Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They call it heartshine, in North Blue. There are other words for it – soulmates being the most common of them, used by those born and living on the Grand Line – but that isn’t how Law remembers learning about it, the soft golden glow that used to fill the living room when his father sat next to his mother and took her hand, a constant in his life even before he knew to put a name on it.

He’s six when his parents explain to him that the glow is the happiness of two hearts meeting, two hearts that are meant to beat together, that will always shine in each other’s presence. He remembers liking it, the name, asking question after question about the science behind it, remembers feeling frustrated when his father had simply laughed and told him it was as big a mystery as the devil fruits.

He's eight when he first wonders whether his heart, too, is meant to beat together with someone else’s. His mother, her smile soft and voice softer, assures him that it will, that no one is born without a matching heart, that it may take him some time to meet them but he will, of course he will. That the heart that will shine together with his will be strong and beautiful. That it will start as white as trees and grass in their garden, but will surely turn, eventually, sky-blue or bright gold like his parents have.

He’s ten when his curiosity about soulmates burns in a violent fire along with his home, and after, there’s only a hollow cavity where his heart used to be, nothing left but embers and a cold rage.

He doesn’t wonder, anymore.

He doesn’t wonder for a long, long time.

The number one rule aboard the Polar Tang is don’t talk about soulmates near the captain. It’s not a rule Law himself has instilled, or even enforced – but it’s one everyone adheres to, nonetheless, courtesy of the Swallow Island trio and their memories of all the times Law, when prodded, had snapped at them about the topic.

That doesn’t mean they don’t talk about it, though.

Law is on his way to the kitchens when Shachi’s voice filters out into the corridor,  echoing from the metallic walls, bringing him to an effective but sudden stop.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not got one,” Shachi is saying, a contrary answer to something Law hasn’t heard but can guess all too well. He makes a full one-eighty, immediately, but before he can power-walk his way back to his quarters, the conversation continues.

“I mean, captain’s twenty-two now, right? That’s just two years over the usual age. That he’s not found them yet doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one, just that… you know, he might be one of those who take a bit longer.”

“But he’s not even looking!” Penguin is loud in his dismay. “You’ve seen what he’s like, right? Makes a point to touch as few new people as possible, stays in his quarters when we go drinking…”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to. Look for them, I mean. If he’s got one, fate will bring them together. That’s how it goes.”

There are no words to describe how little Law wants to overhear this, his crew – friends, Law, you can call them that in your own head, says a deep, familiar voice in his mind, and Law grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut until they hurt – speculating about his supposed soulmate. Supposed, because Law doesn’t believe they exist; if the man he keeps hearing in his head wasn’t it, the bright blue of a familial bond he’d have been more than happy to accept, then they don’t exist. He’s one of those belonging to the one percent, a statistic anomaly, a heart without a match.

“Do you think… he might have lost them?” Ikkaku asks, and a yawning abyss of pain and loss opens at Law’s feet, and he sways at the edge of it, Cora-san’s voice bleeding into fire and screams and his throat is full of the smell of bodies, everywhere, of fresh blood spattered on the side of a treasure chest, and Law staggers away, then, doesn’t remember how he gets back to his room, only hears the door slam shut behind him.

Through the haze of the panic holding him in its grip, Law thinks, I can’t lose what I’ve never had.

He doesn’t have a soulmate, heartshine, because he can’t have one; because he can’t become close to yet another person and then lose them, like he loses everyone he loves.

His love is a death sentence.

 A good thing, then, that he no longer has the capacity for it.

Law is twenty-four when Doflamingo’s emblem grins at him from the back of the auction room.

Law is twenty-four when a flying fish crashes through the wall and a young man with a straw hat emerges from the rubble, the force of his character shining like a beacon as he yells at his friend, chaos chasing his steps as he runs towards where the mermaid sits in her glass dome.

So this is Straw Hat Luffy, Law thinks, a faint tug of interest in his chest for the boy who has caused so much mayhem, doling out equal amounts of destruction and salvation at once, at every turn, every island. He’s been following the exploits of the Straw Hat crew like one might read about natural disasters in the newspaper, and the chance to see their hurricane at work in front of him draws a smirk from him. They’ll cause chaos, surely, and if nothing else, it’ll upset the auction, which will upset Joker, and an upset Joker is always something that puts a smile on Law’s face.

The smile gives way to incredulity soon enough.

He, along with the rest of the auction house, watches Straw Hat as he kneels beside the bleeding, fallen body of the fishman. Watches him rise, ascending the steps like every slap of the ridiculous flip-flops he wears is the fall of a guillotine, or perhaps a drum, beating loud and clear.

Doom. Doom. Doom.

Straw Hat’s eyes are frigid, dagger-sharp. There is no hesitation in them, not in the way he draws back his arm, fist so tight it shakes. This is a different man from the one that had burst through the wall of the auction house mere minutes ago, and Law can’t tear his eyes away.

Surely not.

There are rules, even in a pirate’s world – and even Law, loathe as he is to admit it, holds to those rules, obeys them, because not doing so means a death wish and he doesn’t want to die – not yet, not here.

Straw Hat moves.

The Celestial Dragon flies back, back, back –

He’s crazy. Absolutely insane. An actual goddamn lunatic.

And yet, a sound bubbles up in Law’s chest, finds it way around the incredulity mixing with begrudging admiration; amidst the panic and chaos of bodies pushing into each other in their haste to get the hell out of the auction house, Law sits back and laughs.

“Set sail, immediately!”

“Where, Captain?”

“Marineford.”

When they surface, Law makes his way to the deck, heart pounding in his chest – and there is no reason for it, absolutely none, none except for the strange dread that made its home in his spine on Sabaody and has resolutely refused to leave since.

What if we’re too late?

What if I’m too late, he thinks for the twentieth time in as many minutes, the urgency almost palpable, nipping at his heels.

For what? another part of his mind counters, and Law finds he can’t answer; all he knows is that he needs to be right there, right now.

He stops wondering when he sees the clown in the air, holding Jinbe and Straw Hat, both out for the count and grievously injured – because even if he never finds out what drove him there at least he’s made it there in time for this.

“Leave him to me!”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he doesn’t think, just acts, declaring that he’s a doctor while the clown yells at him and what is wrong with him, can’t he see time is of the essence, that if they delay even a little longer they might both not make it –

What do you care? Why do you care?

Law snarls at his own internal voice, locks it into a box and throws it deep into the ocean currents of his mind. He doesn’t have time to think. He doesn’t have time, period. Every moment brings Straw Hat closer to death, and he –

He lingers, still, as if something is holding him back –

And then, a hat, the hat, hurtles into his hand through the air and he grips it, the straw crinkling under his fingers as he finally hurries inside the ship.

An interesting surgery.

That is what he predicts it will be, what with the way Straw Hat’s chest is caved in, flesh charred, the air thick with the smell of it, and Law can see his lungs, feel the way his organs are two seconds away from perishing right then and there –

If it was anyone else, anywhere else, Straw Hat would be a dead man.

If it was anyone else, anywhere else, they wouldn't even try to save him.

