Sanji Using Idioms/sayings With Colors(+feelings Preferably) Mainly To Mess With Evil-super-sentai-wearing-stupid-boots

doctor!law who always maintains his stoic professionalism with every patient—except when it comes to you. He insists it’s “just routine” that he visits you so frequently, ensuring your health is progressing as it should.

Morning rounds start with him pulling up a chair beside your bed, his amber eyes scanning your chart with precision. But even as his hands work with practiced ease, the way his thumb lingers on the edge of the clipboard suggests something more. His voice is low but gentle, asking how you slept, what you ate, and how you’re feeling, as though he’s committing every detail to memory.

At night, long after visiting hours have ended, his familiar silhouette appears in the doorway of your hospital room. He claims he’s just finishing his notes or double-checking the evening staff’s updates. Yet, somehow, he always ends up seated beside you, shoulders relaxing as you talk about your day. You notice the faint smirk tugging at his lips when you tease him about working too hard.

The truth is, Law tells himself he’s just being thorough. That it’s his job to ensure his patients feel cared for. But deep down, he knows no one else has ever drawn him in quite like you—no other voice has ever made him want to stay so desperately beyond his hours.

doctor!law who doesn’t do sentiment. At least, that’s what he claims, his sharp gaze and sharper tongue scaring off most patients from ever trying to get too familiar. But when it comes to you, it’s different—not that he’d ever admit it.

“You’ve been sitting around too much,” he says one afternoon, his voice cutting through the soft hum of your hospital room. “Come on.”

Before you can protest, he’s helping you to your feet with that infuriating air of calm authority. You don’t miss the way his hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, steadying you like he’s worried you might topple over.

“I didn’t ask for a walk,” you mutter as he leads you down the hall.

He doesn’t even look at you, his pace deliberate but not rushed. “And I didn’t ask for a stubborn patient, but here we are.”

The courtyard is quiet, bathed in golden afternoon light. Law doesn’t bother making small talk as you stroll—he’s never been one for unnecessary chatter. But his sharp eyes track every step you take, scanning you for even the slightest sign of discomfort.

“Stop pushing yourself,” he orders when you quicken your pace, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You’re such a control freak,” you tease, trying to coax a reaction out of him.

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his usual scowl. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

Despite his gruff demeanor, there’s a strange comfort in his presence. He doesn’t fill the silence with platitudes or false cheer—he just is, his calm steadiness grounding you in a way nothing else can.

When the walk ends, and he’s escorting you back to your room, he slows, his voice softer now. “If you feel worse later, tell me. Don’t wait until morning rounds.”

“Do you always go this far for your patients?” you ask, half-joking.

He gives you a sidelong glance, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “No,” he says simply. “I don’t.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he walked away.

doctor!law who doesn’t entertain nonsense. That’s the image he maintains in the hospital’s halls and the workers’ lounge. The moment someone brings up the whispers about him and his favorite patient, he scoffs, eyes narrowing as if the very idea irritates him.

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, flipping a page in the medical journal he’s not really reading.

But when no one’s looking, his ears strain to catch the next part of the conversation.

“Did you see how he was walking with them in the courtyard yesterday? They looked so comfortable together,” one nurse says, voice filled with barely contained glee.

Another one chimes in, “Right? And the way he always stays late in their room? If that’s not a crush, I don’t know what is.”

Law’s fingers tighten around the edges of his book, his lips pressing into a thin line. Anyone watching would think he’s annoyed—but the faint flush creeping up his neck tells a different story.

“I’m sure they’re just being professional,” someone offers cautiously, only for another nurse to laugh. “Oh, please. That man has never gone out of his way for anyone like he does for them. He practically lives in their room.”

Law clears his throat loudly, snapping the room’s attention back to him. “If you have time to gossip, you have time to work,” he says, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

The nurses scatter, muttering apologies, and he goes back to pretending to read. But later, when he’s alone, he catches himself smirking faintly, replaying the words in his head.

He tells himself it’s absurd, that people are just reading too much into things. Yet, when he sees you later that evening and you joke about the “rumors,” he doesn’t deny them outright.

Instead, he leans against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed, a teasing glint in his amber eyes. “Apparently, I’m the topic of the day in the lounge. Care to explain why everyone thinks I’m obsessed with you?”

You raise a brow, smirking. “Maybe because you kind of are?”

He scoffs, though the tips of his ears turn red. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. If I’m here, it’s because you’re clearly a magnet for trouble. Someone has to keep you in check.”

But when he catches a glimpse of your smile and hears your laughter, he thinks, Maybe they’re not entirely wrong.

to those of you who are moving here from tiktok, from someone whos used both tiktok and tumbr for years...

1. DO NOT censor your posts

dont censor sex, abuse, suicide, dont censor it. we dont have censors like tiktok does, you wont be banned for talking about these things and tagging them properly helps people avoid them (also, we dont have shadowbanning here)

2. we dont really have an algorithm

you follow who you follow, and you see posts from who you follow or what you search. the 'for you page' is basically useless here. this also brings me to my next two points

3. dont crosstag

we get it, on tiktok you have to crosstag for reach, but thats not really a thing here. just tag your posts properly (also posters often leave more info about the post in the tags!! and when you reblog stuff you can leave your own notes in the tags, kind of like the old "repost comments" on tiktok)

4. dont expect to go viral/be famous

"viral" isnt really a thing on here (at least not for the average blogger). your posts will probably get 2-10 likes and you wont get nearly as many followers than on tiktok. thats just how tumblr is

5. blocking is your best friend

tiktok is VERY discussion based, and while tumblr is much more discussion based than other social medias, its still not a good place for ragebait/discourse. dont interact, itll make your experience worse in the end, just block and move on

6. you cant go into someone elses house and start rearranging their furniture

this is tumblr, not tiktok. dont diss old tumblr users for how they use the site or try to change them, thats like going into someone elses house and trying to rearrange their furniture. we've been here longer and we're familiar with the site and its culture, either find your niche, adapt, or find a different app

my little spin on the iconic delicious in dungeon comic, but with my favorite scene from thriller bark

sorry to be negative on the dash but..... y'all need to be nicer to fanfic writers. we all know interactions are decreasing, and even during the nine months i've been on here, i've noticed a decrease.

tell writers you like their works. comment on their works, reblog their works.

some of you act so entitled, and idk if you've noticed but you're literally making writers miserable. it makes me so sad to see my mutuals deactivate because the joy of writing has been taken away from them by ungrateful readers who are constantly demanding more, more, more, to the point where people are experiencing burnout and anxiety because they can't keep up with the constant unrealistic demands.

reminder that even though it takes you five minutes to read 1k words it might've taken the writer hours to get the words down, proofread, edit, and make the perfect fic layout.

some of you complain that there are no "good" fics anymore, yet you do nothing for the fandom, do nothing to support writers and just hide behind anon and blank blogs, complaining about every little thing till you've driven all writers off this site.

it's so tiring. please be kinder. we're all trying our best here.

Luffy loves bugs, yeah?

OHHHH I GOT AN AMAZING IDEA WHAT IF READER DOESN'T GIVE ONE PIECE MEN A KISS BACK AFTER THEY KISSED READER?

Please Kiss Back!

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law and ace

words count: around 0.9k - 1.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The crew is scattered around the ship, busy with their usual antics, but you’re sitting on the deck with Luffy, legs dangling over the edge.

He’s in an especially good mood today,not that it’s unusual, but there’s a certain spark in his grin, an extra bounce in his movements. You don’t think much of it. It’s Luffy, after all.

And then, suddenly, he kisses you.

It’s quick, impulsive, but undeniably a kiss.

Your entire body goes stiff and your mind goes blank.

Luffy pulls back just as easily as he leaned in, smiling like he just did the most natural thing in the world.

“Heh, that was nice” he says, tilting his head “Right?”

But you don’t move. You don’t say anything. You just sit there, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

Luffy’s smile falters. His head tilts the other way now, brows slightly furrowed “Huh? You didn’t kiss me back.”

You see the confusion in his face, hear it in his voice. He isn’t upset, Luffy doesn’t get upset about things like this, but he’s puzzled.

“Did I do it wrong?”

His voice is quieter now.

Panic surges through you “Wha—no! No, you didn’t—” You shake your head quickly, your thoughts scrambling together “I just… I wasn’t expecting it!”

Luffy blinks at you “Why not?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What are you supposed to say? Because you’re my captain? Because you never act romantic? Because I didn’t think you even thought about kissing people?

Luffy watches you, waiting for an answer. His usual carefree energy is still there, but for once, you see something else in his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty.

“Oh.” He leans back, rubbing his nose “So you didn’t want me to?”

Your heart drops.

“No!” You nearly shout, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away completely “That’s not it!”

Luffy blinks at you again, mouth slightly open like he’s waiting for an explanation.

You inhale sharply. Screw it.

You lean forward and kiss him.

This time, you make sure he feels it.

Luffy freezes for half a second, probably because he wasn’t expecting it, but then, just as quickly, he melts into it. His lips are warm, a little chapped from the salty sea air, but soft against yours. His hands hover for a moment before he grabs your shoulders, steadying himself as he grins into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, breath a little uneven, he laughs.

“Ohhh, so you do wanna kiss me!”

Your face burns “I—Shut up!”

