn’t shake it.

Their rhythm hadn’t changed — they still joked, touched, smiled. But her mind drifted. To the kid. To what Zoro had said.
“I’ll try.”

Try.
It stuck in her head like a pebble in her shoe. Small, but irritating.
Nami wasn’t a trier. She was a doer. She made things happen. She built futures, didn’t hope for them.

And something about his answer — quiet, passive, almost defeated — bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

Eventually, Nami asked — light, almost joking, like it wasn’t loaded:
“What about you? Got any plans?”

Zoro glanced at her, a little wary. “What kind of plans?”

She shrugged, playing casual. “I don’t know. Life ones. The future.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Keep the bar running. Sleep in. Maybe fix that squeaky stair.”

Nami stopped walking.

Zoro took another two steps before realizing she wasn’t beside him. He turned.
“What?”

She looked at him — not angry, but weighed down by something he couldn’t quite place.
“That’s it?”

Zoro blinked.
And then, slowly — carefully — he reached out and squeezed her hand.
“Well… and hanging out with you,” he said, a half-smile forming. “I’ll probably need to think of something more entertaining for you, right?”

Nami stared at him, caught off guard. That hadn’t been what she meant — not really — but the fact that that was what he added first, that he was thinking of her, of their time together… it softened something.
But not enough.

She gave a small shake of her head. “I mean apart from that. Like something else about you.”

Zoro’s expression shifted. Just a flicker — like something closing behind his eyes.
He exhaled, sharp. “I’m doing what I can.”

“No,” she said, her voice firmer. “You’re doing what’s easy. What’s quiet. You’re hiding in this place like the world ended.”

Zoro bristled. “And maybe it did.”

The silence that followed landed heavy between them.
He looked away first.

Nami folded her arms, jaw tightening. “I want you to care enough to try. Really try. About Mariko. About yourself. About us .”

“About us?” Zoro repeated, his voice low. “What does that even mean?”

Nami hesitated. Her arms stayed crossed, fingers digging into her elbows like they could hold her together.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. Frustrated. Honest.

They stood there, neither moving. Not angry. Not yelling. Just… off. Like something between them had tilted slightly out of place.

Zoro didn’t know how to respond. And Nami didn’t know how to ask for something he didn’t seem ready to give.

They started walking again eventually — side by side, but colder.

By the time they reached the bar again, Nami’s steps slowed. She stopped a few paces from the door.

Zoro turned to look at her, puzzled. “You’re not coming in?”

She faked a smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Actually… I should probably head back. I’ve got things to catch up on.”

Zoro blinked. “Oh. I thought you were staying tonight.”

“Yeah, I was,” she said quickly. “But something came up.”

It was a lie. A flimsy one. And he didn’t question it.

He nodded, quiet. “Okay.”

She leaned in and kissed him — a soft press of lips, brief and slightly off. Not cold, but not warm either.

When she pulled back, she gave him one last smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Right,” Zoro said. He tried to return the smile, but it felt strange.

She turned and walked away, quick and light-footed, like she couldn’t get her bearings unless she moved.

Zoro stood there in the doorway, watching her go. Something in his gut twisted — not panic, not quite — but discomfort. Like he’d missed a step somewhere and couldn’t figure out how.

He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered to himself, He didn’t know what had changed. Just that something had.

Chapter Text

It had been a month.

Not just since she’d left — they always parted, always came back — but since she was supposed to return.

Their usual rhythm had settled into something almost unspoken: every other Friday. Sometimes she arrived early, sometimes late. But she always came.

Not this time.

Not the time after, either.

Zoro hadn’t said anything at first. Just figured she was busy. She had things to do, maps to draft, oceans to navigate. He knew what kind of woman she was — sharp, ambitious, in constant motion. She didn’t owe him her time.

Still… he waited.

The first Friday, he cleaned the bar early. Shaved. Even set out a bottle he didn’t usually offer to anyone else.

The second Friday, he told himself he was being stupid.

By the third, he was starting to wonder if something had happened — or worse, if nothing had. If she was just… done.