Law isn’t anyone else, though, and the infirmary in the Polar Tang is far, far above any common hospital. Law’s made sure of it, to have only the best equipment, his cabinets stocked up on supplies – but, in the end, nothing holds a candle to the ope-ope fruit. It had been Law’s salvation, once, and now it will be Straw Hat’s. That is the only possible outcome, Law thinks, and his mind catches briefly again on the question of why, why exactly is he here, so determined to save a man he doesn’t even know, but it is easy to bury the questions, decide to deal with it later, because Straw Hat has both feet in an open grave and the only thing holding him from sliding there fully is Law.

He pulls the gloves on and goes to work.

Five hours in, Straw Hat’s heart flatlines.

Fuck, Law thinks. He glances around – they have a defibrillator, of course, but it’s too far, takes too long, and the steady beep from the machine is deafening. There’s nothing else to it; Law rips the gloves from his hands and calls out, just in case, “Stand clear, everyone, restarting heart in 3, 2, 1 –”

He flips his thumbs against Straw Hat’s heart.

“Countershock.”

Lightning flashes in the room, a careful current directed through Law’s hands, painting the metallic walls blue.

Straw Hat’s body jolts on the operating table. Law grits his teeth, his breath trapped in his ribcage, exhaustion pushing down on him. It can’t end like this. He won’t let it end like this.

Straw Hat’s heart pulses once, twice –

And the entire room is washed in white, a brilliant glow erupting from not just the boy on the table, but from Law’s own heart, a bonfire of pure ivory so bright it hurts to look at. Law stumbles back, and the second his hands leave Straw Hat’s skin the glow is gone, but the machine beeps steadily, now, indicating a successful restart, and Law—

Law’s first thought is, if this was a real hospital, I’d be benched from the operation right about now.

Law’s second thought is, no. Then, fuck.

He can hear Penguin and Clione talking to him, maybe asking him something, and Law says, “I’m fine,” or thinks he says it; he’s sure he says something, though whether it’s in any comprehensible language is another matter entirely.

Mechanically, Law takes out a new pair of gloves, snaps them on, turns back to the table. He can’t – he can’t think about this, now, or maybe ever, but especially not now, not when the surgery is barely halfway through, when there’s still every chance he won’t be able to claw Straw Hat back from death’s door. He shuts out the noise of the room, the presence of his crewmates working on Jinbe on the table next to him, and throws all of his energy and concentration into saving the impossibility that is Monkey D. Luffy.

Sixteen hours later, his hands and shirt soaked in the blood of his – no, he can’t even think the word, shuts away the entire memory of the white glow of two hearts, pulsing together – his patient, yes, that’s a word he can accept, Law stumbles to the bunk on the side of the operating room and falls into it, face-first, the sweet embrace of unconsciousness dragging him in before he even hits the mattress.

He sleeps for over twenty hours.

When he wakes, the room is dark and quiet, the only sound being the heart monitor on Straw Hat’s side. Law groans – his head is pounding and he still feels exhausted, the prolonged use of his abilities hitting him particularly hard, and yet he can’t keep lying down, either. With a bit-off curse, he pushes himself up, heading for the door, hoping that there is coffee in the kitchen to keep him awake until he’s washed off all the blood and grime. Only, once he makes it to the door, he finds himself halting there.

Law looks back. Straw Hat lies still and silent, both adjectives that sound entirely too wrong when associated with him.

Without meaning, as if his body moves without his consent, he retraces his steps until he stands by the table.

His hand hovers over Straw Hat’s chest. Was it all just a hallucination? His mind breaking under the stress of the operation, the strain of his devil fruit ability? He must have imagined it. There is no way –

Gently (because Law spent sixteen fucking hours putting him back together, he’s not going to undo all his hard work, that’s the only reason), he lets his fingertips touch Straw Hat’s skin.

The light is no less blinding, the second time around.

Law all but runs out of the room.

He doesn’t come to see Straw Hat even once, after. His crew change his bandages, bring him daily updates while sending him glances that he pretends not to see; his crew are the ones to try and calm Straw Hat down after his rampage, too, while Law sits down, frozen in place, unable to reach out, to do anything more than grip that damn hat in his hand like he’s swept into a current and it’s the only thing holding him aloft.

Even that he leaves behind, eventually, with Dark King Rayleigh, along with strict instructions for his patient that he knows will be disregarded all too soon.

“Captain,” Shachi says when they prepare to leave, “are you sure? Shouldn’t you, I dunno, say something to him?”

Behind him, Penguin and Ikkaku are nodding their agreement. Bepo just looks at Law with sad eyes full of something that borders on understanding, which is so much worse, so Law looks at Shachi instead.

“And what, pray tell, should that be?” His voice drags like gravel, like knives against porcelain, and so do the words against his throat, leaving him wounded and bleeding.

Because – and here’s the kicker – he truly, genuinely doesn’t know what there is to say. That they’re, what? Fucking soulmates?

What a joke. Straw Hat is in mourning, half-dead still, a ghost of the bright, laughing thing he met in Sabaody. There’s no way Law can just waltz up to him and profess that the universe has apparently decided that they’re meant for each other.

Not when there is an expiry date on his own life.

Shachi doesn’t respond. Neither do Penguin or Ikkaku.

Law spins on his heels, ignores the way the bleeding has spread from his throat to his heart, and orders the Tang to submerge.

Chapter Text

Punk Hazard is cold and unpleasant.

Punk Hazard is also a disaster, but it just so happens to be Law’s only real plan that gives him any kind of a shot at Doflamingo, and that makes it a necessary disaster.

He stalks the hallways like a ghost, bargains away his heart like it’s already dead; it will be, once he is done, so why waste time worrying about it too much, now? It’s just one more hurdle to cross, one more long upward climb on the mountain he’s been scaling these past thirteen years.

Death walks by his side like an old friend, shadows his every step, and all he can hope is that he is able to outrun it long enough to introduce Joker to it, as well. For that, he’ll do anything: hunt down pirate crews, bring their hearts to the Marines, send his crew off knowing he’ll never see them again; stay here, on the winter side of the island even when the pure white snow and the biting cold remind him of nothing but more death, of terror and loss and helplessness. He watches Caesar conduct his experiments with an impassive look but hatred in his heart as he plots, and plots, and waits for the opportune time to make his move.

It comes, after months and months, in the yell of a familiar voice through a recording, Law’s heart jolting wherever it is inside the laboratory.

It comes, in the shape of a boy two years older, now, clad in red-and-white stripes, the eponymous straw hat perched precariously on his head as an impossibly wide smile splits his face, as the ridiculous nickname spills from his lips, voice rising in sheer delight.

I can use this, Law thinks.

He ignores the way his hand twitches at his side, the way he very nearly reaches for the bouncing ball of joy in front of him.

Yes, I can use this.

Law loses control of the situation – and his life, or so it feels – within the first thirty minutes.

As he stands there, a tiny, fluffy reindeer strapped to his head and waves of mortification washing over him in tandem with the sudden urge to turn his eyes skyward and ask the universe why exactly he has ended up here, Law remembers one crucial thing that he’d forgotten, something buried under his last memories of Straw Hat, lying deathly pale and still and then howling, out of his mind with grief – the fact that Straw Hat is, in fact, certifiably insane.

Law could write him that certificate. In fact, he might, if they make it out of Punk Hazard in one piece.

