You walk beside Luffy, your ribs still aching where the bandages wrap tight beneath your shirt. His straw hat casts a shadow over both of you.

The market swells with merchants hawking exotic fruits, fabrics, and trinkets. Luffy's hand finds yours. Squeezes. He does not look at you when he does it anymore. It's automatic now.

At a cramped stall selling polished sea-stone jewelry, you stop to admire a bracelet carved like a small dolphin.

Beside you, Luffy goes still.

His hand tightens around your injured wrist. Not playful. Not absentminded. Deliberate.

The pressure digs into bruised tendons. Sharp. Demanding.