Luffy just grins wider, pulling you into his chest like he didn’t just shake your entire world “You’re funny, Y/N,” he says, resting his chin on your head. “I’m gonna kiss you all the time now!”

You groan into his shirt. What have you gotten yourself into?

You’re still pressed against Luffy’s chest, your face burning as he laughs. The warmth of his body seeps into you, and his chin rests comfortably on top of your head, like he’s perfectly content to stay like this forever.

“I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the time now, I’m gonna kiss you all the ti—” he says, his voice filled with the same carefree confidence he uses when talking about becoming Pirate King.

You groan into his shirt, trying to push away, but his arms tighten around you.

“Luffy!”

“What?” He tilts his head, grinning “You kissed me back, so that means you like it, right?”

You open your mouth to argue but nothing comes out. Because… he’s right. You did kiss him back. You wanted to. You just hadn’t expected him to be so Luffy about it.

“That’s not the point” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

He laughs again, a happy, carefree sound “Then what’s the point?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, and immediately regret it. He’s staring at you with those big, curious eyes, his face close enough that you can still feel the warmth of his breath. He isn’t teasing you, not really... he’s just genuinely waiting for an answer, like he doesn’t understand why you’re so flustered.

And that makes it worse.

You shove your hands against his chest, trying to put some distance between you “You can’t just—just say stuff like that!”

“Why not?” Luffy pouts.

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

He laughs harder “But you’re cute when you’re embarrassed!”

You swear your soul leaves your body “LUFFY—”

He suddenly leans in again, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before you can stop him.

“Mmm, yeah, I like this,” he says, nodding to himself “I’m definitely gonna do it a lot.”

Your brain malfunctions.

“You—! I—!” You can’t even form a sentence.

Luffy just beams “You can kiss me too, y’know.”

Your face somehow gets even hotter “I KNOW!”

His grin widens, and then before you can react he jumps to his feet, stretching his arms.

“Alright! I’m hungry!” He looks down at you, still sitting there, completely overwhelmed “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat!”

He grabs your hand before you can protest and starts dragging you toward the kitchen, like nothing just happened.

Like he didn’t just turn your world upside down.

Like he didn’t just kiss you twice, steal your breath, and then immediately think about food.

You let him pull you along, still dazed, as your fingers stay laced with his.

Luffy is impossible, but that’s why you like him so much.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sound of swords clashing echoes throughout the quiet ship as the crew enjoys their evening. You sit on the railing, your legs dangling, watching the stars as the ship cruises along. Zoro is nearby, practicing his swordplay as usual, his focus unwavering.

You’ve been in a strange mood today, frustrated, angry, even a little annoyed, but you didn’t want to take it out on Zoro. You just needed some time to think, and he had given you that. But when you saw him practicing so intensely, your irritation began to simmer.

It had been an argument earlier. Not a huge one, but one that still left a bad taste in your mouth. Zoro had made a careless comment about something that had happened during the last fight, something trivial, but it had stuck with you, and now, as you watch him swing his swords with that unshakable intensity, you can’t help but feel more upset.

Zoro finishes his set, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes catch yours, and without saying anything, he walks over to you. You remain where you are, not bothering to look at him. The quiet tension between the two of you feels thicker now, and you can almost hear the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Zoro asks, his voice unusually soft, as he stops a few steps in front of you. He might not always say much, but Zoro knows when something is off with you.

You sigh, leaning back slightly on the railing, crossing your arms “Nothing.”

You know Zoro won’t take that for an answer, but you don’t feel like talking about it. You don’t want to have another one of those half-formed conversations that end up with him brushing it off or getting frustrated with you. He’s not one for deep talks, and you don’t want to drag him into it.

Zoro, being Zoro, doesn’t give up. He steps closer, standing directly in front of you, his tall frame looming over you. He doesn’t push, but the intensity in his gaze is hard to ignore.

“Y/N,” he says, a hint of concern sneaking into his usually blunt tone “You’ve been weird all day.”

You feel your anger stir again, that feeling of being dismissed or misunderstood growing. Without thinking, you snap at him “I’m fine, alright? Just… don’t worry about it.”

The words are harsher than you intended, and you immediately regret them. But you’ve already said it, and the frustration that’s been building up inside you has no outlet other than Zoro at the moment.

Zoro blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden sharpness. There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, you think he’ll retreat, that he’ll walk away like he usually does when he doesn’t understand. But instead, he leans in closer, his face now inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re upset, right?” His voice is low, almost a growl.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and the irritation that had flared up earlier starts to subside just a little. But your pride is still holding on, and you don’t want to let it go so easily “I’m not upset” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, and you turn your head away, hoping he’ll just leave it alone.

Zoro doesn’t move, though. He’s still right in front of you, and his eyes are fixed on you with that intense gaze of his, like he’s seeing through you, reading everything you’re trying to hide.

And then, without warning, Zoro leans in and kisses you.

His lips are firm, yet gentle, pressing softly against yours. You don’t kiss him back immediately. Instead, you sit there, frozen, eyes wide in shock. Your heart races, and for a second, you’re not sure how to react.

Zoro pulls back just slightly, his gaze still locked with yours, waiting. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint trace of something in his gaze, concern, maybe? He wants an answer. He wants to know what’s wrong.

You should have kissed him back, but you didn’t. The confusion, the frustration, it all bubbles up again, and you’re not sure why you’re holding back this time.

Zoro doesn’t say anything at first, but he waits. His hand gently brushes against your cheek, as if trying to coax a response out of you “Why didn’t you kiss me back?”

You try to speak, but no words come out at first. You don’t want to tell him the truth, that you’re angry, that you don’t know how to explain what’s really bothering you.

You finally exhale, your voice softer than before “I was mad. At you.”

Zoro blinks in surprise, and for a moment, you think he’ll get defensive, like he always does when he doesn’t understand something. But instead, he simply nods. His eyes soften, and his fingers gently trace your jawline as if to remind you that he’s not going anywhere.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says quietly. His voice is surprisingly gentle, his usual gruffness gone “But if something’s wrong, you know you can tell me.”

You sigh, your anger finally dissipating as you look up at him. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he’s trying to meet you halfway. You can feel the weight of your pride slipping away, and you hate that you let it build up this far.

You close the gap between you, leaning in to kiss him, this time responding wholeheartedly. It’s slow at first, but it deepens as you feel the tension release from your shoulders. You kiss him like you’ve missed him, like you didn’t realize just how badly you needed this connection.

When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his, breathing heavily “I’m sorry,” you whisper “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

Zoro chuckles softly, his hand cupping your face “Don’t apologize. I get it.”

You smile, and for the first time today, the weight that had been dragging on you fades away completely.

Zoro’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer “But next time, you’ll kiss me back, right?”

You laugh softly, feeling the heat of his chest against yours “I promise.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, you kiss him back without hesitation.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, your breath still heavy, and the silence between you both feels different now, softer, more understanding. Zoro doesn’t speak at first, but his arms remain tightly around you, his fingers brushing gently through your hair, as if he’s making sure you’re still there, still with him.

For a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet night, the ship gently rocking beneath your feet. The stars above are bright, casting a peaceful glow over the deck. It’s in these moments that you realize how much Zoro means to you. Even when you’re angry, even when you push him away, he never truly goes anywhere. He might not say a lot, but his actions speak louder than anything else.

“You know, you’re a real pain sometimes” you murmur, leaning into him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Zoro chuckles softly, his lips brushing against the top of your head “You’re the one who doesn’t kiss me back.” His voice is teasing now, and the warmth of his hands against your back makes you feel safe, despite everything.

You smile, finally allowing yourself to fully relax in his embrace “I know. I’m sorry about that. I just…” You hesitate, unsure of how to express yourself “I didn’t want to drag you into my mood. It wasn’t about you.”

Zoro doesn’t respond immediately, but his hand moves to gently lift your chin, so that you’re looking up at him. His green eyes are soft, understanding. He looks at you the way he always does when he knows there’s more you’re not saying, like he’s giving you the space to figure it out yourself, but also offering his support.

“You don’t have to protect me from your mood, Y/N,” Zoro says quietly, his thumb gently grazing your cheek “You know that, right?”

You blink up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his words. It’s rare for him to be this open, to say something so vulnerable. Zoro’s never been one for words, always more about actions. But when he does speak, it’s clear he means it.

“I know,” you murmur, feeling your heart swell in your chest “I guess I just didn’t want to make it worse.”

Zoro shakes his head, his hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you even closer “You can’t make it worse, Y/N. I’ve been with you long enough to know that.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the world feels lighter. Maybe it’s because you’re finally opening up to him, maybe it’s because you realize that, despite all your pride, Zoro has always been the one who sees right through you.

The air between you two seems to change, the tension now replaced by an unspoken understanding. Zoro leans down again, capturing your lips in a much slower, more deliberate kiss this time. It’s deep and meaningful, not rushed like before, and you kiss him back just as intensely. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the feeling of his lips against yours, and the reassuring presence of his hands wrapped around you.

When you finally pull away, you smile softly up at him, feeling like everything that had been weighing on your shoulders is finally gone.

“Better?” he asks, his voice a little gruff, but with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You nod, leaning your forehead against his “Much better. Thanks, Zoro.”

He smirks, giving you a gentle, teasing squeeze “I don’t need thanks. Just kiss me back and we’ll be fine.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him being this open with you. Zoro might not always know the right words to say, but the way he takes care of you, without question, speaks more than anything he could say aloud.