But even with all the chaos around him, he gives his grumbling assent to go along with their stupid idea to save the children – because the fact is, his chances of success have just gone up a non-insignificant amount. Because Straw Hat brings with him not just his own brand of crazy but also firepower, terrifying amounts of it, and that isn’t even counting his crew. If Law wants a fighting chance – then maybe, just maybe, he can take the rope that fate has thrown him, grip it with two hands as he drags the Straw Hats into the hell of his revenge right along with him.

He can’t bring himself to feel bad about it, not even when his plans are thrown into the gutter not once but twice, not even when he watches Straw Hat’s face light up when his crew is all in sight, affection and trust obvious in his every move.

(He doesn’t. He doesn’t.)

Why would he – when after months and months of waiting and not being able to do anything, within one single day, Caesar is theirs, Vergo is in pieces, the kids are free, and Joker isn’t laughing, not anymore.

It’s a veritable miracle.

Law is under no illusions about who he owes it to.

It’s horrifying how easy it is, to be swept up in the Straw Hat crew’s antics. All of them seem to have accepted their captain’s decision of the alliance, now, and all of them treat Law like – not a friend, exactly, but like he belongs there, drinking coffee in their kitchen, going over strategy on the deck, reading the latest medical journals in their infirmary.

It’s horrifying how easy it is, to get used to it – Straw Hat’s laughter in his ears, the way he lights up when he sees Law, every time, without fail, bounding over like an over-eager puppy and chattering his ear off about this and that, or simply falling in an ungraceful heap next to him, keeping him company. Somehow, he seems to know when Law needs his voice or his silence, when he’s tired or worried or annoyed or simply focused, with no more than just one look at his face. Law can’t begin to understand how it’s possible, not when no one else has ever been able to see through the ever-present glower.

Law tries to avoid him, at first, but it clearly becomes obvious that that is a fool’s errand; it would be easier to avoid the rising tide than Straw Hat.

He is flipping through the newspaper, mind hung up on the thousand and one ways their plan can still go wrong, when Straw Hat wanders over to him and plops himself down right across from Law. His crew is milling about; Roronoa sleeping by the mast, Black Leg in the kitchen, the women up on the upper deck, the rest a gaggle of excited sounds over what seems to be a game of cards. Law lifts his gaze from the paper, wondering why Straw Hat isn’t there with the others. His raised eyebrow asks the same question.

Straw Hat doesn’t answer. Instead, he crosses his arms and says, “I’m doing this because I want to, y’know that, right?”

It is such a non-sequitur that Law feels like the deck tilts beneath him, leaving him floundering.

Straw Hat, oblivious, barrels on.

“You risked your life when you came there, two years ago, right? You didn’t have to. So if I wanna risk my life for you, I’m gonna do it. No matter what.”

His expression is – something, Law doesn’t know how to read it, the strange intensity with which he regards him, and it is the weirdest thing, how someone who shows his delight and his rage so clearly he might as well be broadcasting it to nearby islands can look like this, too.

He opens his mouth to say something, aborts it, then tries again.

“Straw Hat-ya. What do you mean?”

“You look the same as Nami did, before we got rid of Arlong,” comes the answer, and it doesn’t explain anything, except Straw Hat looks at him like he can see right through to Law’s very soul and Law can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything except let the current that is Straw Hat Luffy pull him along, helpless to resist.

Straw Hat keeps going, voice calm. “And Robin, too. Your eyes look the same. But you don’t have to be afraid, Torao.”

For a horribly long minute, no sound comes out of Law’s mouth.

“Who’s afraid?” he finally manages the words, low and scathing, and Straw Hat looks at him like he’s not fooled in the slightest.

“It’s okay, Torao. If it’s Mingo, then I’ll just kick his ass. If it’s Kaido, then I’ll just kick his ass. Whatever it is… I’m gonna change that look in your eyes.”

With that, Straw Hat pushes himself upright again just as a grin splits his face, brighter than any sunrise Law has ever witnessed. Law is pretty sure he is gaping. Straw Hat just laughs.

“I’m gonna break your chains, Torao, just wait!”

He spins around, wobbles in place, and then shoots his arms over to the cards table, crashing into it and laughing under the flurry of cards in the air and the yells of his crewmates; leaving Law bewildered, confused, and with a heart trying its best to perform advanced gymnastics in his chest.

Their plan is a good one, right up until it isn’t.

Law doesn’t want to be saved. His shame and frustration boil over and he yells at Straw Hat, shouts that their alliance is over, done, so just leave –

Straw Hat ignores him. Keeps ignoring him until he is out of the Heart seat, until they are out of the palace and safe for the time being. Only then does Straw Hat turn to him, oddly still.

“Torao,” he says, voice almost admonishing. “That was really stupid.”

Stupid? Stupid?

Law thinks he might be shaking, or maybe the ground is, or maybe both; he glares at Straw Hat with a force that might incinerate someone less strong.

“You call me stupid? Me? When all you’ve done is go against the plan, this whole time! You’re not even supposed to be here, the factory –“

“The factory’ll be fine, Torao. Franky’s got it. I had to come, you could’ve died.”

Straw Hat sounds affronted, like the possibility of Law’s death is a personal offense.

Law wants to hit him. Law wants to hug him. Law wants him to hurt, because he’d been planning to die here, to go down with Joker, because no one can take on Joker and live, and Straw Hat –

Straw Hat makes him want to live.

It terrifies him.

“I never meant to survive this,” he spits out, fuelled on by pain and spite, flings his words like bullets. And like bullets, they ricochet from Straw Hat’s rubbery skin, bounce away harmless, useless.

Straw Hat’s expression is unreadable when he says, “I know.”

The words punch all the air out of him. His exhale stutters, the lack of oxygen in his lungs like a fist, collapsing in on itself like all the walls he’s built around his heart, falling one by one, toppled over by nothing more than the all-too-serious gaze from the brown eyes boring into his.

“You need to live, Torao,” Straw Hat says, an order more than a plea, and Law feels like screaming. Only maybe ten percent of that is due to the terrible, horrible, crushing pain he’s in.

“Why?” His voice shakes with the force of his own frustration. “Straw Hat-ya, why are you doing this? Why do you care?” Why, why, why – it’s all Law can think of. Straw Hat doesn’t even know, has no idea of their real connection, and still he’s here, staring at Law, body crouched, steady and still, by his side.

His ally looks at him, simply looks, and Law feels like rooted to the spot, paralysed.

“Because,” he says then, voice low like Law’s never heard it before. “Because I want you to live. Because I want you to want to. Because this isn’t gonna be your grave, Torao. I’m not gonna let you die here.”

He says it all like it’s inevitable, carved into the stone underneath their feet, into their still-beating hearts. Like it’s that easy.

There’s an emotion the size of a small planet blooming inside of him and Law, inexplicably, feels his shoulders sag.

“You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met, Straw Hat-ya.”

Straw Hat, predictably, simply laughs in response.

He’s failed.

There’s nothing else to it – even after thirteen years of training and careful planning, he’s not strong enough, not smart enough, not enough, to bring Doflamingo down. He yells in frustration when all his attacks prove ineffective, when even the strongest of his moves fails, when all he can feel is the weight of the years on his shoulders, all he can see is Cora-san’s smile, and he’s failed.

I’ll die, and it’ll have all been for nothing.

