ARCADIA - END OF THE BEGINNING - CHAP 16
The evening air was cold as Smoker climbed the stairs to his apartment, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders like iron chains. It had been a brutal day—three pirate crews arrested, mountains of paperwork, and the constant, gnawing awareness of Y/N's absence.
He'd seen her at the base that morning. She'd walked past him in the hallway without a word, her face carefully blank, her eyes fixed straight ahead. The sight had twisted something in his chest, but pride and confusion had kept him silent.
She's the one who's angry, he'd told himself. She's the one who won't listen.
But now, as he unlocked his door and stepped inside, he expected to find her there anyway. Because despite everything, despite the fight and the hurt, they always came back to each other. That's how it had been for the past months—arguments dissolved into apologies, distance closed with touch, words left unsaid but understood.
The apartment was dark.
Smoker flicked on the light, his eyes scanning the familiar space. The couch where Y/N usually curled up with a book. The kitchen where she'd learned to make coffee the way he liked it. The bedroom where they'd spent countless nights tangled together, her soft breathing the only sound that could quiet his restless mind.
Empty.
All of it, empty.
"Y/N?" His voice echoed in the silence.
No answer.
Smoker walked through each room, checking—stupidly, desperately—as if she might be hiding somewhere. But there was no trace of her. No shoes by the door. No jacket draped over the chair. No half-finished translation work spread across his table.
She wasn't here.
She hadn't come.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. For three months, she'd been a constant presence in his life—in his home, in his thoughts, in the spaces between his carefully constructed walls. And now those spaces felt cavernous, echoing with her absence.
Smoker stood in the center of his living room, smoke curling from the cigars clenched between his teeth, and felt something close to panic rising in his chest.
Where is she?
He grabbed his coat and left.
Y/N's apartment building was quiet when Smoker arrived, most of the residents already settled in for the night. He took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding harder than it should have been.
When he reached her door, he knocked—three sharp raps that echoed in the narrow hallway.
"Y/N. Open the door."
Silence.
He knocked again, harder this time. "Y/N, I know you're in there. We need to talk."
Still nothing.
Smoker pressed his ear against the door, listening. He could hear movement inside—the soft creak of floorboards, the rustle of fabric. She was there. She was deliberately not answering.
"Y/N, please." His voice was rougher now, edged with something that might have been desperation. "Just open the door."
"Go away, Smoker." Her voice came through the wood, muffled but clear. And cold. So cold it made his chest tighten.
"Not until we talk."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"The hell there isn't." Smoker's hand pressed flat against the door, as if he could reach through it to her. "You can't just shut me out like this."
"I can do whatever I want." Y/N's voice was closer now, just on the other side of the door. "You don't get to decide when we talk. You don't get to show up here and demand anything from me."
"I'm not demanding—" Smoker stopped, forcing himself to breathe. "I just want to understand. What did I do that was so wrong?"
"You lied to me."
"I didn't—"
"You kept Cassidy a secret!" Y/N's voice cracked, and Smoker heard the tears beneath the anger. "You let me think—you let me believe that we were—and all this time you had someone else, someone with history, someone who—"
"It's not like that," Smoker said, his voice low and urgent. "Y/N, please, just let me explain—"
"No." The word was final. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to see you. Just leave me alone."
Smoker stood there, his forehead pressed against the door, smoke wreathing around him in agitated spirals. Every instinct screamed at him to respect her wishes, to walk away, to give her space.
But he couldn't.
Not like this. Not when he could hear her crying on the other side of the door. Not when three months of happiness was crumbling because of a misunderstanding he didn't know how to fix.
His body began to dissolve into smoke.
It was an abuse of his Devil Fruit powers—using them for personal reasons, invading someone's privacy. But Smoker was past caring about propriety. He needed to see her. Needed to make her understand.
The smoke slipped under the door, reforming on the other side.
Y/N stood in the center of her small living room, her arms wrapped around herself, tears streaming down her face. When she saw him materialize, her expression shifted from shock to fury.
"Get out!" she screamed. "You have no right—"
"I have every right," Smoker said, his voice rough. "You're mine, Y/N. And I'm not leaving until you listen to me."
