Sea Voyage and Girls(3)

Stuff to note: Since this is a draft. I am not going to write things I believe are a plot point that plays a huge role in the story. I will leave it for the rewrite. So some actions will seem a bit unnatural. Just take that with a pinch of salt. Just like the huge leap in him and the girls relationship.

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The cold air moved through my hair, steady and familiar. The stars above were countless, crisp, watching silently. Their light shimmered faintly against the surface of my skin and hair, soft silver catching in motion.

No clouds.

No rain.

Nami hadn't shouted once to cover the deck or protect the loot from the weather, so I figured we had a quiet night. And with her nose for the sea and the sky, if she wasn't nervous, I had no reason to be either.

So I sat on the railing—dangerous, maybe, but comfort doesn't always ask for safety.

The ocean murmured below, and the quiet from the ship was like a rare lullaby. Just the steady creak of wood, the occasional soft gust, and the rhythmic hush of waves kissing the hull.

My thoughts drifted, like flotsam on the tide.

I knew this world. I knew it. I had studied it from a screen, from words, manga, from fan theories and wiki pages. I had followed stories through the eyes of characters I thought I understood. But being here—breathing the salt, tasting the wine, watching people live it—it was different.

So much more raw.

So much more beautiful.

So much more cruel.

Reality stripped away the filters. There was no theme music here. No edits. Just raw, cutting truth.

I closed my eyes and let the breeze move through me. Peace, and quiet—so rare they almost felt foreign. I chuckled quietly at the thought, a soft breath of amusement escaping before I leaned back, pressing my spine to the rail and turning my face skyward. The stars above… they were perfect.

Unmoving. Untouchable. They had watched it all—joy, sorrow, birth, death. And still they shone. Still they stayed.

They stayed constant, even as everything else changed. I guess I envied that.

There was something comforting in that.

I raised a hand to the sky and held it open, fingers reaching upward, trying to cup the stars like they were within reach. They weren't. Of course not. They were so close, so distant—just illusions of nearness. Close enough to crave, far enough to ache.

"Such desire you bring to me." I whispered. Not to anyone. Just to the wind. To the sky. "Shame it's still small compared to the sea."

A want I couldn't explain but burned to.

Then I let my arm fall, hand open, fingers relaxed. Let the moment breathe.

I sighed, and the sigh caught the wind and flew into the night, soft and slow and honest. It tangled with the waves below, disappeared in the space between ship and sea.

The door behind me creaked.

Faint, careful.

Then came the scent.

Earthy. Bitter. A little sweet. Wine. The gourd I'd forgotten in the chaos and shuffle, taken by the girls sometime between teasing and survival.

I turned my head.

Carina stepped out, hips swaying as she walked barefoot across the deck. She wasn't holding the wine in her hands. No. Of course not. It was nestled in the curve of her cleavage like she was storing it for warmth—or mischief. Maybe both.

"This girl…" I muttered, a smile tugging at my lips.

She caught my gaze, her eyes gleaming, proud of her delivery method.

I took the gourd—not immediately. I teased it out first, playing the moment just long enough for her to arch a brow and smirk in response. Always a game with her. Always lines half-crossed.

Carina wasn't in love with me. I knew that. Neither she nor Nami were the type to fall easily. Not after what the world had shown them. Not after what it took from them before they ever had a chance to build trust.

They could flirt. Tease. Pretend. But love? That was something locked away behind old wounds and colder memories.

Still, I patted the railing beside me.

She took the hint and sat down. Close.

I guided her gently, resting her against me.

She let out a little gasp—feminine, surprised, but not pulling away. Her head leaned into my chest, the weight of her hair resting on my shoulder. I dropped my chin to the top of her head and let it sit there.

She didn't speak.

Neither did I.

There wasn't anything that needed to be said.

Getting her into bed would have been easy. A few words. A few glances. She'd have done it. Maybe for comfort. Maybe for survival. Maybe just to feel something again. She would have pushed past that flicker of hesitation she showed me earlier. She would've gone through with it, even if her heart wasn't there. And maybe, in a different life, I might've let her.

But I had my lines.

Not because I was some saint. Not because I didn't want to. Hell, I did. But because I knew that whatever happened, I wouldn't have truly _been there_ with her. She would be nothing more than a means to release stress. And she wouldn't have been there with me if I went with my plans.

Even when she gave everything, I would still be on the outside.

So I didn't reach for more.

Instead, I just let her be. Let the moment stretch long and quiet.

She shifted slightly, like she was about to speak, but I shushed her gently—no harshness, just a quiet reminder. Peace is rare. Let's not waste it.

She melted back into me.

And we stayed like that.

Two people who had clawed their way through too much chaos, now borrowing calm from a starry night.

The stars shone above us. Still distant. Still uncaring. But beautiful all the same.

The wind whispered across the sails. The waves hummed beneath us. The ship creaked softly like it was exhaling, grateful for a break.

I sipped from the wine gourd and offered it to her.

She took it without a word. Sipped. Passed it back.

Her shoulder leaned deeper into me. I adjusted slightly, just enough to keep her from falling off the edge, and my hand found hers—not possessively, not tightly. Just enough to say, I'm here. You're not alone.

No promises. No false warmth. Just presence.

The kind that mattered more than any empty vow.

The kind she wished to feel. The kind she wanted to feel.

She looked up once, caught me watching the sky again, and followed my gaze.

"Hoshi." she said softly, the first word spoken in a while. Stars.

"Hoshi." I replied.

"Beautiful are they not." i spoke in English.

She didn't say anything more. But I felt her fingers squeeze mine. Brief. Gentle. Honest.

We watched the stars in silence.

The gourd rested on the deck between us.