He doesn’t watch as Doflamingo’s leg comes rapidly closer to crushing his head right then and there. He doesn’t think it can hurt any more than he’s already hurting.

He doesn’t watch, and so he doesn’t see when another leg intercepts it, a flip-flopped foot stopping it inches from his face.

Next to him, Straw Hat – no, Luffy – radiates fury. When Law finally looks at him, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this angry, not when he marched up the steps of the auction house towards the Celestial Dragon who’d taken a shot at his friend, not in Punk Hazard when faced even with the worst of Caesar’s deeds, not at any point during the atrocities they’ve come across so far in Dressrosa.

Luffy’s eyes glint with hatred, conqueror’s haki a cloak around his shoulders, billowing with the sheer force of his will, and Law –

Law lets go of his plans, of his vengeance, of everything that isn’t single-minded faith that Luffy will see this through. That Luffy will avenge Cora-san, free Dressrosa, save them all like he’s saved Law so many times already, easy as breathing.

“Leave me here!”

It is the only thought running through his mind when he wakes. He doesn’t care that Cavendish looks at him like he’s crazy, doesn’t care that Nico Robin’s eyes widen for just a fraction, that she looks at him with soft compassion, a direct opposite to the way the man who carries him doesn’t seem to understand what is going on at all.

All he cares about is that he stays, for better or for worse.

He explains it, haltingly, his life’s ambition, the quest for vengeance that’s driven him here, the very same vengeance that he’s wrapped the Straw Hats into without them even knowing.

“If he wins, I need to be here to see it with my own eyes! And if he loses…” If he loses, then Law will have failed, for good this time, and Luffy will be dead, and there will be nothing, nothing at all, tying him to this world.

If Luffy loses –

“– I need to be here, and die along with him!”

If Luffy is the other half of his heart, then he is all the best parts of him: a heart boundless with love, with care, with kindness, with an indomitable will. When he thinks about it for too long, Law is bowled over by the simple fact that someone like that can truly, actually be real.

Oh, Law thinks as the last line of defense around his heart falls away, breaks into a million pieces, leaving behind nothing but the sudden clarity of his own feelings.

Oh.

His newfound realisation makes watching the battle happening in the skies of Dressrosa just that much harder. But he persists, because he can’t look away, either, not even when fear claws at his throat, digs its nails into him, burrows into his flesh and tears at it, like every hit that Luffy takes is one that he can feel, too.

When Doflamingo goes down, it feels too good to be true.

The Birdcage stays. Law closes his eyes.

The fight isn’t over, and Luffy – by the looks of it, with the strain that his new technique is putting on him, Luffy needs time, Luffy is vulnerable, and though Law can hear the yells, hear the gladiators, he knows they won’t be enough.

He doesn’t know where he gets the energy to move, much less tell Gatz to leave it all to him, leave protecting Luffy to him… but he does. He finds them a spot, inside the remains of a building, sheltered enough so they won’t be seen.

Luffy, exhausted as he is, offers Law a smile – a quirk of his lips, a fraction of his usual one, but somehow it settles him, soothes the wounds that his fear has left on him.

“I can do this, Torao,” Luffy says, like Law needs convincing. “Just… when my strength’s all back, I promise.”

I know, Law thinks, and means to say it, too, except what comes out is something completely different.

“I need to show you something.”

Luffy turns his head to him, curiosity filling his eyes, and Law –

To say he doesn’t panic would be an outright lie. What in the name of all the four Blues possessed him to say that, now?

Because he might die, still, a voice whispers to him from the deep recesses of his mind. Will you let him die without ever telling him?

Slowly, with all the determination of a man walking to his own execution, Law holds out his hand.

“Put your hand in mine.”

Luffy, always contrary, never doing what anyone tells him to do, simply lifts his own hand and places it on Law’s, fingers entwining with his with ease.

The sharp, golden glow that erupts from Law’s own heart is no surprise to him – he’d already known what colour it would be, can pinpoint the exact moment his heartshine turned. He pays it no mind, because all his attention is on the explosion of pure sunshine from Luffy’s chest, stronger than a thousand sunsets, a thousand sunrises. As the colour registers, he staggers through the flood of relief in his mind, threatening to pull him under, drown him in the love that pulses golden between them, blinding enough to make his eyes water.

Luffy simply looks at it, head tilted quizzically.

His expression lacks all understanding of the gravity of what’s just happened, and Law both wants nothing more than to stay right here, their hearts pulsing in perfect harmony, and run away and never look back.

With how tightly Luffy’s fingers hold onto his, the latter is an impossibility. He takes a deep breath.

“What do you know of heartshine? Soulmates, and the colours they take?”

The answer he gets is a shrug.

“Not much,” Luffy says, casual and uncaring. “I can feel your heart beating,” he says instead of any of the lore that is so ingrained in everyone, no matter which of the seas they come from, like the mere fact of Law’s heartbeat is much more monumental.

“In other words… you don’t know what the gold means?”

Law dreads the answer. He doesn’t think he has it in him to explain, to speak the words out loud. They feel too large for his throat, caught somewhere in his trachea, suffocating him.

Luffy shakes his head, and Law’s heart sinks, but then he says, matter-of-fact, “But I don’t need some light to tell me how I feel about you, Torao. That’s just stupid. Why’d a light know what I feel better than me?”

And he says it like it’s so simple, like it’s the easiest thing ever – and maybe, Law thinks, maybe it can be.

Their hearts are meant for each other, but he’d chosen Luffy well before he even knew it. And he knows Luffy himself would never let something like soulmates tell him what to do – which means he’s chosen Law, too, all on his own, because he wants to and for no other reason.

For a moment that seems to stretch on and on and on, they simply look at each other, hands clutched, surrounded by the shine of their hearts, existing outside of anything that isn’t just the two of them. But all too soon, the spell is broken – sounds from the battle reach them, again, as the countdown rises from all around them, ten, nine, eight, seven –

Luffy grins at him, and his smile is golden, too.

Six, five, four –

“I’m gonna go beat Mingo now, Torao, and then you’ll be free.”

Three, two, one –

“Go,” Law says, and flicks his fingers. Go, he says, and means, If anyone can do this, it’s you.

Go, he says, and means, I’ve never believed in anyone like I believe in you, now.

Chapter Text

After, Law sits by Luffy’s bedside, checks over all his wounds meticulously, one by one.

After, when he’s sure that Luffy won’t keel over and die from exhaustion or the veritable map of wounds littered across his skin, Law promptly collapses on the bed next to him, faintly grateful for the bandages that cover both of them enough that he can throw his arm around Luffy’s smaller frame, that Luffy – unconscious and breathing deeply – instinctively snaking his arms around Law in turn creates absolutely no glow to disturb the darkness of the cabin.

Law falls asleep with a blooming sense of affection and gratitude and such profound relief he could cry, and the echoes of a smile on his face.

He wakes up when a foreign presence invades the cabin, and listens to the quiet tones of Luffy’s presumed-dead brother, his eyes firmly closed.

After the story is over, the door closing as the Straw Hats’ shipwright leaves the cabin to fetch some more tools to fix himself with, Roronoa starting to snore once more in his corner of the room, Law contemplates letting the waves of unconsciousness drag him under again, except Mr Revolutionary Army – not gone, not quite yet – speaks, then, and Law can feel the weight of his eyes on him.

