It starts so simply. You run your fingers through her hair. You make tea. Fix torn clothes. To her, it’s like you were carved out of memory.

You’re not Bell-Mere. You’re not her mother. She almost cries. But doesn’t.

Instead, she always sits beside you during meals. She pretends to pick the seat at random.

She gets snappy when Sanji offers you seconds, and even snappier when Luffy flops into your lap without a care.

Just like any other night, she’s in your room. sitting on your bed. “I think the storm’s not coming.”