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Law is 14 years (and one hundred and ninety-eight days) old when he first sees his soul mark in the bathroom mirror of the shack he lives in with his three future crewmates.
It’s a hint of gray a little behind the hair at his temple. He supposes it was hidden by one of the white spots that overtook most of his skin and which he’s only recently gotten entirely rid of. It took them months to fade, but now they’re finally gone as if they’d never been there to begin with.
At first, Law can’t figure out what the mark is: it’s just a gray outline on his temple, like a scribble or a scratch or a scrawl of some weird, nonsensical shape—
Except.
Except, upon closer look, it’s not nonsensical at all.
It’s a heart.
His own—the one in his chest, the one that keeps beating despite his occasional wishes to the contrary—drops to the pit of his stomach.
His fucking soul mark is in the shape of a fucking heart.
Law’s eyes immediately start burning. His fists tighten around the porcelain of the bathroom sink. His bottom lip begins wobbling, and he bites down on it hard enough for the flesh to almost tear open beneath the pressure.
(He can feel that’s the case, strangely. An effect of his Devil Fruit, he assumes.)
Of course the universe would fucking brand him with a reminder of his worst mistake, his greatest regret, and of course it would be a fucking heart that will never be anything other than a gray outline because the person it clearly belongs to is de—
Law hiccups, swallows down the sob clawing at his throat. He wonders how long the mark’s been there, when it snapped into place. He wonders if it was at some point during their last three weeks together, or if maybe it was that last day, before everything went to shit, or if… or if it was after, when Cora-san was already gone.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, ripping his gaze away from the mirror. “Fuck.”
It’s been one year, three months, and thirteen days since Law left the blasted island of Minion behind; since the sound of his sobs and screams made him cry even louder, since the last he saw of his… his most precious person was him lying on the snow colored pink as he bled out until he…
Mmm. Well.
It shouldn’t still hurt as much as it does. Why does it still hurt so much? Shouldn’t it have gotten easier by now? Law should be fucking able to think about Cora-san without the immediate urge to cry his lungs out, without his body attempting to give up and send him collapsing to the ground in a useless heap of hunched in limbs.
“Fuck,” Law repeats, for good measure.
He has no time to sink into despair, no matter how much he wants to sometimes. He’s got plans to come up with: a man to take down, another to avenge. He’s got a pirate vessel to steal. He’s got a crew awaiting him. As the captain, nothing can start without him.
So Law presses the heels of his palms to his eyes until they stop burning, pulls his hat over his head to hide the soul mark, and drags his own broken pieces into some semblance of a functioning person. He offers one last thought to his benefactor, and then he exits the bathroom and heads to the kitchen, where Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin have finished lunch and are now looking at him expectantly. The three of them are wearing identically smug smirks, though Bepo’s is closer to a smile.
“Orders, Captain?” asks Shachi with a raised eyebrow.
Law inhales deeply. Exhales just as deeply.
“First order of business,” he says. “Let’s go get us a ship.”
His three friends cheer, and Law finds the tension in his shoulders and back easing, just a little bit.
He manages to make it through their infiltration into the Navy base—and the theft of their beautiful pirate submarine—without thinking about his heart-shaped soul mark again. But whenever his mind wanders, one of his hands always, always, reaches up to his temple, to the spot of skin marked by a gray outline.
Law is 17 years (and three hundred and sixty-one days) old when Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin burst onto the deck of the Polar Tang at the same time, all clamoring, “CAPTAIN!”
Before Law can even prepare himself for a fight, his three crewmates have collided against him in a bone-breaking hug that squeezes the air out of his lungs.
Oh, wait, no, that’s just Bepo.
“CAPTAIN!” they scream again.
“Stop yelling,” Law says.
Rather than listening to him, the trio all start talking at once, excitedly gesturing with their arms and looking as though they’ve lost their minds. Bepo’s crying and mumbling incoherently, his tears dripping into the fabric of Law’s hoodie. Law’s head pounds with the beginning of a headache.
“What?” he asks them.
