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Law finds himself sitting at a table in the galley of the Thousand Sunny accompanied by a small trio of the Strawhat crew.
“You’re a smart man, I’m sure you can appreciate I’m telling you this for the benefit of yourself, your crew, and all of us. Those two,” Nami points to Roronoa and Blackleg, “are together.”
The phrasing gives him the impression there have been past…incidents due to this fact.
Law studies each of their faces carefully and tries to conjure a romantic entanglement in his mind’s eye. Holding hands, soulful gazes, gentle caresses in the quiet hours of the night - none of them are adding up.
“Even if that is the truth - you don’t have to worry about us, we’re not one of those typical stupid couples. We know when things are serious and act accordingly. Very self contained,” Blackleg explains while placing small plates in front of Law, Nami, and himself. He deftly gathers up an assortment of tea cookies from where they sit on display and arranges them nicely for Nami, fussing with the placement and turning the plate incrementally until he deems it perfectly presented.
“Thank you, Sanji!”
“Anything for you my darling mellorine,” he coos before directing his attention to Law and tacking on a dry “you can help yourself.” He sits down and settles before seemingly continuing the earlier thread of their conversation. “Honestly, you probably wouldn’t have even been able to-“
“Cook,” the swordsman says.
With a frankly unwarranted level of speed, Blackleg snatches a cookie from the tray and feeds it directly into Roronoa’s waiting mouth.
Law blinks twice.
Perhaps he’s hallucinating, or it was a mirage from the heat of the deck.
“-notice. We’re not super big on pet names or hand holding or whatever,” he finishes, like nothing happened. Like he as a grown man, with a bounty in the millions, didn’t just hand feed another grown man, also with a bounty in the millions, a dainty little tea cake in the presence of witnesses. Law slides his gaze over to Nami who answers with a tired nod. Roronoa moves to grab the coffee pot but gets his hand swiftly slapped away.
“Hey watch it, curly brow! Thought you’d appreciate some help with your tea party here.”
“As usual, you thought wrong. Keep your big grubby sword hands off my fucking coffee pot, moss man,” Blackleg snipes, swiftly pouring four portions into the waiting cups on the table.
“So you bitch at me if I don’t help, and then the second I do help you tell me not to. Explain that one to me.” Zoro ferries two sugar cubes into Blackleg’s cup with a spoon and gives it a cursory few stirs.
“I never want your help with pouring coffee,” Blackleg sneers, sounding disgusted. “Your meaty paws are better suited to lifting barrels in the storeroom or punching trees or whatever the fuck training exercise you’ve thought up.”
The seamlessness in which they move around each other’s limbs over the table is nothing flashy compared to how they fight in tandem, but is still impressive in an understated, domestic kind of way. Interestingly, Blackleg doesn’t comment on the sugar cubes, simply taking a sip of his drink placidly.
“Well,” Law starts calmly, gaining the attention of his table mates. It’s immediately derailed when Roronoa is surreptitiously reaching for a thinly iced blue cookie.
“No, you won’t like that one.”
He moves for a yellow one.
“That one either.”
Orange.
“You had to know that was a no.”
“I’m starting to think they’re all going to be a no,” Zoro grouses.
“If you’d use your eye and brain for two fucking seconds you’d remember you don’t like icing and those cookies all have icing,” Blackleg hisses like he’s trying to be quiet, as if Law has been afforded any amount of time to talk anyways. Roronoa heaves a beleaguered sigh.
”I’d eat them regardless.”
”Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly what I want: you forcing yourself to eat something you think is disgusting for no reason when I specifically made something you would like.”
“If you’ve already decided which one I can have, then just give it to me.”
“I already did.”
“Just the one? I’m a grown man and I only get one cookie, and everybody else gets however many they want?” He sounds genuinely affronted despite how utterly ridiculous the conversation is.
“No, dumbass, just pick the green ones, who the fuck else would they be for!”
“I didn’t have any time to fucking see it before you crammed it in my mouth!”
“Matcha,” Blackleg yells hysterically, grabbing the other man by his robe and smashing their foreheads together, “It’s always matcha with you, you should know this, kelp for brains!”
“My God,” Law says under his breath to Nami.
“I know,” she says, idly chewing on a pink macaron and inspecting her nail beds.
“So it’s always like this?”
“Imagine how tired we are.”
“I’m exhausted and it’s only been 10 minutes,” Law agrees dryly.
Abruptly stopping their sniping at one another, Roronoa and Blackleg pivot simultaneously - keeping their foreheads connected- and speak at once.
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
They then glare at each other as if the other is to blame for them being in sync.
“Give me. Another. Cookie,” Zoro threatens through gritted teeth.
“That’s what I was trying to do in the first place you colossal idiot,” Blackleg seethes before moving away to grab another one of the green cookies and shoving it in the vague direction of the other man’s face. Roronoa eyes it warily, like he knows what’s coming, and he was right because as soon as he moves to take a bite the cookie is yanked out of reach.
“Oops! Try again,” Blackleg simpers with a smarmy, condescending smile.
Roronoa grapples for his wrist to keep it in place and bites through half of the treat with a vicious snap of his teeth, like a wild beast. While in the process of opening his mouth again, Nami clears her throat loudly and pointedly, causing both men to startle and look away from each other before seemingly realizing they have two witnesses. Blackleg’s face flushes to a chagrined red all over.
Law gets the impression this must be a….thing…that they do.
A thing that has….implications.
Nami’s lip is curled and her nose is scrunched in disgust, confirming his line of thought. Apparently unbothered, Roronoa goes to eat the rest of the cookie still held between the other man’s fingers.
“Zoro,” Blackleg admonishes quietly, “we’re not-“
“I know, just let go of it.”
“Oh. Right.”
Meaning in all likelihood he was about to be sucking on Blackleg’s fingers in front of them if Nami hadn’t put a stop to their intricately constructed ritual. A horrifying and sobering thought.
They’re part of Strawhat’s crew, so he really shouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore, yet here he is. He sips his coffee, and doesn’t comment further - not that he’d be able to get a word in edgewise, anyways.