Notes: 'Season in the Sun' requires requires at least the first 12 tankubons' worth of reading to make any kind of sense at all; if you haven't read that far or seen an equivalent amount of the anime, it's not worth your time. And yes, this could compete for the oddest One Piece yaoi pairing ever.

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SEASON IN THE SUN

I have heard that in your part of the world, they call them 'summer romances'- because they last for only a brief torrid season before blowing away like a mess of dried-up leaves. Yet they're the ones you remember, the ones you call to mind late at night when seeking the lonely comfort of your own hands. Not the longer, deeper, or more complex 'relationships' that wax and wane each month, but those single snapshots of love and lust that rattle you forever like the memory of a shooting star glimpsed from your bedroom window when you were five.

I have a picture here, actually- one of his gunners fancied himself an artist, and drew the two of us standing together with this fish I had just hauled in. 272 kilos, and a lot of it went bad and had to be thrown out before we could eat it. In the background, you can see where he started to sketch the lighthouse, and then gave up when the perspective came out all wrong. At that time, Laboon was no bigger than that fish, although he ate a good third of it himself. Greedy little fella, nowhere near full grown.

I knew I loved him the moment I saw him with that whale. Pirates came and went all the time- brave pirates, weak pirates, mean pirates, naive pirates, pirates I knew wouldn't last a week, and pirates who took to Grandline like it was pie in the sky. Pirates who came and went with treasure, scurvy, news, and social diseases; dreams of a promised land filling their sails and their tattered empty pockets. But none of them came with baggage like that- the kind that required kindness rather than strength. A baby whale isn't a pet- he'll live longer and need more than you ever will. I'd like to think that's what he was doing when he left Laboon with me; worrying about the little guy's future rather than just dumping responsibility.

There's no way I can ask him now, anyway. It's been almost twenty years since I heard from a torn-up floatila wanting the hell out of Grandline that he had sailed off into the calm belts, lord knows why. I think I know, but try not to dwell too much on it. I'm an old man now, and I know that some things have to be over when it is time for them to be over, one way or another. So let me keep my evenings around the fire, my drinking contests on the beach, my torn-up knees from when we tried to do it in the bushes, my nights spent talking with him after everyone else had gone to sleep. Let me keep these summer visions, dried and preserved and put away for the long cold winter ahead. After all, it's why I stayed with Laboon all these years: I know exactly how he feels.

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'My lover's gone~

His boots no longer by my door.

He left at dawn~

And as I slept I felt him go.

Returns no more~

I will not watch the ocean,

My lover's gone~

No earthly ships will ever bring him home again,

Bring him home again.'

- 'My Lover's Gone', by Dido