Their voices rise in volume, still making no damn sense in the slightest, ending with yet another chorus of, “CAPTAIN!”
“WHAT?!” Law shouts back.
“LOOK!”
At long last, Law sees what his friends have been trying to show him: all three of them have a blue snowflake on a different part of their bodies. Bepo’s is on his shoulder, visible even through his fur, Shachi’s is on his collarbone, and Penguin’s is on his forearm.
“It’s just like yours, Captain!” Bepo grins. “Now we all match!”
Law blinks at them.
After noticing the blue snowflake on the inside of his wrist, he figured only he would be getting the soul mark for his crewmates. Platonic soul marks have been documented, of course, but they’re rarely the case for groups of more than two or three people. Four seemed to be pushing it.
So it never occurred to Law that his friends would be getting a soul mark for him, too. He didn’t even think that was possible.
“Huh,” he says. “Isn’t that something.”
His crewmates respond by tackling him to the deck with an exhilarated screech.
Law, who defends his personal space with his life, lets it slide. Just this once.
Law is 26 years (and two hundred and thirty-three days) old when he meets Cora-san again.
The last twelve hours have been the most insane and unbelievable hours in Law’s entire life. Not only is he still reeling from the aftermath of Doflamingo’s defeat, he’s also just found out that Cora-san… that Cora-san has been alive this whole time, imprisoned under his brother’s command and fooled into believing Law was dead, had been since Minion.
Law doesn’t trust him, thinks this is an impostor, another trick, even tries to stab him—and then Cora-san’s laughing, right here in the ruins of Dressrosa, his red-brown eyes crinkled and soft. He cheekily asks, “Is this going to be a thing with us? You’re too big for me to throw you out a window,” and Law collapses embarrassingly quickly.
He clutches the back of Cora-san’s shirt and weeps and weeps and weeps. Cora-san holds him in his arms, tucks him against his chest, wailing Law’s name amidst mutterances of you’re so grown up and I can’t believe you’re here and I missed you so much and I love you, I love you, I love you.
Law cries harder. Through his tears, he demands his raspy voice to cooperate and finally says the words he’s dreamed of saying for thirteen years.
“I love you, too.”
Cora-san’s arms tighten around him. His wails grow louder.
Law hugs him back as best he can, still weeping, and sighs. It’s the lightest he’s ever felt.
That night, in the little house of the gladiator who aided them today, leaning with his ear pressed against Cora-san’s chest to hear his heartbeat, with one of Cora-san’s arms around his waist and the other one caressing his hair, Law lets himself breathe. His body sags. His eyes close. Cora-san kisses his temple and leaves his lips there, like he can’t bear to pull away, and Law falls asleep before he can realize it, enveloped in the warmth and safety of his most precious person.
Law is 26 years (and two hundred and fifty-two days) old when he notices the change in his soul mark.
They’re back in the Polar Tang, en route to Wano, with a group of samurai and Straw Hats allocated in different parts of the submarine to keep their journey as smooth as possible. Without the Straw Hat captain himself present to sow chaos in his wake, this is, to Law’s relief, entirely manageable.
Cora-san sleeps in Law’s bed; of course he does. Law doesn’t even try to put him anywhere else, and Cora-san only rests his head on top of Law’s and smiles like he wasn’t planning on leaving him, anyway, and Law loves him so much, his damn ribcage aches.
The next morning, forcefully dragging himself out of Cora-san’s embrace—Cora-san lets out a disgruntled little huff, he’s so fucking adorable—Law makes his way into the bathroom of his cabin for a shower.
It’s until he catches his reflection in the mirror that his gaze is pulled towards a splash of color on his temple, right where his soul mark is.
The gray outline is… no longer gray. It’s not just an outline, either. What was once a colorless scrawl is now a fully filled in heart, painted in the same shade of red-brown as Cora-san’s eyes.
Surprising absolutely no one, Law proceeds to panic.
