A/N: WHEE! I haven't written a fanfic in a while... well, okay, I lie. I just didn't upload all of them... okay, I lie again. I only uploaded one, and that's all I plan to upload until HMAWLFG comes out. :-/ So, for now, this is all you get from me.

Disclaimer: I do not own AWL. I don't own Jack, or Nami, or anything else. The only thing I do own, at the moment, is the soda can I am drinking from... and only because I sneezed on it. I'm sure you wanted to know that. I also don't own the Maroon 5 song that this is titled after, I just named it that way because the song practically fits Nami perfectly. Oh, yes it does.

Delusionally happy.

That was the only way I could describe that boy, and the trait was evident as soon as I laid eyes on him. Jack was always happy, even on the days where you could see the misery in his face... or, when you thought you did.

He'd never be left alone, either. Maybe that was the thing that kept Muffy and Celia in a perpetual state of euphoria.

I'll say it here: I just saw him as an idiot. Happy lunatic.

I was content living out my days before he burst into the Valley and into my life.

Why was it that he'd never leave me alone?

He always seemed to be wherever I was, whether it was the bar, or Gustafa's yurt, and he always had the exact gift that I loved. I still have no idea what to do with all the statues and flowers and random knick-knacks that he gave me.

He'd never leave me alone. He'd greet me every morning, and he would ramble on until I cut in, asking him if he had something to do on the farm (only half-irritably, he'd even managed to grow on me). He would just flush, smile, and hurry off after a rushed goodbye.

Where was it that he stopped annoying me so...?

I'd eventually found that Jack was as ready to listen as he was to talk. Somehow, we'd begun to walk the path leading to the spring, pacing back and forth, our conversations occasionally broken by his quirky, childish smirk, or my own derisive snort.

There was more to him than the fake happiness, I discovered, and he slowly metamorphosed from happy lunatic to my closest friend. He'd managed to disarm me, make me open up so much more than I was used to, and to my surprise, I wasn't bothered at all.

The seasons flew by. Summer faded to fall, and fall darkened into winter. We still meandered to the spring and back, still discussed the trivial things like politics, art, those types of subjects. We both had our problems, and we were all too aware of it-- my issues with my father, his worries about a sick cow, or his crops, and our mutual problem with money (rather, the lack of).

These were topics we broached rarely, and even then, we only talked about them for a few minutes. It's difficult for me to talk about my problems, even with Jack, and at this point I knew that he was, inarguably, my best friend in the valley.

The effect this boy had on me, I tell you...

My life suddenly changed during one of our walks. We had stopped and sat on the banks of the spring, Jack describing an encounter between Daryl and one of his cows, when somehow, I noticed Jack for the first time. I realized how his hands danced nervously as he talked, how his already-unruly hair was even more disheveled by the flowing breeze, and the childish, energetic gleam in his eyes as he laughed at the outcome of the story. To my surprise, I actually felt my heart flutter.

This made me nervous. Had he managed to break down the barrier I had built around myself that much?

I don't believe I've ever truly experienced anything like it before, and I had only heard shallow descriptions of it in various poems Gustafa wrote on the subject, poems that I had written off as pathetic sapfests (even though I assured Gustafa that the poems were fabulous). Could I be...?

No. No way at all. He was my friend, and nothing more.
That was my silent mantra for the next few days.
"I don't love him. I don't love him, I don't love him..."

I awoke one morning to the sound of a shrill shriek. After dragging myself out of bed and dressing, I stumbled downstairs to make sure that nobody was being murdered in a grotesque fashion.
Oh, quite the contrary.
Jack had Celia in his arms, and they were spinning about, Celia holding a Blue Feather aloft in a triumphant gesture. Vesta and Marlin stood nearby, the former beaming with joy, and the latter looking like he was fighting the temptation to murder a certain happy farmer.

I don't know if it's possible to experience a full lack of emotion, but I wouldn't be surprised if that's what happened at that moment. Time stood still, so still that I didn't feel my heart beat at all.

Jack noticed me at the door of the Inn, and with an ecstatic smile, his lips formed the words "Nami, we're getting married!"

I heard him, but his words were slow, almost garbled, and for a terrible second I shared Marlin's homicidal intent, only directed at Celia... the next thing I felt was shock. Shock that I'd fully, purely hated Celia (Celia!), and shock at the lead that had formed in my stomach and the bitter acid that burned in my throat.

Nami. You don't love him. You don't love him...

"Oh, but I do."

The realization was a slap in the face.

Ha! I love him!

A dazed smile curved my lips as the confession rushed through my numbed mind, and I leaned gently against the doorframe. The smile relaxed into a smirk at the sight of Jack and Celia's concerned faces, and I brokenly gave my congratulations and well-wishes with that same insane smirk. It wasn't until everyone walked away that I slammed the door, raced to my room, and despairingly allowed the hot river of tears to cascade down my face.

I didn't stay for the wedding. I packed up and left before the sun even rose, and I haven't seen the Valley for two years.

Two whole years.
I'd wonder, those first few days of being away, if anyone missed me at all. My sense of logic would then kick in, telling the not-so-logical side of me that of course, people missed me. Gustafa probably did; Muffy, definitely. I eventually revised my question: did Jack miss me?
I don't know. A nagging voice within my mind says I won't find out unless I return.

I guess I have no choice. He is (or, was) my best friend, after all.

"Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile
And she will be loved
She will be loved."

"She Will Be Loved", Maroon 5