Chapter Text
The coffee shop is warm, too warm, and since everyone in it save for the staff are currently damp, the smell of their clothes and bodies is oppressive. Law wishes there was something he could lean against, his back is killing him, but there's only the glass counter on his right, and the very occupied tables and chairs on his left. The line moves at a snail's pace, everyone shuffling impatiently in place. If he didn't need this coffee to keep him alive for his shift, he'd run screaming out of there.
Something brushes his arm, and he stiffens slightly, suppressing a shudder. The world narrows down to the point where the uninvited elbow is touching him. The air is hard to breathe. It's ridiculous, he knows it is, but he's already in some kind of sensory hell dimension consisting of heavy air and loud chatter and his own damp clothes touching his skin. This might just be what tips him over the edge and forces him to flee.
"Oops, sorry," says a cheerful voice next to him, not sounding particularly sorry at all. "Hey, do you want to buy me something?"
Law turns around stiffly, his incredulous look glancing ineffectually off the unblinking stare that meets it. Brown eyes, brown skin, a spray of messy hair somehow forced into a battered baseball cap, possibly through a process involving a hydraulic press. A too-large, neon green windbreaker over what is probably a very lumpy sweater, although Law wouldn't rule out the possibility that it's some kind of moss, or possibly a fungus. And, incongruously in the bitterly cold November rain, a pair of shorts.
There are pineapples on the shorts. The pineapples are wearing sunglasses.
This is quite a lot to take in, even while contending with the absolutely preposterous inquiry that preceded this visual assault. "You... what?" he demands, because honestly he has neither the wherewithal nor the inclination to be more eloquent. Not at six thirty in the fucking morning, when he's had exactly four hours of sleep since his last shift. Not when he's going to have to run through the rain to get to the bus.
"You could buy me something," the apparition repeats, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. The smile widens into a toothy grin, which would look a lot more cherubic if the look in the man's eyes didn't half suggest that he might bite, or howl, or do something else of a similar distressingly unpredictable nature. "We could eat breakfast together! I've already got a table, see?" He gestures vaguely in the direction of where a huge duffel bag has been placed in a chair upright, as if it's a person. There's even a scarf wrapped around where its "neck" would be.
"You... want me to eat with you?" At this hour he would normally dismiss the possibility that this is some manner of hideously half-baked come-on. But also, those are not the shorts of a rational person - especially not in November. So it feels ill-judged to make any assumptions. "I realize that this is a stupid notion, but if this is meant as an attempt to get my number... you won't."
The guy frowns in confusion for at least ten excruciating seconds, during which the line stumbles forwards a couple of steps. "Why should I-?" His eyes go wide as realization dawns, or possibly descends like an unexpected croquet mallet. "Oh! No. I don't date people. I'm asexual. I'm just homeless."
Well, that's embarrassing. Obviously Law had let his paranoia get the better of him on that one, and no normal person would ever have parsed this strangers request as any kind of amorous overture. Now that he knows what to look for, he sees the accumulated grime around the end of the man's sleeves, a couple of matted patches in his hair, and the angry red of early frostbite on his sandaled feet.
"I'm sorry," he says, because not apologizing would be even more embarrassing.
A superlatively unconcerned shrug. "It's fine."
"I just really don't like when people- never mind." But now he'd inevitably be a complete asshole if he blows this guy off. Actually, he can't think of a single scenario in which doing so wouldn't be a dick move. Law sure as hell isn't hurting for money. He has no dependents to think of, no social life to consider, and he subsists mainly on kraft mac & cheese, brown rice, kosher chicken nuggets, and coffee. He sighs. "Sure, I can buy you breakfast."
"Yeah?" His newfound breakfast companion bounces happily where he stands, somehow managing to grin even wider without compromising the structural integrity of his cranium. "That's great! Most hipsters aren't as nice as you, you know."
Before he can gain full control of himself, Law finds himself snorting out a wry laugh. Fine, considering the coat he's currently wearing in conjunction with his cutoff gloves, he might've had that one coming. But it's a bit needlessly harsh on his beard. "I don't know what's worse, being accused of being a hipster... or of being nice."