She hadn’t sent word. No letter. No messenger.

Nothing.

Zoro sat behind the bar one quiet evening, towel in hand, wiping down glasses that didn’t need cleaning. The place had emptied out an hour ago, but he hadn’t gone upstairs. Couldn’t. The quiet felt louder up there now.

He didn’t know what to make of this ache in his chest. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal — she’d been gone before, longer than this. Hell, they’d been separated for decades.

But this time felt different.

Because this time, she’d come back.

She’d kissed him. Slept in his bed. Drunk his stupid mikan liquor and teased him over pancakes and smiled like he was something solid she could count on.

And now she was just… gone again.

He didn’t know what they were. Hadn’t had the words for it, even when she was here. But whatever it was, he hadn’t wanted it to stop.

Now it might’ve. And he couldn’t figure out why that hurt more than he expected.

Zoro set the glass down a little too hard and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

Maybe she’d gotten tired of him. Maybe she’d decided it wasn’t worth it — this, him. All of it.

And maybe she was right.

He stared at the door, jaw tight, not knowing if he wanted her to walk in…

…or if he just wanted to stop hoping.

—--

On the other side of the sea, Nami folded another map.

Perfect. Clean. Crisp lines. Every measurement exact. Her hand moved with practiced precision — but her mind was nowhere near the paper.

It had been weeks.

Longer than their usual rhythm. Longer than what felt reasonable. And still no word.

From him.

Not even a drunk scribble or a one-line message delivered somehow. No note. No knock. Nothing.

She told herself it was fine.

Nami was pragmatic. Hardheaded, if she was being honest. When something stopped making sense, she didn’t dwell — she cut it loose. She didn’t have time to cling to things that didn’t move forward.

And yet.

She hadn’t been able to throw away the tiny paper map Zoro had drawn for her. It was still folded in her travel journal like some kind of charm.

She missed him.

God, she missed him. More than she’d let herself admit. His voice. His arms. The way he’d rest his hand on her lower back without thinking. His horrible, earnest jokes. His stupid juice.

But none of that changed the truth.

He was stuck. Stalled. Settled into a life that didn’t stretch toward anything. And she’d tried — really tried — to nudge him forward. To spark something again. But he hadn’t moved.

No plans. No goals. Just… the bar.  Sleep. Repeat.

She needed more than that.

She was an ambitious woman with a thousand irons in the fire. A future to build.
She had been the one always going to him. Always making the trip, reaching out, showing up.
She couldn’t be with someone who was content just watching time pass — not unless he gave her a reason not to walk away.

And he hadn’t.

Not a word. Not a gesture.

So what was she supposed to do? Go back and beg? Show up again like nothing had happened?

No.

The decision had settled in her gut like a stone.

It hurt. More than she wanted to admit. She wanted to scream at him. To kiss him until she forgot why she was angry. To shake him by the shoulders and ask why he hadn’t fought for her. For them.

But he hadn’t.

And if that was his answer, then she had hers too.

It would pass. It always did. She’d survived worse than this. All wounds healed, eventually.

Didn’t they?

—-

The bar was quiet.

Midday sun poured through the windows, lighting dust motes in the air. Zoro sat behind the counter, one elbow on the polished wood, a towel in his hand he wasn’t using. The place was cleaner than it had ever been. Not a speck out of place.

Still, he couldn’t shake the restless thrum under his skin.

It had been over a month.

She didn’t come last time. Or the time after that.

At first, he told himself she was busy. That she’d get there eventually — she always did. But now… now something felt different. Off.

Maybe their last goodbye had been weird. He’d felt it — the strange air between them, the kiss that didn’t quite land. He thought she’d needed space. Time. He was used to that.

But weeks had passed. And she hadn’t even sent a message.

Was she done?

The thought hit harder than it should have. They’d spent twenty years apart — this wasn’t new. But it was different. She’d been here. With him. Tangled in his sheets and in his life. Laughing with him over breakfast, yelling at him across the bar. Letting him touch her like she meant it.