“Deal.” You smile, finally feeling at ease, as you stand there together in the quiet night, just the two of you, with the stars as your only witnesses.

Zoro leans in to kiss you again, but this time, he pulls back just before your lips meet.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” he teases with that familiar mischievous smirk.

You roll your eyes playfully but don’t hold back when you respond this time. You kiss him deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Does that answer your question?” you whisper, as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, the moonlight catching the green in them.

Zoro’s grin widens, and you know, without a doubt, that everything is going to be alright. Even in the moments of silence, when words are hard to come by, you know you can always count on him.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The kitchen feels quieter now, the only sound being the gentle crackle of the stove and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. You stand at the counter, your hands busy with the meal, but your mind is far from the task at hand. You feel a weight on your chest that you can’t quite shake off... guilt.

Sanji had left the kitchen earlier, giving you the space you had asked for, but the sadness in his eyes lingers in your thoughts. You didn’t mean to hurt him, but you’re not sure how to fix this.

You’ve always loved how Sanji dotes on you, how tender he is despite his usual flirtatious attitude, and yet, today, something in you snapped. The moment he had kissed you and you hadn’t kissed him back, the look on his face was more than you could handle. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment. It’s one thing to have an argument, to be upset about something that happened, but the thought that you could break his heart over something so small, something so trivial, makes you feel worse than ever.

Your knife clinks against the counter, the task you’re supposed to be focusing on now forgotten, your gaze drifting to the door.

Just as you’re about to give in and seek him out, you hear the faint sound of footsteps. You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can feel Sanji’s presence always manages to fill a room.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, hesitant, and you can hear the uncertainty beneath it. You turn to face him, and there he is, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His usual confident, charming smile is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looks… small. Vulnerable, even. It hurts more than you thought it would.

You can’t meet his eyes at first, your gaze flicking to the counter instead, your hands nervously adjusting the utensils “Sanji… I—” Your throat tightens, the apology catching in your voice.

He doesn’t move, not yet, waiting for you to gather your words. The silence stretches on, heavier than you want it to be, but eventually, Sanji steps forward. The faint sound of his shoes tapping against the wooden floor rings through your ears as he approaches. He doesn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, you think maybe he’ll just walk away again, leaving you both in that uncomfortable space.

But instead, he reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands, and guides your eyes to meet his. His gaze is soft, but there’s something behind it, something that makes your heart ache.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he says quietly, his voice nearly a whisper “I don’t care if you’re angry or upset, but when you push me away like that, it makes me feel like I did something wrong.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize just how deeply you’ve hurt him with your silence.

“Sanji…” you start, but your voice falters. What can you say to fix it? How do you explain that it wasn’t him, it was you? That you didn’t know how to communicate what was bothering you?

He pulls you into a tight embrace, his head resting against yours. You can feel the warmth of his chest against you, his breath soft and steady. You let yourself relax into him, for once letting go of the pride you’ve been holding onto so tightly. You know you’ve hurt him, and you can feel the guilt eating away at you.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmurs, his hands soothingly running through your hair “I know you’re not always in the mood for affection, but I… I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, and finally allow yourself to melt into his touch “I’m sorry, Sanji,” you whisper, your voice filled with regret “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s not you, I was just… frustrated. But I should’ve never shut you out like that.”

His fingers stop moving through your hair, and you can feel his breath hitch as he pulls back slightly to look at you. For a moment, he just stares, and the warmth in his eyes makes your heart race. Then, without warning, his lips are on yours.

It’s a soft kiss at first, barely a brush of his lips against yours, as if he’s still unsure if you’re ready. But you don’t hesitate this time. You meet him halfway, kissing him back deeply, letting all the words you couldn’t say earlier pour into the kiss. You press closer to him, your hands finding their way around his neck, pulling him even closer as if you never want to let him go.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and there’s a quiet moment between you, the tension from earlier melting away.

“Are we good?” Sanji asks, his voice playful again, but there’s a hint of vulnerability behind it.

You smile, finally feeling the weight lift from your shoulders “Yeah, we’re good.” You reach up, running a hand through his messy blond hair, before pulling him into another kiss, this time, more tender, slower, filled with the understanding that had been missing before.

“I really don’t like it when you push me away” he mutters against your lips, his hands resting on your waist.

You laugh softly, your heart light “I’ll try not to, okay? No more pushing you away.” You pull him even closer, your arms winding around him “I promise.”

He grins, that familiar, charming grin, as he wraps his arms around you “You better, sweetheart. Because I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

You lean against him, feeling his warmth envelop you, and for the first time today, you feel like everything is right again. You’re not alone in your frustration anymore, and you can lean on him when things feel too heavy. With Sanji, you know you’ll always have someone who understands, someone who’s ready to support you, even when you don’t ask for it.

As you sit there in his embrace, you let your worries melt away, knowing that, for once, you don’t have to fight this battle on your own.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The Polar Tang is unusually quiet tonight. Most of the crew has turned in, the hum of the submarine filling the empty corridors. You sit on the deck, legs dangling over the side, watching the ocean stretch endlessly under the moonlight. The battle earlier had been rough, leaving you sore and exhausted, but the peaceful waves help settle your nerves.

A presence settles beside you, and you don’t need to look to know who it is.

“Can’t sleep either?” you ask, glancing at Law.

He’s watching the water, arms resting on his knees “You took a nasty hit today. Should be resting.”

You roll your eyes “I’m fine, doctor.”

He exhales sharply, but there’s no real annoyance in it. Instead, a silence lingers between you, different from your usual comfortable quiet. There’s something restrained in the way Law sits, the way his fingers tighten into fists before relaxing again.

Then, before you can process what’s happening, he shifts toward you, one hand reaching for your cheek as his lips press firmly against yours.

Your breath catches. Your mind blanks.

Law is kissing you.

The realization slams into you so hard that you freeze completely. He’s warm, his touch surprisingly careful despite the rough way he carries himself in battle. But you don’t move... you don’t kiss him back. Not because you don’t want to, but because you weren’t expecting this. At all.

A second passes. Then another.

Law pulls away first. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable before he looks away, jaw tightening. He stands abruptly.

“Forget it,” he mutters “That was a mistake.”

“Wait—” you reach for him, but he’s already stepping back, his expression closing off into something distant and unreadable. The wall he puts up is so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You finally find your voice “Law, I—”

“Get some rest,” he interrupts, his tone sharp “That’s an order.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the submarine without another word.

You sit there, stunned, heart pounding.

You wanted to kiss him back. You wanted this.

But now, you might have just ruined everything.

In facts, after that Law starts avoiding you.

Not just the usual, brooding, keep-to-himself kind of avoiding you. No, this is different. This is intentional.

And it’s driving you insane.

Ever since that kiss, the kiss you wanted but had been too frozen to return, he’s been more distant than ever. He won’t meet your eyes, won’t acknowledge your presence unless absolutely necessary, and worst of all, you don’t understand if it him who refuses to be alone with you or just the crew having the worst timing.

Every time you try to talk to him, someone interrupts.

Attempt #1: You corner him in the medical bay, only for Shachi to barge in, whining about some nonexistent injury. Law doesn’t even look at you as he orders you both out.

Attempt #2: You catch him in the hallway, ready to finally get this over with, but Penguin suddenly appears, asking something about the ship’s course. Law walks away before you can say a word.

Attempt #3: The mess hall. Surely, he can’t avoid you here. You sit beside him, he gets up immediately.

At this point, the crew notices.

“Did you piss off the captain or something?” Bepo asks, tilting his head.

You groan, slamming your head against the table “I don’t know! He won’t talk to me.”

“You must’ve done something,” Shachi teases “What, did you steal his seat or—”

Penguin smacks his arm “No, idiot. Captain’s never been like this before. Not even when we wrecked his lab.”

Bepo frowns “Something’s bothering him.”

Yeah, no kidding... it’s all your fault.

You catch glimpses of Law throughout the day, on the deck, in the control room, talking with the crew. But the moment he sees you? He leaves.

It’s killing you.

He thinks you regret it.

He thinks you didn’t want it.

And if you don’t fix this soon, he’s never going to let you get close again.

The frustration boils over during dinner.

You’re exhausted, running on fumes after chasing Law all day. The crew is loud, laughing over some dumb joke, but all you can focus on is him.

Sitting across from you. Silent. Eating his food without looking up.

You can’t take it anymore.

You slam your hands on the table, making everyone jump.

“LAW.”

Silence.

All eyes turn to you.

Your captain finally looks at you, startled.

“First you kiss me.” You point an accusing finger at him “And then you avoid me like the plague, without even give me the chance to explain myself!”

Shachi chokes on his drink.

Penguin’s mouth drops open.

Bepo’s ears twitch in alarm.

Law stiffens. His fork stops midair “This is not—”

“No, shut up,” you cut him off, standing so fast your chair nearly topples over “I need to say this before you run away again.”

The crew is watching.

You don’t care.

“You kissed me, and I—” Your voice cracks. Your face feels like it’s on fire “I didn’t kiss you back, but not because I didn’t want to! I was just—shocked! I like you, okay?! I wanted to kiss you back, but my brain just—short-circuited!”

Dead. Silence.

Shachi drops his spoon.

Bepo covers his mouth with his paws.

Penguin is slowly turning to look at Law, whose ears are red.

Your captain looks like he’s about to die.

