This will make absolutely no sense if you haven't read Teruul's fanfic, Race for One Piece. So do that before you read this. Cheers.
She watched him from a few meters away, watched his back as he sat on the quarterdeck roof, his own attention placed on the horizon. The frisk ocean breeze ruffled his snowy hair, and if she really concentrated, she could hear his slow breathing, feel his relaxation. The sun stood high in the sky, and everything, the sea and the ship, was bathed in light and silence, oddly enough for this hour. It was as if the ship was the sole object in existence at this very second.
He was aware of her presence, she was sure of it. Hardly anything could ever pass unnoticed by him, which was ironic, considering he so rarely opened his eyes to look around. Still, he did nothing to acknowledge the fact that she was there.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly when he straightened his back and stretched his arms, humming in content. He braced his hands behind himself and leaned back to make himself more comfortable, drumming his fingers against the flooring every now and then.
It was like watching an animal. Not like how a predator watches her prey, but how a young child watches a cat. Full of curiosity for what the cat might do next, contemplation about whether or not to reach out a hand and stroke the cat's soft fur. A completely different creature from herself, but still with a heart, just like hers.
She took a few soundless steps closer to him and crouched down, now barely a meter away from his hands. She watched the slender fingers, the pale skin and calloused tips, the faint traces of dried blood along the cuticles. So often these hands were soaked with red, the red of his enemies, and no matter how much red there was on his skin, he didn't care. The strong scent of iron, the scent of life was already too familiar to him. If she wouldn't tell him to wash it off, he'd let it stay until it would become part of his skin, unable to eradicate.
He was one who welcomed the red. While she knew her fair amount of stealing others' lives, she never welcomed it. Even those she hated, she never wished dead. Even if she said she wanted their lives, she never did. He was different. He wanted them, he craved them, for reasons she could only begin to fathom. She was curious, sure, but she also knew it was forbidden to ask. He had never said so, but she knew.
Sometimes she wondered if he'd tell her. They had been together every day for a long time now, and though she could never be certain, she hoped he trusted her. Although she never said it, she trusted her life with him. And she hoped he could feel that way too, even if not this minute, this day. She doubted many others could see it, he had changed. Ever so little at the time, he was changing. Slowly turning away from that addiction to the deep red warmth, slowly turning towards her instead.
She smiled softly as she remembered every time he'd irritated her, every time he made fun of her, every time she felt an overwhelming need to smack some sense into him. Never before had she met anyone with equal capacity to get under her skin, and even if she tried, she couldn't be angry with him for long. There was something about him, something most people would hate, that she just didn't stand a chance against. It won her over with ease, even when she resisted.
Slowly, she reached out her right hand and placed it next to his. Not touching, but only two millimeters apart. Hers was smaller than his, and again, she smiled when she remembered how he'd pointed out that exact feature when she'd asked how he knew she was a girl. He'd called it observation, and again, she marveled at how much of the world he could see through closed eyes.
Almost subconsciously, she moved her hand so her fingers covered his. There was absolutely no reactions on his part. He didn't flinch, he didn't turn around, in fact, he didn't show any signs of even knowing she was there. So she traced her fingers over his skin, ever so lightly brushing them over his knuckles, soundlessly marveling at the difference of the color of their skin. Having grown up in North Blue, she was paler than most, but compared to him, it looked like she was from the south. His skin was almost ghostly pale, and again, she wondered where he had been raised.
And by whom.
She ran her fingers along the back of his hand, feeling the slight bump of the bones and veins, and she smiled for the third time already when she wondered what flowed through his body was red like all others'. A creature as foreign as him must surely host another color. Then she thought back to their first meeting, where she'd been the one to spill his blood, and what color had it been if not red?
She sighed and moved further up, and when she stroked his wrist, she felt the first sign of life from him. The pulse beat underneath her fingers, a slow, rhythmical, soothing pace, and she was quick to lose her concentration and just sit there, holding his arm, captivated by his calmness. She knew only a fraction of his inner turmoils, so how could he be so calm? If she'd gone through what she thought he'd been through, she would've lost her mind long ago.
She must've been holding onto him for longer than she realized, because her train of thought was suddenly interrupted by his hushed voice. "What're ya doin', sweetheart?"
Although that nickname was one she despised, again, she couldn't bring herself to get even a little angry at him. "Nothing much," she replied. "Just checking your pulse."
"Why?"
"No reason." She wondered whether he was irritated by her touch or not, and she decided to play safe and withdraw her hand, but she could barely get to loosen her grip before he turned his hand around and pressed his own fingers up against her wrist. Her eyes widened at the strange sensation that spread from where his skin connected with hers, and she could feel her own pulse pick up speed, even if just a little.
"'S faster than mine," he said, the tiniest hint of spite in his voice, as if he'd won by being calmer. "Got somethin' on yer mind, sweetheart?"
Again, she felt her heartbeat quicken, but this time, it was because the question she had in mind could bear disastrous results. But she still wanted to ask, she wanted so much to know. She parted her lips and closed them again, not getting enough time to prepare before he turned around in his seat, his fingers never leaving her skin. "'S gettin' faster, ya know," he jingled, his voice like a wind chime's toll, and she swallowed thickly to steel herself for the following seconds. "Ain't ya gonna say anythi-"
"What happened to you when you were young?"
She regretted uttering the words the very second they'd left her lips. The wide smile on his lips turned stiff, and if he'd open his eyes to look at her, she knew they irises would be trembling ever so slightly. Now, however, she just waited, her gaze on his face, waited for any other reaction, and if she hadn't been searching for one, she would've missed the irregular beat of his pulse, lasting only for two seconds.
She felt his nails graze the skin of her wrist, and she held her breath when he leaned closer, his lips so close to her ear she could almost feel them. "Jus' like a girl's secrets ain't fer a man ta spoil, 't goes the other way 'round as well, sweetheart," he whispered, his warm breath triggering a wave of goosebumps down her spine.
He lingered next to her ear for half a second longer than necessary before retreating, his smile back to its usual, smug self. She didn't know whether to take offense by the fact that he'd just made a jab at her gender, or to feel relieved by the fact that he wasn't upset by her question. "Of course you won't tell," she sighed.
Because it's forbidden to ask.
"Tell ya what?"
She clicked her tongue at his attempt to feign ignorance, and he released a bright chuckle and turned back around. She glared at his back, and with a final sigh, she turned around as well and scooted closer so she could lean her back against his. Her hand never left his arm, and he kept his fingers against her skin, both of them constantly feeling each others' lives beating underneath their skin.
"Nothing at all, Kitsune."
This was gonna be a short (300 words) thing to vent my feels for Kitsune and Atalaya, but then it got a bit longer... and I wasn't even gonna post it, but then... I dunno, I've never actually considered the KitAta ship, but this idea popped into my mind like a ready-written text, so... Hope you like this, Teruul!