I tossed and turned in my bed, the sheets twisted around me like an unruly vine, desperately trying to find the elusive embrace of sleep. Just when my eyelids began to feel heavy and I was a breath away from slipping into slumber, an intrusive jolt of anxiety would rip through my mind, yanking me back to consciousness. The tension coiled tightly in my body screamed that surrendering to sleep might lead to a repeat of that harrowing night, making restful slumber seem like an impossibility. I was utterly exhausted, craving the sweet release of sleep, yet paralyzed by a fear that kept me awake.
In a dazed state, I felt my body move almost autonomously, wrapped tightly in my blanket like a cocoon. It was as if I were sleepwalking, navigating out of my room with a sluggish grace that mimicked a ghost drifting through the halls of the ship. Arriving in front of a door, I stood in silence, staring blankly at it as if trying to unlock its secrets with sheer will. After a moment of hesitation, I gently thumped my forehead against the door instead of knocking with my hands like a normal person.
Time seemed warped in that space between desperation and dazed fatigue. When nothing happened, I grew impatient and pressed my forehead against the wood again, this time with greater force, the sound echoing softly in the corridor. This cycle repeated endlessly, my resolve crumbling with each quiet moment until I was on the verge of slamming my head into the door in frustration. Just as I prepared to unleash all my force, the door unexpectedly swung open, and I felt myself being yanked from the air, caught in a firm embrace.
Still half-conscious, I was cradled like a child, a strange sense of safety washing over me. My head instinctively rested on their shoulder, and I longed for them to chase away the swirling darkness that nestled within me, offering solace against the shadows that haunted my thoughts.
"Hey, sweetheart, what are you doing up so late?" Shanks asked, his voice soft and playful, yet laced with a subtle hint of exasperation. It was the kind of tone that soothed my whole being. I could feel the comforting warmth radiating from him as he spoke, his words wrapping around me like a cozy blanket on a chilly night.
He adjusted his hold, pulling me closer and gently tucking my head into the crook of his neck. There, nestled against him, I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a rhythmic sound that filled me with a sense of security, soothing my weary mind after a long day. As I settled against him, I felt the tension that had been coiling in my body begin to dissolve, replaced by an enveloping peace that wrapped around me like a tender embrace.
I instinctively knew I was drifting off into a deep and restful sleep, one that would be free of the nightmares that often haunted me. In this moment, I felt entirely safe, cocooned in his warmth.
"Should I change your nickname from sweetheart to baby?" Shanks teased, a light chuckle escaping his lips. It was a playful suggestion that made me give a small snort, the last thing I registered before surrendering to the gentle pull of sleep in his arms.
…
Waking up, I was immediately aware of a deep ache in my bones, as if my body had transformed into a pile of mush overnight. It felt strange—like all the tension I had carried with me for so long had melted away, leaving only a lingering heaviness. Today, my bed enveloped me in warmth that felt almost excessive, comforting yet distinctly different from my usual morning routine. The pillow, which I instinctively reached for, was not the soft and fluffy cloud I remembered; instead, it was surprisingly firm, almost solid, making it uncomfortable to press my face against it.
As I tried to shake off the remnants of sleep, a rhythmic thumping caught my attention—the steady beat echoing nearby, tempting me to drift back into slumber. With a small huff of frustration, I attempted to turn my body, but to my shock, I found myself unable to move. What I had initially assumed was a weighty blanket turned out to be something else entirely—something far more substantial and secure.
"??????" I jolted awake, heart racing. That wasn't a blanket; it was an arm! My eyes widened in disbelief as I took in the reality of my situation: my pillow wasn't a pillow at all, but the firm, muscular chest of a man, his heart beating rhythmically beneath my cheek.
"Go back to sleep," a deep voice murmured just inches away, the warmth of his breath brushing softly against my forehead, sending a shiver down my spine. The sound wrapped around me like a gentle cocoon, urging me to surrender once again to the cozy embrace of sleep.
"SHANKS!" I gasped in shock, adrenaline flooding my system as panic surged through me. My fight-or-flight response kicked in, and every instinct screamed at me to escape. But why was he in my bed? Confusion swirled in my mind as I tried to piece together the events that led me here. I scanned the dimly lit room, the familiar scent of him lingering in the air, but it only deepened my disorientation. Half a beat later, clarity struck; I wasn't in my bed at all—I was nestled beneath the covers in his. Reality settled in like a brick to the face, and I could feel my heart racing from shock.
With a low grunt, Shanks shifted his body toward me, pulling me closer in a way that made it difficult to move. The warmth radiating from him was palpable, and I could feel his breath against my cheek. "You came knocking so late at night, sweetheart. Let me sleep a little longer," he complained, his voice a mix of irritation and playfulness. His arm, the one I had unwittingly used as a pillow, curled around my head, his palm gently but firmly covering my eyes, like a shield from the world.
Panic clutched at my chest, rendering me nearly paralyzed. Despite the comfort I found in Shanks's presence during my panic attacks, the intimacy of being cradled in this way felt overwhelming. I was accustomed to affectionate gestures—hugs shared with crewmates, cozy moments with Uta, playful ruffles of my hair, or casual pats on the shoulder. But this—this was different. Sleeping and cuddling in the confines of a bed crossed a boundary I had always maintained. Since joining the crew, the notion of love or intimacy with a fellow mate felt almost blasphemous to me.
My heart recoiled at the thought of romance; it was as if every fiber of my being rejected the very idea. The love I harbored for my crew was of a different nature altogether—pure loyalty, unwavering honesty, and a profound, unyielding devotion. It wasn't the kind of love you felt for a partner; it was the kind that bound us together as we journeyed across the vast seas, a camaraderie filled with laughter and shared dreams. In that moment, overwhelmed yet acutely aware, I grappled with the realization that while I could deeply care for my crew, the romantic gestures that felt so natural in the company of others were fraught with complexity here.
A thought suddenly crossed my mind, stirring my curiosity. Even though the others rarely embraced one another while they slept, there was an undeniable closeness that often led them to doze off in tangled heaps, bodies piled atop one another like a warm, living quilt. I frequently notice the occasional fiasco of a few crew members who would occasionally drift off to sleep, their arms wrapped around empty bottles of alcohol, perhaps clinging to the remnants of cozy memories or the fleeting comfort of inebriation.
As I sat with these observations, I felt a familiar wave of lethargy wash over me, heavy and soothing. It was as though the weight of my emotions had been gently pressed down, dulling the sharp edges of anxiety that once pricked at my mind. I took several deep breaths, allowing the air to fill my lungs and cleanse my thoughts. It dawned on me that it wasn't as serious as I had first imagined. In truth, my body was likely simply seeking the safest and most comfortable nook to succumb to sleep—a primal survival instinct.
With that revelation, the stress that had been gnawing at me dissipated like mist in the morning sun. I settled into a more comfortable position, feeling Shanks's warm palm covering my eyes, coaxing me as the pull of slumber beckoned me back into its warmth. After all, I had missed many nights of restful sleep—each one a small debt I owed to my weary self. So, I surrendered to the embrace of sleep, drifting off through the early morning and allowing the gentle tide of fatigue to wash over me once more.