The desert wind of Alabasta was unforgiving, dry and sharp like a blade drawn from its sheath. You’d been here long enough to taste the sand in every bite of bread, feel it itch beneath your shirt, and, unfortunately, get a little too familiar with its wildlife. Namely: the colossal, bloodthirsty crocodile you thought you could take on to impress one blue-haired princess.

It started simple. Vivi had joined the crew, and with her, a kind of grace and quiet strength you’d never seen before in a world so full of chaos. She smiled like she meant it, spoke like a queen but fought like a warrior. You didn’t stand a chance. From the moment she’d stepped on the deck of the Going Merry, you’d been done for.

So, of course, you made a fool of yourself trying to impress her.

You told her the crocodiles were nothing to you. That back on your island, you'd wrestled creatures twice that size. “It's all about the eyes,” you said with mock wisdom. “You stare them down, they blink—you win.”

The beast didn’t blink. You did. You also screamed, flailed, and, ultimately, got thrown like a ragdoll across the dunes with a dislocated shoulder and a gash across your side that painted the sand crimson.

You barely remembered the rest. Just blurry flashes—the heat, the pain, and then her voice.

"You're such an idiot," Vivi muttered, crouched beside you in the shade of a ruined sandstone wall. Her fingers were steady, peeling back your torn shirt to examine the wound. “What were you thinking?”

You tried to smirk. “I was thinking I’d impress the princess.”

“That’s even dumber than I thought.”

Still, she didn’t leave. Vivi had wrapped your side with a torn piece of her own scarf, tight and firm, muttering something under her breath about men and their egos. She cleaned the blood from your temple with a waterskin and the edge of her cloak. Her hands were warm and smelled faintly of whatever desert flower she used as soap. You hated how that made your heart thump faster than the pain in your ribs.

You didn’t tell her then that you'd rather face the crocodile again than meet her eyes when she leaned in close.

That night, you lay near the fire, watching her silhouette in the firelight as she spoke with Luffy and Usopp. You couldn’t stop staring. Every toss of her hair in the breeze felt choreographed by fate to torment you. Every glance your way—even the exasperated ones—was a spark you hoarded like treasure.

“Still breathing?” she asked later, kneeling next to your sleeping bag with a cup of water. She pressed it into your good hand, her gaze half-lidded, unimpressed.

“Barely,” you croaked, wincing as you sat up. “Did I at least look cool?”

She rolled her eyes. “You looked like a man who thought muscle beat logic.”

You grinned through the pain. “So, I looked like Zoro?”

That earned you a short laugh. A real one. Not much, but it was enough. You’d fight another damn crocodile if it meant hearing that again.

“You’re not bad with a sword,” she said after a moment, quieter now, almost hesitant. “But next time… don’t fight for me. I don’t want anyone getting hurt just because I’m on the crew.”

“Too late for that,” you muttered, before you could stop yourself. The words spilled out like blood—messy, honest, and too hard to take back.

She blinked. The fire danced in her eyes, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Then she stood, brushing off her hands.

“Get some rest,” Vivi said, turning away. “You'll need your strength. We move at dawn.”

You watched her walk away, the ache in your side dull compared to the one blooming in your chest.

You were a fool. But a fool in love, bleeding out under the desert stars, hoping for one more smile.