And now she was gone. Again.

Zoro sighed and leaned back on the stool. His eye flicked to the door.

He’d been thinking — more than he liked to admit. About packing a bag. Leaving the bar. Heading out to look for her. Ask her what the hell happened.

But the sea had never been his ally. He’d get lost again. Disappear. And then if she did want to find him…

She wouldn’t be able to.

At least here, he was something steady. A place she could return to — if she wanted to.

He just didn’t know if she did.

The door slammed open.

Zoro straightened instinctively.

Mariko stomped in, scowling. “I’m hungry.”

He blinked. “You’ve got legs. You know where the food is.”

“Yeah, but your fridge has real food.”

She flopped dramatically onto a barstool. That’s when he saw it.

A dark bruise, faint but visible, blooming just beneath her eye.

Zoro’s expression changed instantly. “What happened?”

Mariko waved it off. “Tripped.”

He didn’t buy it for a second.

And all he could hear was Nami’s voice: The streets aren’t safe for a kid.

She was right. Damn it, she always was.

Before he could think, before he could question, he was already moving.

He rounded the bar, grabbed Mariko by the wrist — gently, but firm enough that she yelped, “Hey! What the hell?!”

Zoro didn’t stop. “We’re going to talk to Shakky.”

“What?! Why?!”

“You’re starting school.”

Mariko dug her heels in. “I don’t want to go to stupid school! Geez, you’re just pissed because your girlfriend left you. Don’t take it out on me!”

That made him falter — just a second.

But he didn’t let go.

“It’s not about that,” he muttered, jaw tight. “It’s for the best.”

And this time, he didn’t stop until they reached the door.

—-

Nami walked briskly down the long corridors of the Amazon Lily foster home, heels echoing softly against polished stone. The meeting had ended hours ago, but she hadn’t left yet. Couldn’t. Something kept her here — pacing, wandering, distracting herself with numbers and notes and anything that wasn’t him .

Zoro.

God, she missed him.

It made no sense . She was Nami — pragmatic, hardheaded, always five steps ahead. She made plans, followed them, moved . And yet, here she was. Stuck.

A part of her still believed she’d done the right thing. That stepping away, cutting the thread before it tied too tight, had been smart. He was stuck. Passive. And she… wasn’t. She couldn’t afford to wait around for someone to catch up.

But the ache in her chest didn’t care about logic.

What if I just went to Sabaody? she thought, for the hundredth time. What if I took him with me?

Then she sighed. He’s not a thing. Not a project to be managed. He was a person — stubborn, complicated, closed-off — and he had to want to come with her. To change.

But how could he want it if he didn’t even contact her?

It had been like 2 months.

Nothing.

She rubbed at her temple. Let it go, she told herself. Focus on the work. On the mission. But it was impossible. Everything reminded her of him.

People with green hair. Random swords strapped to people’s backs — apparently a trend now. And worst of all?

The mikan juice .

She’d grabbed a glass just that morning without thinking, took one sip, and nearly spat it out.

He’d ruined mikan juice.

Stupid man, she thought bitterly. With his stupid liquor and his stupid quiet smile and his stupid shoulders—

“Nami!”

She turned, startled.

A small figure barreled toward her, grinning wide and windblown.

“Mariko?”

The girl launched herself at Nami’s waist like a cannonball.

Nami staggered a step back, catching her instinctively. “Mariko?”

The shock took a second to settle. She blinked down at the girl — the same sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued kid from the bar — now wearing a clean foster home uniform, her wild hair only somewhat tamed.

Of all people…

Then it clicked. She remembered hearing something in passing from the staff earlier that week — a new arrival, recommended by Shakky. Nami hadn’t thought twice about it at the time.

“How are you doing?” Mariko asked, hands on her hips like they were old friends meeting after years apart.

Nami smiled, still trying to keep up. “I’m good. I’m happy to see you here. Are you… staying?”

The girl shrugged like it was no big deal. “Zoro and Shakky made me come.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Didn’t like it at first. Still don’t like the food. But… it’s kinda fun.”