A giggle. "Wow, you're funny. Hey, I think we're up next!" Completely unselfconscious, he pulls on Law's sleeve. Not a childish gesture, not exactly; just instinctive, as if he never learned what personal space is for.
Law orders his black coffee, recognizing the exhausted relief in the barista's eyes when she realizes he's not going to be a condescending jackass about his preferences. Then he turns to his new friend and instructs him to order anything he likes. After Law reassuring him that yes, really, he did in fact mean anything, he ends up ordering three large sandwiches, a hot chocolate, a coke, two muffins which are probably on the verge of developing their own event horizons, and a small bag of cookies.
Law doesn't comment. Due to the unfortunate circumstances of his upbringing, he's gone hungry more times than he'd like to recall. Of course, those instances were "self-inflicted" for a very specific given value of the term, but hunger is hunger regardless of context. He's not about to judge someone for taking advantage of an opportunity to eat.
"Here!" The guy gallantly sweeps the duffel bag out of the chair and offers it to Law, before squeezing himself into the greasy-looking sofa on the other side of the table. "Oh, and I'm Luffy, by the way."
"Law," he replies, proving that he's capable of at least the bare minimum of normal human interactions.
"Hey, that's a really cool name!" He's already ripping into one of the muffins, and while he should theoretically be making a mess, he somehow manages to catch almost every crumb and transport it to his mouth before it falls to the table. Fascinating. "Did you pick it out for yourself?"
Law once again feels his internal tension flow into his jaw, and his eyes narrow a bit. "Why's that your assumption?" he asks, calmly.
"Well, I've just never heard it before," Luffy says, either missing the reaction or choosing to ignore it. "Most of the people I've met with really cool names have picked them. That's why I asked." He seems to think about it. "Not my brother, though. He really was named Ace. Isn't that awesome?"
A little tryhard, in Law's opinion, but there's no need to be a prick about it. "And does he live up to it?" he instead asks idly, starting to shrug his coat off his shoulders since it appears he'll be in here longer than anticipated. He's in no actual hurry, he'd left too early once he realized he wasn't going back to sleep, figuring he could go decompress in the break room.
"Yep! He's a really amazing person, everyone likes him." Luffy cracks open his coke with a hiss, and then has to lift it to his lips as it threatens to overflow. "He's in a gang."
Well, that's... not what Law had expected. "And you volunteer this information to people you just met often?" he demands, raising an eyebrow.
"Sometimes I do, sure." Luffy shrugs. "I mean, what're you gonna do about it? Go to the cops and tell them there's this guy called Ace you just heard about, and he's in a gang?" He cackles, as if the mental image is giving him a great deal of joy. "And then what? They don't do anything even if you have evidence."
"True," Law acknowledges. "And I've got no reason to try to get your brother in trouble, regardless. It just seemed like an odd thing to say."
"Yeah, I get that a lot," Luffy agrees cheerfully. "Uh, unless someone in here really is called 'Laur', I think your drink's done."
"Right," Law says, rolling his eyes slightly. He gets up to grab his coffee, and Luffy's chocolate as well, and returns. "Here. And no, I didn't pick the name. Not exactly. It's just an English translation of what my given name means in Hebrew - and that's still my name, I just prefer to go by Law."
He waits for Luffy to ask why, and isn't sure how to respond. He loves his given name. His parents gave it to him, and he would never change it. Hypothetically speaking, he wouldn't mind being called by it again. It's just that it will inevitably read as feminine to most people, and he doesn't want to bother coming up with excuses and/or explanations. It's a purely practical decision.
Except Luffy doesn't ask. He's trying to sip hot chocolate without burning his tongue, and judging by the faces he's making, he's not having much luck. "Names with meanings are always really neat," he muses. "I don't really think my name means anything, but that's okay. It still means me."
"It's not the most common name either," Law observes.
"Yeah, I guess not." Luffy scratches his cheek, brow furrowing. "Must've been grandpa who gave it to me - or I assume so, at least. Unless my parents did. But I've never met them, so I wouldn't know."
