A sweet melody fights its way through the bathroom vents, just to reach the man on other side, who was absent-mindedly leaning on the wall.
Every day, after their training sessions, Iris enjoyed a long, hot shower. Zoro had grown accustomed to the only bathroom in the house being unavailable for hours. And he didn't mind, he usually napped until dinner. Zoro and napping went hand in hand, anyway; he would never pass up an opportunity for a good snooze.
However, something had kept him from engaging in his hobby lately.
Indigo was the colour that came to his mind as he listened. Not an overwhelmingly bright shade, not angry as the sky the day they met. It was subtle, silky, the colour of fresh blueberries. It was the shade he imagined peace to be. It had that soft, heavy quality, like a steamy mist, and the feeling of morning coffee clearing his throat. It was the word someone says out of kindness, to ease an awkward silence. It was the warmth of a coat that brought sensibility back into his body, a reminder that there was more to life than living in the bitter cold.
That voice... is it Iris? I could swear it sounds like her, although I've never heard her like that. She's a great singer, who would have thought.
The swordsman rose from his seat and put his ear to the vent. The sound was clearer now, he could even hear her breathing muffled by the shower rain. For a few seconds, he had the impression that he was listening to a mermaid, though not like the one he had met some time ago, a different creature, more ethereal. She never told me she sang, he thought, baffled.
Lately, Zoro's mind was busier than usual. He struggled to understand what was going on with him; every thought seemed to lead to Iris in one way or another. He feared he was going crazy. Zoro tried to take refuge from his disordered thoughts by doing the one thing he held sacred: training. But even when he was in the gym, he couldn't find peace.
Despite putting all his concentration into lifting weights, he couldn't help but wonder what Iris was drawing at the moment, or get lost in imagining what culinary lesson she would give him next. It wasn't exactly the anticipation of learning to cook that interested him, but the proximity of their bodies as she guided him in the tiny kitchen, and her sweet voice sprinkling compliments when she tasted the final product. And if only it were merely that, he would not be so alarmed. Just the image of Iris smiling was enough to unsettle his balance and make him throw the dumbbell to the floor.
Their training together ended up by wiping away all remnants of peace that the swordsman had lingering in his mind. Zoro knew that he needed to be extremely cautious the times they sparred. Otherwise, the slightest friction between them would have set him on fire, or so he felt. Is that how that idiotic cook felt when he saw a girl? Having something in common with the cook triggered a little flash of nausea.
At night, he couldn't help but recall how she had fallen asleep in his arms, or how she had bitten her lip before proposing; "I'll owe you one?"
The swordman closed his eyes and gulped at the memory. There was no escape. Zoro, who normally enjoyed a calm, blank mind, spent his days trying to keep himself from drowning in a sea of musings, and all indicated that he would not be able to stay above the surface for long.
It was maddening, a curse.
A curse...
That word had stimulated the beginnings of an idea. What if... what if he wasn't going mad? What if she had been doing this to his mind on purpose? She had taken him to her house without his asking, and she had demanded nothing in return.
What if this had all been a trap from the start? She had mysteriously appeared in the forest, always avoiding questions about her past. Damn it, she could have made up the whole story about those evil slavers from that day. And her wounds? Well, if she was a witch, she could have made them appear with magic, surely. This could all be a ruse. She could be putting some kind of spell on him to make him forget his life and become his servant. Or maybe she preys on swordsmen? Zoro's eyes widened at this last thought. How could he have fallen for it? She even lives in a small stone cabin in the middle of nowhere. The whole thing screams witchcraft.
Definitely, she being a witch would explain everything; how his heart rhythm scrambles when he's around her, why he feels like he's in a trance when she looks into his eyes, even the fact that he has caught himself wishing the storm would last longer one too many times.
He had never felt like this before. He didn't care about love, or women in general, his only goal in life was to become the best swordsman in the world. Nothing could stand in the way of his determination. And yet here he was, suspending a nap to listen to this girl's enchanting serenade.
Enough. He had to take action before it was too late.
He quietly tiptoed out of the kitchen-living room and into her bedroom. His mission, as he had announced to himself, was to find evidence to corroborate his fears and then call for help.