“So, are they…”

The only other person awake in the room is Robin, whose quiet chuckle makes Law’s hackles rise, but less than it might if it was anyone else.

“Who knows,” comes her enigmatic response, and Law can hear the smile in her voice. “Torao-kun is certainly careful not to touch any of his skin, isn’t he?”

He takes great care to keep his breathing even, undisturbed.

“Well,” says Luffy’s brother – Sabo, Law thinks he’s called, and remembers Luffy’s cries of heartbreak two years ago, the way he’d seemed to suffocate underneath his grief, the way he’d screamed Fire Fist’s name but Law remembers the other name, too, remembers the shouts of where’s Ace, he promised he wouldn’t die, he promised, he wouldn’t leave me like Sabo did, and wishes he didn’t. “I hope he’s prepared. Luffy… he’s such a handful.” His voice drips with fondness.

“Oh, I think he is,” Robin answers lightly, and Law’s face burns with the sheer trust in her words.

“Good. He should…” Sabo trails off, a shadow settling over the silence, strangled with the same kind of grief Law’d seen on Luffy. On the surface, his voice is level, composed; underneath the outwardly calm ocean waves, Law can hear him screaming.

“He should hold on to him,” Sabo says, terrifyingly even. “Luffy should never know what it is to lose the other half of your soul.”

Even through his closed eyes, Law can see the burn of fire in Sabo’s hands, the flame held in them. Faintly, through the steady, inescapable grip of sleep dragging him deeper, he wonders what colour the glow that Luffy had grown up surrounded by had been.

They are alone when Luffy finally wakes.

Law isn’t sure whether it’s by design, the way everyone else has vacated Kyros’ small cabin, leaving the two slumbering captains to recover from their wounds together – but on purpose or not, he can’t help but feel relieved that they lack an audience as Luffy’s eyes flutter open, his gaze heavy with sleep.

Law, uncomfortably aware of the fact they are still lying on the bed, together, legs entwined and Luffy’s arm thrown over his chest, contemplates using his powers to move himself, but then Luffy tightens his hold on him, eyes clearing up as they zero in on Law, and he gives up on the idea.

“Torao,” Luffy says, his voice still muddled with exhaustion, but the part that is awake is jubilant, just like the smile that follows the nickname Law has long since accepted.

“Torao,” he says again, “We won!”

His delighted laughter fills the cabin, shaking the bed, and Law finds himself smiling back, just the barest quirk of his lips – but it’s there, and the sight of it makes Luffy’s laughter stop abruptly.

He stares at Law like – like he’s something special, something worth looking at, someone worth every speck of his attention, and Law’s already known that having Luffy’s sole focus on him is far more deadly than any poison in the world, but it’s never felt like this, like the world could end at any moment and he wouldn’t care, wouldn’t even notice.

It’s too much. He averts his eyes, stares at the ceiling, the flecks of paint on the boards, the fine layer of dust gathered over them.

Luffy’s hand snakes its way up his chest, to his jaw, and the dust turns golden.

“You’re alive,” Luffy says, so quiet and with so much relief that Law forgets that he was trying to look away, his eyes flickering down again, meeting the set of eyes staring at him, no trace of laughter left. Instead, Luffy looks at him with a terrifying intensity.

“I’m glad you didn’t die, Torao.” His voice is bare with sincerity.

It is with a herculean effort that Law swallows back the sob trying to claw its way out of his throat. Slowly, he lifts his own hand, lets his fingers splay on the side of Luffy’s face, burrow into the coals of his hair.

“Me too,” he answers, and finds that he means it.

“Straw Hat-ya. I heard you turned them down.”

“Who? Oh, all those guys? Well, yeah. I don’t want to lead them!”

“That’s… you realise that’s an entire fleet?”

“Yeah!”

“A fleet.”

“Yeah!”

“Who you turned down.”

“Torao, is there something wrong with your ears? Did they get hurt in the fight?”

“No. No, just… Nothing. I’m coming to realise I’ll never understand you. A fleet like that is what most pirates dream of.”

“Well, I don’t! It’s just too much trouble. And anyway, I’ve got my crew, and I’ve got you! I don’t need anyone else.”

“… right.”

“Huh? Torao, why’re you all red?”

For some reason, Law expects things to be – different, somehow, once they depart for Zou. Instead, Luffy acts exactly as he used to, back on the Sunny; a meteor crashing into Law’s orbit with exuberant chatter, dragging him along to explore the ship or see the stars from the best vantage point, or just bursting in to drop a grilled chicken leg on his plate with a bright smile before sling-shotting himself away again. It takes Law half a day to realise the implications of Luffy’s decidedly unchanged behaviour.

When he does, it takes him the other half of the day to recover. He’d known, of course, that Luffy had decided on him before being told of their soulmate bond, but it’s one thing to know, and another thing entirely to know, to see it first-hand, the evidence of Luffy’s regard that’s imbued into every beaming smile, every excited word, every occasion of him sharing food in a way that has Usopp and Franky staring with raised eyebrows and Robin laughing behind her hand.

Out of the four Straw Hats left behind in Dressrosa along with their captain, Law is fairly certain that only one of them has worked out the true state of affairs; Robin was the only one to bear witness to Law’s own realisation back in the middle of the battle, after all, and her words from the cabin still ring in his ears. He has contemplated asking her, to see how far back her suspicions go, but hasn’t done it; not because he thinks she wouldn’t answer, but because he’s certain she would, and equally certain that his dignity might not make it out of that conversation intact.

It's not Robin, though, who joins him the second evening on the deck. Instead, it is the Straw Hats’ first mate that drops down next to him, the boards groaning under him.

“Here,” he says, and unceremoniously slams down two bottles of wine between them.

Law cocks his eyebrow, eyes flat, but Zoro simply stares back at him with his one eye, and it’s an explanation and a challenge and a question, all at once, and one of them has Law reaching for the bottle despite himself.

Zoro grins.

They drink in complete silence, the minutes ticking away, until Law starts to wonder whether the swordsman is ever going to speak, at all.

When he does –

“He likes you, so you’re his, now.”

– it catches Law on an inhale, and he spends the next thirty seconds coughing into his fist.

“What,” he manages, voice hoarse, “the fuck do you mean, Zoro-ya?” He exhales, and adds, aiming for a calmer tone, “I’m not a part of your crew.”

“Yeah, obviously,” comes the answer, nonchalant, with the same kind of undercurrent of are-you-stupid that Law has only ever had directed at him by Luffy, and of course this is who he’d have chosen as his first mate, of course.

Zoro, oblivious, keeps going. “Why’s that mean you’re not his, though? That’s got nothing to do with our crew. You’re not ours.”

It’s the kind of absolute whack-job logic that makes Law’s head hurt – except, to his never-ending horror, he understands what Zoro means.

Because Law may not be a Straw Hat, may be the captain of his own crew, a captain of his own merits, on an equal standing, but that doesn’t mean he’s not Luffy’s in all the ways that matter. But that means…

“Then–“

“Yeah,” Zoro says, as if he can read Law’s mind, as if there is only one thing they can be thinking of, only one thing that matters. “That means he’s yours, too. So don’t fuck it up.”