You inhale sharply “So if you’re avoiding me because you think I hate you or something—stop.”

Law does not move.

The entire crew waits.

Then, he clears his throat, stands up, and grabs your wrist.

“Room.”

And just like that, you vanish from the mess hall and land in his office with a thud.

Law lets go of you immediately and rubs his face, exhaling sharply “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the one who’s been acting like I have the plague,” you fire back, crossing your arms “Do you know how hard it’s been to get you alone?”

He groans “I thought you...” He pauses. Runs a hand through his hair “I thought you regretted it.”

You blink.

“…You idiot.”

He glares “Excuse me—”

You grab his coat and yank him down into a kiss.

Law freezes. This time, he’s the one caught off guard.

But when you pull away, his golden eyes are wide, breath slightly uneven.

You smirk “That clear enough for you?”

A beat of silence.

Then he grabs you by the waist and kisses you again.

And this time, you kiss him back.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The Moby Dick feels warmer than usual tonight, the air carrying that familiar salty breeze that ruffles your hair. You’re sitting on the figurehead, just like you always do after a long day. The crew has mostly turned in, and Ace, as always, is lounging nearby, throwing out his usual teasing comments that always manage to make you roll your eyes.

Tonight, though? He’s extra insufferable.

“Don’t you think I look particularly good tonight?” Ace smirks, his head tilted back, his hair catching the moonlight.

You narrow your eyes “Yeah, Ace, you look like a sunburned tomato.”

He bursts out laughing, clearly enjoying the attention “Ha! You know you want me.”

“Oh, really?” You scoff, not missing a beat “You couldn’t pay me to want you.”

He shrugs, still grinning like a maniac “Sure, but that’s just your deflection because you’re intimidated by my obvious charm.”

Your eyebrow twitches “I’m pretty sure you’re confusing arrogance with charm, Ace.”

“Of course I’m charming. Just ask me—”

Before he can finish, you interrupt him “Yeah, well, don’t ask me. I’m not interested.”

But as he keeps running his mouth, you realize something. Ace is having way too much fun with this. He’s been teasing you non-stop for days about how “obviously into him” you are, and it’s driving you nuts. He knows you like him. He knows you’ve been trying to keep your cool, but his teasing is getting out of hand.

“Would you stop talking about how irresistible you are? I’m literally going to—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Ace leans in and kisses you.

It happens so fast you don’t even process it at first.

One second, you and Ace are bickering, his usual cocky teasing, your usual mock exasperation... and then bam. Lips. On yours.

Portgas D. Ace is kissing you.

It’s not even a gentle, romantic kiss. It’s an overconfident, smug, I-know-you-want-me kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that assumes you’re going to melt immediately.

But instead of kissing him back, your brain short-circuits, and you freeze.

Ace pulls away, already grinning “Heh. Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?”

You blink again.

Ace smirks, looking so insufferably proud of himself “Damn, I really am irresistible.”

And something inside you just snaps.

You tilt your head, look him straight in the eyes, and say “…Meh.”

Ace stares.

The entire universe pauses.

“…Meh?” Ace echoes, as if he misheard you.

You shrug “Yeah. Meh.”

Ace blinks rapidly, like his brain is buffering “Wait. Hold on. No, no, no, you don’t get it. I just kissed you.”

“I know.”

“And you—” He gestures wildly at you “Didn’t do anything??”

“Guess not.”

Ace’s jaw drops. He looks personally offended.

“Hold on,” he says, pointing a very accusatory finger at you “Let me get this straight. You... just sat there and let me kiss you like I was some kind of—some kind of—unremarkable man?”

You nod “Pretty much.”

Ace clutches his chest like he’s just been stabbed “Oh my GOD.”

The crew, who had been watching very intently, erupts into chaos.

“YO WHAT?”

“DID Y/N JUST—”

“THEY ‘MEH’-ED HIM???”

“THERE’S NO COMING BACK FROM THAT, MAN.”

Ace spins dramatically away from you, gripping the side of the ship like he’s having an existential crisis.

Marco slaps a hand over his mouth, cackling “Damn, Ace, I ain’t never seen you take an L like that.”

Thatch is wheezing “You got ‘meh’-ed, dude. That’s worse than rejection.”

“I KNOW.” Ace yells, throwing his arms in the air. He turns back to you, looking utterly betrayed “How could you do this to me?”

You shrug again “Guess I’m just not that impressed.”

Ace gasps. Actually gasps. Like you just kicked him in the soul.

“This is the worst day of my life” he declares. Then he marches off.

You watch him go, amused “Where are you even going?”

“I DUNNO, SOMEWHERE I’M APPRECIATED.”

From that moment on, Ace enters what can only be described as a petty, over-the-top crisis. Because in his mind, this is unheard of.

He is Portgas D. Ace. He’s a walking inferno, second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, effortlessly cool and charming. He has never, in his entire life, had someone just shrug off his kiss.

And he does not know how to handle it.

Thus begins The Avoidance Arc.

Ace is avoiding you because he’s lowkey heartbroken and incredibly dramatic about it.

He doesn’t even try to be subtle. He goes out of his way to avoid being anywhere near you.

Like, you’ll step onto the deck and Ace immediately turns 180 degrees and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You say one word to him, and he immediately yells, “OH WOW, LOOK AT THE TIME, GOTTA GO.”

You catch him in the hallway? He jumps overboard.

Marco watches all of this unfold with deep amusement “Wow. You really broke him.”

You roll your eyes “I didn’t break him. He’s being dramatic.”

“He’s been in the crow’s nest for six hours.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Eventually, you get tired of this nonsense.

So, while the crew is gathered on the deck, you decide enough is enough.

You climb onto the railing of the ship and shout, loudly enough for Ace to hear from wherever he’s sulking—

“HEY EVERYONE! I THINK PORTGAS D. ACE IS A COWARD!”

There is instant silence.

Everyone slowly turns to look at you.

Then—BOOM. A door slams open somewhere, and Ace comes flying onto the deck like an angry storm “WHO SAID THAT.”

You smirk “Oh, hey, Ace. Nice of you to join us.”

He points at you, eyes narrowed “You wanna say that again?”

“I said,” you repeat, loud and clear, “you’re a coward.”

The crew is hyped.

“Ohhhhhhh shiiiiiit.”

“Y/N called you out, bro.”

“Ace, you gonna let that slide??”

Ace crosses his arms “I am not a coward.”

“Oh, really?” You tilt your head “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Ace falters “That’s—that’s not—”

You step closer “Admit it. You’re mad because I didn’t kiss you back.”

The crew is on the edge of their seats.

Ace shifts uncomfortably “I’m not mad. I’m just… extremely, deeply wounded.”

You burst out laughing “Oh my god, you’re actually sulking.”

“I AM NOT SULKING.”

Marco sighs, shaking his head “Ace, just admit it. You wanted y/n to be all over you, and when they wasn’t, you got all weird about it.”

Ace groans, covering his face “Fine, yes, okay?! It bruised my damn ego! Happy?”

You grin “Very.”

Ace mutters something about how “this is the worst day of his life” and the crew howls with laughter.

Then, before he can complain further you grab his collar and kiss him, right then and there.

The crew loses their minds.

Ace freezes. Then, slowly, his brain catches up, and when you pull away, he just stares.

“…Oh.”

You smirk “Yeah. Oh.”

Then Ace grins, all cocky confidence again “So, uh. I win, right?”

You punch him in the arm.

recipe for perfect men

RUN, RABBIT, RUN: Part 2

Wet Cat Activities (and an Impromptu First-Aid Class)

Trafalgar Law x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU

Part 2 of my @infixop gift for @namism!

CW: Zombies, graphic depictions of blood, death and violence. Named side character (not super relevant), descriptions of decomposition and bugs. No use of Y/N or gendered pronouns.

WC: 8151

<-Prev Masterlist Next->

(A/N at the bottom)

Law wakes up at the crack of dawn. The morning light is just coming over the horizon, casting long shadows across the roads from behind endless skyscrapers. He’s quiet when he stirs, barely moving under his blanket before he shoots up. He’s not wearing his hat. In the early morning light, you can see the flattened shape of black hair, usually hidden.

“Good morning.” You say, blinking the dryness away from your eyes. 

Law turns and frowns at you. “Did you stay up all night?”

You don’t bother to answer, taking a sip of the cold water you procured from your bag. You’re down to one and a half bottles, so you hold the liquid in your mouth, savouring the way it wets your dry tongue and throat. The plastic bottle crinkles in your grip.

Law’s frown deepens. “I’m not letting your lack of sleep hold us behind today.” 

“I don’t intend to let that happen.” You say. 

The morning goes by quickly. After eating a little more of your rations, you finally decide to breach the question that’s been nagging at you all night.

“What’s the plan?” You ask, zipping your grey backpack up around your blanket. 

Law doesn’t look at you. But after a moment of silent contemplation, he answers. “I think we should still try to cross the river. There’s another bridge if we travel further west.”

You don’t try to smooth the disgusted expression that crawls upon your face. Your hands bunch around the straps of your bag, turning to him and asking: “Are you kidding me, Law? Did you forget what happened last night?”

“I have good reason to suggest this.” Law says, as cryptic as ever. 