...
purururu purururu purururu
Robin was, as usual, reading a book, while a pair of hands turned the pages for her. The other mugiwaras had headed into town, leaving her with an old and welcome acquaintance; silence.
The ringing of the transponder chased away the quietness in the kitchen, and Robin paused her reading to take the call.
"Hi, Zoro, I presume?"
"Robin, I think I'm in trouble," his voiced was not of alarm, though.
"Are you still in the girl's house?"
"Yes, but I think...," he was still unsure how to explain what was happening, "she may be a witch."
"Why?" Her friend statement had sparked her interest.
Robin listened carefully while Zoro then listed all the things that made him think Iris could be messing with his head.
"Hmm," was the archaeologist's only response when he finished, thoroughly weighing what he had told her.
Zoro kept on, "And there is something else. I went into her room and found her sketchbook."
"And?"
"There are drawings of men with swords," he said, then he proceeded to describe the sketches.
When Zoro entered her bedroom, the first thing that caught his eye was a desk piled high with papers and the familiar sketchbook atop. There were colourful, tiny reflections of the house they lived in; the coffee table, the bouquet of flowers by the window, and the like. Amidst all these domestic glimpses, however, her sketchbook hid a handful of male figures, sometimes in fighting poses, sometimes engaged in mundane activities, such as cooking. They all wore similar clothes, and their features rang a bell, but Zoro had been too stunned to hear it; he had forgotten his quest for a moment as he fumed at the thought of Iris thinking about other men, to the point of drawing them. It had taken him a second to remember the problem at hand.
He continued to propose his theory, "They may well be her past victims."
"Hmm," Robin paused slightly before sharing her thoughts, "do these men have any scars?"
"They all have scars on their ankles," he said as he turned the pages, "and two of them are shirtless, I can see a scar that goes from their left shoulder to their right hip."
Oh, naughty girl, she thought, already piecing the puzzle together.
"And three gold earrings in the left ear?" she asked, aware of his answer before he could speak.
"How did you know?!"
The snail in Robin's hand mirrored the swordsman's shocked expression. She let a soft but animated laugh fill the air. It was beyond obvious, she told herself.
"Zoro, I don't think she means you any harm," Robin calmed him down, "In fact, she is probably experiencing the same symptoms that you have described."
"You mean we are both being cursed?"
Anyone else would've have rolled their eyes in response to the swordsman's naivety, but not Robin. her calm and maternal personality allowed her to find Zoro's idiocy endearing.
"That's one way to see it," she chuckled. "Don't worry, Zoro. Everything you are going through is perfectly normal."
Zoro's objections were cut off. "I would advise you to embrace what you are feeling. Enjoy your time with her."
Robin concluded their conversation before he could say anything else, and the snail went back to sleep.
To embrace what I feel... She didn't mention how. Fuck, Robin. This is no clearer than before.
Zoro was once again left to his own thoughts. That is, until he heard the shower stop and realized he had to put the sketchbook back unless he wanted Iris to really endanger his life. He was leaving the transponder room with the sketchbook when Iris opened the door, just in time to see him.
"What the hell are you doing with that?" she called out, her face twisted into an angry frown, "Did you take it from my room?"
Zoro had frozen in place when he heard her.
"Zoro, answer me!" she was only dressed in a towel, but her voice claimed dominance over the situation.
Seeing that he didn't give her an answer, she snapped at him: "Don't you ever mess with my things like that again!" She snatched her sketchbook from him and strode to her bedroom.
A loud thump signalled that he was out of visual range, and Zoro stood in place for a few minutes, still processing everything he had learned today.
In her room, Iris laid on her bed, her arms embracing the sketchbook.
Had he seen her drawings? Probably. What did he think about them? She was so embarrassed right now. How would she face him after he had realised that she had been obsessively drawing him? He's probably crept out by her, and that's why he didn't said a thing. Maybe she shouldn't have lashed out like that. Why? Why did she have to be like that?
