#i really do need to progress more in my watch beyond skypiea though lmao i have things to see and shit to learn

[thychesters]

#wipwednesday! wanna take a peek at a reincarnation fic i’ll probably never touch again? cool. luffy has two sets of memories operating at the same time and zoro has no idea what this guy wants but is inexplicably drawn to him at the same time. hanging out at the beach feels kind of familiar though.

this whole fic is just a headache with messing with style. || text under the cut:

Luffy digs his toes into the sand, just out of reach of the surf. The water crests in gently, foamy waves, and an instinctual part of him cries that it’s dangerous to tempt fate, but the more realistic side says it isn’t like he hasn’t been to the beach before. He’s spent most of his summers getting burnt by the sun or spitting out a spray of salt water after Ace dunked his head under the waves.

There’s a different familiarity with it this time, this visit less punctuated by his brothers stealing chips from one another, and as he gazes out over the darkening horizon he thinks there’s another ship to look for, one that isn’t a sailboat or from the regatta the town hosts every year.

Beside him, Zoro shifts, granules sliding as he folds his legs, and he glances over to find him frowning. He seems to do that a lot, more than (usual, since he can’t recall when) he’s (last) seen him smile.

“I don’t know how to explain,” he starts, and then says, “I don’t know you,” which hurts about as much as it did the first time, and it makes Luffy want to yell or claw out his stomach. His head cants. “I feel like I do though. It’s like — it’s familiar, maybe we met once before and didn’t realize it.”

“I’ve never met you before,” Luffy says, and it sounds like a lie before he’s even finished saying it, and he’s never been a good liar. “Feels like I’ve known you a long time though.”

Zoro turns and (shoves his hat down over his head, leaving him teetering on the railing, and he laughs, pushing it back to find) his eyes carry a different weight to them, even the fake one he called too much attention to that first (second) time they met.

He remembers but doesn’t remember a courtyard, does but doesn’t a man bearing his teeth at him and swearing — no? pledging? denying? — an oath that meant more than he could have ever comprehended at the time. Except he doesn’t get it now. They’re strangers; they’re (incapable of being) nothing to one another.

It feels a little like falling backwards, but he’s been rooted to the ground the entire time.