But tonight, the only thing that mattered was the cold breeze, the faint glow of stars, and the warmth of a thief resting quietly at my side and my warmth to her.

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We stayed like that until morning.

The ocean rocked beneath us in steady rhythm, slow and sure like the breathing of something ancient. The night had passed without a word, without a shift in the wind, without a ripple in the peace that had settled around us like a soft blanket.

At some point, I stopped watching the stars and started listening to Carina's breathing—quiet, measured, warm against my chest. She'd fallen asleep in my arms, legs curled slightly on the railing, body resting trustingly into mine like we hadn't spent the last week dancing on the edge of danger.

I didn't move.

Not because I couldn't—but because I didn't want to. Sometimes peace is fragile, and I wasn't going to risk shattering it for a little more comfort.

The door creaked softly behind us. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. The presence was light, cautious. Nami.

She stepped outside, barefoot, her eyes scanning the deck until they found us. Her gaze landed on Carina first, sleeping soundly in my arms. Then her eyes moved to mine.

I held up a single hand. Not a wave—just a quiet gesture. A let it be.

And she did.

But not without leaving something behind.

Her eyes changed—just slightly. Complicated didn't cover it. There was curiosity in them, but also confusion, a tinge of something I couldn't quite place. Jealousy, maybe? Doubt? Not romantic jealousy, but... something layered.

She looked like she wanted to speak, lips parting just slightly.

Then she didn't.

The moment passed. She gave us both one last glance—long, lingering—and stepped back inside the cabin. The light dimmed behind the window, but I could feel her still watching, even as the glow faded.

I didn't look at the window until I had to. And when I did, the eyes were gone.

The sky was changing.

A soft gradient shifted above us. The last hints of purple were surrendering to the oncoming orange, a light that stretched from the horizon in slow, radiant fingers. Dawn was beginning its climb. The colors of a new day brushed across the water and reflected in the gentle rise and fall of the sea.

Carina stirred.

Her eyes didn't open at first. She just shifted, pressing closer, soaking up what little warmth I had left to give. I adjusted, let her snuggle deeper into me, cradling her more securely. She fit easily there.

She was awake. She didn't say anything. Didn't need to.

The truth was, I hadn't slept. Not really. A few blinks, maybe a moment or two where I drifted in and out. But with a storm of thoughts in my head and a beautiful woman in my arms I would not touch for reasons complicated to explain.

It was hard to sleep.

Life had handed me the easy option. The low-hanging fruit.

And me, like a fool with a spine, had decided to make it hard for myself.

I chuckled. Quiet. Dry. The kind of laugh you let slip when you know you've made your bed and still find it uncomfortable.

Carina stirred again. Her head shifted slightly, enough to try and peek up at what made me laugh. I looked down at her.

The moment her eyes caught mine, she ducked back into my chest like a turtle into its shell.

So cute.

I smiled and ruffled her hair. Soft strands, a little messy from sleep. She didn't protest. Just stayed there, letting me hold her like that.

The orange sky began to brighten, blending into soft yellows. The first true rays of sunlight started to cast long shadows across the deck. The world was waking up.

I pinched her nose gently.

"Ohayō, nemui atama." I said.

Wake up, sleepyhead.

She peeked up at me with mock fury, lips pursed, eyes squinting.

I returned the look with a dramatic scowl of my own, and we both cracked into laughter. A short moment, but loud enough to echo a little across the ship.

She slid off the railing with surprising grace. I followed with a quiet thud. The muscles in my back groaned in protest, and I raised my arms for a stretch. Each pull of my limbs brought satisfying cracks.

Carina, to my surprise, mimicked me.

I noticed. Of course I did. But I said nothing. Just kept stretching, raising the intensity of the motions gradually. Faster. More precise.

She followed. Matched every move.

So I stepped it up. Push-ups, squats, even a few bodyweight jumps. She didn't break a sweat. She met every move with her own, a mischievous smile playing on her lips like she was daring me to push harder.

She won. Again.

I was about to tap out when Nami appeared—apparently summoned by Carina's usual whispers. Her hair was tied back now, and she wore a looser top, clearly ready for motion.

She joined without asking.

Nami followed Carina's lead through stretches and movements, surprisingly in sync. I raised a hand in mock surrender.

Carina gave me a triumphant grin, as if she'd conquered yet another battlefield.

They moved in sync—Carina leading, Nami matching her pace. They looked like warriors easing off a fight—not posing, not preening. And knowing their rivalry they would keep going not giving each other any more ground till one gives in.

And me?

I was just the guy on the stairs, sipping wine from his gourd, wondering how life had gone from chasing pirates to watching two world-class thieves stretch under the sunrise like they were on some luxury retreat.

I laughed softly to myself.

Sanji would kill me.

I was living his dream, and I knew it.

Not that anything happened. Not in the way he'd imagine. But still—just being there, in the quiet, in the comfort, watching two women be themselves without performance or pressure—it felt like a privilege.

The air was warm now. The deck bathed in early gold. The girls finished their stretches and high-fived each other, breath light, movements relaxed. Nami had won their mock exercise exchange.

They looked radiant. Not in some overdone way. Just natural. Honest. Alive.

Carina shot me a look, hands on hips. "Taidana shōnen." she teased.

I leaned back on the stairs, arms behind my head and I grinned.

Nami laughed quietly at that and sat beside Carina, her cheeks flushed from exercise, a rare softness in her expression. Carina plopped down next to her, legs sprawled across the deck.

We stayed like that—me sitting, the girls catching their breath, the sun climbing higher—no one rushing, no one pretending.

Just three people in the middle of the ocean, chasing different things, finding small slices of peace between the waves no matter how ordinary it was.