She loudly sighed, frustrated with herself. Ever since she had met the swordman, she could not control herself. "Stupid swordsman." Her words were little more than a hum. Iris was terrified of the fact that she didn't have a means of combatting his effect on her. He probably had noticed by now. It was oh so obvious. She had been trying to disguise the symptoms of her obvious fascination with booze, but she doubted it worked.
Iris couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was that made her fall for him. It was a mixture of little details: the unabashed confidence with which he claimed that cooking pasta was "a piece of cake" (before he trashed the kitchen), his infinite patience even when she failed an exercise over and over again, how he would sometimes cutely wiggle his nose when he was asleep, the rich timbre of his voice when he chuckled, the way he would shyly ask for permission to touch her every time he had to check her wounds.
He made her feel vulnerable in a way that was driving her crazy. There was no thinking properly when Zoro was around; she made mistakes, got distracted, forgot how to talk. In short, she was a mess. She was disgusted with how quickly he tore down her walls, with how easily she had trusted him, with how much she wanted him to hold her in his arms, tight enough to chase her demons away.
Iris covered her eyes with both hands, suddenly aware of how utterly helpless she was for the swordman. Training with him had been a bad idea, though she had been enjoying every moment. She had asked him to mentor her in the spur of the moment, encouraged by the cool night air and the sake. What she hadn't thought about was the fact that they would have to get physical; not losing concentration was more challenging than successfully engaging in the techniques he taught her.
In some exercises, he would stand behind her to correct her posture, his lips almost brushing her ear with instructions, instructions that fell into oblivion as she struggled to maintain her composure. The spikes of pure fire his deep voice sent her way made her blush even now, at the memory.
However, she knew they could never be. As much as she liked him, she had a goal to achieve. And realistically, she knew that she may not survive the fight. That was one of the reasons why she had to keep her distance. Another reason, less noble on her part, was that she feared his reaction if she came clean about everything she had been hiding. She had made up a lie to explain why she wanted to destroy the slavers, and she had also lied about her childhood. It wasn't that she didn't trust the swordsman, but that she didn't want him to pity her, or be ashamed of her.
At one point she had considered opening up, but it was too late. The secrets had piled up one by one and, before she knew it, they became too heavy to lift. He would never trust her if he knew all the things she hid from him. The idea of Zoro despising her stabbed an invisible dagger to her chest. The worst part was, he was bound to discover everything once he got to the village.
She could only enjoy their limited time together, as if in a dream, before returning to the barren reality.
Those little get-togethers they shared made her whole day. She wouldn't admit it, but she couldn't remember being happier, even before the kidnapping. With Zoro, she felt a certain security, a sense of peace. Even drawing him became easier, almost effortless. Iris liked to think about him as an island; his gravitational pull had her heading straight to him.
Enough, he was her friend, that's all. There was no room for anything else anyway, she reminded herself. Having embarked in so many adventures around the globe, he had surely found beauty all over. And again, what would happen if she confessed her feelings, and he rejected her? Trapped in this house with her, it would become unbearable, for both of them. That's another reason to put some distance between them, that and the fact that caring too much will only make his departure more agonizing for her, though she didn't dare think about him leaving yet.
-----
The following days things were peaceful. The tension from the sketchbook incident seemed to have dissolved organically. Iris wasn't as much mad at Zoro as she was embarrassed about him seeing the sketchbook, and when he didn't mention anything about it, she gladly forgot about the subject altogether.
The mood was lively as they spoke.
Iris had found an old record player while looking for supplies for her drawings in Eulogie's storage room. The old piece of technology was now on the coffee table separating two sofas, on one of which Zoro was gulping down his first drink of the evening.
"What's with that thing?"
"It's a record player, it plays records, bosky." She put emphasis on each word, as if she was talking with a five-year-old.
"I told you not to call me that!" he pouted, more jokingly than bothered, "and I know what a record player is, woman."
He had tried to come up with a nickname for her to match the one she gave him, but that had been his best attempt until now.
"Does it work?"
Iris answered his question by flipping a switch. A dramatic orchestra filled the room. flutes, pianos, double basses, and at least two violins seemed to clash together to create a romantic piece of music.
"I must admit I was not expecting Eulogie to own something like that."
"You know the song?" Sometimes, the amount of things Iris seemed to know out of the blue astounded him.