That made Nami pause.

Zoro made her come.

She looked at the girl again — really looked — and her heart tugged unexpectedly.

So he’d listened.

Not immediately. Not with the fire she’d wanted. But he had . And now here Mariko was, in uniform, safe. Her chest tightened. Maybe she had been too harsh. Maybe he just… needed a different kind of time than she did.

Before she could speak, Mariko tilted her head up with a knowing grin. “Oi. Zoro misses you, y’know. He’s been grumpy all week. What’d he do? Something stupid?”

Nami’s mouth opened. Closed. “No—well—I’ve just… been busy.”

She felt ridiculous even saying it. Busy? That was the best she had?

Mariko’s grin widened. “So you are mad at him.”

“No—” Nami started, then gave up. There was too much happening all at once. Guilt, surprise, affection. The realization that she missed him wasn’t new — but this sudden, crashing proof that he missed her too…

“Well then,” Mariko said smugly, “I guess I don’t need to give you this.”

She pulled a folded envelope from her pocket.

Nami blinked. “What’s that?”

“A letter,” Mariko said. “Zoro told me to give it to you. Said you show up here sometimes. I think he thinks you’re mad at him.” She tilted her head. “But since you said you’re not, I guess I’ll just keep it.”

“Wait—!” Nami reached out instinctively. “I think… I should take that.”

Mariko gave her a long, skeptical look. “So you are mad at him.”

Nami sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Maybe… a little.”

The girl folded her arms, unimpressed. “Look. I can tell he’s waiting. He still closes the bar on Fridays. Gets cleaned up like maybe you’ll come through the door. It’s kinda pathetic.”

Nami exhaled, caught somewhere between a smile and something that hurt a little.

“But he’s stupid,” Mariko added. “So if you’re mad, you probably need to tell him. He doesn’t get it otherwise.”

Nami took the letter from her hand, fingers brushing the creased edge. It felt heavier than paper.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “You’re a smart girl, Mariko. This place… it’s going to help you become even more amazing.”

Mariko cackled. “That’s impossible. I’m perfect already.”

She spun on her heel and darted down the corridor, waving as she went. “Bye, Nami! Thank youuu!”

Nami stared after her, then looked down at the envelope again.

Her thumb traced over the writing.

And for the first time in weeks…

She let herself hope.

Nami took a deep breath.

Her fingers hesitated just a moment longer at the edge of the envelope — then she slipped it open.

Inside was… chaos.

She stared.

The paper was crumpled at the corners like it had lived in someone’s pocket for a week. The handwriting was barely legible — not slanted or stylized, just big and uneven, like he’d started writing and forgot halfway through how letters were supposed to work. There was a short line across the top. Then more text jammed into the opposite corner. Something scribbled sideways at the bottom. What looked like a doodle — no, maybe a crossed-out stain?

Nami chuckled, already exasperated.

Of course.

What had she expected? A perfect, ink-dipped love letter on formal stationery? Please. This was Zoro .

Romance wasn’t his thing.

But the mess in her hands — crooked, unfiltered, hopelessly sincere — was .

And that made her heart ache.

She smoothed out the page carefully, lips curling into something halfway between a grin and a sigh.

“Alright, swordsman,” she murmured under her breath. “Let’s see what you’ve got to say.”

Front of the page:

Read this if you’re mad at me. If not, flip the page.

Nami barked a soft laugh through her nose.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, lips tugging up despite herself.

It was so stupid.

So adorably him .

Of course he’d write it like that. No long-winded introductions. No groveling opening lines. Just a direct, uneven scrawl at the top of the page like he was jotting down a grocery list.

She pressed her fingers over her mouth, trying not to smile too hard. Failing.

What the hell was this idiot doing to her?

She glanced at the flip side — resisted. Then turned back to the “angry” section and began to read.

Look, if you’re mad at me — I’m sorry.

I don’t know what I did exactly. I’ve been trying to figure it out. I keep replaying stuff in my head — when you left, things felt off. Not bad, just… like I messed something up and didn’t know how.

