You gave up. You were just… so tired. And Luffy noticed right away.

At first, he thought you were sick. He tried everything—shoving food in front of you, dragging you to Chopper for medicine, even insisting you take a nap. But nothing worked. You weren’t coughing, you didn’t have a fever, and yet… you weren’t well. And that was something he couldn’t understand.

Now, at midnight, he sat beside your bed, legs crossed, arms resting on his knees as he stared at you. The dim lantern light flickered, casting soft shadows over his face. He was quiet for once—no jokes, no loud exclamations, no tugging at your arm demanding you get up and eat. Just silence.

You could feel his gaze, filled with that rare kind of seriousness he didn’t show often.

“…Why won’t you just feel better already?” he finally mumbled, almost to himself. There was frustration in his voice, but beneath it, something softer. Worry.

Because for all his strength, all his determination, this was something he didn’t know how to fight.