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When he was eight years old, Kuina told him that libraries were places where people were meant to be quiet.
He doesn't remember why she said that to him— or why they were talking about libraries or why she thought he's never been to one, but he remembers her words with absurd clarity.
Maybe it was because Zoro used to be a loud child— he didn't have control over the volume of his voice, or his emotions. Adults would frown at him, other children would laugh with their hands covering their mouths whenever he'd get upset about something.
Kuina didn't mind, though. But that one time— ah. She has been mad at him about something —he can't seem to recall why— and so, she said that.
He didn't understand at the moment— why should he care about libraries and how he's supposed to behave in one? He asked himself that question many times without really finding an answer.
Looking back, he thinks Kuina meant to say he wouldn't be able to stay by her side if he didn't change some things about himself— because she was such a smart girl, she was always reading a book or trying to learn things one way or another. Of course, her favorite place to hang out was the local library, though Zoro didn't know that because he only ever saw her inside her father's dojo.
He only cared about kendo, when he was eight years old. And he can't say he's not like that anymore, but he can see now what Kuina meant and what she wanted.
Yeah, Zoro used to be a loud kid— a relentless runt who didn't know how to take no for an answer. And he also enjoyed Kuina's companionship more than anything —aside from kendo, of course— in the world.
She must've been so tired of him— but then again, she was such a good person, so what does Zoro really know about the things she used to think about?
Kuina was his first friend ever— she was an excellent swordsman, strong and clever in ways Zoro would never come to be.
Kuina was his first friend ever, and she died when Zoro was ten years old.
Kuina is still his friend, even though she's no longer here. And sometimes, when he feels like remembering her, Zoro finds himself walking down the street and inside the local library.
He's never really touched a book in his life— and maybe Kuina was right when she guessed he didn't know how to behave inside a library, but it's not like he can tell her this or that now.
It's been a while since he moved out of his hometown, so it's not like this place holds any memories of her— but sitting down at a table near the window and looking out to see the people walk by does the trick just fine.
Winter makes him a bit nostalgic, though it's hard to tell why— so, he sits at a table inside the local library and lets the hours tick by.
It's dark outside now and the lights here are so harsh they make his eyes hurt a little, but he remains posed in his place.
People come and go, mostly college students stressed out of their minds.
Such is the case, or so Zoro guesses, of the guy that suddenly drops his stuff in front of him with a poorly hidden look of distress on his face.
His hair is dark and messy, and maybe that's the look he's trying to go for— but then again, Zoro sees the patches of hair that had been very clearly tugged at quite recently, so— maybe not.
He's tall —taller than Zoro even—, and kinda gloomy looking. There are dark bruises under his eyes, which makes the fact that he's going through some annoying college thing very clear. Also, even if Zoro hadn't figured it out already, the amount of books he just left right in the middle of the table can't be mistaken for anything else.
Overall, this guy looks dead on his feet.
He doesn't ask Zoro if the seat in front of him is free or if he's waiting for someone— he just sits there, takes his notes out of his bag as he opens one of his books and simply gets to work.
This library is huge— specifically made to contain a large number of people at a time, since it's only a few blocks away from one of the biggest universities in the city. So, of course Zoro has to stare and wonder why this man decided to sit here when half the tables around this one are completely empty.
He has half a mind to ask —and only he knows how many people he has annoyed by asking —, but something tells him —his instinct, maybe— to listen to Kuina for once and just keep quiet.
An hour goes by with only the scratching of pencil against paper to keep Zoro company. It's a soothing kind of sound, though the low grumbles coming out from the dark haired guy's mouth keep disturbing his peace.
Every once in a while, Zoro's silver eyes find their way to the other man.
He's hunched over his notebook, a hand holding onto his pencil and the other tugging at dark strands for dear life. He's clearly losing it, though his face betrays almost nothing.
And Zoro wants to know — and he doesn't know why, because this is hardly the first time he's seen someone losing their shit over homework but, still. He stares for a little longer, curiously peering at the books that had been piling up at one side of the table.
Anatomy of the human body , one of them reads. So, a med student— explains the dead inside vibe this guy gives off.
The rest of the books seem to be much the same as the first one, just like the one that's still laying wide open in front of both of them.
Zoro peers at it too, and finds his interest picked when he sees three different and very detailed drawings of a human hand displayed on the page. Muscles, veins and bones. His gaze drifts a little bit to the side, sees a tattooed hand gingerly placed on the table.
One by one, long fingers move this way and the other— distantly, he hears the soft murmur of a gravelly voice.
When Zoro looks up, he sees the guy's mouth moving around words he's surprised to remember.
There is a book— there actually is a book he read when he was sixteen. Part of one, to be precise.