You can tell he knows something more, and it frustrates you that he doesn’t seem to trust you enough to share. The frustration melts into hot anger, licking at your ears as your mind wanders to Johnny and Yousaku and Michelle. Strangers who took you in despite knowing nothing about your nature. You could’ve been a maniac that gained their trust only to steal resources, yet they still trusted you. Your stomach turns unpleasantly, and you can’t help but let out a few sharp words.

“Just like how you suggested we go to the bridge two days ago?” 

“I did not suggest that.” Law retorts. He’s far too calm in the face of your accusation, arms crossed and expression carefully neutral. “I only confirmed that there are resources on the other side.”

Okay. That part is true. You take a breath. It’s unfair to blame what happened last night solely on Law. It was a combination of factors and small decisions— 

Letting grief overtake you at a time like this is the worst thing you can do right now.

“Sorry.” You mutter. “But you still haven’t told anyone how you know that. We need to work together from now on— so can you at least tell me why?” 

Law stares at you. You meet his eyes. You will not relent. You hope he knows by now.

“I lived on the other side for most of . . . this situation. So I know.” Law says, finally.

Somehow, that sentiment doesn’t surprise you. You blink at him. 

“That explains some things, I guess.” You say, pushing your bag to the side. “So, you know another way to get across? Why are you here, anyway?” 

Law shrugs. “Somewhat. There are a few things that need to be done before I can say for certain. So let’s get going.”

He stands up, swinging his bag over his shoulders. You follow suit, and the two of you leave the roof quietly.

You don’t push the fact that he only answered your first question. 

~~~~

The streets of the city are mostly empty. The offices and residential buildings loom high over you, caging you in like rats in a sewer. Cars still line the roads, some parked by the curb and others haphazardly in the middle of the street. Scorch marks from fires long put out scar over ashen remains. It’s really a pity. Usually, during the springtime your city is an oasis of green. There were flowers on every corner and tall, leafy trees. Now, it’s a barren wasteland stretching out far ahead of you. 

Law doesn’t talk much. You’ve been walking for close to two hours now, and he still hasn’t said a single thing. A few zombies had to be slashed here and there, and you can’t help but feel useless. The only weapon you had was that shovel. The steady weight it had in your hands is not forgotten. 

At least it’s cloudy today. You think as you look to the sky. Suddenly, a cold breeze blows by. The scent it brings catches on your nose. A slight humidity, the distinct petrichor of precipitation.

Shit, you think. Nature is scary. You know this from living on the streets for the last month. A strong wind can knock over shelter, and the scorching sun depletes water sources far too quickly. Humidity is one you haven’t faced quite yet, but the thought of the wet, sopping clothes sticking to your skin and the ailments that come with being too wet for too long is enough to make you shudder. 

And here, all signs point to rain. 

You voice your thoughts to Law. 

“We can keep going until it starts raining.” He responds.

Yeah, whatever. Mr. Efficiency or something, you think. However, the clouds are congregating at an alarming rate. It takes another block of walking before the blue sky disappears behind a battalion of angry grey. Another two blocks, and the grey turns a deep shade of blue. The cold is setting in fast. Without the sun, the wind is able to thread through your jacket, chilling your fingers. There is a certainty within you that if not for the skyscrapers, the sight you would be seeing is one of the impending rain moving closer and closer, turning the streets beneath it the ink black of wet asphalt. 

You turn to Law. “We need to find shelter. Now.”

Almost immediately, a few drops of water hit your head. Then a few more. Then it starts pouring. 

The streets around you are filling up with little fat dots, much like a colour by number scene. You let out a muffled sound, hurrying to maneuver your bag over your head as some form of cover. Frantically looking around, you lock in on an old apartment building with an extended canvas over its entrance half a block down. You start gunning for it, running as fast as your legs can carry you.

Law’s footsteps follow your own— interrupted with the pitter-patter of rain hitting your bag. The rain is coming down really hard. You’re sure it’ll have you soaked in seconds if you don’t get out of it now. Glancing back, the sound of a deep chuckle travels through the thrumming of rain. It startles you enough to make you jump and stumble over your own feet. You almost fall.

Law’s laughing. You didn’t know he could do that. 

“Shut up!” You turn to him, huffing. “If you haven’t noticed, our misfortunes are shared. And what are you doing? Hurry up!”

You duck under the canvas, Law following close behind. 

The rain is really coming down now. All around you, the world is a misty white, broken by little needles of falling rain. You’re still somewhat dry, with the exception of your pants and shoes. The squishy feeling when you move your toes means your socks weren’t able to escape the downpour either. That’s the worst of it. Your clothes will have to dry out with hopes and prayers if the rain does not stop falling. 

“I hope the rain passes soon.” You say. It’s already wet and miserable. The only way for it to get worse is for it to last.

The apartment entrance behind the two of you opens with a mechanical click.

Instantly, Law is sliding his sword from its sheath. It’s out and in his hand before he even turns, and you step back, nerves standing on edge. 

A short guy with dark hair and dark eyes stands in the doorway. His eyes are wide with alarm. He raises his hands, trying to seem as innocuous as possible. “Do you want to come in? It’s quite . . . wet outside.”

Despite his kind words, you narrow your eyes in suspicion. 

“We don’t have anything on us.” Law says. 

You eye his backpack, very much full with things, but not edible things.

“That’s— I don’t plan on robbing you.” The guy says again. He pulls the door open wider. The building is dark behind him, full of shadows. Does this man not have any self-preservation skills? You would not be this insistent with the possibility of getting skewered. 

“I’m Piper.” He says. “I’ve been living here for a while. There’s no one else here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Law turns to you then, questions in his eyes. You frown, eyes darting back to Piper. 

“You can take a look around, if you want.” Piper says. 

Even if you look around, if there are others inside it’s over before you even begin. But then you turn, and the white mist of rain still surrounds you. You shiver. 

Maybe he’s actually nice. Maybe, just maybe, there is someone kind in the middle of the apocalypse trying to help others. You look at Law again, then nod.

He nods back. 

“We’ll take your offer.” Law says. 

Piper beams, opening the door even wider. Law enters first, you follow close behind. 

The lobby smells musty. There are a few armchairs to the left of the entrance, pushed against walls covered in yellowing, flowery wallpaper. On the right, is a rickety set of stairs, its handrails a freshly painted pristine white. Further down the hallway, long shadows criss-cross the emptiness like knitted yarn. It’s quiet, lingering hands stretching out through old cedar floors, only stopped by the thundering rain outside and the small window at the end of the hall. He shows the two of you to a room upstairs. Two hundred two. The second door after going up the stairs. You lock the doors after Piper lets you be, letting Law carefully inspect the place. 

The rain does not stop. 

Piper offers to let you stay the night.

Neither of you object. 

~~~~

You didn’t sleep much again. 

The dawn brought with it more rain. With Law still asleep in the other room, you slowly get up from the spot on the carpet you decided to take, shuffling through to the entrance. You remove the table placed there for extra security, and unlock the door. The hallway is empty. You tip-toe out to the railing, leaning over. The wood creaks and bends, stretching under your weight. It’s mostly dark on the first floor. The shadows seem to shift, making shapes in your eyes. You blink, leaning further down. 

“Hi!”

You yelp, jumping back. Piper is beside you, an easy smile on his face. He holds out his hand, helping you up with a grunt. 

“What’s your name again? I don’t think I asked.” 

You tell him your name after little consideration. He’s probably been lonely, you think, living in such a big building by himself. 

“That’s a cool name.” He says. “Have you lived here long?”

The question catches you off guard. “Like here in the city?”

“Yeah.” He says. 

So you start talking, About yourself, about your life before all this. About your dreams, aspirations, your life now that the world has ended. Piper is easy to talk to, you find, good at wrangling out more words from you even when you think you’re done. It’s more than you even dream about sharing with Law.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Piper says after you’ve rambled enough that the sun is starting to come up. The rain is still falling, but the soft shade of grey is unmistakable. “Why were you up so early?”

“I’ve been having insomnia.” You admit. Piper hums, moving to stand straight. He stretches, then starts making his way down the hall, slowly. “I think it’s the stress. I don’t sleep well when I’m stressed. Especially with the last three days.” A tired chuckle escapes you. 

“Yeah, sounds like it.” He stops by the window, staring out at the falling rain. 

The silence stretches. You turn away. The wallpaper is coming to life again, the patterns crawling like folklore creatures around the walls. 

“Have you been bitten?” 

What an odd thing to ask. You stop leaning against the guardrail, standing up to your full height.

Piper is walking back towards you, each step slow, careful, like the steps of a predator. The dawn light shining through the clouds is just bright enough to light up the hallway through the window. The thrumming rainfall is a constant— but the low dragging of metal against the wood is not. 

“I know the signs.” Piper says. His eyes are so wide. The black pupils seem to have shrunken. “Insomnia, twitchiness, hunger. I’ve seen many like that right before they succumb. I take it upon myself to put people like that out of their misery.”

“That’s bullshit.” You say. You’re pretty sure you haven’t been exhibiting any of these signs. And you didn’t even know if the signs were real. You haven’t been bitten. You know that. If you were bitten, you wouldn’t be fighting this hard to keep living. “No one actually knows that stuff.” 

“If you are me, then you do.” His voice drops dangerously low. Piper raises his hand. In it, you see the long and disdainful hook of a crowbar. 