So yeah. If I did something dumb, I probably didn’t mean to. That doesn’t make it better, I guess, but I’m saying it anyway.

I’m not great at this stuff.

You probably figured that out already.

I know you’re doing big things. Important stuff. You’ve always been the one who moved forward. That’s something I admire about you — that you don’t sit still. That you just go.

I don’t know if I’m someone who can keep up with that.

Maybe I’m not what you need.

Maybe I never was.

But I want to be better. I’d try. If you helped me figure it out, I’d do the work. I would.

But if you don’t want to… I get that too.

Just… I miss you.

By the time she reached the last line, her fingers were trembling slightly. The paper rustled in her lap.

Her eyes prickled — not from sadness, exactly. But from the weight of it.

The honesty .

He really didn’t know what had gone wrong. And he wasn’t making excuses. He was trying . In the only way Zoro knew how — straight from the chest, with no polish.

It was a disaster of a letter.

But it felt also, somehow, as the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

And she knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word.

Her thumb hovered over the edge of the page.

Now you can flip it.

Nami stared at the words, heart knocking loud against her ribs.

It shouldn’t have hurt like this — the realization. But it did.

She had made a mistake.

Jumped to conclusions. Let her frustration speak louder than her care. She hadn’t asked him. Hadn’t given him space to explain, or even figure out how he felt. She’d just... decided.

And she’d hurt him.

Not on purpose — never on purpose — but that didn’t make it sting any less.

Slowly, she turned the paper over.

The other side was just as messy. Ink blotches, lines trailing off into corners. One sentence crossed out so hard the page had nearly torn. But she read on.

I hope you are reading this side first  so it means you’re not mad at me.

I hope you’re just busy. I’ve been telling myself that. That you're working, handling a million things like always. That you’ll show up again.

But it’s been a while now. And… I don’t know. I’m starting to think maybe I should come find you.

I know it’s stupid. I’d probably get lost.

Scratch that. I’d definitely get lost.

But I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.

So if you’re just taking space, that’s fine. Just… let me know, alright? Let me know you’re coming back. Or that you’re not. Let me know you are ok.

Because if you don’t — if you leave it quiet — I might do something dumb like go after you.

I don’t want to mess things up more. I don’t want to scare you off.

But if there’s even a chance you’d want to see me again… tell me.

Because the only thing worse than not seeing you again would be not even trying.

– Z.

Her eyes stung.

Her hand clutched the paper tighter, knuckles white against the fold.

This idiot. This sweet , scared , earnest, adorable idiot — who was willing to get lost all over again just to try.

And she’d almost let him slip away.

Not because she didn’t care.

But because she did .

Too much. Too fast. In a way that made her forget how to be patient, how to trust that not everyone moved at her pace. He wasn’t a plan. He wasn’t a project. He was Zoro.

And he was trying.

She blinked hard, wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

Then she refolded the letter with trembling fingers.

She had to go. Now.

Because if she didn’t — if she waited even one more day — she didn’t know if she’d still have the chance.

—-

The streets of Sabaody blurred past her in streaks of color and panic. Nami didn’t even know if she was running in the right direction — just that she had to get there . Now.

She slammed the bar door open. Empty.

No bottles clinking. No boots creaking over old wood. No quiet hum behind the counter.
Just... silence.

Her legs gave out beneath her. She sank to the floor, breath hitched, eyes burning.

He was gone.
He’d left.
She’d pushed too hard, waited too long. Just like back then — when she hadn’t searched. When she’d given up.
Now she’d done it again.

Every memory came rushing back — every quiet look, the map, the liquor he got just for her. The way he smiled like he didn’t know he was doing it. The warmth of his hand on hers, the steadiness she never asked for but had started to rely on.

She had ruined it. She had ruined him .

And now it was too late.

Her knees buckled beneath her. She sank to the floor in the middle of the bar, hands shaking as she gripped the edge of the counter. Her breath hitched, messy and loud in the silence.