He remembers his dad walking inside his room with a look of determination on his face, saying let's see what we got here as he sat down on his bed.
When Zoro was sixteen, he fucked up his hand so badly that it took him nearly a year to fully recover from his injury.
He worried so damn much at the time— what if he never regained the full mobility of his hand? What if he did but it ended up all weak and wrong ? What if he wasn't able to hold a sword anymore?
Out of pure and unadulterated desperation, Zoro remembers taking the book from his father's hands to see if its content could help him.
It did not, for the record.
The book did not help him in the least, but he read it over and over and over— because he wanted to know and understand what bones he has broken, which muscles he has fucked without meaning to— tendons, veins, all that stuff. He memorized it all.
Without thinking about it, he puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin on the palm of his hand. At this point, he imagines the guy in front of him must be somewhat aware of Zoro's gaze, though he has yet to react to it in any way.
Neither breathes out a word— what would Zoro say to this guy, anyway? Why would he want to start a conversation?
People are meant to be quiet when they're inside a library, and so, Zoro stares— at the man in front of him and the people walking by outside the window.
After another hour of low hisses and the scratch scratch scratch of pencil against sheet, Zoro gets up.
Kuina's face is suddenly at the forefront of his mind, like a jump scare image— like an unnecessary reminder.
He walks away from his table without looking back, mind empty except for a tiny little voice that tells him—
Be nice.
—for no goddamn reason.
He huffs and tightens the fluffy scarf around his neck a bit more.
It's getting cold not only outside but inside too.
This place is huge, and old— and it doesn't seem to be the kind of building that receives lots of money to repair stuff that's been broken for ages.
His hands are freezing, the tip of his ears too. When he exhales, a tiny cloud of fog forms in front of his face. Yeah, he should get going already.
Be nice , the voice inside his head says— and he rolls his eyes, ready to ignore it like he has done so many times before, when he comes across one of the many vending machines scattered around the library.
He looks at it— at the many beverages it holds.
He looks at the vending machine; at the ceiling; at the patches of mold on the ceiling.
He looks behind himself, the hallways are empty. It's late.
Zoro sighs before punching a few buttons to get the drink he desires.
He tells himself there's no reason for him to be doing this— which is the truth, but then again— wasn't he here because he felt like being close to Kuina for a little while?
He's aware it's a foolish thing to do. Going back home and sitting in front of the altar her dad made for her or even just going straight to her grave are much more efficient ways of feeling like he's in her presence, yet he chose to come here— he chose to come to a place he knows she would've found lovely has she ever had the chance to visit it, and he doesn't regret it.
He doesn't regret it, but— he glances at the can in his hand, making a face when he reads its label. He's got an unopened bottle of sake at home, what the hell is he doing?
The way back to the table by the window is much shorter than he expected, and the library itself is emptier too.
It's almost midnight, after all. Yet the guy is still where he left him, a stretched out hand on the space next to his notebook. He's muttering things again.
"Here," Zoro says, placing the canned coffee in front of the stranger. It's hot— well, more like warm— but it'll do. That is, of course, if this guy isn't one hell of a picky bastard. "You look like the type of guy who drinks it darker than his soul, so—"
The other man hums, placing his pencil down for the first time since he sat his ass down on the chair opposite from his own. He doesn't take the coffee, though, choosing to regard Zoro with a wary glance instead.
His eyes are bright and golden— and it shouldn’t surprise him, there's no reason to, yet Zoro finds himself holding his breath for a second.
He just didn't expect this man to have such a heavy stare.
"Have we met before?" The man asks. When Zoro shakes his head no, his lips form a tense line. "Then why would you give me—" he touches the canned coffee with two fingers "—this?"
Zoro shrugs. "Just felt like it," he easily answers, walking around the table to take the seat he had left vacant. "Looked like you needed it," he adds, crossing his arms over his chest as he makes himself comfortable. "Are you one of those pretentious dudes that don't drink coffee unless it's brewed in I don't know what kind of fancy shit?"
The other closes his mouth with a startled expression on his face.
"That's a lot," he says after a while, which puts a lopsided grin on Zoro's lips.
"Are you, tho?"
The med student huffs. "No."
"So you'll take it?" Zoro asks, vaguely gesturing to the can sitting on the middle of the table.
"No."
"Why?"
"I—" but the words seem to die inside the other's mouth before he can actually pronounce them. "I don't know you."
"And?"
The man looks out the window for a second.
"I don't take… gifts from strangers."
"Why? I didn't put any drugs on it, it's closed."
"That's— please don't make jokes about that."
"It wasn't a joke," Zoro argues with a serious expression on his face. "That's the only reason I can come up with for you not to take gifts from strangers."