You need to get Law. You open your mouth to scream but Piper is already rushing at you. The crowbar swings at your head and you have just enough time to tuck it into your arms. The edge hits your elbow, hook thankfully just missing skin, but it sends a shock of pain and unpleasant numbness through the limb. Stumbling back, you shift your weight and grab the curved end of the crowbar as Piper tries to reel it back. He fights you, the weapon rolling forwards and backwards between the two of you in a frenzied game of tug-of-war. He’s winning— just barely. You can feel the cold metal slipping from your hand as you’re forced forward, drawing closer and closer to the landing. An idea suddenly strikes you— and with his next tug you let go. Piper stumbles backwards with the momentum— and the crowbar flies out of the window behind him with a loud crack, leaving a mosaic of shattered glass in its wake. 

Instantly, the cold wind from the outside pours in along with the rain. Piper hisses, stepping away from the puddle forming on the floor. 

You’re breathing heavily, all senses on high alert. 

“Why can’t you make this easy for me?” Piper wails. He moves towards you, fingers twitching. 

In response, you drop low, backing yourself against the landing wall, readying for anything he might try. 

Click!

Piper spins and you look up. Law comes out from two hundred two, sword lending against his shoulder. He’s in a plain black shirt and his hat is missing. His eyes are narrowed, mouth pulled down in the same frown someone unceremoniously woken up would wear. But then he looks. Really looks. And you see him shift.

“You too!” Piper wails, voice cracking. 

Law tenses. He’s taking the sword from his shoulder when Piper charges at him. 

The sword clatters against the ground behind Piper, useless. You’re still pressed against the landing wall when Piper shoves Law out the window, the remaining wooden frame shattering from the force. Law grabs Piper’s arm, cursing as the man dangles his upper body out in the rain. Piper sneers. You rush forward, grabbing at Piper’s shoulder, trying to get him off but he swings— his elbow makes hard contact with your cheek. 

Your vision blurs with dancing stars and you let go, wobbling towards the landing. The taste of iron fills your mouth with a gush of blood and for a second— you’re stunned. 

Piper pushes Law. You see him teetering for a split second. 

Then he falls

“Law!” You shout, running forward as he disappears out the second story window. You get two steps in before you remember him, Piper, still there and alive. He’s still staring at you, eyes wide and breathing heavy, when he slowly pulls out a knife from his pocket. 

You glance around. The stairs are right beside you, but he might just chase you down. You can run but but— 

Then you spot it. Law’s sword. It’s so close. Just behind Piper and if you time this right— 

Piper lunges for you and you dive, the knife missing you by a hair. Your hand closes over the sword as you slide to a stop against the far wall, right under the dead ‘EXIT’ sign. The sheath slides off easily, and you throw the cover at Piper, using that distraction to scramble up against the wall. You spit out the blood in your mouth and aim Law’s sword right at Piper. 

“Don’t come closer!” The sword feels foreign in your hands but you grip it anyway. Your skin is icy-hot and all you can see is Piper and his knife. 

He hesitates for a moment there. His eyes are filled with a frenzy. He wants you dead— and he’s already shown what he can do. 

He might’ve just killed Law. 

No. You can’t think about that right now. Piper advances, that tiny knife held up, and despite your much larger weapon, you take a step back. 

You need to do this. To protect yourself. You can make a cut on his legs and render him unable to follow you. Then you can go and check if Law’s okay. 

Piper’s staring at you, expression raw. He doesn’t try to stab you. Not yet. 

He’s readying himself. You realize. He’s talking himself up to make the kill just like you. But this is the one truth. You need to get him before he gets you. 

The sword goes through his stomach. The squenching, soft feeling under your hands is alien.

You just stabbed him. You just stabbed someone.

The world spins and on instinct, you pull back, knuckles still wrapped tightly around the hilt of Law’s sword. The feeling of the metal coming out is just as bad as it going in. Blood flows down his pelvis and legs, pooling around his feet at a rate you didn’t want to think about. He takes a step towards you and you step back. His eyes are wide, full of fear. You wonder if he sees the same of you. 

He opens his mouth, and a garbled sound comes out. 

You turn and run.

Law. If you only think about Law you can probably keep your mind long enough to find him and make sure he’s okay and get away. 

You burst out from the fire exit at the end of the hall. The rickety black stairs shake under your weight and the force of the wind. Rain pelts your face, hitting your eyes but you ignore it, hopping down the stairs two at a time. It seems like forever, your hand grazing the railing and the other still grasped tightly around the hilt of Law’s sword, until your feet finally touch the pebbled path of the alleyway. You turn left, then left again at the next opening between the buildings. The sound of pebbles crunching underfoot and falling rain accompany your steps and all you can think about is Law. 

You pray he’s okay. 

The suffocating walls on each side of you break into open streets and you frantically look both ways— relief rushing through you when you see Law standing in the middle of the road, wet coat standing out from the white mist around you. To his right are bushes, a few more deformed than the others. Your footsteps alert him, and he spins to you, a sharp look ready before he realizes it’s you. 

“Law.” You call, jogging the few steps to stop before him. “I’m glad you’re okay— are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What about—” He manages to say before you interrupt.   

“He’s not an issue anymore. Don’t worry about him.” You look away. The sword in your hand is glistening with the rain. It’s almost clean now, the remaining crimson spread around the metal like sunlight dappled upon leaves. “I lost your sheath though. Sorry.”

Law doesn’t press. He does sigh, however, the rain trailing down his face in little droplets. “That’s fine. Just keep holding her now. We need to find a place to wait out the rain.”

“We . . . can go back inside?” You offer. There isn’t a better option. The rest of the apartment is empty, and who knows about the other places?

Law nods. 

The two of you walk back towards the entrance of the apartment building. Ghosts of the path you took the day before haunt your steps, and the vision of Piper leading the two of you into his home flash over reality. Your throat tightens. A chill, more thorough than that of the rain, seeps into your bones. 

Law turns to you. His eyes gloss over with concern and he opens his mouth—

“Did you call your sword her?” The words rush out of your mouth in a shaking string. You need something, anything, to bring you away from the body that is surely laying on the second floor hallway. 

Law blinks. 

“Yes.” He says.

“Is it like the boat thing?” You ask.

Law moves forward again, reaching out to hold the door open for you. You step inside, and the lobby smells exactly the same. Stale. Vaguely like cigarettes. Just like yesterday. 

“You can think of it that way.” Law says. The door closes softly behind him. “Her name is Kikoku, by the way.”

“You named your sword.” You say. “Are you one of those people that give names to everything?” 

Law scoffs, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat. The tension in your shoulders is finally lifting, leaving behind an exhaustion that grows deep in your limbs. Kikoku is suddenly very heavy in your hand, and you hold her out, urging Law to take her back. 

Law reaches up his left hand— and winces. 

You frown. “What’s wrong with your arm?” 

Law grunts, reaching for Kikoku again, this time with his right hand. You jump out of his reach, carefully setting her against one of the lobby chairs. You turn to Law, crossing your arms. How can you assume Law fell out of the second floor without any consequences? 

“Law. What’s wrong with your arm?”

Law stands there, looking very much like a child caught red handed for some infantile crime. He attempts to mirror your stance, raising his own arms until he winces again. 

“Law.”

“I may have fractured my left forearm.”

Oh. 

“And why didn’t you tell me?” 

Law shrugs. “I thought there were more pressing things to deal with.”

Okay, fair. Law doesn’t know he’s dead.

Actually— you should probably go check and make sure that he is dead.

“I’m going to get our stuff from upstairs.” You say. 

“But what about—”

“He’s not a problem anymore.” You insist. You hope the look on your face speaks for you. To admit he’s dead to someone else— is to admit you killed someone.

Law’s face remains passive, but he relents. “Take Kikoku with you.”

You nod. You pick Kikoku up as you walk to the stairs. Each step is agonizing. The muscles in your legs scream with every lift, and the landing of the second floor looms ever closer. That growing, anxious hole deepens. Slowly, oh so slowly, your eyes begin to level with the landing. You turn so you can see around the bend, and a sigh of relief leaves you when you spot Piper’s still body through the railing, sagging against the door to unit two hundred two. Kikoku’s sheath also lies across him in the hall, dropped there from the altercation. 

You hop up the next two steps, brushing around the railing and his body. Kikoku’s sheath is quickly picked up and tucked under your arm. Opening the door to two hundred two, you spot your bags on the floor. You pull your backpack over your shoulder and Law’s into your free hand. His hat is on the bed, and you grab that too, tucking it under your arm with Kikoku’s sheath. 

Piper still doesn’t move when you step around him again. His blood splashes against your shoes. The fabrics around his stomach are soaked with blood. A familiar queasiness settles in your stomach. You hurry to the landing and don't look up as you descend the stairs.

Law is waiting for you around the corner. You hand him his hat. It goes back on his head almost immediately despite the wet status of his hair. 

The two of you begin moving down the hall. There is no desire to go upstairs again, not with the cracked window and all that occurred minutes ago. The first floor is not much different from upstairs, both sides lined with rooms labeled by floor and number. You pass them by, one by one, until you stop at one of the slightly ajar doors. Just inside, a purple, metallic glimmer catches your eye. You press forward, pushing the apartment door open. 

“Wait—” Law says—

A wave of death hits you. The sweet, rotting smell is strong, and you quickly spot the source. A decomposing body, melting into the carpet beside a purple bat— the source of the metallic reflection. The body is mushy, the skin almost completely gone. Law makes a noise of disgust from beside you as you gag inwardly, lifting the collar of your shirt over your nose. 

