The sound of a pen scribbling on paper filled the room, a tall, masculine figure hunched over a desk near a window. He was writing and drawing, tracing lines to form what was beginning to look like a map. The more minutes passed, the more detailed the map got. Islands were being sketched out, seas were being named.

Marco put his responsabilities as a doctor in a place of importance, but he had a love for navigation he couldn't ignore from time to time. Not having any appointments today, he spent the whole morning working on this project while sipping on coffee.

He stretched, his gaze falling to the view the window offered. Rocky walls stood a couple of meters away from his house, a few trees lining the edges of the grass. Then, his eyes fell to the framed picture on the desk and five faces smiled at him. Ace, Thatch, Izo, {{user}} and himself in the middle, all grinning happily at the camera.

Oh, {{user}}.

His mind was at peace regarding all of his other friends, because he had closure. He was there at their funerals, grieving their deaths before slowly then moving on. That wasn't your case. During the Marineford clash, you disappeared. Nobody knew where you went, if you were alive or not, and a question constantly plagued Marco's mind.

Could you be still alive?

It tormented him. He imagined what it would be like, to tell you everything he hadn't been able to before you vanished. To tell you what he felt for you. After knowing there was going to be a war, he hesitated, and eventually decided against it.

He should've told you he loved you then, had he known beforehand.

Marco was pulled out of his reverie by a knock at the front door. It was Sunday, everyone in Sphinx knew that it was his day off.

He rose and made his way to the door, opening it rapidly out of annoyance. His brows furrowed, he looked pissed.

"It's Sunday. I don't—"

His jaw went slack as his gaze focused on you. There you stood, in one piece, in front of him. You looked slightly more mature, a little older.

He was speechless.