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Snow blanketed the deck of the Thousand Sunny as it pushed through an endless stretch of icy waters. The wind howled through the ship’s rigging, slipping through the smallest cracks, biting at any exposed skin like sharp little teeth.
Sanji, at least, had managed to escape it for a little while. Steam flowed through the bathroom, thick and comforting, the last remnants of a scalding bath clinging to the walls. His skin still radiated warmth, the heat sinking deep into his muscles, easing the dull ache in his wrist—a constant reminder of this morning’s stupidity.
Breakfast had barely started when Zoro, the absolute dumbass, dropped a heavy pan mid-argument with Usopp. Without thinking, Sanji lunged to catch it before it hit the floor, but the awkward angle sent a sharp pain shooting through his wrist. He had brushed it off at first, but after a few hours of swelling and limited movement, Chopper had ordered him to lay off anything that might make it worse. Which included cooking. Now, thanks to his own recklessness and someone’s incompetence, he was out of commission.
Sanji scowled at the thought, running a hand through his damp hair. His reflection in the mirror was unimpressed, lips drawn into a frown as he reached for his razor. The sooner he shaved, the sooner he could get back to sulking in peace.
A chill bit at his ankles, creeping in through the crack under the door. He ignored it. The second he stepped out, the cold would be waiting for him.
"Shit." Sanji cursed under his breath as the razor nicked his skin. A thin line of red bloomed along his jaw. You’d think, being a chef and all, that he’d be able to shave with his left hand.
A knock on the door made him pause.
"Buzz off, Marimo," he called, wiping the tiny cut with his thumb.
"Oh, it's Nami!" A kind voice replied back.
His entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Sanji peeked his head out, warmth spilling onto the freezing deck. Nami stood there, arms wrapped around herself, her breath coming out in soft puffs of white.
"Franky broke the heater… kind of. It was mostly Luffy’s fault, if you ask me," she said, giving a small, knowing smirk with a laugh as her eyes darted upward. "He's working on fixing it, but the bathroom's the only place with any warmth." She rubbed her hands together, a plume of steam escaping through the doorway Sanji had opened.
Sanji leaned against the frame, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "You can come in," he said smoothly, a towel slung low around his hips. "I was just shaving anyway."
He could feel an instant wave of relief wash over him when her kind brown eyes met his. Confidence was the only defense he had against Nami’s beauty—without it, he was done for. And yet, despite his usual bravado, she still managed to shake him. Even now, his heart was beating just a little too fast. He moved aside to allow her room to walk in.
She lingered for a second—long enough to roll her eyes at his dramatic delivery—before stepping inside. The warmth hit her immediately, melting the stiffness from her shoulders. She sighed in relief, taking a seat on the wooden ledge by the bathtub, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.
"How's the wrist?" she asked, setting her tea down that he had made her earlier.
"Pretty annoying," Sanji admitted, flexing his fingers experimentally. "Haven’t been able to cook, so…" He shrugged, grabbing the razor with his right hand. "Although I'm sure you’re struggling more than me, what with the tragic lack of my cooking and all." He flashed her a cocky grin.
She snorted, shaking her head. "I can’t exactly say Luffy and Usopp in the kitchen has been the best thing that’s happened to us."
Sanji hummed in agreement, bringing the razor back to his jaw. The blade skimmed over his skin with practiced ease—until his gaze moved over to Nami. She had curled up against the wall, legs tucked to her chest, the firelight glow of the bathroom lamp catching the loose strands of hair framing her face. Her eyes softened as they traced the words on the page, completely absorbed in the quiet world of her thoughts.
It was a mistake to look.
His hand hesitated for just a second too long.
The blade scraped too deep.
"Tch—" Sanji flinched, the sting immediate. A thin crimson line cut across his cheek.
Nami’s head snapped up. "You all good over there?" She couldn’t help but let a small giggle escape her lips.
"It’s fine," he said quickly, waving his good hand dismissively. "I just got a little distracted, that’s all."
She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed, but when he gave her his usual smile of reassurance, she let it slide. With a small shake of her head, she turned back to her book.
"Aren’t you supposed to be using your left hand since your right wrist is sprained?" she asked, lifting her eyes ever so slightly off the page, just enough to catch the expression on Sanji’s face in the mirror in front of him.
Sanji exhaled dramatically, "Guess it's not as easy as I thought," he replied, his voice smooth as ever. He looked at himself in the mirror, Nami’s figure behind him, leaning in closer as he tried again, angling the razor with exaggerated precision. "But, hey, a pro like me can handle anything."
His wrist, however, had other ideas.
A sharp pain shot up his arm as he tilted it the wrong way, and he cursed, his grip faltering. The razor clattered into the sink.
Nami sighed, snapping her book shut. "Let me help you, Sanji."
"I’ve got it—"
"Chopper said to go easy on your wrist anyway," she cut in, pushing herself off the ledge.
Sanji opened his mouth to argue, but when she stepped beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint traces of tea on her breath, all words failed him.
He swallowed, it was as if all the air was knocked out of his lungs. Nami had enchanted him with one look.
"...If you insist."
Nami reached for the razor, her fingers brushing his as she picked it up. The warmth of her touch lingered longer than it should have, leading his stomach to have a weird feeling. Now that she was this close, she could see the mess he had made of his face—tiny nicks and cuts littered his skin like he was some prepubescent boy trying to shave for the first time.
