Smoker slams his hand onto the desk, the heavy wood groaning under the force. "Garp is losing his mind. He snarls, his voice a low, jagged vibration that skips down your spine. "Straw Hat is the target. He’s the one who’s going to set the world on fire, and I had him. I had him right there."

He seems to remember something and turns quickly, his gloves creaking as he clenches his fists. Smoker’s grey eyes are blown wide, feral with a frustration he can’t find an outlet for.

"Instead, the Vice Admiral sends me to Alabasta. A sandbox full of sand-pirates and political red tape," he grunts, stepping into your space until you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. "He’s ignoring the only threat that matters just to move me like a pawn on a board."

He looms over you and exhales a long, weary cloud of white. For a second, the ‘White Hunter’ mask slips, and you see the raw, desperate need for someone to tell him his instincts aren't wrong.

"Tell me I'm not crazy.” He murmurs, his hand hovering near your waist as if he’s forgotten he’s allowed to touch you.

"Tell me there’s a reason I’m being sent to rot in the sun while that kid laughs his way to the Grand Line."