Portgas D'Ace

Ace was always nervous around you. Even when you first joined the crew, he'd run his finger through the belt loops of his shorts and pull his cap down to hide his red cheeks when you laughed at one of the jokes he recited in his head. And when you asked him out? Ah, he swore he almost questioned that deep-seated desire to never have been born; key word, almost. And when he asked, "Are you sure?" you just laughed that dazzling smile and nodded.

He was madly in love from the start. But no amount of alcohol, adrenaline, or encouraging words could take away that vertigo-inducing feeling in his chest when you kissed his cheek, played with his hair, or stole his hat. He put that feeling into action, surprising you with small gifts from whatever mission he was on or holding you so tenderly at night and whispering how much he appreciated you, his spark, his reason.

But the first step was always a success or a failure. Getting so nervous would trigger his powers, and his clammy hands would instantly turn into balls of fire. He quickly learned to control them after a huge scare the first few times you held his hand.

So, returning from a particularly long mission a little over a month ago, he stood in front of your cabin with hand-picked flowers pressed together with the palms of his hands. One knock on your door, and he was already shivering, inadvertently burning the stems, and smelled the smoke rising to his nose. Before he knew it, half the petals were wilted and the stems charred. And before he could hide them, think of some way to salvage them and turn them into a nice gift for you, you were already staring at him from the doorway.

As happy as she was to see you, her hesitant smile gradually faded as she looked at what remained of the flowers.

They reminded me of you because they were very pretty but I may have burned them a little.

...