Three days.

Three days and your tears still haven’t dried.

Almost half of the crew have already up and vanished but yet you’re still on the Oro Jackson sobbing.

Shanks sighed softly as he stood outside the door, your sobs you thought were quiet were loud enough to be heard in the hallway as he knocked.

No reply.

As usual.

But you’re six years old, you have to eat at some point and you sure as hell can’t cook. So he pick pocketed the lock and opened the door, a bowl of your favorite soup in his hands.

He knows your father, the Gol D. Roger, wouldn’t like the fact that you cooped yourself up in his old room the hour you learnt of his execution. But now it’s just you, Shanks, Buggy, Rayleigh, who’s leaving soon, and a handful of pirates left on the ship.