Sing Sweet Nightingale
𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
The afternoon sun was streaming through the high windows of the Marine headquarters, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air of the Vice-Admiral’s private study. [Reader] had arrived early for her shared chore duty, and rather than sitting idle, she had already set to work.
The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic, soothing swish-swish of the broom against the polished stone floor. As she worked, a familiar melody bubbled up in her throat—a song from an old, tattered storybook she’d loved as a child.
"Sing, sweet nightingale... sing, sweet nightingale..." Her voice was soft at first, a delicate thread of sound that echoed beautifully off the high, vaulted ceilings.
As she moved from the towering bookshelves to the heavy oak desk, she began to lose herself in the music. She picked up a feather duster, twirling gracefully as if the broom were a dance partner in a grand ballroom rather than a tool for chores. She swept the duster over the spines of ancient logbooks, her movements fluid and light, almost as if she were floating.
"High above me..." she sang, hitting a clear, crystalline note as she did a small, playful pirouette near the window.
Outside in the hallway, the frantic sound of boots hitting the floor signaled Koby’s arrival. He was late—held up by Garp’s seemingly endless training drills—and he was practically sprinting, his Marine cape billowing behind him like a white sail. He reached the heavy wooden door of the office and prepared to barge in with a thousand apologies tripping over his tongue.
"Y/N! I’m so sorry, I got held—"
The words died in his throat. He stopped so abruptly he nearly tripped over his own feet, his hand frozen on the brass latch. The door was cracked open just an inch, and through the sliver of space, he saw a sight that made his heart skip a beat and then settle into a steady, heavy thud.
He stood paralyzed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, but he didn't dare move. He watched [Reader] dance across the room, the sunlight catching the gold in her hair and the peaceful, happy expression on her face. He had always known she was kind, and he had always known she was beautiful, but seeing her like this—lost in a world of her own making, singing a melody so sweet it made his chest ache—felt like a secret, sacred gift.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his gaze softening behind his glasses. The exhaustion from his training—the bruises from the "fists of love," the sweat, the ringing of swords—seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet, overwhelming devotion. He could have watched her for hours, mesmerized by the way she moved and the pure, effortless sound of her voice.
"Sing, sweet nightingale..."
[Reader] finished the verse with a final, elegant spin, coming to a stop with her back to the door. She let out a happy little sigh, feeling accomplished with the now-sparkling office. But then, that prickling sensation of being watched crawled up her neck, a warm awareness that made the hair on her arms stand up.
She turned around slowly, her eyes widening as they landed on the door. Her breath hitched.
Koby was standing there, his hand still on the handle, his face flushed not just from running, but from the sheer, raw intensity of the look in his eyes.
"K-Koby!" she squeaked, her face instantly turning a shade of crimson that rivaled a summer sunset. She clutched the duster to her chest as if it could hide her sudden, skyrocketing embarrassment. "How... how long have you been standing there?"
Koby didn't stammer. He didn't look away or push up his glasses to hide his face. Instead, he pushed the door open fully and took a slow, deliberate step into the room, his gaze never leaving hers.
The silence that stretched between them wasn't awkward; it was heavy with everything he hadn't yet found the courage to say. He watched the way her chest rose and fell with her startled breaths, the way the sunlight made her eyes sparkle with unshed shyness.
He moved closer, his boots clicking softly on the floor she had just cleaned. He stopped just a foot away, close enough that the scent of salt air and fresh laundry clung to him, mixing with the faint lavender of her perfume. He looked at the feather duster she was still clutching like a shield and let out a soft, breathy laugh that was more a sigh of wonder than a sound of amusement.
"I didn't mean to intrude," he whispered, his voice low and thick with a sincerity that made her toes curl against the stone. "But I couldn't move. I’ve never... I've never heard anything so beautiful."
"I was just... I didn't think anyone was listening," she muttered, her gaze dropping to his boots, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "It’s just an old song my mother used to sing. It’s silly, really."
"It’s not silly," Koby countered firmly.
He took another step, closing the remaining distance until he was standing directly in her personal space. The air between them felt charged, hummed with a magnetic pull. He looked at her, really looked at her, as if he were seeing her clearly for the first time after a long storm. His hand reached out, hovering in the air between them for a heartbeat, trembling just a fraction as his fingers brushed the air near her face.
Gently, with a tenderness that felt almost like a prayer, Koby used two fingers to tilt [Reader]’s chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was raw and unprotected, filled with a sweetness that was almost overwhelming.
"I could listen to you sing forever," he murmured, the depth of his voice vibrating in her very bones. He leaned in a little closer, his forehead almost brushing hers, the heat from his skin radiating against her face. "I’ve spent all day in the sun, listening to shouting and clashing swords and the sounds of war... but coming here and hearing you? It feels like finally being home."
He gave her a small, lopsided smile—the kind that always made her feel like she was the only person in the entire world. "Don't stop because of me. Please. I think... I think I needed to hear that more than you know."
[Reader] let out a shaky, relieved breath, the embarrassment finally fading into a warm, glowing comfort. "Only if you help me finish the windows, Captain. I’ve done all the heavy lifting already."
Koby laughed, a soft, genuine sound that reached his eyes, and gently took the duster from her hand. His fingers lingered against hers for a second too long, a silent promise of more than just chores. "It’s a deal. But only if you keep singing. I think I work much faster when I have a nightingale to guide me."