When did his soul mark change? Has anyone else seen it? Has Cora-san? If he had, he’d have told Law, right? Or he has seen it, and the only reason he hasn’t said anything is because he knows what it means? And he doesn’t feel the same, nor will he ever, but he doesn’t want to make things awkward between them now that he’s a member of Law’s crew?
Is this how he loses Cora-san again?
The walls around him are closing in. His view narrows down to his own face staring back at him in the mirror. He’s hyperventilating.
Okay. Okay. He needs to… calm the fuck down, maybe.
Law squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on his breathing. In, out. In, hold, out. He’s safe. His crew is safe. The stragglers in his ship are safe. Cora-san is safe. In, out. In, hold, out.
Okay. All right.
The possibilities that one of his crewmates saw the change in his soul mark and didn’t notify him about it are slim to none. His hat often covers it. Whenever he happens to forgo it, it’s exclusively within the confines of the Tang, and only once he’s in his private cabin. Even then, his soul mark is barely noticeable at a distance. He’s certainly not in the habit of letting people get that close to him.
Except Cora-san.
Law takes a deep breath to ease his racing heart. Cora-san isn’t the kind of person to just let sleeping dogs lie, much less when it comes to Law. If he’d noticed anything, he would’ve made a fuss, still worrying about Law after all these years.
If… when Cora-san asks about it, Law will tell him what it is. Cora-san might suggest it’s a platonic soul mark, like the Hearts’ blue snowflake, and Law will shake his head and patiently explain that no, this heart is Cora-san’s, as is the one beating in Law’s chest.
He vows not to let this come between them. Regardless of Law’s feelings, the Polar Tang is Cora-san’s home now, and it’ll continue to be so unless Cora-san explicitly states otherwise.
For the time being, his crew and vessel need their captain.
Law is 26 years (and three hundred days) old when Cora-san kisses him for the first time.
They’ve finally left the Land of Wano behind. All that’s left now is taking it easy, and that goes for the entire crew. Even though Law personally oversaw the wounds of his people, they still faced off against two Emperors of the Sea, beating one by the skin of their teeth—as well as with Eustass-ya’s reluctant aid. The longer they can all go without getting into another fight, the better.
As soon as the Polar Tang is back on the waters of the Grand Line, Law sways on his feet. Beside him, he hears Cora-san call his name, but his vision darkens, and his body leans too far to the side, and then Law passes out.
He awakens to the feel of someone’s hand around his, a thumb gently running over the skin of his knuckles. He’s not hooked to any machines, as far as he can tell, though he is propped halfway up on one of the beds of the med bay.
“There he is,” says Cora-san, almost in a sing-song tone. “Had a nice nap?”
Law groans and attempts to flip him off. All he manages is to slightly raise the middle finger of the hand Cora-san’s holding. The bastard just chuckles, amused. With a deep, slow breath, Law forces his eyes open to see Cora-san handing him a glass of water.
“Thanks,” Law croaks, carefully wrapping his fingers around it to take a sip. “How long was I asleep?”
Cora-san leans back on his chair, still clasping one of Law’s hands. “Two days.”
It’s a good thing Law didn’t take another sip right after the first one, or he would’ve choked.
“Two days?!” he repeats.
“Forty-five hours,” Cora-san clarifies, shrugging, as if that’s any significant difference. “And before you say anything,” he adds, lifting a finger before Law can start yelling, “your crew had everything handled.”
Law doesn’t bother swallowing his huff. Although he’ll never admit it out loud, his body probably needed the rest. At the very least, it waited until he was alone with his crew, inside the safety of his ship, to shut down.
Whatever Law was going to say next is interrupted by the growling of his stomach.
Cora-san smiles and stands from his chair. “C’mon, let’s get some food in you. I would’ve brought you something, but I figured you’d bite my hand off if I tried to keep you here any longer.”
Law pauses in his struggle to get out of the bed.
“And you’d be correct,” he says, which makes Cora-san laugh again.
“Welcome back, Captain.”
