Work Text:
The moon hangs low in the sky tonight, its pale light slipping through the gaps in the Thousand Sunny's rigging. Law stands at the ship's bow, arms crossed against the chill, the sea calm beneath them. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder when he hears the unmistakable rhythm of Luffy’s flip-flops padding toward him.
“You should be sleeping,” Law mutters, though his tone lacks bite. Luffy is warmth in the cold—a sun that rises even in the night.
Luffy grins, careless as ever. “And you should be too, Torao.” He leans against the railing beside him, unbothered by the silence that follows. It’s one of the things Law doesn’t know how to name in words: the way Luffy fills the air, even when he’s quiet, like gold slipping into cracks of a shattered cup.
Law glances at him sidelong. The other captain looks like he’s been sculpted by sunlight, skin bronzed from endless days at sea, the dark sweep of his hair catching the moonlight. He’s never been able to look at him too long. Too bright. Too much. And yet here they are.
“You’re always out here thinking too hard.” Luffy’s voice cuts through the night, soft but steady. He tilts his head, eyes like the sea on a stormless night, impossibly calm, impossibly deep. “What'cha thinking about?”
Law exhales, his fingers curling against his arms. “You.”
The word falls heavier than he expects. Luffy’s face lights up—not in the usual chaotic way, but something softer, more genuine. The kind of smile that makes Law’s chest ache, like a scar healing too quickly, too cleanly, leaving him unsure of what to do with the absence of pain.
“Oh,” Luffy says, eyes wide, laughter bubbling up in his voice. “What about me?”
Law exhales again, sharp and uneven, as if the words Luffy deserves are lodged somewhere beneath his ribs, too jagged to pull out clean. His gaze drops to the ocean, its shifting surface reflecting light in shards, scattered and incomplete.
"You," he repeats, the word caught in his throat, smaller now. "What you mean to me."
Luffy tilts his head, curious, but quiet. He always listens in moments like these, when Law’s voice drops low and the words twist like a scalpel in his hands. Law envies it—that ease with silence, that boundless patience, like Luffy has all the time in the world to wait for him to untangle the knot in his chest.
“What does this alliance mean to you?” Law asks suddenly, his voice clipped, the question spilling out before he can smooth it over. His fingers tighten on his arms, pressing until the nails sting.
Luffy blinks, the question catching him off guard. Then, his grin spreads wide, easy, as if the answer is obvious. “What do you mean, what does it mean? It means we’re gonna take down Mingo.” He gestures at the horizon, as though the Warlord himself is waiting just beyond it. “And after that, Kaido. Whatever you need, Torao. We’ll do it together.”
Together. The word lands soft but heavy in Law’s chest, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.
“And what if I need you for more than just fighting?” he asks, the question slipping out quieter than he means it to, the weight of it sinking into the stillness between them.
Luffy’s grin falters, just barely, his brow creasing as he stares at Law. Law braces himself for confusion, for Luffy to tilt his head and laugh it off, to ask what else there is besides fighting. But Luffy’s expression softens instead, his voice tender when he speaks.
“Then I’ll be there for Torao,” he says, slow and sure, like he’s thought about it before. “To fight whatever he needs. Even himself.”
The words hit Law harder than he expects, as if Luffy has reached into his chest and touched every fracture he’s tried to hide. The air shifts between them, lighter now, though it presses heavy against Law’s shoulders.
Luffy’s gaze holds his, unshaken, his smile smaller but warmer, and Law feels something crack open in him—something he’s kept buried beneath years of scars and silence.
“You make it sound simple,” Law mutters, his voice barely audible over the waves.
“It is simple,” Luffy says, his grin returning, brighter this time, like sunrise breaking through storm clouds. “You’re my friend, Torao. And I’m always gonna be here for you.”
Friend. Law could choke on the word. It lands like a blade pressed to his throat, sharp and final, daring him to speak against it. He should leave it at that—should nod, cross his arms tighter, and swallow the ache before it rises. But it’s not that simple. Not when Luffy is standing there, glowing like the sun he swore he’d never need, too bright and too much.
And yet, Law doesn’t look away.
His chest feels tight, like a dam about to give, the weight of all he’s carried pressing harder against the cracks. What he wants isn’t friendship, isn’t camaraderie in battle or the warm promise of loyalty. What he wants is more than that, is something animal and raw, something primal and selfish he’s never let himself reach for.
And he knows, deep down, he could never possibly deserve it.
The silence between them stretches, taut and fragile. Luffy, still watching him, tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes catching the moonlight. He looks at Law with the same openness he always does, like there isn’t a single thing in the world he wouldn’t share with him. It makes Law want to run. It makes him want to stay.
“I…” The word comes unsteady, and he hates how it trembles, how he trembles. He grips the railing like it might anchor him. “I don’t want you to just be here for me.” He pauses, the lump in his throat rising, hot and bitter. “Not just as… a friend.”
The words hang between them, awkward and jagged, and Law regrets them instantly. He should’ve let the tide take him before saying it aloud. He glances away, fixing his eyes on the water, expecting Luffy’s laughter, a dismissive wave of his hand, or worse—confusion.
