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Law wakes with a start, cold air heavy in his lungs. Another nightmare, he thinks, hands shakily feeling around the bunk for his thick, wool blanket. Bepo’s snoring grounds him as he musses up the sheets, slides down to the floor, grabbing at nothing. By the time he finds the blanket under his bunk, he’s a little calmer, but no less cold.
He tries to settle back into bed, but he’s sweaty – whether that’s from the nightmare, or the frantic searching, he’s not sure – and uncomfortable.
Bepo rolls over.
Law sighs. He knows attempting to sleep is a lost cause; better to get up, walk around, and find something to do rather than stew here anxiously and hope that he can fall asleep and avoid another nightmare. Bracing his hand against the metal wall, Law stands up shakily, still unsteady from hyperventilation.
As he makes his way over to the control room, Law mentally prepares himself for some light conversation; Shachi’s on watch tonight, and he’s by far the chattiest of the four of them – a trait that’s exacerbated after he has to sit in silence for hours in the middle of the night, with only a cup of coffee as company. He’s learned – or perhaps decided, for the sake of their captain – to reel it in, especially late at night or early in the morning, but they both know he’ll throw out a quip or two before letting Law settle down and do whatever he wants to do quietly.
Sliding open the door to the control room, Law expects a ‘hey, Captain!’ or a ‘someone’s up early today!’ Instead . . . nothing. No muttering about ‘these damn switches’ or the distinct clinking of ceramic against metal. The control room is silent.
There’s another moment of panic as Law’s brain immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario before remembering that the Tang is a submarine. Doflamingo can’t get in, and the crew can’t just up and leave. The others are safe. He’s safe.
No immediate danger doesn’t mean that something else can’t go wrong, though. Maintaining the Tang is hard work, especially for four – and he hates to think this way, but – teenagers. They’ve been doing this for a little while now and mistakes aren’t nearly as frequent, but they do happen. Law runs over to the chair near the control panel expecting to find it empty, mentally tracking the other places Shachi could be. Instead, he’s faced with the opposite problem: Shachi is, in fact, in the control room.
But so is Penguin. And they’re both asleep on the control room chair. Together. Shachi was clearly there first, doing his job, since he’s actually sitting on the chair, head tilted back, hat sliding down to cover most of his face. Penguin is the . . . more recent addition. He’s sitting on Shachi’s lap, legs thrown over the side of the chair, arms wrapped around Shachi’s shoulders, face buried in the crook of his neck. Their breathing is synced, slow and steady.
Law knows he should wake at least one of them up. Law feels like he should look away. Better yet, leave. Pretend he didn’t see anything and walk right out of the control room and say nothing and hope it never happens again.
The whole scene is so horribly . . . intimate.
Law’s never used that word before. He knows what it means, even if he can’t exactly understand it, but it’s the only way he can think of to describe . . . this. Suddenly, he feels very cold and very hot all at once. He shouldn’t be here. This is private. I shouldn’t have seen this.
Law turns around and leaves.
He tries not to think about it.
Maybe one day, it’ll be funny to look back and remember that Law’s most pressing problem at a certain point in time was ‘incessantly cuddly crewmates.’ It’s not funny now, he thinks, staring at a knocked-out Penguin and Shachi lying over Bepo’s legs and stomach.They’re holding hands, Bepo’s arms barely long enough to half-hug both of them. Law sighs and steps out of the sleeping quarters.
Guess I’ll go back to watch, he decides. He can pretend he didn’t see this either.
Except now that he’s noticed it, it’s impossible to ignore.
A few days later, Law walks into the galley and freezes. Penguin has an arm draped around Shachi as they animatedly discuss recipes that can use up an excessive amount of canned corn.
Penguin pats Bepo on the back after the bear offers to wash the dishes for him.
Shachi high-fives Bepo every time he aces their homebrewed navigation quizzes.
Bepo tackles Penguin when he helps steer the Tang away from a particularly aggressive Sea King.
Shachi slaps Penguin’s ass ‘as thanks for a delicious meal.’
Law is losing his mind.
He doesn’t understand how any of them can just do that. Let someone touch them and not feel like they’re freezing or burning up. Without thinking about it or feeling gross or guilty or
He needs to calm down. It’s fine. He’ll go to the library and do some reading. It’s a short walk away, and it’ll be a good way to get his mind off of . . . whatever this is.
When he arrives, Law takes a deep breath before sliding the door open.
The library is not empty. Bepo’s taking notes or maybe taking another quiz. Shachi’s sitting on the table next to him, his back to the door, rubbing Bepo’s shoulder and whispering to Penguin, who’s sitting on a chair next to Shachi, his head on Shachi’s thighs.
This is private. I shouldn’t see this. I’m sorry for
Law slams the door shut. There’s some scrambling on the other side, but he’s walking away so fast that the sounds are already fading thanks to the distance and the ambient noise of the Tang.
A moment later, the door slams open. “Law, wait!” Penguin shouts, the quick slap of his shoes against the floor a clear sign that he’s closing the distance between them. Law keeps walking futilely; Penguin’s taller than him and running, to boot. It’ll only be a matter of seconds before he catches up and they’ll actually have to talk about-
Penguin’s hand lands on his shoulder, and it’s warm and firm and grounding and gone before Law can say or do anything.
“Sorry, I-” A sharp exhale. “Law, can we talk?”
