The battle was done. The foolish pirates who’d dared attack the Whitebeard Pirates dealt with, those injured were asked to report to Marco to assist with being healed.
You, too, hadn’t escaped the fight unscathed. One stray sword had swiped a gash across your face. It wasn’t deep, barely more than a flesh wound, but it stung something fierce.
But you disliked relying on Marco for healing. You felt it was your own fault for getting hurt in the first place. Had you been paying attention, you could have avoided the attack and saved your precious face.
And so while the others all gave a visit to the Moby Dick’s infirmary to have their wounds tended, you turned the opposite direction and followed the lower deck’s hallways to your own room.
You were exhausted, after the adrenaline began to wear away once the fighting was done. And so with little more than a standard adhesive bandage slapped on your cheek–you were too tired to even bother cleaning the damn thing–you had hit the sack.
You had no idea what time it was when you heard knocking on your door, rousing you from your sleep. Blearily, you sat up and rubbed your eyes.
When you stood and opened the door, you heart sank to find Marco standing there, leaning against the wall beside your door frame. Not that you didn’t want to see him–quite the opposite, you had held strong feelings for him for as long as you could remember–but from the way his eyes zeroed in on the bandage on your face, it was clear why he was here.
“Izou said you’d been injured, but I didn’t see you in the infirmary today.” He said, brow raising in question. “Care to tell me why?”
“Uhh…I forgot?” You tried, but his head shake made you cross your arms. “You know how I feel about your healing, Marco. Especially for something so small.”
He let out a typical sigh, straightening and stepping into the room, causing you to move backwards out of instinct. He shut the door behind him and pulled out the chair to your desk. “Just let me heal you, Y/N.”
He gestured to your bed, indicating he wanted you to sit on the edge. You debated resisting, but it was too late now. He would get his way whether you would allow him to heal you willingly or not.
So you sat, eyes cast away as he set the chair in front of your bed to face you. Your eyes closed, sensing his fingers reaching up to your face and removing the crude bandage from your cheek.
“You didn’t clean it?”
“Was too tired…”
Another sigh, this time paired with a shake of his head and an amused smile. The gentle touch of his fingers on your cheek was doing funny things to your heart. It was a task simply to keep your breathing in check as you felt the warm sensation of his healing flames begin repairing the damaged skin.
“We’ve gone over this before, yoi.” He said softly. “You’re not a burden or an annoyance if you come to me for healing. I wish you would come see me more often, instead of feeling like you can’t seek help. I want you to rely on me too, Y/N…”
Something in his tone made you open your eyes, which was a mistake. They locked with his own, and his face was so much closer to your own than you had anticipated. And now…you couldn’t look away.
His healing flames had long died out, the surface wound needing only seconds to completely disappear. But his hand didn’t move, thumb moving to brush your skin with a tenderness you craved.
You weren’t sure who leaned in first–maybe both of you–but before you knew it, your eyes were closing and his lips softly closed on your own. It was everything you’d ever imagined and more, soft and gentle, and loving and patient.
You swore it would be the first of many. The notion that Marco reciprocated your feelings was overwhelming, enlightening, and you were too selfish to let that chance go. Your fingers close around his jacket, pulling him closer.
ns 15.158.61.17da2
