[ There’s nothing about the small box, with it’s sharp gilded edges and darkly lush ribbon that gives any hint at what’s inside— and, frankly, Sanji isn’t trying to guess. The fact that she got him something at all is more than enough to make his heart swell with feelings that are far more than fond, his body a flood of the kind of pleasant warmth that’s most common after they’ve lost hours together— hours spent curled together, tangled up in one another’s arms, lips swollen from too many kisses— but it’s only been minutes. When he lifts the lid with a touch that’s reverance, his face lights up with pure, unbridled joy the moment he spots the light. She’s right to assume he doesn’t care where it came from because he doesn’t— the only thing that matters is that she got it for him. It’s only natural to pick it up, laughing delightedly, inspecting in closer detail— it’s perfect, he decides, already discarding the cheaply bought one from the store mentally— mouth open to say— ]
A lighter—!
[ —but then he notices the way the slip of paper has started to unfold and how at the angle he holds the box, there’s a dark line of ink on the inside. Curiosity wins out as he tilts his head, snapping the paper out of the box and placing the lighter back inside, then setting them back down next to the bottle.
When he unfolds the paper and sees the words written there, he gasps, head snapping around to suddenly stare at Nami, then back down at the paper, the back at Nami, and one less time down at the paper, as if to make sure he’s not imagining, as if to ensure the words aren’t a figment of his imagination.
They’re not.
love you, Nami
For a moment, it feels like his heart is frozen in his chest— like it all knows how to do is skip beats, like it wants to draw this moment of realization out into forever— but then it’s beating again, beating so damn fast as the realization slams into him and that disbelieving question dies on his tongue because it’s Nami, it’s Nami and she’s never say something like this and not mean it. It’s been only a couple of weeks since that day out in the springs and they’d both been struck by arrows sent from Cupid himself. And they’d all but said it then, really, bared their hearts to one another, torn through months of unspoken feelings buried in her fear of being vulnerable and his of being worthless.
But in the moment, it still manages to nearly knock him off his feet.
Sanji crosses the distance between them with quick, rapid steps, eyes suddenly damp as one hand clutches the paper against his chest. Without a word, he wraps both arms around her, pulls her so close, flush against his chest as the grin of lovestruck fool spreads wide across his face and he laughs, dumbfounded, joyous, ecstatic. The paper lands on the bed, gently released from his fingers in the instant before he catches her face between his hands and kisses her. It’s not greedy, or hungry, or desperate, not hard, or demanding, or full of need. He pours ever ounce of fondness and affection and, yes, love, he has for her in that kiss, letting it simmer, letting his lips move languidly and his forehead rest against hers when he ends it with a sigh a long moment later. And he’s still beaming as he looks down at her, the world suddenly back to being just them, thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones. ]
Love you too. [ It’s a soft, gentle murmur as he laughs, almost disbelieving, laughs and then kisses her again. ] Love you, Nami. So damn much.
no subject
A lighter—!
[ —but then he notices the way the slip of paper has started to unfold and how at the angle he holds the box, there’s a dark line of ink on the inside. Curiosity wins out as he tilts his head, snapping the paper out of the box and placing the lighter back inside, then setting them back down next to the bottle.
When he unfolds the paper and sees the words written there, he gasps, head snapping around to suddenly stare at Nami, then back down at the paper, the back at Nami, and one less time down at the paper, as if to make sure he’s not imagining, as if to ensure the words aren’t a figment of his imagination.
They’re not.
love you, Nami
For a moment, it feels like his heart is frozen in his chest— like it all knows how to do is skip beats, like it wants to draw this moment of realization out into forever— but then it’s beating again, beating so damn fast as the realization slams into him and that disbelieving question dies on his tongue because it’s Nami, it’s Nami and she’s never say something like this and not mean it. It’s been only a couple of weeks since that day out in the springs and they’d both been struck by arrows sent from Cupid himself. And they’d all but said it then, really, bared their hearts to one another, torn through months of unspoken feelings buried in her fear of being vulnerable and his of being worthless.
But in the moment, it still manages to nearly knock him off his feet.
Sanji crosses the distance between them with quick, rapid steps, eyes suddenly damp as one hand clutches the paper against his chest. Without a word, he wraps both arms around her, pulls her so close, flush against his chest as the grin of lovestruck fool spreads wide across his face and he laughs, dumbfounded, joyous, ecstatic. The paper lands on the bed, gently released from his fingers in the instant before he catches her face between his hands and kisses her. It’s not greedy, or hungry, or desperate, not hard, or demanding, or full of need. He pours ever ounce of fondness and affection and, yes, love, he has for her in that kiss, letting it simmer, letting his lips move languidly and his forehead rest against hers when he ends it with a sigh a long moment later. And he’s still beaming as he looks down at her, the world suddenly back to being just them, thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones. ]
Love you too. [ It’s a soft, gentle murmur as he laughs, almost disbelieving, laughs and then kisses her again. ] Love you, Nami. So damn much.