It must be late, because the Tang is relatively quiet and the dining hall is empty. Cora-san encourages Law to take a seat while he goes to the kitchen and comes back with two plates of what the crew had for dinner, not steaming but still warm enough to eat. He settles on the chair across from Law and digs into his meal with surprising gusto.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Law questions.
“Was waiting for you,” Cora-san answers.
Law frowns. “You shouldn’t have. What if I hadn’t woken up yet? You can’t go long periods of time without eating.”
Cora-san drinks from his glass of water and raises an eyebrow. Law points at him with an accusing finger.
“Shut up,” he snaps immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to. Pot, kettle, ha-ha, eat your damn food.”
The smug smile he gets should make him want to punch the man in front of him. Instead, all it does is make Law’s stomach muscles tighten as if he had rearranged the organs in his abdominal cavity for fun.
“So.” He pushes some of his food around the plate with his fork. “What else did the crew get up to in my absence?”
“Oh, nothing much,” says Cora-san. “Checked in on you. Joked around. Took care of the ship. Told me stories about you.”
Law closes his eyes. Yep, there it is, the start of a migraine.
“Ugh,” he groans. “Of course they did. Only the embarrassing ones, I assume?”
Cora-san’s eyes twinkle. Law doesn’t know if the sparkle of mischief has always been there, or if it has amplified after prolonged exposure to his crewmates. Maybe both.
“No, not only those ones.”
Well, that certainly doesn’t sound ominous at all.
“Your friends told me how you met.”
“Did they now.”
“Apparently,” Cora-san goes on, ignoring him, “beating someone up before you befriend them is a recurring theme with you. Still, it was nice to know that you never stopped being a little shit.”
“Oi,” Law grunts.
Cora-san, the absolute bastard, just laughs. No matter how hard Law tries not to be so affected by it, that sound sends warmth throughout his entire body. He would be driven to murder just to make sure Cora-san can laugh like that whenever he wants to—just so Law can hear him every time he does.
Cora-san, having finished his plate, leans his elbow on the table and rests his head on his closed fist.
“They also told me about your first bounty,” he adds. “A small crew from the North Blue, with an 18-year-old captain worth 46 million berries, taking the world by storm. Rapidly making a name for yourself. By the time you became infamous in the Grand Line, you were one of the most powerful rookie pirates in the world. Supernova, former Warlord of the Sea, the Surgeon of Death. Trafalgar Law.”
Throughout his quick summing of the past thirteen years, Cora-san’s gaze softened, his smile gentled, his voice grew brighter. Law can’t tear his eyes away from him, even as he feels blood rushing to his cheeks. He wishes he’d thought to bring his hat along, if only to hide in it.
“It’s thanks to you that I could do all that,” Law mutters, pushing his half-empty plate aside.
Cora-san gives a tiny shake of his head. “Maybe I helped you at the start, but you did everything else on your own. I’m—”
At this, he takes a shuddering breath, his expression crinkling slightly as if he were holding back tears.
“I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, Law.”
Law swallows to dampen his suddenly too-dry throat. His heart pounds dangerously in his chest. He’s… he’s not going to cry, damn it.
He stands from his chair and distracts himself by picking up their plates to take them back to the kitchen. It gives him the chance to let his breathing return to normal, get his heart rate into its usual rhythm. He almost feels like his soul mark burns, just a tad, but he knows that’s impossible. It’s just a reflex from his body.
Cora-san is on his feet next to the table when Law approaches him again. He figures Cora-san will argue if he tries to get any work around the Tang done at this hour, so he tilts his head in the direction of his private quarters.
“Time for bed?” he asks, and he turns to go back the way they came.
He’s brought to a halt by Cora-san grabbing his wrist, his grip firm but not tight enough to hurt. The pads of Cora-san’s fingers press against Law’s veins, and Law hears his blood roaring within them.
“Cora-san?”
Cora-san’s eyes aren’t on him. They’re on the point where they touch, where Law’s pulse must be loud enough for Cora-san to hear.
Almost as if in a trance, Cora-san slowly, gently pulls his arm back, dragging Law along with it until they’re face to face and the space between them is minimal. His hand, though, remains exactly where it is, solid and scorching.