“I’m just going to get the bat.” You whisper to Law. You’re not quite sure why you lower your voice so. Maybe, you think, you hope to disturb the dead less than they have been. You shuffle slowly on the wooden floor. The clack of your shoes are soft, and you reach the bat in three small steps. Bending down, you pick it up. The metal is cold in your hands, but strong all the same. It’s sturdy, and you turn, ready to leave, when a sound from deeper in the house catches you attention. Glancing towards the little opening at the far end of the living room, you spot the telltale deformed shadow of a zombie. 

You look to Law. It’s just one. You’re sure of it. And whatever happened in this apartment, it must be the romantic tragedy of some poet. It’s not a story you will know, and now, you can’t let that thing keep wandering around. 

“I’ll get it.” You say. Law’s silence is his agreement. 

You adjust the bat in your hands, lifting it in a ready position. You shuffle down the room, around the carpet and couch in the living room, slowly approaching the entryway. You stop right before the entrance. 

It’s a kitchen. The big windows look out to the side of the building beside it, letting in faint grey light. Rain splatters across the glass like snail trails, drawing long patterns. It’s a beautiful backdrop for the hideous creature knocking itself against the far counter. 

You tighten your hands around the handle. 

One zombie is not so scary as you shuffle closer. Its decomposing skin is greyish, and you gag a little into your mouth when you spot the shadows of maggots crawling just below the surface. Flies buzz in an ever constant hum now. And, as much as you wish, you can never get used to the smell of death. It makes your eyes water, blurring your vision. You can’t hesitate anymore. 

You lunge for it. Your bat makes contact with its head— bone breaking with a sickening crunch. It goes down without much of a fight. The skin breaks in an explosion of rotting flesh and blood, a wave of maggots crawling over each other in a clear desperation not so different from your own. They spill over the counter, down the wood flooring, and around your shoes.

Your head goes blank. Your arms don’t feel like your own. The motion seems automatic— the only thing you can keep doing— the endless repetition of the head of the bat making contact with that twitching mess of rot below you. Outside, with the adrenaline and sun and howling wind, slaying a zombie never felt as visceral as this. 

A soft call of your name freezes you. The bat slips from your fingers and you stumble back. Pain from the sharp edge of the kitchen counter startles you enough to breathe again, a gasp shooting from your throat as you spin, leaning against that same counter, gagging. 

“Are you okay?” 

You look up at Law, startled. 

“That is a hell of a question.” You say. “Are you talking about this,” You gesture behind you. “Or this?” You throw your arms out. 

It feels like you’re losing your mind. The incident earlier. This second wave of adrenaline. You can’t breathe, you’re exhausted and the sight of blood has carved itself into your mind. You stumble forward towards him. The world is both upright and sideways, and you drop down into a little ball, wrapping your arms around your head as you lean against the kitchen counter, sobbing. You want to sleep. But you can’t. Not right now. Not when Law is still untreated and you haven’t even found a safe, zombie-free place to spend the night. 

You feel a hand wrap around your own, urging you to stand. 

“It’s filthy here. There’s another room down the hall that’s empty. Com’on.” 

His hand is warm. Comforting. And it’s nice that he doesn’t offer to go upstairs. You force your focus on him. Only him. Somehow, you find the strength to stand. Your legs are shaking, and warm tears slide down your cheeks. The sticky cold of your clothes seeps into your bones. The world is blurred, and your head hurts. From exhaustion or the cold or disgust, you have no idea. 

Law pulls you closer then, awkwardly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His body, warm and alive, grounds you. You take a heaving breath, resting your forehead against his chest. The tears are slowing. The little control you feel is back, and you turn around, picking up your bat. The end is almost alive with wriggling maggots and crushed ones. 

If you had more food in you, you’re sure you would’ve thrown up by now. But you don’t. You pick up your new bat by the handle, and follow Law out of the kitchen, past the blue couch and matching carpet, where you wipe the remains from the metal. It leaves streaks of mush in its wake. Tomorrow, if you make it until then, you’ll clean your new weapon more thoroughly. 

Law waits for you outside. He looks more concerned. That’s another thing you never expected to see from him. There are no words shared even as Law leads you down the hall, to the very last room at the end. You push the door open, and he locks it behind you. 

The layout of the apartment is quite similar to the one you were in before. The living room is arranged slightly differently, with smaller armchairs, a coffee table, and a T.V instead of just carpet and a couch. The kitchen, one that probably looks the same as the one earlier, gleams at you from the other side of the room. You look away. 

Law needs help right now. Think about Law.

“Do you know first-aid?” You ask him. You didn’t. You were planning on taking a class but then the world exploded. 

“Yes.” Law says, hesitating. But then he continues. “I was a surgeon before all this.”

You blink, then send him a shaky grin. There’s an urge in you that needs to be cheeky. You’re pretty sure it’s the trauma. “Oh. That means you can talk me through fixing your arm, right doctor?”

Law scoffs. “You can’t fix a fracture. It needs to heal on its own, and we need to brace it so that the bone sets properly. ” 

“Details, details.” You turn then, starting towards the other doorway across the entrance. “We should probably get you out of the wet clothes first.” 

You push the flimsy door open to a bedroom. There is a large bed in the middle, covered in maroon sheets, with a wardrobe tucked neatly at its side. At the far side is another door. One you assume goes to the bathroom. 

You step across the creaking wood floors and enter. 

The bathroom is small, with a tub on the far side and a window above. The light is soft and grey, but it’s enough to see most things. You turn around to Law. He’s followed you in, still quiet, and his arm is still limp at his side.

“Sit down.” You say to him. Law looks around, before deciding to gingerly sit down on the closed toilet lid. He’s only wearing a black shirt and pants. They’re both soaked. You lift his hat by the rim, setting it on the counter beside you. Then, you carefully pull the corner of his sleeve, urging him to take his good arm out. The wet fabric clings to his skin. It jostles his other arm as you try to tug the sleeve off. Law grunts slightly, sound penetrating the silence. You freeze. 

“It’s fine.” Law says. “It just hurts a little when you touch it.” 

You take a deep breath. Trying to ignore the queasy feeling crawling up your back. “If you say so. But let’s try something else.”

You let go of his sleeve, instead reaching down to the hem. Your hands are gentle, slowly lifting the fabric. The expanse of cold skin grows ever-larger. You urge the shirt over his head, your fingers brushing against his cheekbones. Then you nudge his good arm out. You get ready for the hardest part, the part where you try to get wet, tight clothes off a fractured arm, but then you pause. 

His body is covered in tattoos. Swirling black ink loop over sharp muscles. Hearts and circles and patterns you have never seen stretch over his chest and shoulders and arms. The patterns are so pretty. The edges are all slightly blurry, a show of time passed. You can’t help lifting your hand, ghosting just slightly over the bottom of the large heart stretching right over his chest. Your fingers brushes just barely against his skin, following the pattern with your eyes. 

“Your tattoos are so pretty.” You say. Law inhales. His abdomen tenses under your fingers.

You rip your hand away in a flight of mild, confused panic.

“Sorry.” You mutter. You glance up then, eyes meeting his. The pair of gold are gazing at you with an inexplicable softness. 

You turn away before that look can drown you. Twisting your hands together in front of you, you look anywhere, everywhere that is not Law. “Let’s get your shirt off completely first.”

You stand. You already thought about how you’d do this. Wiggling your fingers into the shirt from the shoulder hole, a little space is created around his arm. His skin is icy under your fingertips, interrupted by a slight, swelling bump. You swallow, trying to keep your hands steady despite the uncomfortable feeling. Slowly, the material nudges downwards, and you reach to pull the sleeve from his hand. It’s like an inchworm, bunching up and extending, until finally, his hand comes out from the sleeve opening.

You unceremoniously discard the garment behind you. 

“What do I need to do?” You ask him, resting your hands on your hips. Your heart is pounding. It’s easy to ignore the way injuries gross you out if you’re not looking at it. 

Law is still looking at you that way. But he speaks with a steady professionalism that almost knocks you over from the contrast. “Best case scenario, we first get a stabilizer for the forearm. A piece of wood or hard plastic can work. We also need bed sheets and a pair of scissors. If you can find all these, that would be great.”

“It’s like a scavenger hunt.” You say, feeling the edges of your lips tilt up. “Do I get a prize at the end?”

“Depends. If you do well ‘fixing my arm’, you might get something.”

“Really? What is it?”  

Law glares at you. There’s no real malice behind the look.  “Depends on how you do. Now get moving.”

“Whatever you say, doctor.” You laugh, heading out from the bathroom. 

First things first, you take a look in the living room. There's a sewing kit under the coffee table. You rummage through the threads and needles, feeling a sense of victory when your hands close around a pair of red fabric shears. 

Now, for the stabilizer. There aren’t many flat hard plastics or wood planks in the average household. You look around, trying to find something that could work as a replacement. Your eyes land on a hardcover textbook shoved under the T.V. 

Hm. You think. It's time to improvise. You pick up the textbook. It’s for some advanced math subject you remember crying over in school. You bend the cover back, and rip. 

It doesn't budge. 

You try again. 

Its cover still doesn't come off.

You hold up your newly found shears. The sharp point goes through easily enough, leaving an edge of rough, jutting material. You open the shears, carefully holding it open like a knife, and gently scrape the mess. The extra pieces are slowly falling off, leaving a little pile of dust beneath you. Satisfied with the newer, smoother look of the cover, you tuck it under your arm with the shears.

