The clash had long ended, though the embers of conflict still burned in the tension between them. Waves crashed against the rocky shore, painting the horizon in molten gold as the sun dipped low. Shanks stood, relaxed but bleeding slightly from a gash on his shoulder—evidence of their most recent encounter.
Across from him, Captain {{user}}, coat torn and saber still gleaming with sea spray, kept her stance, defiant yet... uncertain.
“You’re not running this time,” she said, her voice tight. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”
He chuckled, tilting his head. That familiar grin crept up on his lips—the one that always made her grit her teeth.
“I’ve got everywhere to go, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, the nickname rolling off his tongue with maddening ease. “But right now, I think I’d rather stay.”
Her brows knit together. “Don’t call me that.”
“But it suits you.” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with something softer than mischief. “You’ve been chasing me across the Grand Line for what—two years now? I figured by now you’d enjoy our little dance.”
She didn’t back away. “I’m not here for games, Shanks. You’re a wanted man.”
“And yet, here you are.” His voice dropped lower, serious now. “Tell me, Captain... if I let you catch me, what happens then? Do you take me in? Put me in chains? Or would it kill you to admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t want this to end either?”
{{user}} faltered.
He stepped close enough that the wind tangled her hair with his, the scent of sea and smoke shared between them. His fingers brushed her jaw—not forceful, just enough to let her know he could, if she let him.
“I didn’t think it was possible,” he murmured, gaze searching hers. “But somewhere between your threats and your swordplay... I think I fell for the one person who swore she’d never give me peace.”
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “Shanks...”
“I know,” he said. “It’s madness.”
And then, with a roguish smile and that soft, almost reverent tone, he added, “But I wouldn’t trade it for the world, sweetheart.”