"I'm not yours!" Y/N's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I'm not anyone's! And you—you're a liar!"
"I never lied to you."
"You kept her a secret! You let me walk around that base for days, watching her touch you, watching her laugh with you, wondering if I was losing my mind—and you never once thought to tell me the truth!"
"Because it wasn't relevant!" Smoker's voice rose to match hers. "What happened between me and Cassidy was before you. It's my past, my private life—"
"Your private life?" Y/N laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "She showed up at your office and you kicked me out! You spent nights with her and didn't come home! You let her parade around the base like she owned you, and I'm supposed to believe it's just your 'private life'?"
"Nothing happened with her," Smoker said, taking a step closer. "Not since you and I—"
"I don't believe you."
The words hung in the air between them, sharp and cutting.
Smoker felt something crack in his chest. "You don't believe me."
"Why should I?" Y/N's voice broke. "You've been lying to me for months. Keeping secrets. Shutting me out whenever it's convenient. How am I supposed to trust anything you say?"
"I never lied," Smoker repeated, his jaw tight. "I just didn't tell you about something that didn't concern you."
"Didn't concern me?" Y/N's eyes blazed. "Your ex-lover shows up and starts touching you, sitting on your lap, spending nights with you—and it doesn't concern me?"
"She's not my ex-lover, she was a casual arrangement—"
"Oh, that makes it so much better!" Y/N's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You had a fuck buddy who wants to marry you, and you didn't think I should know about that?"
Smoker's hands clenched at his sides. "Did I ask you about your past relationships? Did I demand to know every person you've slept with?"
Y/N went very still. "What?"
"You heard me." Smoker's voice was cold now, defensive walls slamming back into place. "I didn't interrogate you about your history. I didn't ask for a list of everyone you've been with. I respected your privacy. Why can't you respect mine?"
"Because I never lied to you!" Y/N shouted, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I never hid anyone from you! I never let someone from my past show up and make you feel like you were nothing!"
"That's not what I—"
"Yes, it is!" Y/N's voice cracked completely. "That's exactly what you did. You made me feel like I was crazy for being upset. Like I had no right to know about someone who clearly still has a claim on you. Like I was just—just some temporary thing that didn't matter enough to be honest with."
"You matter," Smoker said, his voice rough with emotion. "You matter more than anyone—"
"Then why didn't you tell me?" Y/N's question was barely a whisper now, all the fight draining out of her. "Why didn't you just tell me about her from the beginning? Why did you let me find out like this?"
Smoker opened his mouth, then closed it again. Because he didn't have a good answer. Because the truth was complicated and messy and he'd been trying to protect something—himself, maybe, or her, or the fragile thing they'd built together.
"I didn't think it mattered," he said finally. "It was over. It meant nothing. I didn't see the point in bringing up something that was already finished."
"But it wasn't finished," Y/N said, her voice hollow. "She's still here. She still wants you. And you—you didn't even try to make her leave. You just let her stay, let her touch you, let her—"
"I was trying to handle it quietly," Smoker interrupted. "I didn't want to make a scene. Didn't want to embarrass her or cause problems at the base."
"So you chose to protect her feelings over mine."
"That's not—" Smoker stopped, frustration boiling over. "You're twisting everything. You're making this into something it's not."
"Am I?" Y/N's eyes were red and swollen, her face blotchy with tears. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you had a choice between being honest with me or keeping your ex-fuck-buddy comfortable, and you chose her."
"I chose to handle a complicated situation with discretion," Smoker said through gritted teeth. "I'm sorry if that hurt you, but I don't owe you a detailed account of every person I've ever slept with."
"No," Y/N said quietly. "You don't. But you owed me honesty. You owed me the truth when she showed up. You owed me an explanation instead of shutting me out and making me feel like I was losing my mind."
They stared at each other across the small room, both breathing hard, both bleeding from wounds they'd inflicted on each other.
"I can't do this," Y/N said finally, her voice barely audible. "I can't be with someone who keeps secrets from me. Who makes me feel like I'm always on the outside, always guessing, always wondering what else you're not telling me."
