How Writers Feel Knowing That They Will Never Be Able To Read Their Own Work For Enjoyment (they Wrote

how writers feel knowing that they will never be able to read their own work for enjoyment (they wrote it with the intent of making something they haven’t seen before)

Talent |Master-List|

Usopp x Reader, fluff, crack, teasing, Usopp is underrated, we need more of him, brief swearing, SFW, kisses

Summary: You’re are Usopp’s muse.

A/N: This is literally the sweetest idea, thank you so much for requesting. I mixed in some of the other Straw Hats with this, so I hope you don’t mind!

•-•-•—•-•-••-•-•—•-•—•-•

Inspiration, and ideas.

The hardest things to come across.

In a world of grey, Usopp used to be lost. He’d search in pictures, cook books, even Robin’s boring historical papers to find ideas. He was beyond desperate to clear his art block.

The sniper needed something to clear his mind, he just didn’t know what.

But little did he figure, all the answers to his problems would be you.

The moment you’d joined the crew, he’d look at you from afar and things would magically fix. His ideas would run clear, and he could draw. It was like some cure, some unbelievable discovery—with clouds and magical unicorns—he could think.

Actually think.

He fell in love with you because you colored his world.

The softness in your eyes brought out the colors he’d once thought bland, some he’d thought boring. But no, he could finally draw and create with them.

It was a blessing—no, correction—you were the blessing. Your smile brought light into his world, and he couldn’t help but fawn from afar. He’d watch you, a lot. Even in the simplest of tasks, cleaning, chores—you name it. He couldn’t believe you were real.

Usopp drowned in art, better yet you.

Even now as he sits on the stairs, months into your relationship—sketching you in a journal, he makes art. His thoughts never dry, and they’re always full of life and color, though he kept it secret.

It wasn’t embarrassing—he just . . . didn’t mention it, he didn’t know how to tell you. At-least that’s what he convinced himself.

Or maybe his journal was just full of you, and he didn’t want you to know.

Regardless, he sketched you now as you fished with Luffy and Chopper, casting from the rail while he sketched a soft scene.

The boys had been long forgotten, now replaced with mangly fish while you looked ethereal. He wasn’t jealous, he was just…exploring his creativity. Yeah, that’s it.

Creativity.

“I got something!” You suddenly shouted, standing up. Usopp jumped, almost dropping his pen. “Haha—suckers! I win!” you got behind the rail, reeling in whatever you baited.

“Noo!” Luffy dramatically fell back, and Chopper sulked lowering his head. “No fair, I wanted to get it first.”

“Maybe next time,” you smirked, pulling your rod, but instead—it pulled you forward. You stumbled into the rails, letting out a yelp—and Chopper immediately grabbed you.

“AH! ____, no—Help!! The fish is gonna eat ____! USOPP!!”

Scrambling up, Usopp dropped his journal by the stairs. The pen rolled, and he hassled down like a hero—grabbing your waist.

“I gotcha! Hold on!”

You looked back, sending a smile and thanks, and Usopp about caved. His knees would’ve gone weak, if it weren’t for the fact a fish was about to drag you below.

He snapped out of it, flushing red, “Hey, focus on the fish idiot—not me! I mean I’m flattered—but—focus on the rod!”

“Ew! You guys are gross!” Luffy let out a yuck, grabbing the three of you.

Yeah, he couldn’t believe you were real.

“On three guys!!—“ Chopper turned to his human-form, dragging you both back.

“One!”

“Two!” Usopp held you tighter, leaning on his heels.

“Three!” Luffy shouted, yanking back with all his might.

SNAP

The rod broke. No—shattered.

The fish was lost.

And in slow motion, you were all sent flying back.

A chorus of yells echoed throughout the ship, and like bowling balls, you and Usopp knocked down a few barrels by the stairs.

He shielded you, completely winded by the force of the fall, dazed. Usopp slowly let you go, giving you the freedom to move as he recovered.

