Luffy had asked you again.

“Why don’t you talk much?”

It was the fourth time this week.

You were sitting on the deck, legs dangling over the edge, the sea calm beneath you. You didn’t answer—just tilted your head a little, as if the question had floated past you like wind.

He frowned, eyes squinting like he was trying to solve a riddle.

“You can talk, right?”

You glanced at him. Blinked once. Looked away again.

“I mean, I’ve heard you talk. You said ‘Thanks’ to Chopper once. That counts.”

You let the silence stretch.

He huffed and leaned closer. “You talk in fights! Yell stuff like ‘Left side!’ or ‘Move!’ So why not with me?”

Still, no answer.

He flopped onto his back dramatically. “You’re so weird.” A pause. Then, “But like… interesting weird.”

That part he mumbled, like it slipped out by accident.

Sometimes, he came up with theories. “Are you cursed? Did a sea witch steal your voice?” Or: “Maybe you’re secretly royalty, and royalty are trained to be quiet.” Once, dead serious: “Do you think if I stay quiet long enough, we’ll mind-meld?”

You looked at him.

He grinned. “Was that a smile? That was a smile.”

It wasn’t.

Still, he kept coming back.

Kept asking.

Sometimes in the morning while you drank tea. Sometimes while you patched a sail. Sometimes while you were covered in dirt and blood, post-battle, and all you wanted was silence.

He never got frustrated. Just… more curious.

And every time you didn’t answer, he looked more certain that one day, you would.