Nami prided herself on being that girl at the gym. The one who walked in with a purpose, knew exactly what she was doing, and always looked effortlessly good while doing it. She had the perfect balance—strong, graceful, and just sweaty enough to prove she worked hard without looking like she had been through a war.

And she knew people noticed.

Men snuck glances at her while she stretched. Women sometimes asked her for form tips. Even the trainers occasionally complimented her dedication.

But one person seemed completely immune to her existence.

Zoro.

The gym god.

The man was built like a tank—broad shoulders, sculpted abs, arms that looked like they could bench press a car. He trained like a machine, always focused, always lifting absurdly heavy weights without breaking a sweat. He rarely talked to anyone and never looked around.

And it infuriated her.

Because for weeks—no, months—Nami had tried every trick in the book to get his attention.

And nothing.

Not a glance. Not a nod. Not even the slightest flicker of acknowledgment.

At first, she went for the classic tactics.

She made sure to time her workouts so they coincided with his. If he was deadlifting? She was nearby doing Romanian deadlifts. If he was at the squat rack? Oh wow, she needed to squat too.

She even "accidentally" dropped her water bottle right next to his bench.

He picked it up and handed it back to her.

Without looking.

Okay. Fine. Maybe subtlety wasn't the way.

Guys respected strength, right? So Nami loaded up her weights, making sure to pick a machine right in his line of sight.

She did leg presses at double her usual weight, struggling through the last few reps. Surely, surely he would be impressed by her sheer determination.

Zoro didn't even glance up.

Worse—he increased his own weights.

Was that… a flex? On her?

One day, she positioned herself directly in front of him, taking her time with some flexibility stretches. Arching her back, tilting her head just so, making sure her movements were fluid and effortless.

No reaction.

He was more interested in adjusting the plates on his barbell than the literal masterpiece stretching in front of him.

Maybe he was into the whole effortless beauty thing. So one day, after an intense workout, she casually walked past him, sipping her water bottle, hair damp, skin glistening.

And she tripped.

Over nothing.

It wasn't even a dramatic fall—just an awkward stumble that made her flail slightly before catching herself.

Did Zoro notice?

No.

But the random old dude on the treadmill sure did.

Nami wanted to scream.

At this point, it wasn't even about attraction anymore—it was about principle.

She refused to be ignored by anyone, especially some ridiculously buff gym bro who walked around like he was in his own personal war zone.

So she tried one last thing.

She made sure to pick a barbell that was just slightly too heavy for her next overhead press. As expected, she struggled on the last rep, pretending to lose control just a little—enough to make it seem like she needed help.

Surely, this was her moment.

Zoro, ever the strong and silent hero, would swoop in, grab the weight with one arm like it was nothing, and she'd flash him her most charming smile—

"Need a spot?"

She turned.

It wasn't Zoro.

It was Sanji.

Nami groaned internally. Sanji was nice, but he was always looking for a chance to help her. And today was no different—he was already reaching for her barbell with hearts in his eyes.

"I got it," she muttered quickly, regaining control of the weight and finishing the rep out of sheer spite.

As she set the bar down, she swore she saw Zoro look in her direction.

Finally.

But then—he just adjusted his wrist wraps and walked away.

Kill me.

Nami had officially given up.

Maybe Zoro was just a robot programmed to lift weights and nothing else. Maybe he had taken a vow of gym celibacy. Maybe he was actually blind.

So when he finally spoke to her, it caught her completely off guard.

"You're good at that."

She turned so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

Zoro stood there, arms crossed, looking right at her.

At her.

"What?" she asked, trying not to sound like she had been waiting for this moment forever.

"Your lateral raises," he said, nodding toward the dumbbells she had just put down. "Your form's solid."

She blinked. He noticed my form?

That was what finally did it?

Not the hair flips? Not the perfectly timed water breaks? Not the borderline acrobatic stretching routine?

Her lateral raises?

She recovered quickly, smirking. "Oh, so you do notice people around you."

He looked slightly sheepish. "I just don't talk much."

Her heart did a weird little flip.

"Well, thanks," she said, keeping her tone smooth. "Maybe I'll give you pointers sometime."

He let out a low chuckle, and holy hell, that sound was dangerous. "Maybe."

And then he walked away.

Leaving her standing there, completely flustered.

Now that she had cracked his shell just a little, she started noticing things about him.

Like how he never checked his phone during workouts.
Or how he always trained alone.
Or—most importantly—how he was constantly getting lost.

At first, she thought she was imagining it.

But then, she saw him walk toward the cardio section, stop, look around in confusion, and turn back in the opposite direction.

Then, another time, she watched as he circled the weight racks twice like he was on some kind of scavenger hunt.

It was hilarious.

The realization hit her like a dumbbell to the face.

Zoro wasn't ignoring people.

He was just perpetually lost.

And that was when she had an idea.

The next morning, she sketched a quick map of the gym on a scrap piece of paper—highlighting the main machines, the locker rooms, and, most importantly, the two exits he somehow always missed.

When she spotted him looking around again, she walked up casually and handed him the paper.

Zoro frowned, unfolding it. "What's this?"

"A map." She smirked. "So you stop looking like a lost puppy every time you finish a set."

For the first time since she had met him, she saw actual embarrassment flash across his face.

It was adorable.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You're a menace."

"And you're directionally challenged."

He shot her a look but slipped the paper into his pocket. "…Thanks."

She just grinned and walked off.

Mission accomplished.

A few days passed, and though their interactions remained brief, Nami caught Zoro looking at her way more often. It wasn't anything obvious—just lingering glances when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

She was totally paying attention.

Then, one evening, just as she was packing up her bag, she heard his voice behind her.

