Chapter Text
Twisting the string between my fingers, I knot the seam mending the rip in my jacket. I grab the scissors sitting on the workbench next to me and cut off the tail of remaining thread with a snip.
Once that’s done, I slip the soft fabric on my body and look in the full length mirror nearby to survey my handy work.
I glance at my familiar figure and features first, then the jacket which is large and purple with black abstract line patterning. I made it a few years ago and it’s since been my favorite thing I own.
Lifting my arm to get a better look at the spot that was ripped open a few minutes ago, I inspect it thoroughly. It’s as good as new, you can’t even see the seam.
Pretty great work, I think with a smile, if I do say so myself.
A familiar chime alerts me to someone entering my shop. I feel the cold breeze before glancing at the open door. Only the silhouette of a tall, slim figure is visible through the light streaming in behind them.
The door shuts and I get a better view of the customer.
As always, the first thing I notice about strangers is their choice in clothing. I find it says more about them than the features they were born with. The man wears a long black parka, stuffed with down and unzipped to reveal a yellow hoodie underneath with an interesting symbol on it. His light-wash jeans are decorated with black spots that match a poofy white hat.
I know immediately that this man is not from Sweet Pick. Our island isn’t small and I definitely don’t know everyone, but I also know no one would wear an outfit like his. No one besides me. My curiosity peaks, wondering what the rest of his wardrobe looks like.
He walks towards the shop counter and plops a large drawstring bag down on it, making a bit of dust fly about. Their particles float about in the streams of late afternoon light.
I put on my most customer-friendly smile, “Good morning sir, what can I help you with today?” I look into amber eyes, a unique color accentuated by dark lines on his under eyes. A small flutter sprouts in my stomach, but I try to ignore it. Finding a pair of eyes pretty to look at is not enough reason for my emotions to start getting any ideas.
While I’m mentally chastising myself, the stranger works on the bag between us. I notice tattoos on the man’s fingers spelling out something as he loosens the drawstring.
“I’m in need of repairs.” He pulls out a white boiler suit with a few rips and tears. I take the item in my hands to inspect the damage and look toward the bag which seems to be full of more of the same jumpsuit.
There are typical rips and burn marks I would expect from what is obviously a mechanical uniform. But there are also large gashes with faded blood stains. They must have been treated with bleach but could use another round to get them out fully.
As soon as the concern at these battle marks bubbles up in me, I suppress it back down. I don’t have the option to refuse a customer, and he hasn’t given me any reason to be fearful yet.
“No problem. How many are there?” I ask, starting to rummage through the bag.
“Eleven.” The man looks around my shop, taking particular notice of the sample pieces displayed on mannequins.
They feature a range of my work, from the more mundane everyday styles to the colorful and uniquely decorated ones. One such piece is a pinafore dress, with ruffles in varying bright colors along the straps and down the skirt. It’s one of my oldest designs, but no one has ever been interested in purchasing it.
Our island is hard to reach, meaning we don’t receive many imports of goods. It can be difficult, but I don’t mind much, because it gave me the opportunity to open my own clothing shop.
We may not have any name brand retail stores, but residents can count on me for mending, tailoring, and creating new garments. I don’t get the chance to design as many fun pieces as I’d like, but I make a living doing what I love, so I’m content.
“Do you do custom orders?” The man looks back down at me, his stoic expression betraying a bit of excited curiosity. Mine only matches it at the implication of his words.
The possibilities start to fill my mind. A custom design for this guy? Compared to my normal work it’s sure to be something interesting where I can really explore my creativity. I trip on my words in eagerness. “Y-yes! What do you have in mind?”
The corners of his mouth inch up. He turns fully towards me as he replies, “I need a new coat.”
I falter. I don’t want to lose this opportunity, but the one he’s wearing already looks pretty well made. “Is your current one not to your liking?”
“It’s warm, but I would prefer something more to my taste.” He lays his forearms on the counter, leaning towards me, and I’m hit with a hint of coffee and mint.
“Can you make one with this pattern?” He nods his head down in indication of his hat.
“Of course, I can make it match the rest of your clothing.” My mind’s already racing with ideas, I feel my heartrate speed as the images of fabrics and trims fly by my mind’s eye.
“I’d like it to have one more thing on it as well.” I glance up and meet those amber eyes.
“It needs to have my jolly roger on it.”
My stomach drops in realization. He’s a pirate.
I catch my breath in fear, but self preservation kicks in and forces my face not to give away any emotion. I say as nonchalantly as possible, “I can do that. Is this it?” I look towards the symbol on his hoodie.
He seems impressed by my lack of screaming and cowering, and nods.
I reach down behind the counter to grab my notebook and pencil. “Okay, I just need to copy it for reference later.” I hope the shakiness in my voice isn’t too apparent. I place the pad down on the counter and start to copy the design. The familiar grit of paper on the side of my hand helps to calm me down.
A pirate in my shop. To be honest, our island doesn’t get many pirates. Although located in the Grand Line, we’re not on the main path that leads to the New World. Without an eternal pose, you’d have to go out of your way to find the trail that leads towards us. On top of that, our freezing waters are home to glaciers that make it difficult to dock a ship. It’s rare we get visitors, and even rarer for them to be pirates.