The words hang in the air between them, a threat and a plea, until they sink into Law, burn themselves into his heart, ink themselves onto his skin.

“I’d rather die,” he says, so quiet he might as well not have spoken at all.

“Good,” says Zoro, voice thick with approval, and Law takes a swig of his bottle to avoid further conversation.

(Later, when Luffy appears out of nowhere, grabbing Law’s sleeve and dragging him up because I’m tired, Torao, Barto gave me the captain’s quarters, but you’re a captain, too, so come on, Zoro grins, shark-like, and says, “Remember I said not to fuck up, I didn’t say not to– “ and Law’s never created a Room faster.)

“So,” Shachi says three hours into the Heart pirates reuniting with their captain, after their joy has ebbed from a bonfire to embers, “The Straw Hats, huh?”

Next to him, Penguin looks like he's barely restraining himself from laughing.

Law feels the steady thrum of a headache building at the back of his head. Of course. Of-fucking-course.

“No,” he says, voice flat, wishing that his glare worked on his oldest friends as well as it works on their newer recruits.

“No? But Captain, you formed an alliance! With your–”

“No,” Law repeats with more emphasis, and it's not even an answer, but he hopes that the general sentiment carries through. No, he will not be discussing this topic. Not now, not ever.

Penguin, however, doesn't seem to get the memo.

“You said it was him who defeated Doflamingo, right?”

None of his crew know what happened in the shadows of Law’s past, not exactly, though Law imagines Bepo has put quite a few things together over the years – but all of them know that the ultimate reason he sent them off here, the ultimate reason he went off on his own to Punk Hazard, was to bring down Donquixote Doflamingo. They may not know the reason (the reason Law had spilled to Luffy, right there on the battlefield, a part of him he's shared with no one, not even his crew) but they know their captain was willing to die to see it done.

Law nods. He doesn't trust his voice to say anything.

“Then… he knows?”

Law nods again. And opens his mouth, because the implication is all wrong–

“He didn't…” his voice falters, and he swallows a curse, tries again. “That's not why he did it.”

By his side, Bepo makes a questioning noise.

Law doesn't know why it's so important to him to explain this right (and that's a lie, he knows, he knows, because Luffy has wormed his way into Law's ribcage and made his home there and he can't bear the thought of his crew not getting it, the way Luffy is so much more than the other half of his heart, how he stands above fate itself, unshakeable, unmovable) but he fumbles on, voice tight, “He would have done it anyway. Even if… if we weren't,” he stops, breathes, “He would have done it. He hates people like Joker.”

Shachi raises an eyebrow, arms crossed.

“And tell me, Captain, did he agree to the alliance before he knew?”

Law can’t help it – he scowls.

That seems to be all the answer his crew need.

“You mean he would have done it for you even without the heartshine,” Bepo says quietly, and the flush on Law's face is matched only by the flush in his heart. He pulls the cap of his hat down, lets it shadow his eyes, for as much good as it’s going to do with the three people who've known him the longest.

“It's okay, Law,” Shachi says, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “You're allowed to be happy, you know?”

I don't know what happiness is, he thinks of saying, feels the words heavy on his tongue.

But, a voice whispers in his head, that's a lie, isn't it? You do know. He thinks of days aboard Bartolomeo's weird ship, of Luffy's boundless energy, the incessant chatter and blinding smiles and the all-encompassing hugs he'd been given just because Torao, you look like you need a hug, you know it's okay to ask for one–

He thinks of the Polar Tang, of the metallic walls and the darkness of the ocean bottom, of the way he feels settled, now, his crew all in sight.

“Whatever,” he says, and turns on his heels to find something to drink.

He feels the smiles of his friends at his back the whole way.

When Luffy presents his plan to go retrieve Black Leg from Big Mom, Law takes one look at him and knows that protesting will yield exactly zero results. With Luffy, resistance is futile. He has learned that lesson well.

He tries to bury the worry he feels; this is Luffy, and for all that the plan is a solid one, bringing just a skeleton crew for a mission that is supposed to be all about stealth, Law knows him. Even the most air-tight, carefully-thought-out plans fall apart when Luffy so much as glances at them. It will end with a fight, and Big Mom is nothing to scoff at, almost as formidable as Kaido himself, and Law – well, Law can’t help it. He’s a worrier by nature, and the dread that curls around his heart is a familiar one.

He thinks he is managing to hide it well enough, except right when the small crew of Straw Hats is meant to leave, Luffy spots him standing to the side and walks over to him – walks, instead of running or leaping or bounding, and Law realises he’s done a worse job of covering his fear than he’d thought.

Luffy takes one look at him and smiles – not one of his patented, mega-watt smiles, but something quieter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You don’t need to worry so much, Torao. It’ll be fine. We’ll see you in Wano in no time.”

You don’t know that, Law doesn’t say, but it must show in his eyes because Luffy’s stare intensifies, the brown of his eyes molten as he fixes Law in place with just one look.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, and Law nods, still unable to form words but incapable of denying this one, simple truth. Of course he trusts Luffy. With his life, with the lives of his crew and everyone else in the entire world.

The only person he doesn’t trust Luffy with is Luffy himself.

Instead of saying that, though, Law reaches out to him, grabs onto his arm, fingers holding onto the fabric of his shirt so hard it almost tears.

“Just – come back, Straw Hat-ya,” he says, words tumbling from his mouth without his say-so, his stomach in free-fall. “Come back to me.”

Luffy smiles, then, a creature of sunshine in the form of a person, and Law tightens his grip, drags him in, pulls him to his chest right then and there, uncaring of their crews mingling nearby and almost certainly an audience to their farewell. They’ve not talked about this, keeping their connection a secret, but neither have they touched where either of their crews could see – when he’d asked Luffy if it didn’t bother him, tactile as he is, Luffy’d simply shaken his head and said, Torao’s a private person, right, so it’s fine, and that had been that.

Now, there’s no hiding it. Luffy makes a surprised noise at the back of his throat as he collides with Law’s chest, and golden light all but explodes from them, drowning their surroundings in the glow of it. Law is selfishly glad that the combined shine of their hearts is so bright that it almost certainly hides the way Luffy winds his arms around him, the way Law’s own arms hold Luffy as tight as he can, the way he presses a kiss to the top of Luffy’s head, the way Luffy buries his face in Law’s shoulder.

Behind them, shrieks and shouts and wolf-whistles fill the air.

Law could, quite sincerely, not care less.

Their initial reunion is loud and chaotic like Luffy himself, Law's careful plans reduced to nothing but rubble, and yet in the span of not even a day, Luffy has somehow managed to bring an entire town on his side, sparked the fire of rebellion more than the combined efforts of the Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai alliance has in the past month.

It's ridiculous, it's impossible, it's miraculous. It's Luffy, and Law's chest feels stupidly lighter when they run, retreating back to Kuri and their hideout.

Their second reunion comes in the middle of the night in one of the worn-down huts, Law having retreated from the discussions among the allies in the small hours of the night that is inching steadily towards morning. Luffy follows after him, slips in through the door surprisingly silently, his tan skin eerily pale in the moonlight.

They stare at each other for a moment, suspended in the quiet that surrounds them, before Luffy moves, crosses the floor and winds his arms around him, heavy and warm and reassuring.