"Y/N—"
"Get out." She turned away from him, her shoulders shaking. "Please. Just get out."
"We're not done talking about this."
"Yes, we are." Y/N's voice was flat, emotionless. "We're done. All of it. I can't—I can't keep doing this. It hurts too much."
Smoker felt panic rising in his throat. "You don't mean that."
"I do." Y/N still wouldn't look at him. "I mean it. We're done. Leave."
"Y/N, please—"
"Leave!" The word was a scream, raw and desperate. "Get out of my apartment! I don't want to see you anymore!"
Smoker stood frozen, every instinct screaming at him to stay, to fight, to make her understand. But the look on her face when she finally turned to him—devastated, broken, utterly done—stopped him cold.
He'd done this. He'd hurt her this badly. And he didn't know how to fix it.
"Fine," he said, his voice rough. "I'll go."
He dissolved into smoke and slipped back under the door, reforming in the hallway. Behind him, he heard Y/N collapse, heard the sound of her sobbing—deep, wrenching sobs that tore at something fundamental in his chest.
Smoker stood in the hallway for a long moment, his hand pressed against the door, smoke curling around him in agitated spirals.
Then he turned and walked away.
The next morning at Marine Headquarters was suffocating.
Y/N arrived early, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses that didn't quite conceal the redness and swelling. She moved through the hallways like a ghost, speaking to no one, her face carefully blank.
Smoker was already in his office when she passed, his door open, smoke visible from the hallway. Y/N didn't look. Didn't slow her pace. Just kept walking as if he didn't exist.
In his office, Smoker watched her pass, his jaw tight, his hands clenched on his desk hard enough to make the wood creak.
The Marines noticed immediately.
Tashigi tried to approach Y/N in the translation office, but Y/N politely but firmly sent her away. "I'm fine. Just busy. Please."
The younger Marines whispered in corners, their eyes darting between Y/N's closed door and Smoker's office.
"Did they break up?"
"Must have. Did you see her face?"
"Captain looks like he wants to kill someone."
"Probably himself."
By noon, the entire base knew something had shattered between their captain and the translator. The tension was palpable, oppressive, making everyone walk on eggshells.
Y/N ate lunch alone, forcing down food that tasted like ash.
When Cassidy saw Y/N eating alone in that small break room, a wide smile spread across her face. She entered the room, gently pushing the door open, but slammed it shut with a deafening noise that startled Y/N. She pulled up a chair next to Y/N and began to speak.
“You understand now, don’t you, you little fool. You’re just a replacement for Smoker, just another girl filling the void he has in his bed when I’m not around. You can cry as much as you want, sleep with him as much as you want, kiss him as much as you want—he is mine, and I am his, and you belong to no one. You are nothing to him, and nothing to me. So leave us alone.”
Cassidy stood up, looked at Y/N while laughing, then slammed the door of the room shut, leaving Y/N in shock, hot tears streaming down her red cheeks—tears of shame, but also of anger.
Smoker didn't eat at all.
They passed each other twice that day—once in the hallway, once near the records room. Both times, they looked through each other as if the other person were made of glass. Invisible. Nonexistent.
It was worse than fighting.
It was the death of something that had been alive.
Cassidy noticed the shift immediately.
She'd been staying at a small inn near the docks, biding her time, waiting for the right moment. And now, watching Smoker's thunderous expression and Y/N's hollow eyes, she knew her moment had come.
That evening, she found Smoker at the bar he frequented—a quiet place two blocks from the base. He sat alone at the counter, a glass of whiskey in front of him, smoke curling from his cigars in thick, agitated clouds.
"Mind if I join you?" Cassidy asked, sliding onto the stool beside him without waiting for an answer.
Smoker grunted, which she took as permission.
"Rough day?" she asked, signaling the bartender for her own drink.
"You could say that."
Cassidy studied his profile—the tight set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand gripped his glass like he wanted to crush it. "Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Want to drink about it?"
That got a ghost of a smile. "Already am."
They sat in silence for a while, drinking. Cassidy knew better than to push. Smoker had always been like this—closed off, guarded, needing space to process before he could articulate anything. So she waited, patient and calculating.
