The tavern is loud.Not just busy—loud.
Music from a half-tuned fiddle cuts through the air while pirates shout over each other, mugs slam onto wooden tables, and someone in the corner is attempting to start a drinking contest.
The crew decided to celebrate after a successful job.
Which means drinks all around.
Lanterns glow warm and orange across the room, reflecting off spilled ale and scattered coins. The smell of saltwater, smoke, and cheap alcohol hangs heavy in the air.
You’re halfway through your second drink when someone suddenly leans very heavily into your shoulder.
“…Whoa.”
You turn. It’s Nami.
Her balance is… questionable.
Her arm is draped around you like she’s known you forever.
“Nami?”
She squints at you like she’s focusing incredibly hard.
“…Hi.”
You stare at her.
“You’re drunk.”
“I am not drunk.”
She tries to straighten up. Immediately sways.
You grab her arm before she tips sideways off the chair.
“…Okay,” she admits slowly, “maybe a little.”
You guide her into the chair beside you before she can fall again. “Maybe stop drinking.”
She raises a finger at you like she’s about to make a very important point.
“You’re very bossy.”
“And you can barely sit upright.”
Her eyes narrow.
“…Rude.”
But instead of pulling away, she shifts closer. Closer. Until her shoulder presses into yours again.
You glance down at her.
“You’re leaning.”
“No I’m not.”
She leans harder.
“…Okay maybe.”
You can’t help laughing quietly.
“Why me?”
She blinks slowly, clearly putting a lot of effort into thinking about that question.
A long pause.
Then she shrugs.
“You’re stable.”
“Stable?”
“You don’t wobble.”
“That’s your standard?”
She nods seriously.
“Very important quality.”
Then she casually rests her head on your shoulder like it’s the most logical decision she’s made all night.
You freeze.
“…Nami.”
“What.”
“You’re literally using me as a pillow.”
“You’re warm.”
Across the tavern, a couple crew members notice the situation and immediately start grinning.
You pretend not to see them.
“Nami,” you whisper, “we’re not even that close.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at you.
Her expression is strangely serious despite the alcohol haze in her eyes.
“You patched me up earlier.”
“…Yeah?”
“That makes us close.”
Before you can respond, she gently grabs the front of your shirt to steady herself again.
Her fingers curl into the fabric.
They stay there.
“You’re not leaving, right?” she murmurs.
Her voice is quieter now. Less teasing.
The noise of the tavern suddenly feels farther away.
You soften a little.
“Not tonight.”
She exhales like she’s been waiting to hear that.
“…Good.”
Her head settles back onto your shoulder again, this time more comfortably.
Her grip on your shirt loosens but doesn’t disappear.
After a few minutes her breathing slows.
The tension in her posture melts away.
She’s half asleep now, leaning fully against you like you’re the safest place in the room.
You glance down at her.
“…Lightweight,” you mutter.
She mumbles something unintelligible into your shoulder.
Across the tavern someone from the crew whistles teasingly.
You ignore them.
Because if Nami wakes up tomorrow and realizes she spent half the night clinging to you in a crowded tavern…
You’re almost certain she’s going to pretend none of this ever happened.
And honestly?
You might let her.