The next course of action is the bed sheet. You head back to the bedroom, straight to the wardrobe. Pulling open the heavy drawers, you shuffle through them, going from top to bottom. A drawer of shirts, then pants, then miscellaneous towels and sheets. You pull one of each out, eyeing the clothes for Law’s size.

Law is right where you left him. You hand him the towel and shirt, and set the textbook cover on the counter. 

“Now what?”

“We need the bedsheet to be triangle shaped.”

“What kind?” You ask, spreading the fabric out on the ground. 

“Isosceles.”

You follow Law’s instructions, slicing through the fabric with ease. Patches of the cloth fall away, leaving an isosceles triangle with a large base. You then fold the extra pieces strategically into long strips. While you were busy with the bed sheet, Law slipped on the T-shirt you got for him. It’s just a little small, stretching across his chest. You stare pointedly at the wall behind his head.  

Law, thankfully, does not seem to notice your predicament. He holds out his arm for you, and the textbook cover is already tucked under the fracture.  “Since my forearm is the problem, we need to stabilize it. First, tie the two strips, one right above my wrist and the other below my elbow. Make sure to tie the knot under the brace.”

You do as he instructs. The bed sheet strip loops around his upper arm twice, then you cross it under the cardboard hardcover and pull.

Law doesn’t scream. But he does inhale sharply, body following with a noticeable jolt. Vertigo hits you, that familiar queasy feeling fogging your mind. You never liked looking at injuries. Your own or anyone else's. That’s why you always played it safe, avoiding situations that may cause you pain and refusing to go into medicine. You regret that a little now. If you had studied medicine like Law had . . . maybe you would feel less grossed out now. 

“You’re shaking.”

Law’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You blink, taking a deep breath, and the world stabilizes enough. 

“Just . . . give me a minute.”

You take a few grounding breaths. The queasiness subsides enough to think again. Your fingers tremble as you double knot the tie under the stabilizer. Then, you repeat the same process with the other strip of bed sheet just above his wrist. You give both a careful tug— and they hold.

“What’s next?” You look up at Law, hoping he doesn’t notice the uneasy look that is surely all over your face.

“You’re doing great.” Law says. He gestures to the cut bed sheet. “We’ll make the sling next. Turn the point to my arm. Yes, like that. Pull this corner under my arm and behind my neck. Now take the other corner and tie it behind my neck.” 

You do as he says. The bed sheet goes under his arm, then over. You press the corner on his shoulder, and lean forwards with the other one. It’s hard to see over him when he’s seated— and you're practically draping yourself onto him in your attempt to tie the knot behind his neck. Your thawing fingers fumble against his warm skin, and from here, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s so close, his face brushing against your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek—

The knot is so hard to tie from this angle.

You back away, the corners of the sling once again free to fall. 

“Can you please get down? It’s hard to tie the knot.” You do not acknowledge the pounding of your heart. 

Law scoots off the toilet, slowly lowering himself to the floor. The makeshift sling has somewhat fallen off— so you kneel before him, going through the motions he led you through one more time. You try to drape the other corner around him first. You reach out, lean forward— and this time— a little too far. You’re falling before you realize, knocking Law down backwards. 

His back hits the tiles first. You land on our arms, hands splayed out on either side of him. The shock travels through your shoulders and knees, aching the bones just slightly. You try to get up, but Law begins moving too and his flailing arm hits the inside of your elbow just so that you fall down again into that mess of tangled limbs and legs. The bottom of Law’s shirt is slowly soaking from your own wet clothes, and you feel yourself shrivel at the feeling of his muscles under your fingers. 

This is so embarrassing. You look up at him, lifting your head from his chest and you realize he’s looking at you too. 

Your eyes meet. Deep hues melt into pots of gold, and the sight makes you shiver. Your breath catches in your throat. You feel a hand— his hand— rest on your back. 

The touch startles you enough to rip you from his gaze.

“Sorry!” You shoot up, scrambling to unstraddle his thigh and get away from him, away from the heat flooding into your ears and the intensity in his eyes. 

He gets up too. There’s a look on his face, one that makes you think he wants to say something. But you don’t want to know what it is. 

“Let’s try this again.” You blabber, stopping Law before he can even start. One more time, you go through the motions of swaddling his arm. You’re careful not to touch him, not to look at him. This time, you hold on to both corners and awkwardly shuffle behind him, successfully tying the double knot against the nape of his neck. You do not let yourself linger.  

“There. Is this good?” You stand up, walking around Law. 

Law drops his shoulder. The sling sags, but holds. 

“Yes. Thank you.”

You exhale a sigh of relief leaning against the wall beside you as you stare down at him, wondering what to say. The idea strikes you a second later, and you smirk, pulling on the teasing tone from earlier. “So . . . what’s my reward?”

“Bold of you to assume you even got a passing grade.” Law says, moving to his feet. “You knocked your patient over.” 

Your neck instantly burns in a rush of heat, boldly different from the one minutes ago.

“Look,” You start to say, but stop when he reaches towards you. His hand comes startlingly close to your cheek. And before you can even register what’s happening—

Law flicks your forehead. Hard.

“Ow!” You jump back, hands coming up to the wound, a retaliating kick quickly landing on his calf. It’s not malicious, with just enough force that he feels it. “What was that for?”

“I’ll tell you everything.” He says.

You stand there, confused. “Huh?”

“I’ll tell you everything.” Law repeats. “About why I know so much about the other side. About why I’m here.” 

You stare at him, unsure of what to say. 

“There’s a safe place out there.” He says, still as cryptic as ever. “But right now, I want to finish changing so you can too.” He gestures at you and your still wet clothes, cold and drying at the edges. 

You, in turn, eye his pants. “I trust you don’t need help for that?”

Law rolls his eyes at you. 

The confession doesn’t shock you as much as it might have. Maybe the sleepless nights are finally catching up to you. Either way, you think you’re okay with moving on right now.

“Okay doctor.” You laugh, striding to the door. “Don’t take too long!”

He takes a lot longer than you thought he would— without accounting for the arm. By the time it’s your turn to change, you already have a set of clothes picked out and are also more than half dry. You’ve also reached the conclusion that you trust Law enough to believe whatever he’s going to tell you, and he trusts you enough to finally tell you what’s actually going on. 

When the bathroom door closes behind you, you strip yourself of your wet clothes. It’s thrown in a soggy pile with all the other garments. The clothes you choose for yourself fit decently well. They’re comfortable and dry.

Law is on the bed when you come out of the bathroom significantly less wet. 

“I found these in the kitchen.” He holds up a stack of canned turkey and crackers. 

Your stomach growls.

~~~~

It’s not a gourmet meal, but it sure feels like it after a month of canned soup. You push the crumbs of dinner onto the floor, shaking the bed sheets free from residuals.

It's then that the fatigue of the day truly hits you. Your eyelids are so, so heavy, limbs dropping against the bed and Law seems to notice, for he nudges you towards the pillow, urging you to lay down. But you shake your head. “You still haven’t told me anything.”

“You’re exhausted. Sleep first. I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Your stomach does a loop. A day ago, if he said those words you wouldn’t have believed him. But now . . . 

“Okay. You stay. I’ll go to the couch.” Law stops you as you try to slide off.

“Why?” He asks. “This bed is big enough for the both of us.”

You stare at him then. A vague idea of you resting by the door to stop him from leaving haunts you. But you can’t say that. It’s embarrassing. And you don’t think he would just do that anymore. But your mouth moves before you can stop it. Maybe it’s because of the exhaustion of the day, but all the insecurities begin to spill out like water from a broken dam. In a small and broken voice, you confess: 

“I don't want you to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” He scoffs immediately, but then softens. He reaches out his pinky, looping it with your limp one resting against your leg. “If it makes you feel better, I promise you. And sleep on the bed.”

“How old are you?” You let out a chuckle, full of a genuine sound you didn’t know you possessed. The anxiety is not completely gone. It’s still there, right under the surface. But you think it’s quelled enough to rest. The euphoria of a soft mattress beneath you is lulling you right to sleep. Your eyes are so heavy. With your stomach full of food and all that’s happened today, it feels like your physical body is ready to give out at any second. You lay down against the pillow, closing your eyes. The weightlessness of sleep cradles you, tipping you along the edge of dreamland.

You don’t remember anything after that.

A/N: I got an offer to take a free first aid class in the middle of writing this fic so i did. It was lowkey really fun and the entire time i was giggling like a madman because I can now write semi accurate medical treatment :D

shout out to my doctor friend as well, she read over law's instructions and was like "yep, a medical professional would say this" so slay your exams girlie <3

The textbook is also a linear algebra textbook (i hated that class so much)

lore for anyone interested: The city geography is based on Albertan prairie city geography where the city is split in half by a river (if you're curious, search up Calgary 💀 or Edmonton 💀 on maps). Most of the time the downtown is on one side and the lower human density residential areas on the other. It's not always split exactly like that, but i just really enjoy the aesthetic. There is another thing I'm working on rn that has the exact same geography because that's how much i like it LOL.

That how i decided on the climate as well, it's just a prairie climate, in the spring and summer we tend to get rain for either twenty minutes or DAYS depending on how the sky is feeling. The weather also changes really fast.

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