He doesn't sound like he's upset about it; his tone is vague, and his eyes follow something that's happening behind Law's back. Well, not having parents and having no memory of a time when you did is probably a very different experience. Not necessarily better, but different. Of course it's still possible to miss something you've never had, but it can't feel the same.
"Is there anything you wouldn't tell a stranger?" Law asks, fascinated despite himself. He finds Luffy's strange way of communicating compelling, and a bit endearing, in an 'I want to put you in a jar and study you' kind of way. "Considering you've already shared your sexuality with me as well."
"Oh, that? Well, you seemed worried that I'd hit on you, so I figured it was the easiest way to let you know I wouldn't." He waggles his head back and forth. "At least not in that way."
"... And that means?"
"Well, people I know sometimes claim I'm being 'flirty' when I want to be friends with someone." He grimaces slightly. "Like... I love getting to know interesting people! When I meet someone like that, I want to talk to them and see how they react and hear about the things they want to do. And I guess being that interested in someone can seem like flirting? I don't really get it, but that's what I'm told."
Law replays that first intense stare, that bright smile, the way Luffy had just assumed that what he wanted more than anything else in the world was someone to eat breakfast with. Alright, maybe he hadn't in fact been jumping to dumb conclusions on paranoia alone. Maybe there's something about this guy, the way he projects his charisma with the force of a sledgehammer, that comes across as a firm intention to bypass even the most intricately constructed defenses.
In fact, Law doesn't even think that's an inaccurate description. It's just that unlike most people who adopt that kind of approach, Luffy really doesn't seem to have any motivation apart from a sheer delight in humanity as a whole.
It's refreshing, but also hard to know how to deal with it. Law is used to managing unwanted romantic and/or sexual attention - the platonic variant is largely unknown to him, at least at this intensity. He wouldn't even say it's unwanted, although he certainly hadn't walked into this coffee shop to make a friend. In fact, as far as he knows, he's never made a conscious effort to make a friend in his life. Friendship is something that just happens incidentally, infrequently, and largely despite his best efforts.
Hm.
"You're cold," he says abruptly. "You're going to lose your toes if you keep wearing sandals in this weather."
Luffy's mouth twists slightly, making him look like a child that's being scolded. That hadn't been Law's intention, but he supposes that adults don't use that kind of blunt tone with each other. Before he can apologize, Luffy sighs and glances down at his sandals. "I know," he huffs. "It's just... I don't like wearing shoes. And most of the year, this is fine. But now it got cold really quick, and I can't find where I put them. And if I stay in my car, I'll be hungry, and I'd rather be cold than hungry, so..."
He shrugs, taking a big bite out of his sandwich. Law remembers the cavalier way Baby 5 had talked about eating out of dumpsters, flying a sign, the people who thought she had to do something to earn even their pity. The silences in his conversations with Corazon, as he edited out the parts of the past that were too painful. His brother's nightmares, his fury, how he walked past the homeless as if he didn't see them.
Fuck it.
"I need to go to work soon," he says, wrapping his fingers around his warm paper cup. "But if I give you my keys and my address, do you think you could make your way there on your own? It's only a ten minute walk from here to my flat."
Luffy's head snaps up, his eyes widening. His mouth is still full of bread, and he chews slowly and thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on Law's face. The scrutiny is strangely penetrative, and his face is unreadable. That someone so expressive can manage to be so opaque at the same time is fascinating, and Law supposes that he'll have an opportunity to study it further if Luffy agrees.
"Eh, really?" But his voice doesn't sound like he mistrusts Law at all, or like he'd had to think too hard about the decision. And when Law doesn't immediately respond by rescinding the offer, his face once again splits in a wide grin. "Wow, thanks. You're a really nice guy, d'you know that?"
"No, I can't say I've heard that one before." Law shrugs a bit awkwardly, not sure what one is supposed to do with gratitude. He's never had many opportunities to learn. At work, well, that's different. He can accept that gratitude is a necessary part of the process for people who are going through something traumatic, and be professional about it. "Like I implied earlier, I'm not often accused of being nice."