"She doesn't understand," Smoker said finally, his voice rough.
Cassidy didn't need to ask who 'she' was. "Understand what?"
"That the past is the past. That what we had—" He gestured vaguely between them. "—was different. Separate. It has nothing to do with her."
"Did you tell her that?"
"I tried." Smoker drained his glass and signaled for another. "She wouldn't listen. Just kept accusing me of lying, of keeping secrets."
"Were you?" Cassidy asked carefully. "Keeping secrets?"
Smoker's jaw tightened. "I didn't tell her about us. About what we were. I didn't think it mattered."
"But it did matter," Cassidy said softly. "To her."
"Apparently." Smoker's voice was bitter. "She thinks I chose you over her. That I was protecting your feelings instead of being honest with her."
Cassidy's heart beat faster. This was it—the opening she'd been waiting for. "Were you?"
Smoker looked at her, his eyes dark and troubled. "I was trying to handle a complicated situation without making it worse. I didn't want drama. Didn't want to hurt anyone."
"And instead you hurt her anyway."
"Yeah." Smoker's voice was hollow. "I did."
Cassidy placed her hand on his arm, her touch light but deliberate. "I'm sorry. I never meant to cause problems between you two."
Smoker didn't pull away. "Not your fault."
"Isn't it?" Cassidy's fingers traced small circles on his forearm. "I came here knowing you were with someone. I should have stayed away."
"You had work at the base. You had every right to be here."
"Maybe." Cassidy leaned closer, her voice dropping to something intimate. "But I could have been more careful. Could have kept my distance. Instead I—" She laughed softly, self-deprecatingly. "I guess I hoped maybe things hadn't changed as much as I thought."
Smoker finally looked at her fully. "Cassidy—"
"I know, I know." She held up her free hand. "You're with her. Or you were. I don't even know anymore." Her thumb stroked his arm. "But Smoker, we were good together. Easy. No complications, no expectations, no—"
"No feelings," Smoker finished, his voice flat.
"Exactly." Cassidy's smile was sad. "No feelings to get hurt. No misunderstandings. Just... us. Simple."
Smoker stared into his glass, and Cassidy could see the war playing out behind his eyes. The hurt. The anger. The bone-deep exhaustion of trying to navigate emotions he'd spent years avoiding.
"She called me a liar," he said quietly.
"Are you?"
"No." The word was immediate, defensive. "I just—I didn't tell her everything. That's not the same as lying."
"Isn't it?" Cassidy's voice was gentle, understanding. "Sometimes the things we don't say hurt more than the things we do."
Smoker's hand clenched around his glass. "I don't know how to do this. Relationships. Feelings. All of it. I told her from the beginning I wasn't good at this."
"Maybe you're not," Cassidy agreed. "But you tried. That counts for something."
"Not enough, apparently."
They sat in silence again, Cassidy's hand still on his arm, her presence a familiar comfort in the chaos of his thoughts.
"Come on," she said finally, finishing her drink. "Let's get out of here. Go somewhere quieter."
Smoker should have said no. Should have recognized the danger in her suggestion, in the way she was looking at him, in the warmth of her hand on his skin.
But he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of feeling like he was failing at something he'd never wanted to try in the first place.
"Yeah," he said, standing. "Okay."
The next four days followed the same pattern.
Cassidy would find Smoker—at the bar, in his office after hours, walking the docks alone. She'd sit with him, talk with him, touch him in ways that were just shy of inappropriate. Her hand on his shoulder. Her laugh close to his ear. Her body pressed against his side as they walked.
And Smoker, angry and hurt and too proud to chase after Y/N, let her.
On the third day, Cassidy came to his office in the late afternoon. Most of the Marines had already left for the day, the base quiet and dim. She closed the door behind her and perched on the edge of his desk, her skirt riding up slightly.
"Working late again?" she asked, her voice teasing.
"Always." Smoker didn't look up from the report he was reading.
Cassidy reached out and plucked one of the cigars from his mouth, taking a drag herself before handing it back. The gesture was intimate, familiar—something she'd done a hundred times before.