Again, those golden eyes look away from his own, long fingers drumming softly over the table.
"Look," he starts, head tilted to one side. "Just leave it there, you don't have to take it if you don't want it."
The other rolls his shoulders and takes the pencil he has left over his notebook as if he's planning to go back to work now that the canned-coffee-problem has been solved.
"Hey," Zoro calls out. "Are you in a hurry?"
When the other man just frowns at him, Zoro gestures to the mess of books and notes on the table.
"Sort of, yes."
"What's your name?"
"What?"
"Your name," Zoro repeats, raising an eyebrow.
"What's yours?" The other asks rather defensively.
"Zoro." He grins, feeling somewhat victorious for no reason at all. "Tell me yours, c'mon."
Just looking at the med student makes it pretty obvious that he's completely displeased about this turn of events. Zoro has to wonder if he was expecting him to fight his case and say he is the one who asked first. Hah, as if he was childish enough to do such a thing. (He kinda is, to be honest, but usually not in front of strangers.)
"It's— Law. I'm Law."
"Law," he mumbles, leaning back on his chair to look at the ceiling. He kinda feels like he has heard the name once or twice, yet he can't really pinpoint where. Maybe he's just making up stuff, since he's never seen this guy before.
The scratch scratch scratch on paper tells him Law has gotten back to work at last. And this time, he doesn't attempt to interrupt him— not yet, at least. He's thinking.
Law — nah, it doesn't ring any bells, even if his gut is telling him it should.
He looks at the other again, tilts his head to one side and then the other.
Dark hair… golden eyes… golden earrings, now that he looks more closely— the tattoos should be hard to forget, that's for sure.
"What."
"Hm?" He blinks, tearing his eyes away from Law's graceful hands to lock gazes with him.
"You're staring and it's getting annoying."
"I'll stop— in a bit," Zoro says, blinking in shock when he notices half a smile on the other's lips. "What?"
"'I'll stop in a bit'," Law mocks him, still frowning despite the vaguely playful tone of his voice. "Am I supposed to feel relieved by that?"
Zoro finds himself snickering— his shoulders shake a little bit and he's trying so hard to keep his voice down even though there's no one else around them, but he can't seem to stop.
He wants to laugh — but he can't and Law is still watching him, and it's not like he cares but there's something— there's something about that golden gaze of his— taking a deep breath has never been so hard but he finally manages.
"Shit," he whispers, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.
"What's so funny?"
"You, apparently."
It's— Law is a stranger.
Even though he now knows his first name, there's no denying Law is still a stranger and Zoro's still here in the library instead of being at home, getting ready to go to bed. He just can't seem to find the will to just stand up and leave.
It's the easy feeling he gets— it might not make sense, because it's not like they've been talking for long or about important stuff, but Zoro's enjoying this.
The ease of sitting in front of a stranger and talking to him or not talking to him, and still feeling like there's something going on even if it's clear there is not— he likes that. He likes that a lot.
"You're kinda funny," he repeats, smiling to himself.
"You don't know me at all."
"Yeah, I don't."
Zoro shrugs, and after that comes a stretched out silence that doesn't get interrupted by the scratching of a pencil against paper.
Law's looking at him— and even though it's true that Zoro doesn't know a thing about him, or the expressions he tends to make or the way he behaves— he can easily understand the meaning of that look on his face.
"What is it?" He asks, leaning forward. "Are you going to ask me to leave?"
"I should, actually," Law says, and it's not the answer Zoro's been expecting. He can tell this guy is the type of person who doesn't take shit from anyone, so he has been preparing himself for a downright yes, go away the moment the question left Zoro's mouth. Yet what he got is this— and he can’t help but raise both his eyebrows in a questioning manner. "I have things to do, and you're distracting me."
"What are those things you have to do?"
Law grumbles and looks away. His frowny lips make him look like he's pouting, which in turn makes Zoro smile.
"Med stuff."
"So you're a med student," the ahá! is left unsaid though it translates perfectly in the tone of his voice.
"Not quite— not anymore, I mean. I'm—" but he stops, seems to think his words over. "I'm studying for a surgery."
"Here?"
"Yes, here where complete strangers can interrupt me with unsolicited coffee and annoying questions."
"Sounds like you made a pretty shitty decision there."
"So it seems." Law rolls his eyes, but he doesn't sound particularly mad about Zoro's sudden fixation on him. If anything, there seems to be a spark of life in his eyes now that wasn't there when they first looked at each other.
Zoro rests his chin on the palm of his hand, then an idea pops up in his mind.
"Broke my hand when I was sixteen," he starts, lifting his free hand in the air to show the scar still visible at the back of it. "Got worried I fucked it up too bad, so I ended up memorizing its anatomy to calm myself down."
