"Shower," I grumbled, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment after enduring a hug that lasted far longer than I was comfortable with. The rest of the crew couldn't hide their amusement, smirking and chuckling at my discomfort, their laughter filling the air and amplifying my awkwardness.
"Well, I suppose I'll have to hit the shower too now, don't I?" Shanks replied with a playful smirk, his deep voice laced with humor. He casually brushed off the dried mud that had splattered across his white cream shirt, revealing the faint remnants of my 'lovely' mud bath nap earlier.
I let out a grunt as I firmly grasped his wrist, pulling him toward the Red Force, our beloved ship that was more than just a vessel; it was our home on the waves. He complied readily, though we both knew that if he resisted, my efforts would be in vain. I could almost sense the playful smile on his face, even though I was focused on our destination.
As we approached the Red Force, its sleek lines glistening in the sunlight, I dragged him toward the spacious bathroom with the large, inviting bath. The familiar scent of saltwater and adventure filled the air, enveloping us like a warm embrace.
Once inside, I quickly shed my crusty, dirt-encrusted clothes and tossed them into the hamper. The weight of the day slipped away as I prepared to scrub myself thoroughly so that I could relax in the soothing water.
"A little hand, sweetheart," Shanks teased with that charming grin that always made it hard to stay annoyed. I resisted the urge to give him the stink eye, opting instead for a dramatic eye roll that conveyed my playful annoyance.
I carefully unbuttoned the only few buttons that were actually fastened on his shirt, the fabric slipping through my fingers as I tossed it into the hamper alongside my own clothes. As I did, a nagging thought crossed my mind: Shank's injury shouldn't get wet, not when it still looked so um… Fresh? I let out a frustrated groan, knowing I needed to figure out a way to protect it before we moved on to anything else.
"Oh, right," Shanks said with a playful tone. "I'll go grab the plastic wrap. You just stay there, sweetheart—no need to waltz around exposing yourself like that." He shot me a teasing smile to lighten the mood despite my discomfort.
I understand that it was ultimately his decision, but I can't help wishing it wouldn't lead him to inflict pain on himself or, in this scenario, lose a limb. It's a bittersweet realization, especially considering how often I've spoken about my own struggles with thoughts of dying. It feels a bit hypocritical for me to criticize his choices when I've had my own dark desires.
"Story," I said to Shanks, my voice barely rising above the soft sound of water lapping at the edges of the large communal bath where we relaxed on opposite sides, facing each other.
He looked at me, his casual smile revealing a warmth that felt comforting in the steamy air. "You want a new story, sweetheart?" His tone was serene, and he leaned back against the smooth, tiled wall, his posture relaxed and inviting.
"Yeah," I replied, curiosity sparked within me as I sought to move past Shanks having lost an arm.
"Hmmm, let me think of something," he mused, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration, his fingers lightly skimming the water's surface as if it could inspire his next tale.
"Honest," I muttered, wanting something genuine, a glimpse into the man behind the confident demeanor.
"Honest?" he echoed, tilting his head, pondering my unspoken request. "Are you saying you want a story about me?" A grin stretched across his face, a mixture of delight and mischief dancing in his eyes.
"About you," I confirmed, nodding slowly, encouraging him to open up.
"I'm so happy you want to know more about me," Shanks laughed softly, a rich sound that felt like a warm embrace. "I might not be an open book, but I would for you, Sweetheart." With a playful wink, he raked a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his face, revealing those striking features.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was an unsettling quality to the way Shanks phrased his words that stirred something deep within me. It was as if his tone carried unspoken layers of meaning that wrapped around my chest, tightening like a vice, while my stomach flipped with unease. I didn't want to dwell on those feelings any longer, so I interjected, firmly, "Story." I needed him to shift gears and share one of his captivating tales.
After all, the more time I spent with Shanks, the more he transformed in my mind from a mere character in an anime—with his fleeting appearances and limited screen time—into a complex individual. Each story he told peeled back another layer, revealing the man behind the fictional character and making our interactions feel more tangible.
"No rush, no rush." Shanks raised his hand up in defense playfully. "Let's see, you know how we've been wandering around and not staying at one place too long for the past couple of years?" Shanks asked.
"Yeah." I nodded.
"Well, there's a much larger reason for that, beyond the simple fact that we're pirates," Shanks said with a playful smirk dancing on his lips. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned slightly closer. "It all ties back to that devil fruit Luffy accidentally devoured. It's a bit disheartening to see all that hard work go to waste, but lamenting over what's done won't change anything." He let out a sigh, the weight of nostalgia heavy in the air.
"That fruit," he continued, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, "is actually something I stole from the World Government. I spent nearly a year infiltrating their ranks, gathering intel, and waiting for the right moment to make my move. It was during my return that I stumbled upon you." Shanks' gaze locked onto mine, and I found myself unable to hold it for long; there was something almost overwhelming about the intensity of his stare. It felt as if he were peering into the depths of my soul, searching for something hidden and precious.
The sincerity in his eyes struck a chord within me, and I could feel a flush creeping up my cheeks. It was almost absurd how he could evoke such a reaction with just a look. Shanks had a way of commanding the room, his presence both warm and unnervingly intense, making it hard to draw a breath, as if the very air turned electric around him.
"I wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation when I first spotted you," Shanks reminisced, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "I remember arriving at that deserted, uninhabited island — the very rendezvous point the crew and I had agreed upon for our return. After navigating a maze of twists and turns to shake off any potential pursuers, finding another person there was a complete surprise. It was almost surreal, standing amidst the untouched sands and lush greenery, only to discover I wasn't alone after all. I had braced myself for the solitude of the island, but then there you were, a stranger in the midst of my plans." He smiled, clearly amused by the unexpected turn of events.
"Oh," I muttered, absorbing the depth of the moment, the weight of fate intertwining our paths in that remote place.
"But your reactions when you saw me after you woke up were just too cute to ignore," Shanks said, an amused grin spreading across his face. "You were completely oblivious to the concept of personal space, yet I could tell you were utterly confused."
I huffed, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "Focus," The embarrassment made my heart race, and I felt the blush deepen, a stark contrast to his vibrant red hair.
Shanks chuckled, the sound warm and playful. "What can I say? You were adorable in that moment." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he defended his teasing, clearly enjoying my flustered state.
"Shanks!" I scolded, shooting him a glare that was more ineffective than I intended. My face felt like it was on fire, probably as red as his ridiculous locks. It was infuriating how he could make me feel so self-conscious.
It made me feel repulsive.
I am disgusting.