Weakly coughing, you leaned up.

“Ow,” you muffled, sitting on his hips. Your arms were placed at either side of his head, and the position wasn’t awkward till you locked eyes.

“I-uh, you okay?” He blurted, blinking idly. His hands balanced your waist, and you hesitated to shift forward.

“Yeah, I’m fine silly—you?” You brushed off, pulling some pieces of wood of his hair.

“Your the one who took the fall, idiot.”

“Oh—I did? Haha, I mean—of course I did, I’m the amazing Usopp, I save my girlfriend whenever she’s uh . . . Gonna get eaten by a fish.” he leaned up, letting out a nervous laugh.

SLAM

“What the hell was the crash?!” Nami snapped, bursting out from inside. She looked down to you—and like a science trick with pepper and salt, she was the dish soap that sent you both scrambling away from eachother.

“Uh—“ Usopp stuttered, bright red, unable to form a response.

“It was my fault,” you said quickly, covering him. You brushed off, standing to your feet. “Me, Luffy and Chopper were fishing, and I caught something—but my rod broke.”

“Wait as in MY rod?!” Franky boomed, appearing beside Nami. “There’s no way! I built those to withstand anything!”

“Well, clearly not.” Zoro scoffed, casually walking over the shattered pile of wood.

“OH MY BABY!!” Franky dramatically dropped to his knees, cradling the remnants of his work. “You will not be forgotten, Wendy.”

“Ugh, he named it?” Nami sighed, leaning into her palm. “Ok—I’m going back inside, you all are ridiculous.”

You sighed, looking over to Luffy and Chopper who were already back to fishing, determined to catch whatever you had.

Then, looking to the spot Usopp just was—he was gone. Surprised, you called his name only to find him prying his journal away from the skeleton.

“Yohoho, true love at its finest,” Brook laughed, and Usopp blushed red walking back to you, grumbling.

“What’s he on about?” you asked, confused as Usopp grabbed your hand, pulling you forward. He was muttering incoherent curses under his breath.

“Usopp?” you laughed, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” He blurted, “nothing at all—I just, I just want to go inside.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!” he was now beet red, pulling you into his workshop. He let out a long breath, letting you go as his shoulders sagged,

Relieved, he looked back to you, before quickly away.

Something was definitely up.

“So . . . What’s goin’ on?” you asked, moving to face him.

“Nothing.”

“You said that already, make a different excuse.” you teased, placing a hand on his jaw—and he about exploded.

Though he didn’t respond.

Looking down, you paused. His sketchbook was held behind him. Out of curiosity, you couldn’t help yourself. So, you reached for it.

“Hey, what are doing—wait!” he yelped, trying to get it back, but it was too late. You took off, and he chased you around the room.

“This isn’t funny, come on! Give it back!”

You let out a laugh, jumping over his chair to avoid him around the table. Back n forth’ he desperately tried to grab it, but you’d already opened to the newest page.

“____!” Usopp groaned, rolling his hands down his face.

“What I just wanna see? You haven’t showed me your art in awhile anyway—“

Usopp braced, leaning his head against the table.

“Oh.”

. . .

“I’ll just go die in a hole now.”

You snorted, closing his journal. “What why? This is so sweet.”

Appalled, his head jerked up. “Wait what?!”

“What do you mean, what? Usopp these are all amazing, better yet they’re me!”

Usopp’s mouth dropped, as in like all the way to the floor before he picked it up. “Y-you think?”

“Of course I do.” you strolled around the table, and he immediately stood.

Yes—as stiff as a board, but stood.

He’d never been so nervous in his life, even if he loved you with all his heart.

“Why’d you hide this from me?” you asked, softly, but realization washed over you. “WAIT—is this why you never showed me any of your other books?!”

“What?! NO—“ a panicked look crossed his face, and for once, he couldn’t come up with a lie.

“I—just—you, uhm—it’s personal!”