“ . . . what’s there to talk about,” Law manages to grit out, because he does not want to talk about it. Doesn’t know how to talk about-
“Well, you’ve been acting a little . . . I dunno. Skittish?”
“Skittish?” Law doesn’t manage to hide his skepticism.
“Nah, not the right word. Maybe, uhhhhh . . . nervous? On edge? Or, like-” a pause; a sigh. “That’s besides the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“You seem uncomfortable with physical contact,” Penguin announces. The phrase reverberates against the metal walls, a cold, hard fact.
Law feels like he ate shit right into a pile of snow. Or a block of ice. “And what makes you say that?”
“You mean besides three minutes ago? You have a ‘scared of physical contact’ face.”
What.
“Like, last week you dropped one of your books when you saw me leaning on a sleeping Bepo in the galley. Woke me up, though I don’t think you noticed – you looked a little shell-shocked.”
At least his back is still facing Penguin; Law doesn’t want to know what face he’s making right now, much less Penguin seeing it.
“Yeah, exactly like that!”
Fuck, why’d Penguin step in front of him? Reflexively, Law tugs his hat over his face. Fuck, his palms are sweaty. Fuck, he needs this conversation to end.
“Listen, it’s okay! It’s not a big deal!” Law can see Penguin waving his hands in his peripheral vision. “If you’d rather we not do it, then-”
“No.”
The waving stops. “. . . No?”
“You can keep doing it.” Law’s voice cracks. “It’s fine.”
“ . . . Really? It's fine?”
“Yeah, I-” can’t remember the last time someone touched me and it wasn’t for a fight. Except I can, and he died, and I didn’t. “It’s that-” I don’t know what to do, even though I know exactly what I have to do. “I don’t mind when other people do it. But when I-” What does it mean for me? I don’t know if I want it. I don’t know if I deserve it. I think if someone touches me, I’ll
“You can try it,” Penguin says, simply. “You can try it, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again.”
Law drops his hat.
“And if you like it, you can do it again. As many times as you like, whenever you want.”
It’s not that easy. It can’t be that easy. It’s never
“No pressure, okay, Captain?” Penguin smiles. He lifts his right arm towards Law before pausing, considering. Then, he slowly lowers it back to his side, fist lightly clenched. “Just . . . think about it, yeah?” he whispers, picking up Law’s hat and placing it gently on his head.
And then he’s gone.
It starts with Bepo. Maybe because of his ‘physical minktimacy’ thing or the fact that he’s the youngest. Maybe it’s because it’s fucking cold and Law’s blanket is still in the wash and Bepo’s fur looks so soft, and Penguin and Shachi are off who-knows-where doing who-knows-what.
“Bepo.”
“Captain!” the response is instantaneous. Law does not think about how . . . cute Bepo looks.
“ . . . Can we-” fuck, this is hard. He can feel his face heating up. “I’m cold,” he says instead of . . . whatever he was trying to say. It’s technically true, and hopefully Bepo can pick up on the implications of such a statement.
Bepo blinks at him blankly. “Shachi and Penguin are in the control room trying to find a comfortable temperature.”
“Oh.” That makes sense. And explains where they are.
“A-are you still cold?”
“Yeah.”
“D-do you, u-um,” Bepo glances around nervously, wringing his paws, “c-can I . . . ?” spreads his arms slowly, an uncertain look on his face.
The hardest part – the asking – is over. And Law didn’t even have to actually ask; Bepo offered! All Law has to do is say yes.
He stares at Bepo.
Bepo stares at him.
Law opens his mouth: nothing. Tries to will his tongue and jaw into moving; still nothing.
“Y-you don’t have to-”
“No.”
“No?" Bepo takes a step back, dropping his arms.
“No! I mean- yes,” Law manages to choke out. “Yes.”
They both step forward slowly. Carefully. Then, Bepo throws himself at Law, cradling him with a bone-crushing hug.
Law thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe. For a moment it’s too much and he’s sure this was a mistake, and he’s ready to ask Bepo to stop, and then. It’s warm. It’s so, so warm and soft and Bepo’s hold is gentle but secure and Law knows he could push Bepo away or say ‘stop’ and Bepo would stop and it’s
nice.
He doesn’t want to say it or think about it or what or who it reminds him of, but it’s
“Captain, you’re really cold!”
“Shut up.”
nice.
Law’s on watch when the control room door slides open.
“Yoooo, Cap’n! How’s it going?” Shachi shouts, jogging over to Law. He hands over a cup of freshly-brewed coffee.
And then pats Law on the back. For no reason.
Law does not choke on his coffee this time. Not like last time when he was so surprised, he spat it up all over his pajamas.
“Fine. Thanks for the coffee.”
Bepo likes cuddling and literal bear hugs. Penguin takes a more . . . tactical approach – a pat on the back after a good spar or a nudge under the table after Law’s had a particularly rough night. Shachi is unpredictable; every once in a while, he’ll pat Law’s head or throw an arm around him or something, seemingly just because he can. It’s not frequent, or even prolonged, but it takes some getting used to. It all does.
“No problem!” Shachi grins.”It’s a little chilly in here, isn’t it?”
“Not really. I think I-”
“Penguiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin! Bepooooooooo! Someone needs to be warmed up!”
“We’re coming, Captain!”
“No, it’s- ugh, were you two just waiting there?”
Their only response is a hug. And another.
And it’s nice.