“I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?” His voice is slightly muffled where his head is buried against Law’s chest. When there’s no response, he lifts his head, aims one of his trademark smiles at him, one of the ones Law used to believe were too wide, too much, until his irritation morphed into fondness without him even noticing.

He’s radiant, Law thinks. He’s beautiful.

“I missed you, Torao,” says Luffy, and there’s no sentimentality to his voice, only sincerity. Law knows that most people believe that Luffy has no romantic bone to him, and they are right – however, it doesn’t mean Luffy can’t be romantic. His honesty, his tendency to say exactly what he thinks, without shame, only following his instincts – that is far more charming than it has any right to be.

“It was quiet here, for once, without you,” Law says, bone-dry, and someone else might take his words at face-value, believe in the aloof mask he can’t quite remove, even here.

But Luffy has, from the very start, been able to see through him, through all the walls he hides behind, through all the carefully masked emotions, like he was born with the unique ability to speak the language Law has been so unwilling to teach anyone.

His laughter rings in the hut. This time, too, he has no trouble hearing the real meaning behind the words.

I missed you, too.

For all that Law goes to Onigashima with the distinct possibility of his impending death hanging above him like a particularly dark cloud, somehow, for some reason, he never once thinks it might hang over Luffy, too.

It's on the rooftop that the fear grips him, similar to how he had felt in Dressrosa – back when he’d still refused to believe, when he hadn’t known the true meaning of having Luffy's regard, when he'd only read of the miracles left in the wake of the Straw Hat crew and not seen them performed right in front of his eyes.

He watches Luffy fall, frozen with the kind of fear that teeters on the edge of rage, the kind Law hasn't felt since he was ten years old and wanted nothing more than for the world to burn.

This time, though, he'll settle for just Kaido.

But even through the anger and the desperation and the mantra of get up, get up, please, you can't die here, he knows he's no match. He tries, and Zoro tries, but in the end all they succeed with is shielding Luffy long enough for him to wake up to work more of his miracles.

“Thank you for protecting me,” Luffy says, voice low and serious and sincere, and Law has recovered just enough from the shock of seeing him punch Kaido without even touching him to feel the weight of his gratitude smash into him harder than any hit in the fight so far.

He's only one Shambles away from him, and it's an unnecessary use of his powers when he needs nothing more than to conserve energy, but Law does it anyway; one second he's lying on the ground, another he's crouched in front of Luffy, pushing himself upright, catching Luffy's hand in his.

It's risky, but Kaido can't see them, Big Mom and Eustass are already gone, and the cloud has just circled around one of the horns of Onigashima, so there is no one left to witness the glow of their hearts. Law looks at it, commits it to memory, lets it reassure him that Luffy is here, watches the light pulse rapidly in his heart, hummingbird-fast.

“Kick his ass,” Law says, feeling his lips quirking up even as he fixes his heavy gaze on his unbelievable, impossible soulmate. “And then come back alive.”

Luffy's laughter is a clear thing, bright and beautiful.

“Of course!”

For a long, aching moment, Law wants nothing more than to kiss him.

Instead, he lets go and calls up another Room, moving himself and the Straw Hats’ first mate downstairs, leaving his soulmate to face a monster all on his own.

(But then, his soulmate is a monster in his own right, too.)

Between one second and the next, right there on the battlefield, Law feels Luffy’s heart stop. His presence winks out, suddenly, like the world’s most abrupt eclipse, and Law swears his own heart stops, too, as if a mirror to his other half.

No, he thinks, cold flooding his mind and his limbs, the very same cold that has haunted his bones for so long, the one that has followed him ever since Flevance, through the endless snows of Minion Island, to all the way here, ever-present, lying in wait.

No, he thinks again, more forcefully, and the word tastes of denial; because Luffy – Luffy is the rays of the sun on a warm day, Luffy is the capricious climate of a summer island, and Law hasn’t truly felt the cold since Dressrosa. He won’t let it get to him, now, because Luffy never once gave up on him, not even when Law had given up on him, had given up on himself.

He will never make the same mistake again.

“No,” he says, finally, his jaw set in defiance.

Mustering up the last vestiges of his energy, Law pushes himself upright, tilts his head until he looks at the crack in the roof, parts of it still falling down. Beside him, Eustass turns his head minutely, expression confused. Law pays him no mind.

He takes a deep breath.

“I told you to come back alive!” he yells, his voice echoing over the sounds of battle, aimed to carry right to the rooftop. “Come on, Straw Hat-ya, listen to me! This – this is not your grave!” He thinks of Luffy, crouched down next to him, the steady look in his eyes that he now recognises for what it had been, what it is, what he knows it to mean. “Remember? I refuse to let you die! Now, get up! Get up and live!”

It’s stupid, and it’s desperate, but faith is the blood in his veins, the fuel in his heart, and Law won’t give up. Not on Luffy, not now, not ever.

“What the fuck, Trafalgar,” Eustass hisses, his eyes shifting to look towards the roof, too. “You heard Kaido! Straw Hat’s dead. You can’t just, what, will him back to life, that’s–“

Law never hears what ‘that’ is, because at that very moment, a burst of conqueror’s haki stronger than anything he’s ever felt splits the room, shattering it into pieces until the air itself is broken glass, its shards an explosion as they drag down the remaining members of the Beast Pirates, drowning them in an ocean of pure power.

As the wave of haki crashes over him, Law thinks it’s quite possibly the most comforting thing he’s ever felt.

Meanwhile, Eustass is gaping, eyes flitting from the roof to Law and back again.

“Are you fucking joking?” he manages, eventually, seeming to address his question to the room at large – which is just as well, as Law doesn’t dignify him with an answer, his eyes fixed on the Skull Dome from where he can hear that familiar heartbeat, loud and clear, strong and steady. He’s faintly aware that he’s laughing, soft under his breath.

On his own pile of rubble next to him, Eustass makes a noise of pure, unadulterated outrage.

 “This is the dumbest shit,” he spits out, and then adds, even more emphatically, “You guys are disgusting,” and Law, heart light with relief as it matches the beat that is shaking all of Onigashima, now, like the world itself has decided to beat together with Luffy’s heart –

Law flips him off with a flourish.

“You died.”

Below, the celebration shows no signs of dying down despite the early hours of the morning, the streets of the Flower Capital full of life, of light and cheer and bustling stalls and dancing people. The roof of the castle, though, is quiet; by Law’s side, Luffy sits, the battered straw hat hanging from a cord on his neck, his feet dangling off the edge and kicking idly.

He doesn’t even try to deny the statement.

“You died,” Law says again, the words frayed at the edges. They haven’t really talked about this – haven’t talked much at all since the battle, not with Luffy unconscious (for endless hours that bled into one another after the first few days as Law sat silent in his vigil), and the celebration kicking off immediately after his waking.

Now, though, the party goes on without them, and Luffy kicks his feet one more time before tilting his head back, stars reflecting in his eyes, casting them a strange silver.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, voice almost strangely pensive, and this is the side of Luffy that Law knows most never see outside of battle – the same seriousness he brings to every fight, a shroud of quiet around his shoulders, a sharp glint in his eyes. There are things a captain must keep from his crew, after all, and for all that Luffy is eccentric and unpredictable, he is also an excellent captain. His crew will never worry about him, because he will never let them.