“It’s me! Of course it’s personal!”

“No! Not like that I—“

“I wanna see your other journals.” you finished, deadpanning as you turned around.

“NO! I am not mentally prepared for that!” Usopp immediately followed you, but you were faster.

“____! Don’t! I swear!”

“Or what?” you rose a brow, looking over your shoulder, and he froze.

“Or—or, I’ll—“

“You’ll, what?”

Usopp swallowed, and a bead of sweat rolled down his face. “Uhm, I’ll—I’ll . . .”

Pff—what the fuck now idiot! Think!

“I’ll kiss you!”

“You’ll . . . Kiss me?” you titled your head, placing your hands on your hips. “Really? Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Shit—plan B!

“Absolutely,” he feigned, sweating like a bullet. “You’ve uh—“

“You can’t distract me,” you huffed, turning around.

Usopp’s eyes widened and without hesitation, he lunged forward. His hands urgently grabbed your face, pulling you in for a deep—or rather breathless kiss, teeth and all.

A muffled noise escaped from him, and you couldn’t help but melt.

Your lover pulled away, panting softly. Unconsciously, Usopp licked his lips unable to look away from yours. Like a spell, he was momentarily drunk off your touch, and he couldn’t help but feel the need to do it again.

“Hey,” you whispered, questioningly, but not unkindly. You were interupted as he cut you off again, this time tenderly.

Yeah, that journal was long forgotten.

His hands desperately pulled you closer, not trying to distract you, but hold you. After discovering his secret, it was clear it meant a lot more than he led on. His heart was wide open, and he pouring every last drop of it into this.

“I’ll, I’ll show you, I just—I wasn’t ready . . . For you to see that.” he muttered, leaning back, but not far.

“See what?” you murmured, holding his hands. “Usopp you’ve seen every part of me, and I’ve seen every part of you, do you think a few drawings will make me leave?”

“No, it’s not that, I thought—ugh, I don’t know what I thought, it’s not embarrassing—you’re not embarrassing you could never be, I just,” he let out a sigh, resting his forehead against yours.

“You give me inspiration, ____. I can think clearly when I’m with you, and I . . . I was embarrassed, not that I have to rely on you, I just didn’t know how you’d react, or what you’d say.”

Nervously, he let out a breath. “It’s stupid, huh?”

“Not at all, I had no idea,” you whispered, blushing. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.“

“You don’t have to.”

“No I want to, but that’s like—the biggest, I don’t even know how to say it—compliment?”

Usopp paused, blinking.

“It’s probably not the right word, but if it makes sense—I’d draw you you too, if I could. I’d . . . There’d probably be a lot of sketchbooks. You already motivate me as is, so from an artist’s perspective, I get it.”

Usopp cleared his throat, holding back an ear to ear grin. “I—uh, thanks, that’s really sweet of you to say.” he let out a breath, trying not to crack.

“And, thanks for not—I don’t know, not calling me weird?” You held eye contact, quietly, and he let out a little laugh looking away.

“You’re such a dork,” you scoffed, smiling.

“I am not. You’re the one being sappy.”

“Oh really? Says Mr. You’re My Muse!”

Usopp choked on his breath, and a familiar blush creeped up his neck. “I never even said that—!”

“You don’t even have to, it’s drawn—literally, it’s everywhere.”

“Ok—and?? I regret nothing!”

When your Character...

Gets into: A Fight ⚜ ...Another Fight ⚜ ...Yet Another Fight

Hates Someone ⚜ Kisses Someone ⚜ Falls in Love

Calls Someone they Love ⚜ Dies / Cheats Death ⚜ Drowns

is...

A Child ⚜ Interacting with a Baby/Child ⚜ A Genius ⚜ A Lawyer

Beautiful ⚜ Dangerous ⚜ Drunk ⚜ Injured ⚜ Shy

needs...