Law opens his mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but Cora-san picks that exact moment to look at Law and—and Law can’t tell what emotion that is in Cora-san’s dark, russet eyes, but it still makes him pause, makes his breathing speed up, makes his hands shake.
Cora-san is staring at him like… like… like he can’t believe Law is real. Like Law is everything he’s ever been looking for.
Like Law imagines himself looking like when he stares at Cora-san.
“Cora-san,” Law says, or mumbles, or thinks, or hallucinates, or screams.
Cora-san leans forward, and Law goes cross-eyed with his proximity, and he smells the cigarettes Cora-san must’ve been chain smoking waiting for Law to wake up, and then Cora-san kisses him.
Cora-san is kissing him.
Cora-san’s mouth is on Law’s, just a chaste press of their lips together, and for one single, earth-shattering millisecond, Law is frozen on the spot. His heart races. His lungs stutter. His limbs do not respond. His brain can only think of Cora-san’s hand and Cora-san’s eyes and Cora-san’s mouth and repeat a loop of Cora-san Cora-san Cora-san Cora-san.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his body ignites.
Law kisses Cora-san back the way he’s dreamed of since the day he first thought of Cora-san and desire in the same sentence: with a hunger and ferocity he never believed himself capable of. He tugs his wrist free of Cora-san’s grip to hold his head in place and deepen the kiss, swiping his tongue over Cora-san’s lower lip. Cora-san shivers in his grasp, his own hands moving to cup Law’s hips as he opens his mouth and his tongue slides hot and wet against Law’s and god, fuck, Law’s getting lightheaded.
The lewd, obscene sound their lips make when they break away, right before Cora-san dives in for another kiss, will forever be ingrained in Law’s mind. He’ll think about it for the rest of his days. He’ll take it to his grave. It’s his to keep.
Law moves backward, or maybe Cora-san moves him. Either way, Law finds himself caged against the edge of the table as they kiss, one of Cora-san’s thumbs sneaking into the minuscule patch of skin between his jeans and his hoodie to touch the bare flesh underneath, and Law moans.
The hands around his hips tighten reflexively. The thumb against his skin pushes harder.
Cora-san melts into him, swallows Law’s groan—and subsequent whimper, for fuck’s sake! He grunts and presses their bodies closer until Law’s back arches into the contact, until Law swears he feels Cora-san’s heartbeat as if it were his own, until Law has to clutch Cora-san’s arms to stay upright.
Cora-san pulls back, but his mouth still brushes Law’s with every exhalation of air.
“Law,” he rasps quietly, low and deep in his throat, like a prayer. Law’s legs fucking quiver.
“Cora-san,” he breathes, just as quiet.
Cora-san huffs out a sort of cut-off laugh that nestles itself right behind Law’s sternum, next to where his heart skips a beat. “Law. Law. My darling, precious Law. You are a marvel.”
“Hnn,” Law whines (whines, whines, he’s whining now! What has become of him!). He tries to hide his face on the crook of Cora-san’s neck to catch his breath, but Cora-san carefully takes Law’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt his head up with a gentleness that threatens to steal the air right out of Law’s lungs.
Cora-san’s lips are spit-slick and puffy from their kissing. His cheeks are painted with an unbelievably pretty blush that Law, hysterically, wants to feel on his tongue, and the red-brown irises of his eyes are thin circles around his lust-fat pupils. His throat bobs as he swallows, and Law’s teeth ache with the insane thought of pulling at the skin until he’s left a mark.
“Law,” Cora-san repeats.
Fuck. Fuck, he’s so fucking beautiful. What else can Law do but kiss him over, and over, and over, and over again?
The initial, almost desperate slide of their lips slows down to little pecks exchanged between them like rain drops. Their faces are pressed so tightly together that Cora-san’s nose pushes against Law’s cheekbone. Cora-san’s breath is warm and damp over Law’s mouth, and Law nips at the tip of his tongue and earns a shudder-inducing growl—accompanied with another kiss—for his efforts.