"I don't, but I think this is from an island called Dressrosa."
"Hum", he paused for a bit, listening to the foreign lyrics, "Do you dance?"
"Not really, though I was forced to learn."
Zoro raised a brow, "they forced you?"
"Well, yes," she chuckled. "I had to practice for months in order to set up an event for the township to see," It had been an event, that was true, she just let aside the fact that it had been her introduction to society, and the party was full of her parent's creepy, snobbish friends.
Zoro chortled as he imagined little Iris making tiny dance moves in front of a cheering crowd.
"Why are you laughing?" She asked, amused by his reaction.
"Well, you don't strike me as the stage kind of girl."
"And what does that mean?" Now she was raising a brow.
"Just that you don't look like a person..." Zoro, aware that his next word could seal his fate, tried to think it through, "comfortable being the centre of attention."
"Well, I will have you know, oh Famous Pirate Hunter," she said, feigning being offended, "that I did dance on the stage, and I did hate every single moment of it." She laughed wholeheartedly.
Zoro felt his heart skip a beat. He scratched the back of his neck before putting his plan into action. Ignoring his face getting redder and redder, he got up from the couch with the intention of walking over to where Iris was standing behind the record player.
"Maybe you didn't have the right partner," he said, avoiding her eyes, the floor being suddenly too appealing for him to ignore, as he offered his hand. It took all his strength not to flinch when she accepted it.
"Wow, how sleek, Mr. Hunter." Iris granted him a deviously smile as she chuckled. She was trying to ignore it, but her cheeks were burning red, and she had to bite her lower lip to calm down.
She told him how to stand, according to her recollection of her studies: He put his right hand on her waist while she placed her left hand on his shoulder. Their bodies were close, almost hugging, as they whirled across the room. At first, Iris had taken the lead, trying to show him how the pattern went.
Her way of moving fascinated Zoro; the deft, gentle manner of her very small swings was so adorable yet sharp, had the floor been an apple, she would have been taking small bites, he thought. After a few rounds, though, Zoro had taken note, and had claimed dominance over the dance floor, swiftly carrying her around the room. He had never thought he would actually enjoy dancing, and he certainly would never do it in front of his crew, but the feeling of her on his arms had him revaluating his posture on the matter.
Their dance was playful and subtly flirtatious; They couldn't take their hands off each other as they swirled across the room, sharing silly jokes as an excuse to lock ayes with one another. However, as the music became denser, their embrace turned more intimate, and their dance sultrier. The conversation died, as they lost in each other's eyes, dropping the shyness and nerves that had prevented both to do so in the first place.
One'd think the almighty swordsman would have made a move by now. All the conditions were met; it was obvious that they desired each other, and this particular night vividly begged them to stop pretending otherwise. And yet his steel determination bent like foam rubber. It was too much, the man had to be pitied too, unaccustomed emotions had been waltzing along him way before Iris had accepted his hand tonight.
They danced for two whole hours. Exhaustion took a toll on their bodies, mixed with the lingering tension that glued them together, and the cowardice that kept them apart. It was like watching an obvious conclusion that didn't get to any of them.
They had stopped moving by now, and Zoro had gathered enough courage to caress her cheek, pull closer and...
Bang!
The old record player, which had been quiet for some time, decided to explode at the worst possible moment, startling both the swordman and Iris, and somehow leaving them in the dark. The sudden blast had made her instinctively grab Zoro's arm, and she sent him down with her as she tripped with one of the empty booze bottles abandoned on the floor earlier that night.
Iris, red-faced from embarrassment, internally cursed herself, her clumsiness, and the record player. She ended up crushed by Zoro, who had landed face down, buried in the tenderness of her breasts. Sure, the fabric of her tank top kept him from truly feeling the softness of her skin, but that didn't stop the man from turning red as an erupting volcano and instantly recoiling, stammering an apologize.
Iris could do nothing but be grateful that Zoro couldn't see her at that moment, or he might have asked her if she had a devil fruit that allowed her to turn into a living tomato. Her laughter eased the tension, and he chuckled too when he heard her. This was another thing he liked about her, Zoro was reminded. Specifically, the timbre of her sweet voice, but also how she could laugh at any situation, easing the mood for everyone in the room.
