The treehouse was quiet.
After Luffy's collapse, everything paused. They were afraid to pick up the pencil until they were sure it was safe.
Not the focused kind of quiet they usually worked in — where pencils scraped paper and Ava's soft voice whispered timecodes — but the still, almost fragile quiet of a place waiting for its spark to return.
Luffy lay curled up in a sleeping bag near the corner, a warm scarf around his neck and Ava's soft blue light pulsing beside him like a heartbeat. He'd been awake off and on all morning but hadn't touched a stylus in three days.
Gwen stepped up the ladder with a thermos and a brown paper bag, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She looked tired, but not defeated.
"Morning," she said softly, sitting beside him.
Luffy didn't say much. Just shifted and sat up slowly, blinking at the light.
Gwen handed him the thermos first. "Sweet potato soup. It's not flashy, but Ava said it's got everything you need. Also — peanut butter rice balls. Your favorite, apparently."
"...Thanks." His voice was rough.
She waited until he took a sip before speaking again. "Ava told me you've been pretending to feel better than you are."
Luffy blinked, caught.
"You don't have to," Gwen said. "You're not a burden. You're not holding us back. You're just… important."
He didn't answer right away.
"I hate this," he finally whispered. "Sitting still. Watching you both work. I feel useless."
"You're not."
"I almost made us lose everything," he muttered. "If you didn't catch it in time…"
"But we did," Gwen cut in. "We caught it. We fixed it. And we'll keep fixing it — together."
Luffy stared at the soup. "But what if it happens again?"
Gwen reached forward and tapped her finger against his forehead gently. "Then we'll catch it again. And again. And again. That's what people do when they care about each other."
She smiled faintly. "You'd do the same for us."
Later that afternoon, Ava returned from her supply run — a drone delivery packed with trial supplements, new meal prep tools, and two extra-thick sketchpads she had ordered to cheer Luffy up.
Her voice was bright but measured. "I've updated your energy tracking system. It'll ping you with reminders if you drop below threshold. And I coded an override: I can lock your drawing tablet if you ignore too many alerts."
"You coded a lockout?" Luffy said, eyes wide.
"I will protect you from yourself if I have to," Ava said, crossing her arms like a tiny glowing mom.
Gwen grinned. "You are so grounded, Luffy."
"Why does it feel like I'm the little brother now?" he groaned.
The next few days were gentle.
They didn't animate. They didn't write. They didn't plan episode structure or edit sound queues.
They just lived.
Gwen brought meals, sometimes from home, sometimes improvised with Ava's nutrition breakdowns. She started learning cooking techniques through Ava's database — mostly high-calorie, easily digestible recipes. It became their new rhythm: Gwen cooked, Ava monitored, and Luffy slowly got stronger.
One evening, Gwen made a kind of curry with oats and coconut milk. It tasted weird, but Luffy cleaned the plate anyway.
"See?" Gwen said, triumphant. "I can be useful outside of drawing too."
"You've always been useful," Luffy said. "I just forgot how to let people help."
Ava, perched nearby, pulsed softly. "That's okay. We remembered for you."
On the fourth day, Luffy asked Ava to play some old anime scenes.
Not to study. Just to watch.
They curled up with blankets, Gwen leaning against one wall, Luffy under his scarf, Ava's projection casting warm light on the wooden boards.
They rewatched the scene where Naruto first puts on his headband. Then the one where Deku jumps into the water to save Bakugo, despite being powerless.
Then came the quiet one — when Luffy places the straw hat on Nami's head before walking off to fight Arlong.
No one said anything after that one.
Gwen wiped her eyes. "Still hits."
Luffy looked down at his hands. "They made stories that mattered."
"You're making one too," Ava said.
"Not yet," he replied. "But I will."
That night, he asked for his sketchpad back.
Gwen hesitated.
"You sure?" she asked.
"I won't go crazy. I promise," Luffy said. "Just a little. I… I miss drawing."
She nodded and handed it over. "Half an hour. Ava's watching you."
"I always am," Ava said, deadpan.
Luffy's hand trembled slightly as he held the pencil. It wasn't the same fast confidence he used to draw with. It was slower, more careful. But the line still curved the way he wanted. Still danced across the page.
He started with something simple — the barrel, floating across the sea. Then added tiny dots in the distance, hints of islands. He sketched the shimmer of the sun off the water.
Then he drew a second image: Gwen laughing. Ava glowing beside her.
And finally, one more — his own hand reaching up from the water, ready to start again.
The next morning, the treehouse felt different.
Not just because Luffy was sketching again, or because Ava was calibrating her drone to pick up powdered omega boosts. It felt different because they weren't just working on a dream anymore.
They were building the life around it.
Gwen brought in a new chalkboard. She labeled it The Balance Board — one side for creative goals, one for health. Every time they finished a scene, they had to check that Luffy had eaten, rested, and logged his vitals.
"If not," she said, raising a brow, "we delay."
"No exceptions," Ava added.
Luffy saluted. "Aye, Captain and Medical Officer."
That evening, as the sun set in long golden beams across the floor, Luffy picked up his new sketchpad.
"I think I'm ready," he said. "Not for everything. But… to start small."
"Where do we begin?" Gwen asked.
He smiled.
"Let's redraw the moment Nami says, 'Help me.'"