"Move," Nami said, nudging him toward the wooden ledge by the sink.
Sanji blinked. "What—"
She rolled her eyes. "Sit down. Unless you want to keep butchering your face."
He hesitated for a second before doing as she said, lowering himself onto the ledge where she had been sitting moments ago. The wood was cold against his skin, but that was the least of his worries.
Because the second he sat, Nami knelt between his legs.
Sanji’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening in response to the sudden proximity. It wasn’t on purpose—at least, he told himself it wasn’t—but her hip brushed the inside of his thigh as she adjusted, steadying herself, sending a shiver through him. His muscles tensed instinctively, betraying him.
Her hands—warm, familiar—found his jaw, tilting his face toward her. She was close. Closer than before. His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, a soft gasp escaped his lips.
Nami's gaze flicked up to his, eyes unreadable, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow.
She tilted his chin up with a single finger, the faintest touch that sent an electric pulse through him. Her eyes scanned his face as she tested the weight of the razor in her other hand. A slow, teasing smirk tugged at her lips.
"What, you don’t trust me?" she murmured, voice low, eyes holding his.
Sanji let out a shaky breath, his heart hammering in his chest. "I mean, I have to trust you if you’re gonna be holding a razor to my neck, right?" he said, though the words sounded less certain than he’d intended.
"Smart man," she replied, her tone thick with meaning.
Before he could say another word, the first glide of the blade was smooth, her grip steady, controlled. The pressure of her fingers against his skin was deliberate, every movement slow, intimate. He could feel the softness of her breath against his neck as she leaned in, just a fraction closer. His heart raced, hands clenched around the edge of the ledge, knuckles white with restraint.
It was ridiculous. It was just a shave. Just Nami helping him.
Then why did it feel like something else entirely? Like the world had narrowed down to the space between them, the feel of her breath, the weight of her touch.
Sanji glanced down at the book beside him on the ledge, trying to ignore the burning sensation he was feeling in his chest. “What have you been reading? Looks like heavy information.”
He felt the shift before he saw it—the subtle change in her expression, the way her grip on his jaw remained firm but relaxed, like she wasn’t thinking about it anymore.
“It’s about advanced celestial navigation,” Nami started, voice steady but gaining momentum. “Most people just use the stars to get a general direction, but real navigators factor in atmospheric distortion, planetary shifts—hell, even the way the ocean reflects light differently depending on where you are.”
Her eyes lit up as she spoke, her usual sharp focus softened by sheer enthusiasm. Sanji could only watch, mesmerized, as she tilted his chin slightly, angling his face away to get a better angle with the razor. She was still being careful, still paying attention—but she was talking, really talking, and it wasn’t for anyone’s benefit but her own.
“The thing is, if you don’t account for the right variables, you’ll be miles off course before you even realize it. That’s why so many so-called navigators end up lost—because they don’t actually understand the math behind what they’re doing.” She scoffed, “It’s ridiculous. How do you trust your own course if you don’t even know why it works?”
And just like that, she caught herself. A soft pink adorning her cheeks as her lips parted, but no more words came out. The light in her eyes flickered, dimming under some unseen restraint. Her hands didn’t move, but Sanji could feel the hesitation in them.
His heart thumped once, hard.
“Why’d you stop?” His voice came out quieter than he meant.
She blinked, fingers tightening ever so slightly on his jaw.
Sanji let himself smile, slow and warm, ignoring the way his pulse hammered beneath her fingertips. “Keep going,” he murmured, tilting his head just enough to meet her gaze. “I like hearing you talk.”
For a second, she just stared at him, caught between skepticism and something softer. Then, to his quiet relief, she smiled—small, almost hesitant, but real.
“Well,” she said, exhaling a laugh, “it’s not like most people care about the details.” But despite her words, she picked up where she left off, albeit with a little less conviction. She spoke about light refraction and how even the shape of a wave could hint at changing currents, her voice dipping into thoughtful frustration as she recalled some idiot navigator who got their entire crew stranded because they didn’t account for seasonal wind shifts. God, he could listen to her talk all day.
Her weight shifted slightly against him, sending a jolt up his spine. Sanji swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from reacting. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything—just kept working with that quiet focus of hers.
Each careful stroke of the razor sent another pulse of warmth through his chest, tightening something deep in his stomach.
This was torture.
Nami pulled back slightly, her gaze running over his face, checking for any missed spots. Her thumb brushed over his jaw, slow and deliberate, and Sanji swore his heart stuttered in his chest.
"See?" she murmured, inspecting her work. "Not so hard, was it?"
Her touch lingered. Just for a second.
Sanji fought the urge to lean in.
She pulled away before he could even think about it, standing up and stretching, like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t just brought him to the edge of losing his mind.
"You’re good," she said over her shoulder, already moving back to her tea. "Try not to cut yourself again, yeah?"
Sanji sat there, still gripping the ledge, still feeling the ghost of her touch on his skin.
"Yeah," he muttered under his breath, as he slowly stood up, walking back toward the mirror. "Sure."
And just like that, she was back to being perched on the narrow ledge, knees tucked close, a book resting against her thighs. Her fingers idly traced the edges of the pages, as her hair fell delicately over her shoulders, lost in another world despite Sanji standing by the sink, utterly shocked at the affect she has on him.