A Magical Item ⚜ An Aphrodisiac ⚜ A Fictional Poison

To be Killed Off ⚜ To Become Likable ⚜ To Clean a Wound

To Find the Right Word, but Can't ⚜ To Say No ⚜ A Drink

loves...

Astronomy ⚜ Baking ⚜ Cooking ⚜ Cocktails ⚜ Food ⚜ Oils

Dancing ⚜ Fashion ⚜ Gems ⚜ Mythology ⚜ Numbers

Roses ⚜ Sweets ⚜ To Fight ⚜ Wine ⚜ Wine-Tasting ⚜ Yoga

has/experiences...

Allergies ⚜ Amnesia ⚜ Bereavement ⚜ Bites & Stings ⚜ Bruises

Caffeine ⚜ CO Poisoning ⚜ Color Blindness ⚜ Food Poisoning

Injuries ⚜ Jet Lag ⚜ Mutism ⚜ Pain ⚜ Poisoning

More Pain & Violence ⚜ Viruses ⚜ Wounds

[these are just quick references. more research may be needed to write your story...]

23K notes View Post

4rticbolt

1 month ago

CLINGY MUCH? | ONE SHOT

Shanks x GN!Reader

Zoro x GN!Reader

Mihawk x GN!Reader

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

tags: sfw, fluff, soft, ooc(?)

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

You were many things aboard the Red Force—calm, sharp-tongued, and painfully unbothered by Shanks’ endless antics.

You were also completely unaware of the fact that the most feared (and flirted-with) captain in the New World couldn’t seem to stop touching you.

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a romantic way… at least, not that you noticed.

He’d toss an arm around your shoulders like it was a habit. Rest his hand on your waist when laughing. Tug you into his side when something “dangerous” happened, like a slightly aggressive breeze or a seagull flying too low.

You just chalked it up to him being Shanks.

Until, one bright morning, the crew decided enough was enough.

It started with Benn Beckman sighing dramatically as he walked onto the deck.

“Do you two need a room or something?”

You blinked from where you stood, arms crossed. “We’re not even doing anything.”

Benn pointed. “His hand has been on your lower back for ten minutes.”

Shanks blinked down at his own hand like it betrayed him. “Huh. Didn’t even notice.”

You raised a brow. “Are you okay? Do you have tactile issues?”

Lucky Roux snorted as he passed by with a turkey leg. “Yeah, it’s called ‘falling for someone and not knowing what to do with your hands.’”

Shanks turned red. You remained… utterly unaffected.

“Touch-starved pirate disease,” Lime Juice muttered, jotting fake notes like a doctor. “Tragic. Symptoms include: prolonged physical contact, excessive grinning, and spontaneous cuddling in public.”

Hongo popped his head out of the crow’s nest. “I saw him brush your hair behind your ear during the storm last week.”

“That was because it got in their face,” Shanks defended.

You nodded. “He didn’t want me to get stabbed by my own bangs. Very heroic.”

“You’re wearing a braid,” Yasopp called from the helm.

A long pause.

“…Okay, I’m not good with excuses,” Shanks muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand bumped yours in the process.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Captain.”

“Yes?”

“You’re touching me again.”

“...I genuinely didn’t notice DAHAHAHA.”

The crew erupted into laughter.

You blinked slowly and glanced down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “You’ve been holding my hand for a minute now. You good?”

“Maybe.”

You stared.

He stared.

“…You’re kinda warm,” he added, grinning.

“I’m wearing gloves.”

“Exactly. Impressive.”

You didn’t smile, but your voice was flat with dry humor. “You wanna marry me, too? Get it over with?”

Shanks choked. “Whoa—what?”

“You’re already touching me like I’m your lover. Might as well commit.”

The crew howled.

“I’m starting to like them more than you, Cap,” Benn said, lighting a cigar.

“They’ve got more bite,” Lime Juice grinned.

Lucky Roux offered you a celebratory turkey leg like a sword. “You just proposed better than he ever could.”

