It was late. Too quiet for the hour.

You slipped inside, closing the door gently behind you. Shoes off. Jacket dropped over the chair.

“Nami?” you called, voice low.

No answer.

You frowned slightly, scanning the living room. The lights were dim, untouched. That was strange. She usually stayed awake later than you—sitting stiff on the couch, scrolling, pretending not to wait.

You walked down the hallway, steps slow.

When you pushed the bedroom door open, you stopped.

She was already asleep.

That alone felt wrong.

Nami never slept this early.

She was lying on her side, back turned slightly, dark hair spread messily across the pillow. Her breathing was slow, deeper than usual. The tension she always carried… gone, just for now.

You approached the bed quietly, almost afraid to wake her.

She looked different when she slept. Softer. Younger.

Her oversized pajama t-shirt had ridden up slightly, lifted by the gentle curve of her belly. The fabric barely covered it, rising and falling with each breath.

You swallowed.

She was… unbearably cute.

Your cheeks warmed without permission. You stood there for a moment, just watching, heart full in a way that almost hurt.