Law isn’t his crew.

“I thought–“ he starts, but Luffy turns to him, then, star-pool eyes catching his, and the words die in his throat.

“Yeah,” Luffy says again, “I did. But it didn’t take.”

Law breathes out, wonders if the sound is more like a laugh or a sob.

“Just – never do that to me again.”

“Die?” There’s a tightness to Luffy’s voice as he reaches for his hat, props it on his head, a shadow cast over his eyes, hiding them. “I can’t promise that, Torao. I won’t.”

For a moment, a wave of fear-loss-pain hovers over Law, the shades of Cora-san and Lami and his parents reflected in its depths, but a memory washes it all away – Luffy’s voice, hoarse from hours of screaming, repeating Ace promised, he can’t be dead, he said he’d never die, and Law looks at Luffy now, the way his shoulders are drawn, bowstring-tight, and understanding seeps into his bones.

“I know,” he murmurs, his hand reaching out, twining their fingers together. He hopes the glow will be attributed to the light decorations around the capital.

Luffy watches their entwined hands for a moment, before hoisting his legs up and scooting over to Law, pressing himself to his side.

“I can’t promise I won’t die, Torao, because we’re pirates, and everyone dies eventually. But I promise I’m not gonna die before it’s my time. So you promise, too, okay?”

It’s such a Luffy thing to say, so deceptively simple, and yet something settles inside Law, a piece lodging into place. He leans his head against Luffy’s, nods his own promise into his hair.

They stay like that until the sun breaks over the horizon.

For the days leading up to their impending departure from Wano, Law finds himself increasingly agitated. Luffy acts the same as always, like it won’t be time for them to go their separate ways again, like their alliance isn’t about to disband in just a few short days – and Law doesn’t know if he doesn’t know, or doesn’t care, or maybe both, but Luffy’s utter nonchalance over the matter makes him irritable. He keeps snapping at his crew, at his allies, at every unfortunate soul who makes the mistake of approaching him, until Shachi, volunteered for the job by the rest of the Hearts, finally tells him to get your shit together, please, and just talk to him, for the love of god, and Law –

Well. Law, like any sensible person, Shambles himself in the middle of the closest patch of forest and proceeds to hack at a tree with Kikoku until his arms are groaning in protest, muscles burning.

That is how Luffy finds him: his hair damp with sweat, sword in his hand, storm in his heart.

His soulmate takes one look at him and quite simply walks up to him, closer and closer, until their chests are touching, until his arms wrap around Law, once, twice, holding him close; his arms are like seastone, strong and unyielding and suddenly sapping Law of all the anger, all the energy, until his head drops to rest against Luffy’s shoulder.

How long it takes for them to separate, Law doesn’t know – minutes, years, eons – but when they do, Luffy takes a step back, his head tilted, owl-like, eerily still.

“Torao,” he says, “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he says, voice dry, but Luffy doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, and Law sighs. Right. So we’re doing this. He runs a hand through his hair, tries to pick up the pieces of his frustration and anger that Luffy’s hug so effectively scattered all around him earlier, to assemble them around himself like armour.

“We’re leaving in two days.”

There. He’s got that out, at least.

Luffy is statue-still, eyes unblinking, uncomprehending.

“Yeah? I know, we chose the day together.” His voice, blunt and casual, lacks all awareness of what it means, what the day’s significance is. The anger Law had lost grows back, its roots burrowing into him, and he knows it’s not anger, not really – it’s fear and desperation, it’s his heart tearing itself in two, longing for Luffy and their easy companionship and the steady beat of his heart, and yet unable to be chained down, constrained, to follow someone else, anyone else.

“You don't get it,” Law grits out. “This is it. Our alliance… we got our goal. It's done, now. I'm – I'll be sailing away, with my crew.”

He doesn't know what he wants Luffy to say – tell him to stay? Tell him to go? Both options fill his chest with an unmistakable sense of wrong.

I would stay, if he asked.

Law isn't sure if the knowledge, sunk deep into his bones, makes him feel better or worse.

Luffy, though – Luffy just looks at him, expression landing squarely in that unreadable zone that Law can never quite believe him capable of until he's faced with it. Luffy's eyes are somehow sharp and gentle and guileless, all at once.

“I know,” he answers, looking at Law like he’s the one being stupid here. “I know you've gotta go. That's what Usopp said, right, about alliances – I think it's dumb, the whole common goal thing, but I know that's how people see it.”

Luffy makes a face, his nose scrunching up adorably; he's never liked doing something simply because the world expects it of him, but in some specific occasions he will do it – only when whoever he is doing it for matters to him, though, matters beyond anything and anyone. Law’s stomach swoops uncomfortably when he realises that this is one such occasion, which makes him one such person.

(Oh, it is easy, now, to believe in his own feelings, to feel their inevitability, to accept them; to accept Luffy’s, though, is another matter. To accept them means believing that he is someone worthy of the boundless, sincere affection thrown his way at every turn, in every smile, in every touch of their hands.)

“Anyway,” Luffy continues, oblivious to Law's multiple inner turmoils at once, “You've got your own adventures to go on, Torao. I'm not gonna stop you.”

Law feels an acute sense of loss, accompanied by an equally acute sense of relief. He wishes his mind made up what he's supposed to be feeling, already.

He opens his mouth to say – what, he's not exactly sure, but Luffy beats him to it, bouncing two steps closer until they are nearly touching.

“But it doesn't matter if we're not allied anymore! We don't need to be, Torao, because we're nakama. You're nakama,” he adds, voice cheery and distinctly at odds with his eyes, looking at Law like he's the only thing in the world, like there is nothing more important than the two of them, here, now.

Oh, Law thinks, while a warm feeling implodes inside him. He hurts with the force of it, hurts with the way Luffy stares into his eyes, searching – for what, Law doesn't know, but he must find it because the smile that blooms on his face is achingly bright.

“See? There's no need to worry. You worry too much, Torao. But even if we separate here, we'll see each other again.”

He lifts his hand, splays it on Law’s chest, fingertips pressing hard over his heart, watches as golden light spills between his fingers.

Luffy's own heart burns, too, bright and steady as it beats.

This is one of the Four Emperors, Law thinks, and I'd die for him between this heartbeat and the next.

But Luffy will never ask that of him – no, the only thing Luffy has ever asked for is for him to live. And by the seas, Law will live; with him, away from him, but always, always for him.

He covers Luffy's hand with his own.

“Because it's fate?” he asks, then, eyebrows raised and tone wry.

“Nah,” Luffy says and grins. “People who say stuff like that are just looking for an excuse to not do things themselves. We'll meet again ‘cause I wanna see you again. ‘Cause I chose you, Torao! So don't forget that!”

Like I could. Like I ever could.

Law closes his eyes against the sudden burn inside his eyelids and the roiling in his chest, but when he opens them again all he can see are Luffy's earth-brown eyes peering at him, their faces close, so close–

From there, it is all too easy to slip his hand around Luffy's neck and pull him closer, tilt his head down to press his lips on Luffy's, soft and a little chapped and Law is so, so, so in love it's almost a physical ache, tangible and terrible and beautiful.

Luffy makes a pleased sound against his lips.

The force with which he throws his arms around Law as he sinks into the kiss nearly topples both of them over.