You calmly took it, giving a single nod. “Thanks. I accept my own proposal.”

Shanks was still frozen. “Wait, are we actually engaged now?”

You took a slow bite of the turkey leg, deadpan. “Keep touching me like that, and you’ll owe me alimony.”

ZORO

You were minding your own business—arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, back leaned slightly against the Sunny’s railing—when a familiar weight thunked into your side.

Again.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t glance, didn’t even blink. Just spoke.

“Zoro.”

“What.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what.”

“Treating me like a living chair.”

He grunted. “You’re stable. And not annoying.”

“That’s a compliment?” you asked, still deadpan.

“Take it or leave it.”

The crew had noticed. Of course they had. This was the sixth day in a row Zoro had casually latched onto you like a sleepy barnacle.

“Oi, mosshead!” Sanji snapped, appearing from the galley with smoke swirling and a righteous fury in his eyes. “Get off them, you clingy cucumber!”

Zoro cracked open an eye. “Make me.”

“Oh, I will!” Sanji stomped over dramatically. “Y/N-chwaann shouldn’t have to carry your freeloading swordsman body weight! If anyone deserves to be close to them, it’s me!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You literally tripped into my lap yesterday trying to ‘tie your shoe.’ You were barefoot.”

“It was a metaphor!” Sanji cried. “For falling head over heels!”

Zoro scoffed. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Says the mossy limpet glued to their side like a touchy fungus!”

Zoro didn’t move. “Jealousy’s not a good look, curly.”

“You—!!”

“Guys,” Nami sighed, “can’t we go one day without turning affection into a shouting match?”

Brook leaned on his cane, chuckling. “Yohohoho! Young love… or something!”

Usopp squinted. “Wait. Has Zoro always been this clingy with Y/N?”

Robin smiled mysteriously. “Since thriller bark, at least.”

Franky nodded solemnly. “Saw him fall asleep on their shoulder mid-battle once. SUPER unconscious.”

“I thought he was dead,” Chopper added, horrified. “Turns out he was just really comfy.”

Zoro’s grip on your shoulder tightened very slightly, and you finally glanced sideways at him.

“Do you know you’re this touchy?” you asked.

He looked like he wanted to evaporate into the deck. “I… just don’t mind you being close.”

You blinked slowly. “Is that samurai code for ‘I like you’?”

Sanji audibly gagged. “Oi! Don’t flirt in front of me!”

“We’re not flirting,” you said.

Zoro mumbled, “Might be.”

Sanji died inside.

“Y/N-chwann” he said gravely, dropping to one knee. “I beg of you—pick me instead! I would never lean on you like a sweaty tree log!”

Zoro growled. “Because you’d faint from being close.”

“AT LEAST I’D DIE HANDSOME!”

You looked between the two of them and sighed.

“I just want to drink my tea without being fought over,” you muttered, walking off—Zoro immediately following, like a shadow with swords.

“You’re still touching me,” you noted.

“Didn’t say I’d stop,” he replied casually.

You stopped walking, turned, and looked him square in the eye.

“You’re aware this is very couple-coded, right?”

He blinked, then grunted. “Guess we should make it official then.”

You blinked right back. “That was fast.”

“Why waste time.”

You smirked just a little. “Romantic.”

He shrugged. “You’re warm. And you don’t talk too much.”

“That’s your idea of a proposal?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

From behind you, Sanji dramatically screamed into the ocean.

MIHAWK

Kuraigana Island was a wasteland of stone, wind, and uncomfortable silences. You didn’t mind. You were the type to thrive in eerie places — quiet, observant, and allergic to nonsense.

Which is probably why Mihawk didn’t bother with small talk.

Or... so you thought.

Lately, the world’s greatest swordsman had developed a habit of materializing wherever you were. You’d be cleaning a blade — and there he was, pouring tea. You’d sit on the crumbling stone wall for some air — and there he’d be, suddenly trimming the overgrown vines right next to you.

