𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘, 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝖻𝗎𝗆

one day, maybe

[I.L BASE]🌷 Garden

The sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting soft golden rays over the base's little garden. 

Wildflowers peeked out from the earth between vines and herbs, swaying in the soft breeze that always came before dusk. The wind smelled like lavender and sea salt.

Bea was sitting on a wooden bench, pulling off her gloves after watering the last patch of thyme. Her curls were messily tied back, a little damp from the warmth of the day, and her amber eyes followed a butterfly without urgency.

Nico found her there.

He didn't say anything at first, just sat beside her quietly, elbows on his knees, watching the same butterfly as it danced through the air.

She glanced over, smiling softly. "You made it."

"Barely," he murmured. "I still hear the echoes of poetic torment."

Bea laughed, quiet and warm. "Matt'll be okay."

Nico nodded. "I'm not so sure I will be."

Another pause.

Then, his voice shifted, dropping low. Not hesitant, not afraid, just... thoughtful.

"I've never known anything steady, Bea," he said. "No soft days. No real home. Even the Right Arm... it's still war. Still movement. Still uncertainty."

She watched him, carefully silent.

He turned to her, his expression gentler than usual. "But you. You've made all of this feel like something I could stay in."

Bea blinked once. Her lips parted, but he continued before she could speak.

"And today, with everything, the chaos, the laughter, even the ridiculous threat of flying pillows. I kept thinking..."

He reached out, slowly brushing a curl from her cheek.

"...if we ever had a child, and it had your eyes..."

Her breath caught.

"...they'd see the world the way I should've. Safe. Soft. With something worth protecting that isn't just survival."

Bea's fingers curled around his hand, resting on her cheek now. Her thumb gently traced the back of his palm.

"You think you're not meant for gentle things, Nico," she whispered. "But you hold me like I'm made of glass. You speak to the ocean like it's an old friend. And you braid flowers into my hair when you think I'm asleep."

He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes dropping.

"I want it," he admitted. "Not now. Maybe not soon. But... one day. If you do too."

Bea leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to his temple, her other hand tightening around his.

"I do."

They sat there in the fading light, the sun dipping into the sea and casting their shadows long across the soil.

And for the first time, Nico didn't feel like a pirate pretending to belong.

He felt like a man building something. Slowly. Carefully. With the woman who made the world worth staying for.