She didn’t cry often. Not like this. But now the tears wouldn’t stop.

She had waited too long. Pushed too hard. Expected him to know things she never said out loud. And then walked away when he didn’t.

She buried her face in her hands. Her whole body trembled.

The bar was so still — no bottles clinking, no sound of boots against floorboards. Just dust motes in the light and the ghost of everything they could’ve had.

She choked on a sob, shoulders curling forward.

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And then—

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“Nami?”

Her head snapped up — and there he was. Bags in hand. Brows drawn, steps quickening as he saw her on the floor.

“What hap—?” he started.

But she was already on her feet. She threw herself at him, arms tight around his neck like she could anchor him in place.

Zoro dropped the bags instantly, catching her with a low grunt.

“You’re here,” she breathed. “You’re here. ”

“I—yeah,” he said, still catching up. “I just stepped out for—”

She pulled back just far enough to land a punch to his chest.

“Idiot! I thought you left! I thought—dammit, Zoro!”

He blinked, rubbing the spot. “Ow—okay—hi to you too?”

“Ow—Nami!”

She went for one more swat just for good measure, but he caught her wrist mid-swing, grinning now. “Are we done with the violence, or should I start dodging?”

She huffed, sniffling. “You deserve it.”

Zoro didn’t flinch. Just nodded slightly, his voice quiet. “Yeah. Probably.”

He didn’t fight back. Didn’t bristle. Just stood there, steady as ever — because she was there. And he was too damn happy to argue.

And that... that stopped her cold.

Her breath caught.

Because damn it, she was doing it again — jumping to conclusions, assuming the worst, throwing blame like it would fix the ache in her chest. She'd been scared. Furious. Heartbroken. And now that he was right here, safe and real, all that panic had come pouring out in punches and words he didn’t deserve.

“Damn! No,” she said, suddenly pulling back. Her voice cracked, but her eyes were clearer now. “This isn’t your fault.”

Zoro blinked. “...It’s not?”

“It’s mine,” she said, throwing her hands up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come back. I didn’t explain anything. And you—” she sniffed, scrubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand, “—you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Zoro just stared. Utterly clueless.

“Wait… so I’m getting hit because you disappeared?”

She looked up at him, eyes watery, mouth tight. “Yes. No. I mean—I was mad because I thought you left, but I was the one who left and thought you didn’t care, but really you did care and I just—” she threw her hands again, helpless—“I’m emotionally unstable right now, okay?!”

Zoro blinked slowly. “...Right.”

A beat.

Then, quietly:

“I’m still happy you’re here.”

Nami pressed her forehead to his shoulder, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like she was anchoring herself.

“Me too,” she whispered. “I thought you didn’t care.”

Zoro exhaled — part laugh, part growl — and wrapped his arms around her like he didn’t plan to let go.  “You’re pretty much all I care about.”

She let out a breath — steady this time.
“Good,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Because I care about you too. A lot.”

He smiled — wide, crooked, and so full it felt unfamiliar on his face. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… happy.
“I want to kiss you now,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She lifted her head and looked at him — eyes still rimmed in red, lashes damp, but her smile was soft. Real.
“Then do it,” she breathed.

And he did — with both hands on her face like she might disappear again. Like kissing her was the only way he knew to say everything he didn’t have the words for.
It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t rushed.
But it was everything.

When they finally pulled apart, they didn’t let go.
She stayed tucked into his chest, arms wrapped around him like they could anchor her. His chin rested lightly on her head.

“So…” he murmured into her hair. “This means you’re not mad at me anymore?”

She huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he said. “And you’re gonna keep coming every other Friday?”

“At least.”

“Good,” he repeated, like it mattered. Then, after a beat:“If something I do upsets you… you’ll tell me, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. And we’ll work it out.”

His grin tilted, just a bit. “And you’re not gonna be mad at me anymore.”

She pulled back just enough to smirk. “Don’t push your luck, Roronoa.”

He chuckled, tugging her close again. “Figures.”

----

THE END (Well, actually the end is chapter 1)