"Nami."

She turned, heart doing something stupid in her chest. Oh no.

Zoro stood there, rubbing the back of his neck, looking… nervous?

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Yeah?"

There was a pause. He glanced to the side, exhaled, then finally met her gaze.

"You wanna—" He stopped, frowned, and tried again. "You free friday night?"

Nami's brain short-circuited.

Her? Free? On friday night?

She quickly recovered, crossing her arms. "Depends. What are you proposing?"

He shifted his weight, still looking a little unsure. "Dinner. Or—whatever."

Oh, this was too good.

She tilted her head, lips twitching. "Are you asking me out, Zoro?"

His jaw tightened slightly, and for a second, he looked like he wanted to backtrack. But then—something shifted. The hesitation in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something smoother, more self-assured.

His lips curved into a slow, lazy smirk.

"Yeah." His voice dropped slightly, more confident now. "I am."

Nami suddenly felt very warm.

She hated how attractive that switch was.

She scoffed, trying to regain some control of the situation. "Well, if I say yes, do you even know how to get to the restaurant? Or should I draw you another map?"

Zoro chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, I'll be fine." Then, after a brief pause, he leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make her breath catch. "Unless you wanna hold my hand and guide me there yourself."

Her stomach flipped.

Okay. Where was this energy coming from?

She opened her mouth—only to realize she had nothing to say.

For once, she was the flustered one.

Zoro's smirk widened, clearly pleased.

"I'll text you," he said, turning to leave.

And then he walked off like he hadn't just turned the tables on her.

Nami stood there, gripping the strap of her gym bag, watching him go.

Oh.

Oh, she was in trouble.

Zoro exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled up in front of Nami's building.

He wasn't nervous. Not really.

Okay, maybe a little.

But mostly, he was excited.

Which was weird. He hadn't been on a real date in years, and usually, the idea of dressing up and making conversation felt more like a chore than anything else.

But this? Picking up Nami, taking her to dinner, seeing how this would play out?

He actually wanted to be here.

He glanced at his phone, rereading her message.

Nami: Here's my address. If you get lost, don't bother showing up.

He snorted. Brat.

Zoro had been very aware of her from the moment she started showing up at the gym. It was impossible not to be. She carried herself with this effortless confidence, all sharp smirks and teasing eyes, like she knew she was the center of attention.

And she was.

She was also the kind of person who probably wasn't used to not being noticed.

Which made it hilarious when she started trying to get his attention.

He noticed every single thing.

The casual walk-bys. The hair flips. The conveniently-timed stretching sessions. The borderline ridiculous attempts at strength flexing.

And the tripping.

God, the tripping.

He had barely kept a straight face that day.

Zoro hadn't meant to ignore her. It was just… amusing, watching her work so hard for something he wasn't about to hand over so easily. He wanted to see how far she'd go, how much patience she had.

And, well—turns out, he was the one who ran out of patience first.

So here he was.

He checked the time. 7:58 PM.

Two minutes early.

Good enough.

He stepped out of the car, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he approached her door. He barely had time to knock before it swung open.

Damn.

Zoro had never seen her outside the gym.

Her usual tight workout sets were replaced by a sleek, off-the-shoulder top and a skirt that somehow made her legs look even longer. Her hair was loose, curling slightly at the ends, and she had just enough makeup on to make her eyes stand out even more than usual.

For the first time in his life, Zoro felt a little out of his depth.

Nami leaned against the doorframe, taking him in with a slow, deliberate glance. "Well, well. You actually made it."

Zoro smirked, shifting his weight slightly. "Yeah. Turns out, I don't get lost everywhere."

"Impressive," she teased. "Guess I won't have to draw you another map after all."

He snorted. "Don't be so sure."

She laughed, stepping outside and locking the door behind her. "Alright, heavy lifter. Where are you taking me?"

He opened the car door for her. "You'll see."

Zoro had picked a place he liked—somewhere quiet, with good food and no unnecessary fancy bullshit. He half-expected Nami to complain about the lack of white tablecloths or overpriced cocktails.

But she didn't.

Instead, she glanced around with mild approval as they sat down. "Not bad," she admitted. "Though I was half-expecting you to take me to a ramen stand or something."

Zoro raised a brow. "I thought about it."

She smirked. "Figures."

They ordered drinks—whiskey for him, some fruity cocktail for her. The conversation was… easy.

He learned she liked storms more than sunshine. That she had a ridiculous amount of books in her apartment. That she didn't trust people who put pineapple on pizza.

She learned he was an only child. That he liked cooking but was awful at baking. That he didn't actually like cardio but suffered through it anyway.

And at some point, between the teasing and the smirks and the playful arguments about food choices, something settled in his chest.

Like this was right.

Like this wasn't just a one-time thing.

Like he'd do this again. And again.

And then—

"Alright," Nami said suddenly, leaning forward with a grin. "I have to know."

Zoro raised an eyebrow. "Know what?"

She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him. "When did you actually notice me?"

His lips twitched. "You mean besides the first day you walked into the gym?"

She blinked, thrown off. "Wait—what?"

He leaned back, lazily swirling the ice in his glass. "You think I didn't notice you trying so hard? I've always noticed you."

Her jaw dropped slightly. "Then—why the hell didn't you say anything?"

Zoro shrugged, smirking. "It was entertaining."

Nami groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Unbelievable. I suffered for nothing?"

"You tripped for nothing," he corrected, enjoying how flustered she was.

She glared at him, crossing her arms. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

She huffed. "You're lucky you're hot."

He chuckled, setting his glass down. "Yeah, I know."

Nami shook her head, exasperated but smiling.

Zoro just smirked.

Yeah.

He could get used to this.