"You know," she said, sliding off the desk to stand behind his chair, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. "You're going to work yourself to death if you keep this up."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." Her hands began to knead the tense muscles of his shoulders, and despite himself, Smoker felt some of the tension ease. "You're miserable. And you're taking it out on yourself."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
"You could have sex with me."
Smoker's jaw tightened. "What? No?"
"Are you sure about that?"
Cassidy's hands stilled on his shoulders. Then, slowly, she moved around the chair to face him. Before Smoker could react, she'd settled herself on his lap, her arms looping around his neck.
"Cassidy—"
"Shh." Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm not trying to start anything. I just—I hate seeing you like this."
Smoker should have pushed her off. Should have told her this was inappropriate, that he was still—what? Still with Y/N? They'd broken up. Y/N had made that clear. So what was stopping him?
Nothing, apparently.
He let Cassidy stay where she was, her weight familiar and uncomplicated on his lap. Let her fingers card through his hair. Let her presence soothe the raw edges of his anger and hurt.
"That's better," Cassidy murmured, her face close to his. "See? This is easy. No drama. No accusations. Just us."
Smoker closed his eyes, smoke curling between them.
Easy.
God, he missed easy.
Y/N saw them on the fourth day.
She'd been working late, trying to lose herself in translations, trying not to think about the empty space in her bed or the way her apartment felt too quiet without Smoker's presence. When she finally left her office, the base was nearly deserted, most of the Marines having gone home hours ago.
She was walking past Smoker's office when she heard the laugh.
Cassidy's laugh.
Y/N's feet stopped moving. Her heart stopped beating.
The pain that lanced through her chest was so sharp she actually gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. She turned and fled before either of them could see her, tears already streaming down her face.
On the fifth day, Y/N couldn't take it anymore.
She would talk to him. Really talk to him. Tell him that she missed him, that she was sorry for some of the things she'd said, that maybe they could find a way through this if they both tried.
It was terrifying. It required swallowing her pride, risking more hurt. But the alternative—this hollow, aching existence without him—was worse.
The base was nearly empty when she made her way to the third floor. Most of the Marines had left for the day, the hallways dark and quiet. Light spilled from beneath Smoker's office door, and Y/N's heart hammered against her ribs as she approached.
She raised her hand to knock, then hesitated.
What if he doesn't want to see me? What if he's moved on? What if—
She pushed the door open before she could lose her nerve.
And her world shattered.
Smoker and Cassidy were kissing.
Not a quick kiss. Not a friendly kiss. A real kiss—deep and intimate, Cassidy's hand tangled in his hair, her body pressed against his, his hands on her ass, pulling her closer.
Moans escaped, muffled yet persistent, as though carried by an intimacy too deep to be merely overheard. It sounded as if they were completely lost in one another, cut off from the rest of the world, as if nothing existed beyond that suspended moment they shared.
Time seemed to stop.
Y/N stood frozen in the doorway, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to do anything but stare at the scene in front of her.
Then Cassidy's eyes opened. She saw Y/N. And she smiled.
It was a slow, triumphant smile—the smile of someone who'd won a game Y/N hadn't even known she was playing. Cassidy didn't pull away. Didn't look embarrassed or guilty. She just smiled, her hand still in Smoker's hair, her lips still close to his.
The movement made Smoker open his eyes. He saw Y/N. And the expression that crossed his face—shock, horror, something that might have been panic—would have been funny if Y/N's heart wasn't currently being ripped from her chest.
"Y/N—" Smoker pushed Cassidy away, stumbling to his feet. "Wait—"
But Y/N was already turning, already running.
She heard him behind her, heard his boots pounding against the floor, heard him calling her name. But she was faster, fueled by adrenaline and heartbreak and the desperate need to get away before she completely fell apart.
"Y/N, stop! Please!"
She burst through the base's main doors and into the night, the cold air hitting her face like a slap. She kept running, her lungs burning, her vision blurred with tears.
Smoker caught up to her two blocks from the base, his hand closing around her arm.
"Y/N, please, just listen—"
She spun on him, yanking her arm free, and the look on her face made him take a step back.
