The market is a disaster. Not dangerous exactly—just crowded.

Voices overlap from every direction. Vendors shout prices over each other, sailors argue over crates, people brush past shoulder-to-shoulder without slowing down.

It’s the kind of place where if you lose sight of someone for two seconds…

They’re gone.

You try to keep up with the crew as they move through the streets, but the crowd keeps closing in between you and them. Someone bumps your shoulder. Another person cuts between you and the path ahead.

For a moment you lose sight of everyone.

Then you spot Nami a few steps ahead, weaving easily through the chaos like she belongs there.

Of course she does.

She’s already halfway through the market before she even realizes you’re not beside her.

You hurry forward.

Another wave of people pushes through, forcing you closer to her than you intended.

Without thinking, you reach out and grab the edge of her sleeve.

Just to keep from losing her.

The second your fingers catch the fabric, you realize what you just did.

Nami hates being grabbed.

Normally if someone did that, she’d shake them off immediately—sharp, quick, instinctive.

But instead…

She pauses.

Just for a second.

Her eyes flick down to where your hand is holding the sleeve of her shirt.

You wait for the inevitable.

The annoyed look. The jerk of her arm.

It never comes.

Instead she exhales quietly through her nose and adjusts her pace so you can stay beside her.

“…Crowded,” she mutters.

You nod, still holding the fabric carefully like you’re ready to let go at any second.

“Yeah.”

A group of merchants push past, forcing you both closer together.

Your hand tightens slightly on her sleeve.

Nami notices.

Her gaze flicks down again.

Then back to the crowd ahead.

“…Just don’t pull,” she says after a moment.

You blink.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“You’re not mad?”

She scoffs lightly.

“You’re not exactly dragging me around.”

You smile a little.

“Good to know.”

Another surge of people moves through the street and she shifts directions, guiding you through a narrow opening between stalls.

You follow automatically, your hand still holding onto her sleeve as she leads the way.

The fabric moves under your fingers every time she changes direction.

Every now and then she glances back over her shoulder to make sure you’re still there.

“You keeping up?” she asks.

“Trying.”

She slows slightly.

Just enough.

A moment later someone nearly slams into you from the side.

Before you can react, Nami’s hand moves back and catches your wrist briefly, steadying you.

“Careful,” she says.

Then she lets go again.

Your hand instinctively returns to the sleeve of her shirt.

This time she doesn’t even look down.

Instead she just continues walking, steering you through the shifting crowd with quiet confidence.

After a minute you say softly,

“You know… if anyone else grabbed you like this—”

“I know,” she interrupts.

Her tone is calm, matter-of-fact.

“…They wouldn’t still have their hand.”

You laugh under your breath. “But I do.”

“Apparently.” She glances back at you again, eyes flicking briefly to your hand holding onto her sleeve.

Her expression softens for a second.

“…Just stay close,” she says.

Not annoyed. Not teasing. Just simple.

And as she guides you deeper through the crowded market, she never once tries to pull away.