“I love you,” Law exhales. “Cora-san, I love you. I need you to know that.”
Cora-san gasps as though he’s in physical pain, but the hand on Law’s hip moves to press on the dip of his spine, and the other one settles on the back of Law’s neck. His fingernails graze the skin beneath them in a hold that Law can only describe as possessive, like Cora-san is staking his claim on him. It sends a thrill from the top of Law’s head down to the rest of his body, and he trembles in Cora-san’s arms.
“Oh, Law,” Cora-san sighs, dropping his forehead against Law’s. “I know, sweetheart. Of course I know. I love you, too.”
Law shakes his head, because Cora-san doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand the scope, the depth of Law’s love for him. It’s a gaping chasm inside him, a thirst that cannot be quenched, an insatiable need that will always demand more, and more, and more, and more—
Cora-san kisses him. His hands pull Law closer, trapping him within his grasp as they breathe together. The racing thoughts tormenting Law—his doubts and worries and fears—slowly grow quieter and quieter until the only thing he can hear is the gentle humming of the Polar Tang around them. The tension in his body melts away little by little.
Cora-san draws back as if with great difficulty. By the time Law can look into his gorgeous russet eyes again, all he feels is… at peace. Tranquil. Calm.
(The irony is not lost on him.)
“I know, Law,” Cora-san says again. “And I love you, too.”
And that’s.
That’s kind of the whole crux of everything, isn’t it?
Huh.
“Oh,” Law mumbles, stupidly.
Cora-san only smiles and lays another kiss on his mouth.
“C’mon.” He tugs on one of Law’s hands to interlace their fingers. “Let’s go to bed.”
Law trails behind him. At this point, he knows he’ll follow Cora-san anywhere.
Hours later, after Cora-san has already fallen asleep, Law simply… stares at him. He stares at Cora-san’s slightly parted lips, at his fluttering eyelashes, at the blond bangs that fall over his forehead, at the man he loves more than anything in this godforsaken world, and wonders how he got so incredulously, astoundingly lucky.
Law is 27 years (and an hour and six minutes) old when he sees Cora-san’s soul mark for the first time.
For the most part, things have been just the same as they’ve always been, save for the fact that Cora-san will take Law’s hand whenever he’s in reach, and Law will press a kiss to the corner of Cora-san’s mouth whenever he feels like it, regardless of who’s around, and they’ll both ignore the catcalls and wolf-whistles from the crew and go about their day.
They’ve been taking things slow, all things considered.
But not tonight.
Tonight, Cora-san reaches for him the second Law climbs into bed, pulls him onto his lap, and kisses him like a man starved, his big, warm hands sliding under the hem of Law’s shirt to lay on his spine. Law groans, equally famished, and gives as good as he gets, fingers threading through Cora-san’s hair, knees squeezing Cora-san’s hips. Their mouths move together, their breaths intermingle.
“Cora-san,” Law whispers, and the sound turns into a moan when Cora-san kisses a trail from the corner of his lips to Law’s throat. “I—I want…”
Cora-san tugs the skin of his neck between his teeth. Law prays to the Four damn Blues that he leaves a mark. “Yes.”
Law chokes on a chuckle. “I haven’t even—hah—said anything.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Cora-san brushes the hair from Law’s forehead, drops a kiss on his mouth, nuzzles his nose. “Everything, anything you want, I wanna give it to you.”
“Cora-san,” Law attempts to bark as a last resort to stop the tears burning in his eyes. If it comes a bit watery, Cora-san doesn’t mention it.
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he repeats.
Law kisses him harder. He also nips Cora-san’s bottom lip, for good measure.
He’s tugging on Cora-san’s shirt before he even finishes speaking, “Let me touch you,” and Cora-san instantly complies, dragging the article of clothing over his head so Law can feel his bare skin under his touch like he’s dreamed of for years, at long fucking last.