"Don't touch me," she said, her voice shaking with fury and pain. "Don't you dare touch me."
"It's not what it looked like—"
"It's exactly what it looked like!" Y/N's voice rose to a scream. "You were kissing her! I saw you!"
"She kissed me—"
"And you didn't stop her!" Tears streamed down Y/N's face. "You didn't push her away, you didn't tell her no, you just—you just let her—"
"I was angry," Smoker said desperately. "I was hurt and angry and I wasn't thinking—"
"So you kissed her." Y/N's laugh was broken, jagged. "You kissed the woman you swore meant nothing to you. The woman you said was in the past. You kissed her because you were angry at me."
"Y/N—"
"How long?" Y/N demanded. "How long have you been with her? Since our fight? Before?"
"Nothing happened before—"
"I don't believe you!" Y/N's voice cracked completely. "I don't believe anything you say anymore! You're a liar, Smoker. You lied about her, you lied about us, and now you're lying about this!"
"I'm not lying," Smoker said, his voice rough with emotion. "I swear to you, nothing happened with her until—"
"Until what? Until you decided I wasn't worth the effort anymore? Until you decided she was easier, simpler, less complicated?"
"That's not—"
"Leave me alone," Y/N said, her voice suddenly flat, emotionless. "I mean it this time. Leave me alone forever. I don't want to see you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want anything to do with you ever again."
"Y/N, please—"
"Forever, Smoker." Y/N looked at him, and the emptiness in her eyes was worse than any anger. "I want you out of my life. Completely. Permanently. Forever."
She turned and walked away, her spine straight, her steps steady despite the tears still streaming down her face.
Smoker stood frozen on the dark street, watching her disappear into the night, every instinct screaming at him to follow, to fight, to make her understand.
But he didn't.
Because the look in her eyes had told him everything he needed to know.
He'd lost her.
Completely. Permanently. Forever.
When Smoker finally made his way back to the base, moving like a man in a daze, he found Cassidy waiting in his office. She was leaning against his desk, her expression satisfied, almost smug.
"That went well," she said lightly.
Smoker stared at her, seeing her clearly for the first time in days. Seeing the calculation in her eyes, the deliberate cruelty in her smile.
"You planned this," he said, his voice hollow.
"I took advantage of an opportunity," Cassidy corrected, pushing off the desk to approach him. "You were angry. Hurt. Vulnerable. I just... helped things along."
She reached out, her hand sliding across his abdomen, her touch possessive and triumphant.
"I told you that you're mine," she whispered, her smile widening. "I told you from the beginning. You and me, Smoker. That's how it's supposed to be. No complications. No feelings. No little translators getting in the way."
Smoker looked down at her hand on his stomach, at the satisfied gleam in her eyes, at the woman he'd once found uncomplicated and easy.
And felt nothing but disgust.
"Get out," he said quietly.
Cassidy blinked. "What?"
"Get out of my office. Get out of this base. Get out of Loguetown." Smoker's voice was cold, final. "We're done. Whatever we had, whatever you think we had—it's over. Permanently."
"You don't mean that—"
"I mean every word." Smoker stepped back, away from her touch. "You used me. You manipulated me. You deliberately hurt someone I—" His voice caught. "Someone who mattered. And I let you. I was so caught up in my own anger and pride that I let you use me as a weapon against her."
"She was never right for you," Cassidy said, her voice hardening. "She was weak. Needy. She would have held you back—"
"She was everything," Smoker interrupted, his voice breaking. "And I destroyed it. I destroyed her. Because I was too stupid and too proud to see what you were doing."
He turned away, his hands braced on his desk, his head bowed.
"Get out," he repeated. "And don't come back."
Cassidy stood there for a long moment, her expression shifting from triumph to confusion to anger. Then, with a sharp laugh, she grabbed her coat and left, slamming the door behind her.
Smoker stood alone in his office, surrounded by smoke and silence and the ruins of everything he'd ever wanted.
And for the first time in years, Captain Smoker—who never cried, who never broke, who kept the world at arm's length to protect himself from exactly this kind of pain—put his head in his hands and wept.