At first, you thought it was coincidence.

Until today.

“...You know you don’t have to sharpen every one of my knives,” you said flatly, watching him work silently at the bench beside you.

“I didn’t,” Mihawk replied, still honing the blade. “Only the dull ones.”

You blinked. “That was my butter knife.”

“Then it was very dull.”

From the far side of the ruins, Zoro grunted as he finished a set of squats. “He refilled their canteen twice this morning.”

“Once,” Mihawk corrected, still not looking up.

“Twice,” Zoro insisted. “Once after breakfast. Then again after they just looked at the sink.”

Perona floated down with a snort. “He also folded their coat. While they were still wearing it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. Is that why my sleeves were shorter for a second?”

“You had a wrinkle.”

“I always have a wrinkle.”

Mihawk looked up with that unreadable expression. “And now you don’t.”

Zoro huffed. “What even is this? He acts like a butler. But like, a scary one.”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not a butler.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Perona muttered, arms crossed. “You fixed the strap on their satchel too.”

Mihawk didn’t respond to that.

Perona raised a brow. “You gonna deny it?”

“No,” Mihawk said coolly, “because it was crooked.”

Zoro leaned against a stone pillar, towel around his neck. “He also moved your seat at the dining table.”

“That was my seat,” you said.

Mihawk finally gave you a long, side glance. “You’ve sat on the left for the past four mornings. I simply ensured it remained consistent.”

You deadpanned. “You rearranged the furniture.”

“Briefly.”

Zoro stared. “And when they tripped over that vine—”

“I cut the vine before they fell,” Mihawk snapped with a tone just shy of defensive.

“Bro. You lunged across the courtyard.”

Mihawk sipped his wine calmly. “It was in the way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And when you pulled me by the hood into the shade the other day?”

“You were overheating.”

“I wasn’t sweating.”

“You were blinking slowly.”

You stared. “That’s just how I blink.”

There was a long pause.

Then Perona gasped. “Wait, wait — you also fixed the strap on their scabbard!”

“I adjusted it. The weight distribution was uneven.”

Zoro clapped once, grinning. “So you are clingy.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, the glint in them sharp and dangerous. “I am not.”

You leaned your chin on your hand, amused. “Then what would you call this?”

He paused. “Awareness.”

Perona lost it. “You mean hyper-awareness. Of one (1) person.”

Mihawk ignored her. “It’s strategic. I simply ensure you're at your most efficient.”

“That’s not efficiency,” Zoro said, wiping his forehead. “That’s doting.”

Mihawk arched a brow. “You think a swordsman cannot be observant?”

“You folded their laundry in order of fabric weight.”

“They prefer it that way.”

You blinked. “I never said that.”

He side-eyed you, expression cool. “You didn’t need to.”

You blinked again.

Zoro grunted. “You see? He’s acting like we’re all weird for noticing.”

Perona jabbed a finger toward him. “He's totally doing the ‘if I act calm, no one will notice I'm obsessed’ thing.”

Mihawk finally gave a soft, tired sigh — the kind that said you people are exhausting.

Then, turning to you, he asked, “Would you like tea?”

“I haven’t said I was thirsty.”

He didn’t blink. “You will be.”

You stared. “Are you psychic?”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re predictable.”

You squinted. “...That sounds like flirting.”

Mihawk blinked slowly. “I don’t flirt.”

Perona groaned. “OH MY GOD—”

Mihawk stood up, cloak sweeping behind him, expression unreadable as always. He held out the canteen like he’d already won this conversation.

You took it with narrowed eyes, muttering, “Thanks... I guess.”

He nodded, calm as ever. “You’re welcome.”

Zoro crossed his arms. “Still denying it?”

Mihawk looked at all of them — then at you — and with perfect poise said,

“I’m just efficient.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

You stared after him, took a sip from the canteen, and sighed.

“…Efficiently annoying.”

1K notes View Post

4rticbolt

3 months ago

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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