The first light of dawn spilled across the Thousand Sunny, painting the deck in soft gold. The ship rocked gently against calm waters, the sound of waves lapping against the hull like a steady heartbeat. Everyone else was still asleep, their snores and soft murmurs echoing faintly from below deck.

Everyone except you.

And Nami.

She was at her desk as always, a lamp still glowing faintly even though the sun was already rising. Maps spread out around her like wings, her pen scratching quietly across parchment. She was focused, as sharp and meticulous as ever, the Navigator of the Straw Hats doing what she did best—charting the seas.

But her eyes drifted.

Not to the horizon. Not to the compass. To you.

You were sitting nearby, slouched against the table, eyes heavy with exhaustion. You’d been up late, helping with chores or fixing something for the crew, and now your body was paying the price. Your head tilted forward as if you might fall asleep any second, yet you still stubbornly tried to keep yourself awake.

Nami’s brows furrowed. She told herself it was just because you’d be useless if you worked like this. That’s all. She wasn’t worried—she didn’t do worried.

And yet, she found herself standing, quietly moving into the galley. The air smelled faintly of last night’s feast, and she tiptoed around sleeping forms sprawled across the floor. She brewed coffee with practiced efficiency, the warmth of it filling her hands as she carried the mug back.

She placed it in front of you without ceremony, the faint clink against the wood startling you from your half-doze.

“You’ll work better if you’re not half-asleep,” Nami said simply, her voice clipped, matter-of-fact.

But she didn’t meet your eyes. She looked away, pretending to fuss with one of her maps. Her cheeks felt warmer than they should.

Inside, her thoughts tangled: Why did I even bother? They could’ve gotten it themselves. I didn’t need to… But then you smiled.

That smile.

Something unspooled in her chest at the sight, soft and unfamiliar, a warmth she wasn’t used to. She tried to hide it, tried to keep her expression cool, but her lips almost betrayed her by curving up.

She turned a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as if the gesture might explain away the sudden flutter in her stomach. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she muttered under her breath, though it came out weaker than intended.

For all her rationalizing, she couldn’t deny it—there was comfort in the thought of you drinking something she brought you. That tiny act, so small and ordinary, felt strangely… intimate.

The ship creaked as it carried you both into the sunrise. Around you, the sea stretched endlessly, but for Nami, in that moment, the world felt narrowed down to the mug in your hands and the smile it had coaxed out of you.

She stole another glance, her amber eyes softer now, betraying what her words never would.

“…Well? Don’t just sit there staring at me. Drink it before it gets cold,” she said, tone teasing but not unkind.