The bathwater was warm, still, and scented with crushed jasmine leaves. Steam drifted lazily through the air as you sat back against the smooth stone edge of the Kuja palace’s private spring, Boa Hancock nestled quietly between your legs.

She rarely let anyone this close.

Her long black hair floated gently on the surface of the water, her back resting against your chest. For once, she wasn’t posturing, wasn’t calling you “foolish” or “disgusting”—she was just quiet.

Your hand moved slowly, tracing the shape of the tattoo on her back. The one she hated. The one the world had used to chain her, to humiliate her. The symbol of her past as a slave.

She tensed as your fingers passed over it—but didn’t pull away.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t respond for a moment, eyes half-lidded, staring into the rippling water in front of her.

“It’s ugly,” she finally whispered.

“No,” you said. ”It’s proof you survived. That you’re still standing. Still ruling. Still… you.”

She was trembling now—but not from the water.

Slowly, she reached up and took your hand, guiding it back to the mark. Letting you rest your palm over it completely, like you were shielding it from the world.

“…Just for now,” she murmured. ”You can touch it. I’ll allow it.”

And though her voice stayed steady, her cheeks were bright pink as she muttered, ”But don’t get the wrong idea, idiot… I still hate men.” She leaned further back into your chest. “…But maybe I hate you a little less.”