"Huh, really?" Luffy tilts his head first in one direction, then in the other. "Well, I don't know why, because it's true." Then he holds out his hand in such an effortlessly imperious way, it takes Law completely aback. "Keys," he demands.
Some part of Law bristles at that, as he always does when it feels like someone is trying to boss him around. But this doesn't seem like someone kind of elaborate power play, some vicious little swipe aimed to deconstruct his carefully built scaffold of self-possession. Luffy is being obnoxious, yes, but not in a pre-meditated way.
Regrettably, that is appealing as well.
Fishing out his key, he dangles them over the other man's hand by the fluffy keyring. Luffy cackles, and swipes them out of his grip like a playful cat. Law stifles an unexpected smile. "There. Hold on, I'll write down the address and apartment number."
"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Luffy acknowledges cheerfully. "Sometimes I stop paying attention when people tell me things. But with a note I should be fine."
He distractedly wraps his hand around the stuffed polar bear on the keyring, poking at its stitched black nose with his thumb. It had been a kind of joke gift from Bepo, since Law was always poking gentle fun at the whole furry thing. Obviously, since he kept talking about it, he must also find polar bears adorable, right?
It's a bit worn now, since they'd both been teenagers when Bepo bought it. At one point, Law had carefully stitched one of the ears back on, and if one looks closely it's possible to see the slightly too-white thread. But it was the first gift he'd gotten since he was nine years old that didn't come with ulterior motives or strings attached. It had been too precious to just let go of.
"Mmphff," Luffy says, because his mouth is full of sandwich. He tries again. "Aren't you worried I'm going to steal your stuff?" he asks, as if catching at the tail end of Law's thoughts about value and possession. But of course that's ridiculous.
"Not particularly," Law says with a shrug, pulling a small note pad out of his pocket and flipping it open. "Everything I have that's worth stealing are things I can easily replace. They're of no particular emotional importance to me. Not trying to encourage you to," he adds with a small smile, to indicate that it's a joke and not an accusation, "but I wouldn't care if you did."
Not strictly true. A couple of the coins in his collection are in fact rather valuable, but Luffy doesn't strike him as an expert of vintage coins. And since most of them aren't dollar coins, he's unlikely to consider them worth taking. The same goes for a number of the comics he owns, but if Luffy took any of those, he has a feeling that it would be to read them, not to sell them. And somehow that's not as offensive.
"Huh. You've got that much money?" Luffy sounds mildly fascinated. Belatedly, Law realizes that his statement might've come off as a brag. He winces slightly, because that's not how he meant it, and it's embarrassing to think Luffy might've taken it that way.
"Yes," he says bluntly, because downplaying it now would only make it worse. "I'm a surgeon, and before I became one, I was from... a rich family." He swallows down the lingering disgust that always coats his tongue and throat whenever he remembers. "No debt, and I own the apartment, I have plenty of savings..." He gestures vaguely, sighs. "There's no reason why I shouldn't help you out. I'm not using most of my money for anything useful anyway. So if you want to steal my TV, really, go ahead."
"I won't," Luffy says, but he doesn't sound offended by the insinuation that he could be a thief. "And... you know, there's plenty of people who have all that stuff and they still don't help anyone. They just never decide to. I guess it's easy not to." He frowns a bit, as if he can't quite grasp that last part. As if it makes no sense to him.
Law doesn't say anything at first. Had it been easy? He still finds himself acting and thinking as if he's actively struggling to survive, despite the fact that his life now is appallingly easy. Maybe it's a habit. Maybe it's just trauma.
Which is to say, yes, it's obviously trauma that has his brain convinced that he's only just keeping his head above the ice cold surface, causing his vision to shrink to the narrow passage of what's immediately in front of him. But it's frustrating to think of his own actions as mere symptoms; as the reflexive spasms of a nervous system irreversible damaged, by circumstances outside of his control. So he doesn't, if he can help it.
"I guess that's true. Not sure why I've decided to choose to today, if I'm honest." Law lets his own gaze drift away from Luffy's frank stare, as if the vapid wall art in the shop is enough to actually divert his attention. He remembers the social worker telling him that they were going to find a new home for him soon, as he sat in resentful silence. Knowing that nothing was ever going to feel like home again.