There's no reason to say that and there's no reason to keep talking to this man, and there was no reason to bring him coffee in the first place— and Zoro's not the type of guy who does this. He doesn't talk to strangers and he doesn't hold idle conversations, and he hates to make small talk but— but he's doing all of that now, and he has no excuses to make. He's not looking for one either.
"I—" but Law stops himself, confusion written all over his face. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Just felt like it."
That's it.
He just felt like it— he just felt like remembering his dead best friend, and then honoring her memory by trying to be kind to a complete stranger. And it's stupid, there's no denying it. It's stupid but Zoro doesn't seem to be able to stop himself just yet.
"Is that— you just felt like saying something unnecessary."
"Yeah."
"Is that how you live your life?"
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You said before you just felt like bringing me coffee, now you said you felt like telling me about your hand— do you do that often? Just— doing things without thinking them over?"
"Yeah?"
Law makes a face— an expression Zoro's quite familiar with.
"Got a problem with that?"
"I wouldn’t say it's a problem," the med student mumbles, leaning back on his chair. Even from where he's sitting, Zoro hears his spine crack repeatedly. "Just a thing I wouldn't do."
He hums, letting the conversation come to a stop all on its own.
Law's golden eyes are still on him, but the minutes pass by and neither says a thing— nor does Zoro go, nor does Law get back to work.
"Which hand did you fuck up?" The doctor finally breaks the silence, which is a surprise in itself.
"Left."
"Can I see?"
Zoro blinks in confusion, still trying to process the fact that Law has decided to talk to him again.
"Your hand, would you let me—" he does a vague hand gesture "—see it? And touch it, too. If you're okay with that."
"Sure."
Zoro slides his hand on the table, then flinches back when he feels Law's freezing touch.
He tries again— only tensing a little when his palm is temporarily placed over Law's.
His touch is careful and steady as he runs two fingers over the scar at the back of his hand. He's muttering things again— and Zoro can't help himself.
"What is that?"
"What?"
"You've been whispering— what are you saying?"
Law takes a minute to answer, both of his hands holding Zoro's. He gently applies pressure with his thumb here and there, like he's looking for something.
"I'm making sure I know every step of this surgery, so I can perform it to the best of my abilities."
Zoro hums, and that seems enough for Law to start over— a bit louder this time, so Zoro can hear too.
Slowly and surely, he points and gestures at Zoro's hand as he explains the things he needs to do with very technical words that Zoro doesn't understand.
His eyes are sharp and his hands steady, and it's pretty clear he's got a plan and a back up plan, and a back up plan for his back up plan— and now his earlier reaction to Zoro's tendencies to act on impulse seems much more logical.
He lets the doctor ramble all he wants, focusing on the way he holds onto his hand when he's not really paying attention to what he's doing.
This man is a stranger— and Zoro's pretty sure they won't be meeting again in the future, but he still enjoys this moment because it's all he'll ever get. Probably.
The thing is— he likes Law. What he's seen of him, at least. He likes the way he talks, the sound of his voice, how he seems to lack a sense of humor and some good hours of sleep— Zoro likes the little things he's gotten to know of him, and he's curious about the ones that will remain a mystery.
He looks at Law— at his messy black hair, his piercing golden eyes, the thin line of his mouth, the seemingly permanent scowl he casually sports.
A soft touch on the back of his hand brings him back to reality.
So, the sudden lesson is over.
"Seems like your patient will be just fine," he says with a lazy smile on his lips.
"You didn't listen to half the things I said, so shut up."
Zoro laughs, and Law viciously pinches his wrist.
"Motherfu—" he glares at the other man, then his tongue trips on itself when he sees the ugly smirk he's been leveled with. Zoro snorts, then shakes his head.
There's a weird sensation inside his chest— like a hole has suddenly opened there and is now trying to suck up all of his organs.
It's— it's weird, yet he doesn't hate it. Then Law lets go of him, and he does.
It's like falling in a dream and waking up with your heart racing, feeling like you might die.
Zoro slides his hand back to his side and carefully observes Law as he gathers his stuff without explaining why. Is he in a hurry now?
The question is at the tip of his tongue, yet he doesn't open his mouth to say it.
In the end, it's only natural. People come and go, and this moment wasn't meant to last forever.
"Zoro-ya," Law calls out to him— he's got his bag hanging off one of his shoulders and all the books he has burrowed are precariously balanced on his arms. "Would you lend me a hand?" He asks, and it sounds like he's pulling some teeth while he says it but Zoro smiles all the same.
The tip of Law's ears are red— it is freezing inside, though, so he doesn't think much of it.
"Sure," he easily agrees, taking more than half of the books from the other's hands with ease. "Lead the way."