They had remained on the floor, both on their backs, as if they were sharing a double bed, although they were closer together. If they had been in a double bed, there would have been plenty of room for another person on either side. Their hands were playfully shy, at first just bumping into each other, then gradually intertwining, taking advantage of the fact that their owners could avoid each other's eyes in the dark.
"Zoro, what will you do once the storm ends?" She asked. The atmosphere was too empty for her liking.
He chuckled at her attempt to break the ice, avoiding the elephant on the room, but he conceded. "I'll become the best swordman in the world."
"I know that already!" she beamed, though Zoro could not see her, "But what about after that?"
"I dunno, I will help my captain become the King of the Pirates, and then...I don't have other plans."
"Humm," Iris's tone was lower, clearly dragged down by the fatigue of the day, "That's good," she yawned.
The moment had passed, and Zoro didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed in himself. Now, he would have to content himself with the pleasure of holding her hand. The tension had drained away completely and gave way to exhaustion. However, He didn't want to stop talking just yet, "What will you do after you destroy the slaving company?"
She shifted her position, still holding his hand in hers. Her face now pointed at Zoro, but her eyes already closed. "I guess I don't have plans that far ahead either. If I beat them and survive, I... don't really have anything else to live for, really." Another yawn interrupted her.
On the verge of fading away in sleep, candid words that would have never seen the light otherwise, simply rolled from her lips, "Before all this happened, I had thought about just ending it all, you know?" the last question was barely audible as she trailed off.
Zoro's eyes widened as he processed what she had just said, "What do you mean?"
There was no answer, he had lost her to sleep.
Unfortunately, Zoro's own sleep was pushed away by her last words. There was nothing to be done; he turned his body to face hers and lay there for the rest of the night.
The swordman delved into his new-found feelings in the dark. Iris had awoken a plethora of colours he didn't know he was able to feel, and all at the same time. She irritated him to no end, but any trace of annoyance would melt at the sight of her smile. He wanted her to stop distracting him from his training, but the swordman found himself looking for an excuse to talk to Iris when she was not around. Her presence alone made him feel lighter, more relaxed, but her touch sent a thousand electric bolts all through his body, and he became a clumsy ball of nerves.
His feelings were exasperating and paradoxical; if Robin hadn't told him that this was normal, he would still think Iris had bewitched him somehow, or that he was suffering of an exotic disease.
Her calm breath next to his arm snapped the swordman out of his reflexion. Zoro caressed Iris's cheek and gently removed a strand of hair from her face. She seemed to be dreaming about something nice, judging by her relaxed expression. It was time, he thought. On many occasions had he heard her sobbing at night, after weaking up completely shaken. She had tried to be quiet, but they were sleeping in the same room, and he had noticed all the same. Now that she had moved to her own room, he didn't know if she had been sleeping well. She seemed to have nightmares quite often, though.
A stone the size of his hand sulk in his stomach at the thought. He could tell she was hiding things from him. It didn't take a genius to recognize how she sometimes trailed off while telling him about her life, as if she had suddenly bumped into a painful memory, or how she never addressed these past few years of her life. She always dodged questions about the slavers, as well. She had only told him that her mentor, Eulogie, had asked her to take them down and save the slaves. But her hatred towards them seems far more personal. Another itchy subject seemed to be her childhood: when he had asked about her family, she had simply said that she didn't have one anymore. And only in rare occasions, such as tonight, did she speak about her upbringing. After all this time together, the woman remained an enigma to him.
Her secrets were so damn frustrating, though he knew there was no reason for him to feel that way; it was her life, after all. She probably had her reasons to avoid the subject, and that should be enough for him.
And maybe he could've lived with that before, but knowing how she felt about her future,
having heard her so blasé admission that she sought to cease to exist, that he would have no chance of repeating this night, that a person he cared about was going to be ripped from him once again... No wound he had received in all his years of fighting compared in intensity with the ache in his chest at the thought of that possibility.
There was no way he was going to let that happen.
...
The phone call was so fun to write!