(He'd been wrong. But that 'home' had gone away, too.)
That's not the same as being unhoused. Not when he's never gone hungry or cold; not when existing in public has never been called 'loitering' and treated as a crime. But maybe it's human to tell stories to yourself, about yourself, to convince the selfish mammal you know deep down that you are to become something better.
"Well, I do," Luffy says, bouncing where he sits because he's swinging his legs under the table, making the table shake slightly. "I already said. Because you're a nice guy."
As if Law had been fishing for compliments. He covers his mouth with his hand, restrains the unhinged laugh that threatens to spill out into a dry, awkward chuckle. "Fine. If that's what you want to think, I've got no objections." He finds a pen in the side pocket of his messenger bag - another damning piece evidence to support the hipster theory, regrettably - and scribbles down his address. Legibly, even. "Here you go."
Luffy's hand brushes his as he grabs the note from him. His fingers are still too cold, and Law catches him wincing slightly. The frostnip must've made his skin sensitive. But the expression disappears almost instantly, even if Law doubts that the pain does, and he goes back to stuffing his face. His feet are still kicking happily, occasionally bumping against Law's legs.
What has he gotten himself into?
When he returns home, over 12 hours later and exhausted, Law is a lot less confident about his decision to let a stranger into his home. He hadn't worried about it while he was working, because he rarely lets his mind wander from the task at hand while there. But now he's reminded that he's always valued his privacy, always needed a space to decompress to be able to maintain that focus. And this morning, he'd decided to violently torpedo the prospect of peace and quiet in his own home.
Why?
Also, he doesn't have any keys. He slumps against the wall, pressing the doorbell and trying not to get annoyed when there's no immediate response. After a couple of further attempts, and with his temper fraying despite his best intentions, he pulls impatiently at the door handle. It opens, almost causing Law to lose his balance.
Okay, leaving the door open... isn't actually a huge problem. This is a nice neighborhood. The door downstairs requires a personal code. It's fine, despite what the shadow puppets of paranoia playing on the inside of his skull might insist. More to the point, if anyone from his old 'family' were to find out about this address, then no locks were going to keep them out.
Yeah, that's really comforting, isn't it? But at least it makes him more generally tense, rather than annoyed at Luffy.
There's music playing on his sound system. The TV is on, and a quick glance reveals that it's cycling through some kind of youtube playlist of the most unhinged collection of music known to man. Bossa nova, show tunes, random meme songs, gangsta rap, trance, kpop, power metal, big band jazz... there doesn't appear to be a single red thread, apart from how a lot of it is big and presumably loud.
Law can't find the remote, and has to fiddle around with the buttons on the TV to turn down the volume.
There's a couple of empty plates and a half-drunk glass of orange juice on the coffee table. Next to them is the bag of cookies, although there's only one left. A pile of comics - none Law recognizes - are threatening to slide off the sofa. From the bathroom comes the sound of the shower running. So that's why Luffy hadn't heard the doorbell.
Well, it makes sense for him to take the opportunity to shower. The only part that's surprising to Law is that it's taken until now, considering how long his shift was. Maybe he'd slept? There's a pile of blankets on the sofa as well.
The duffel bag is on the floor, and it's clear Luffy has been rummaging through it. It looks a lot emptier, and now that Law is listening for it, he can hear the washing machine and dryer going as well.
It's weird, but the apartment feels... smaller, and not in a bad way. There doesn't seem to be so many blind corners, so much space that is waiting to be invaded. The invasion has already happened, and it was casual and not all that threatening. Luffy didn't even need a full day to actually make this place look and feel lived in, while Law's been here for two years and still hasn't been able to shake the nagging suspicion that he was squatting in an interior design display room.
There's a wrapper for instant ramen noodles on the kitchen counter, an opened and mostly devoured sleeve of crackers, a box that used to hold granola bars, and an empty juice packet. In the fridge, half of one of this morning's sandwiches remain. Law shrugs, and puts down the takeout he'd picked up next to the mess. Fixes himself a plate of falafel, fries, and a very small amount of aioli, still feeling as if he's in a daze.
