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Tashigi's fingers touched the hilt of Shigure, then retreated, like a skittish bird.
He sat beneath the crooked tree with his swords lying beside him. His gaze met hers, and the fever intensified, leaving no traces of conviction.
Feeling the kindred connection to an enemy, a pirate, was painful.
She stepped towards him.
Quietness reigned, punctuated by the occasional chitter of a cricket or the sporadic song of the nocturnal birds.
There was an odd relief in the way he just meditated there, like a lover and a comrade, compelling her to remove her mask. The face that greeted her in the mirror every day and night was sickening.
It was shaped and twisted by love, jealousy, and yearning.
She took a step closer.
The gooseflesh rose on her arms. Her heart was beating, exposed before him, waiting to be clawed out and tossed aside like a stuffed toy.
Do not be silly.
But everything dark came at night. The doubt. The shame. The self-loathing. The memories of every duel lost, every moment of her weakness. And he was always there, watching her unravel with that infuriating stillness.
Love was the smell of him, the touch of his hand, the blurred, stoic face behind her tears. It came with the promiscuous sensations and heart-cracking pain.
Her throat constricted, and she struggled to swallow past the lump. The unspoken feeling was thick and hot.
“Come,” she thought she heard him say, but knew it was only her despair speaking.
When love gets hold of you, you are caged for life.
She squeezed her eyes briefly closed, halting in front of him.
Her hand curled into a fist. She couldn’t.
She mustn’t.
It was always she who broke first. It was always her who pressed a palm to his cheek to feel the heat of him. Though he never pushed her away, he never pulled her closer either.
His eye glinted when he reached out.
Panic exploded in her chest as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her down into him.
If he’s the one to catch me, she thought, then I’ll fall.
A sob tore from her as she let herself go slack in his arms, head lolling against his chest. His heartbeat thudded through his chest, wild as rapids over stone.
She waited for his arms to loosen, but his hand drifted up, thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. She didn’t know what to do with her own hands, so she pressed them to his shoulders.
He took her mouth in his, and the pleasure had eclipsed all the pain and agony.
But it didn’t erase it.
It only amplified the constant, gnawing ache. She wondered if he came close to feeling this breathless stupor, the anger and disdain of constantly having one person on your mind. She could not endure it or overcome it, because love was only beautiful and fulfilling when it was mutual.
Yet Tashigi never expected softness from him. Or a confession. That wasn’t his language.
But the truth usually was.
“Why do you... keep letting me get this close?” She whispered.
The question seemed to surprise him. He pulled away from her just a tad, his brows furrowing.
“You’re a good fighter. I respect your skills.”
“That’s... it?”
He nodded.
She peeled herself off his lap slowly, her hands touching his shoulder for support, one last time. Though she was glad that her skills were recognized by one of the greatest swordmasters, that quiet, foolish part of her wanted his affection.
“Goodbye, Roronoa.” The words were aimed more at herself than at him.
His hand caught her wrist.
“Tashigi.”
She didn’t look back. “Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not.”
She faced him, willing her voice to sharpen. “Then what is it?”
Zoro’s grip tightened. “I think of you,” he admitted. “Too often. It’s distracting. It’s annoying.”
Her breath hitched.
“It’s like a sickness,” he added. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I might.” She bent down and kissed him once more.