But his hands don’t get the chance to roam the muscular, solid expanse of Cora-san’s chest. Law’s gaze fixates on a scar resting right over his left pectoral, except that this scar is painted gold and doesn’t feel like a scar, almost like a stain or mark—
Law freezes, fingertips poised over the spot of gold.
“Is…” He swallows. “Is this…”
He hears more than sees the moment when Cora-san realizes what he’s looking at. The man in front of him hums in assent, palms once again pressed to Law’s back.
“My soul mark. Or should I say yours?” Cora-san huffs, amused. “Well. It’s yours, regardless.”
Law continues to stare. “When did it…?”
“Show up? Beats me. I only noticed it wasn’t gray anymore after that first night in Dressrosa.”
Since Dressrosa. Months and months and months ago.
Fuck. Fuck.
Law didn’t need a soul mark to realize he’s loved Cora-san for more than a decade. Even if he’d never seen the gray-and-then-red-brown heart on his temple, he wouldn’t have cared, what was so-called destiny in the face of his devotion?
But it doesn’t mean that he’d… that he’d dared to presume Cora-san’s soul mark would be for him, if he even had one to begin with. It wouldn’t have mattered if he didn’t, but he does and it’s for Law, it’s painted in the same shade of gold as his eyes and—
“Law? I-Is that okay? Look, it, it’s fine if you don’t have one, or if it isn’t for me, it doesn’t change how I feel about you—”
Cora-san’s panicked rambling manages to snap Law out of his daze, and he blinks up at him.
“What?” he asks; demands, more like. What kind of nonsense is Cora-san spouting? Doesn’t he know by now that Law only has eyes for him, and nothing in this godforsaken world is going to change that? For fuck’s sake, his own damn soul mark is—
Cora-san looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, brows furrowed in what seems to be apprehension, or anxiety, or fear. Rather than the quiet confidence with which he declared his soul mark to be for Law, now he’s trying to make himself smaller, as though he doesn’t know he’s the center of Law’s entire universe.
Wait.
Cora-san has never asked about Law’s soul mark. He’s… he’s never even seen it. Law was so nervous at the thought of Cora-san pointing it out and having the ensuing conversation that he never actually bothered to show it to him.
Law sighs, unbearably fond. He cups Cora-san’s face until Cora-san raises his gaze. Then, Law tilts his head and pulls back the hair at his temple, revealing the mark he’s worn for thirteen years.
Cora-san’s awestruck gasp is a thing of beauty, a sound that settles warmly within Law’s bleeding, beating heart. He leans closer, and one of his hands comes up to touch the russet mark—softly, gingerly, almost reverently.
“Law,” he exhales. “Is it… Is it for…?”
“You,” Law finishes. Cora-san’s fingers twitch against his skin, tears welling in his eyes. “Of course it’s for you, dummy. There’s no one else. There never has been anyone else. Don’t you know by now? I—”
Law only notices he’s begun crying when the thumb of Cora-san’s other hand wipes his tears away, rubbing comfortingly over his cheekbone.
Law forces back the sobs threatening to cut him off and leans into the caress.
“Cora-san,” he says. “I’ve always been yours.”
Cora-san grins, so wide and radiant that he lights up the room around them, and he drags Law into another kiss, and then another, and then another, over and over and over again until Law loses count, until he’s grinning against Cora-san’s lips, until their kisses are more breathing together than kissing.
Tomorrow, the crew will greet them in the dining hall with cake and decorations to celebrate Law’s birthday. Law will make a fuss and pretend to find them insufferable, but he’ll tug his hat down over his eyes and join the toast in his name, and Cora-san will wrap an arm around his waist and pull him close and kiss his hairline, the spot where his hair hides his soul mark.
Tonight, Law falls asleep on top of Cora-san, Cora-san’s palm on the dip of his spine, Law’s ear resting over his heart, lulled by its rhythmic thumping.
(The waters of the New World bear witness to a phenomenon rarely seen in these parts of the Grand Line: two soul marks pressed together glow inside the private quarters of the Polar Tang’s captain, casting away, if only for a moment, the darkness of the oceans’ depth.)