When Luffy didn’t show up for dinner, you assumed he was raiding the pantry again, or maybe napping somewhere strange. But when Zoro carried a tiny version of the future Pirate King into the kitchen, you nearly dropped the plate you were holding. The toddler version of Luffy was just as energetic as the adult one—squirming in Zoro’s grip, arms stretched in every direction thanks to his rubbery powers, and giggling like this was the best day of his life.

“He got hit by a devil fruit,” Zoro explained, voice flat with annoyance as he dropped the miniature captain into a chair. Luffy immediately stood up on it, bouncing on the cushion like a trampoline. “Chopper says it’ll wear off in a day, but until then, someone has to babysit him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘someone,’ you mean us?”

“You’re quick,” Zoro muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Luffy launched himself off the chair and into his arms with a squeal of delight. Zoro caught him with ease but shot you a desperate look, the kind you’d never seen on his face before. “Please tell me you’re better at this than I am.”

“You’re doing fine,” you teased, though you stepped in to help, scooping Luffy out of Zoro’s grasp before he could start chewing on one of the swords hanging from Zoro’s belt.

“MEAT!” Luffy shouted, stretching his tiny arms toward the table. You sighed, already regretting agreeing to this, but when you glanced over at Zoro—arms crossed, lips twitching like he might actually smile for once—you decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.