Luffy is singing in the shower. It appears to be in Portuguese, though distorted as it is by water and tiles, Law isn't sure if he could reliably tell it apart from Klingon in his current distracted state. He sits down and eats, watching the TV with vague interest. Rammstein, Girls' Generation, N.W.A., and a song from My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic. He's clearly invited a lunatic into his home, but this is not new information. Just confirmation.
He's scrolling idly through the discord server Pen had set up for all of them and nagged at Law until he joined, when Luffy comes strolling out of the shower in a cloud of condensation and the smell of... soap? Weird soap. Definitely not Law's. The bathrobe he's wearing, however, is Law's, as are the slippers.
"You really like polar bears, don't you?" he asks by way of greeting, lifting one foot and wiggling it. The big fake claws on the slippers click against each other, a muted plastic sound.
"A friend of mine does," Law says dismissively, but with a certain amount of exasperated fondness. "He keeps sending me stuff like that. I guess it's a running joke by now."
"He mails you polar bear stuff? Weird."
"He lives out of state. Most of my friends do. We send each other gifts on special occasions."
"Ooooh." Luffy flops down on the sofa, tilting his head backwards over the armrest so he can still see Law. "Watcha got there?"
"I bought takeout. It's on the counter if you want some."
He pops up immediately, bouncing up and sliding across the kitchen island as if going around it would take too long. He puts all his food in one big pile and then pours several packets of sauce all over it, causing Law to shudder. It's going to be so soggy - but it's fine, it's not his damn food, and no one's going to make him eat it. If Luffy wants to put that mess in or anywhere near his mouth, and clearly he does... well, that's up to him.
They eat without saying anything for a while. Luffy switches the TV over to some kind of obnoxious sitcom, and Law mostly tunes it out. Most evenings, he just puts on his headphones and drowns out the silence with a podcast or music. But there's no silence to battle, even in between the canned laughter and tired gags. Luffy isn't exactly a quiet eater, humming happily to himself and tapping his fork against the plate.
Law keeps thinking that it should drive him insane, it really should. He keeps waiting for the wave of irritation, for his nerves to snap with a twang, for some kind of internal acknowledgment that his peace has been disturbed. Sooner or later, he imagines it'll happen. But maybe he's just too tired tonight, and tomorrow is actually a day off. He'll have plenty of time to let Luffy get on his nerves then... right?
"Soooo," Luffy says, still looking at the food. "Do you want me to go when my clothes are done in the washer?" He sounds cheerfully unbothered, but something about the tone doesn't ring quite right. As if it wouldn't hold up against closer scrutiny, somehow. As if there's a crack there, somewhere, if Law would only take the pains to look for it.
But Law doesn't particularly care to. "No. I'm going to bed," he stands up, picking up his empty plate. "You're free to sleep on the sofa. There's bed linen in the closet over there." He indicates the door with a nod of his head, then stoops down to open the dishwasher and pull out the lower rack. With his face out of sight from Luffy's point of view, staring down at his plate, he adds, "You can stay for as long as you want."
"Really?"
Law nearly jumps out of his skin, because suddenly Luffy is right next to him. He moves uncannily silently for someone so loud, and uncannily fast for someone who's wearing slippers three times the size of his actual feet. He leans forward, slotting his own seriously messy plate into place next to Law's. Their foreheads almost bump, and their hands brush against each other again. This time, Luffy's fingers are warm, and the hectic flush has already faded from them.
"Yes," Law says, holding his gaze as they both straighten up. "Really. You can stay... if you want to."
Luffy grins, and just like that, something changes. Law isn't sure what it is, but he knows things are different now, somehow. "Of course I'm staying! Why'd I want to go?"
Law has no real answer to that. It really wouldn't make any sense. But he'd hung his heart in the balance of that not-quite-question, and now he feels it unravel with relief. "Alright," he says, letting out a breath that feels like an easing ache. "See you in the morning, then."