I think back to the last time a pirate crew was here. It was when I was still in school, about five years ago. The teacher locked down the schoolhouse to keep us safe as the pirates pilfered the town. They robbed every shopkeeper down to their last berri and stole some of the men and women to sell as slaves.
They stole my older sister that day.
I shake off the memory before I get lost in it and try to stay calm. I don’t want to give this pirate any reason to threaten me. Not that they need a reason.
Once I’m done copying the symbol, I start sketching out the coat design. “The repairs will be 500 berri each and the custom coat is 30,000 berri,” I tell him, eyes focused down on the page in front of me. I don’t look up at his face, worried I will find anger there at the price. Although it is reasonable considering the request.
To my surprise, the man simply starts wandering around the shop and says, “That’s fine, money isn't an issue.”
At least he’s planning on paying for my work. Although he’s probably going to pay for everything with stolen money.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, he adds, “I didn’t steal the money.” I look up to see him giving me a half smile.
“Oh, um… well that’s good,” is all I can think to say, embarrassed that I was so easily read.
“I’m not on this island to do harm. I don’t like to hurt people who aren’t doing anything wrong.”
“That’s rather noble for a pirate.” I don’t hide my apprehension.
He stops moving and looks back at me, “I do what I want, but that doesn’t mean I like to hurt innocent people.”
“And how do you judge if someone is innocent or not?” I stare back at him.
A mischievous smile cracks his serious expression. “You don’t need to worry, a quirky seamstress isn’t in any danger from me.”
Somehow, I don’t fully believe that.
His words do reassure me though. I’m still not fully trusting of him yet, but I don’t feel like I need to constantly be on edge. I stay quiet as the pencil scratches away and he continues wandering the storefront.
Once I’m done sketching I emerge from behind the counter to show him the design. I keep a distance, but he doesn’t seem offended. His amber eyes widen as he surveys the sketch. “Looks great. When can you have it ready by?”
“I can make the repairs quickly, but the jacket won’t be done for a week.”
He thinks for a moment before saying, “Hmm, my navigator says the log pose will only take a couple days to reset. But this is worth sticking around longer for.” His eyes move up from the sketch to me. The fluttering feeling is back, but I try to convince myself it’s only out of fear of being near a pirate, even if he isn’t a bad one.
I turn around quickly and walk towards the gap in the counter dividing the front of the store from my workspace in the back. I nod towards the back room.
“I will need to take your measurements for the coat, if that’s alright with you?”
He nods and follows me through a door to my workshop.
A fire is going and the rising temperature reminds me I’m still wearing my mended coat. I remove the garment and drape it on a hook before grabbing my measuring tape and notepad. I go to write the man’s name to accompany the measurements, but realize that I haven’t learned it yet.
“What’s your name? I'm y/n.”
“Trafalgar Law,” His voice answers behind me, I also hear the rustling of fabric as he removes his coat as well. I transcribe the name down.
Law… What a unique name. But it fits him well.
I turn towards him and immediately see his eyes glance down to survey my body and stop at my chest. Wow, can he be any more obvious? Heat fills my face but I’m not sure how to address it.
He catches my expression and quickly says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just… like your dress.”
It sounds like a poorly constructed excuse but his tone seems genuine. And also sounds a bit sad? I’m not sure what about my dress would make him feel that way. My fingers tug the puff sleeves of the light pink dress, patterned with red hearts. It’s a recent addition.
I decide to believe him.“Thank you, I made it.”
“Do you make all your own clothing?” He audibly pushes the sadness from his voice and kindness is left in its place. Combined with the warmth of the room, I start to feel more comfortable around the pirate.
I walk towards him, pulling the length of the measuring tape. “Yep! I like being creative with clothing, and I’m the only one on the island who will wear the more unique designs I make. Can you lift your arms for me please?”
He does so and I wrap the tape around his chest, marking down the number on my notepad. It’s a familiar process that I’ve done hundreds of times, but I still feel my cheeks flush at the contact. He is quite attractive.
I continue measuring in different areas as I continue, “I’m actually really excited to make your coat, it’s not like anything I’ve been commissioned to do before. I don’t want to complain about work, but my normal orders can be a bit boring. Clothing here is about function, not fashion.”
I stand behind him and hold the tape from the nape of his neck to his hips, noting the high number indicative of his height.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Do you wish you could leave and pursue your passion elsewhere?”
The question makes me pause, and I look up to meet his eyes. Normally I would shrug a question like this off, anything that makes me look inside and really consider my feelings is off limits as a conversation topic.
So maybe it’s the warmth of the room, or the comfort knowing that revealing my true feelings to this stranger will have no real impact on my life, or… it could be the way his hard features suddenly appear so soft as he looks down at me, waiting for an answer. Whatever the reason, I tell him the truth.
“Yes.”
He doesn't say anything, letting me continue if I want. So I do.
“If I’m being honest, I would love to leave Sweet Pick. I want to see what the world is hiding, and even more so, I want to add to it. I want my designs to be seen across the seas, worn all along the Grand Line. I want to inspire and help others feel like their true selves. I can’t do that here.”
Law keeps my gaze as I spill my secrets. There’s no judgment in his face about my lofty dreams, he just stares down at me. Afterwards, I feel naked. I’ve borne the feelings I’ve held in for so long, and now I can’t take them back. He’s heard them.
I’m not sure what I expect him to say after that.
His response is short, said with a soft, daring voice.
“Then come with me.”