But Luffy doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Torao…” Luffy’s voice is quiet, his usual buoyancy stripped away, leaving only something soft and steady.
Law risks a glance at him, and his heart stumbles. Luffy’s expression is uncharacteristically serious, his lips slightly parted, his brows knit together. He’s thinking—not the surface-level kind of thinking Luffy does before throwing a punch, but something deeper, something searching.
“You’re not gonna scare me away, you know,” Luffy says finally, his grin returning, but this time it’s smaller, almost shy. “If you need something more, then tell me. I’ll figure it out.”
Law stares at him, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. “You can’t just—” He falters, frustration knotting in his throat. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand,” Luffy says simply, stepping closer. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of determination in it, like he’s decided this is something worth fighting for. “I’m not going anywhere, Torao. Not unless you tell me to.”
Law doesn’t know what comes over him. Maybe it’s the way Luffy stands there, unwavering and steady, waiting for him to explain the storm raging inside his chest. Maybe it’s the impossible softness in Luffy’s voice, that quiet promise that he’ll stay, no matter how broken or jagged Law is.
But before he can think, before he can stop himself, he closes the distance between them. His lips press against Luffy’s, clumsy and desperate, a collision of want and fear. For a split second, the world goes silent.
And then it crashes back, cold and unforgiving.
Luffy doesn’t move. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t kiss him back, either. He stands still, his body warm but unresponsive, his mouth soft but unmoving. Law feels the ice settle in his veins, freezing him in place as the realization sinks in.
He’s fucked up.
Panic surges through him, sharp and all-consuming. He pulls back, his breath shallow and uneven, his heart pounding so loud it drowns out the waves. Luffy is staring at him, wide-eyed and confused, his brows knit together like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t make sense.
“I—I’m sorry,” Law stammers, his voice shaking. The words tumble out clumsily, awkward and brittle, a poor patchwork for what he’s just done. “I shouldn’t have— That was—”
He stops himself, shaking his head, his throat tight with shame. Luffy says nothing, his confusion unmoving, and the silence feels like it’s suffocating him.
“I’m sorry,” Law says again, quieter this time, barely more than a whisper. His hands twitch at his sides, itching for the safety of distance. He can’t stand here any longer, can’t face the mess he’s made of this fragile thing between them.
Before Luffy can say anything—before Law can even think about staying—he teleports away, the air around him shifting with a faint hum of his powers.
When he lands somewhere below deck, the walls close in around him, and the icy weight in his chest grows heavier. He leans against the nearest wall, his head falling into his hands, and tries to steady his breathing.
He’s fucked up.
And now, he’s not sure how to fix it.
–
They haven't had a moment to think since landing in Dressrosa. Law is on his knees. Blood pools beneath him, sticky and dark, soaking into the cracks of the rooftop. His arm hangs useless at his side, the pain pulsing with every jagged breath he takes, but it’s distant now, a dull roar compared to the thunder inside his chest.
Below him, the town is in ruins—strings sliced through buildings like a butcher’s knife, and the air tastes of dust and smoke. But none of it matters. Not now. Not as he watches Luffy, impossibly bright even against the choking gray sky, his fist drawn back, massive and shimmering with the last threads of haki.
Luffy roars, the sound tearing through the battlefield, shaking the air itself. And then he strikes.
The force of the blow is cataclysmic, the rooftop shuddering beneath Law as he feels the impact resonate in his bones. Doflamingo’s twisted grin falters, cracks spreading across his smug composure as he’s hurled into the earth with a deafening crash. The sky splits open with it, sunlight breaking through as if the world itself can finally breathe again.
Law stares. He can’t look away, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps. He’s enraptured, his heartbeat a wild, chaotic rhythm, louder than the echoes of Luffy’s attack, louder than the screams of the townspeople below.
Doflamingo is falling. He’s falling. The monster who took everything from him, who smeared Corazon’s blood into the fabric of his life, who haunted every step he’s taken since—he’s being crushed beneath Luffy’s will.
It’s unthinkable. It’s impossible. But it’s happening.
Law swallows hard, his throat tight, his vision swimming from blood loss and disbelief. He should be relieved. He should feel triumphant. But all he can feel is the wild, suffocating terror of realizing that Luffy is going to win.
And that means Law is going to live.
He was ready to die. He’d said it himself—if Luffy died, Law would share his fate. He’d meant it. He was prepared to give everything, to let his body break and his soul unravel if it meant Doflamingo would fall. He’d been ready to throw himself into the dark, to make Corazon’s sacrifice mean something.
But Luffy is winning. Luffy is alive, his laughter echoing faintly over the chaos, unbroken, unrelenting. And Law—he’s alive, too. His heart pounds against his ribs, a relentless reminder that he’s still here, still breathing.
It’s almost more frightening than dying.
Because if he lives, what does that mean? If he survives this, if they win—what is left for him, a man who has built his entire existence around revenge? What is left when the monster he’s spent his life chasing is finally gone?
Law’s head drops, his bloodied hand pressing to the rooftop to steady himself. His body trembles, not from exhaustion, not from pain, but from the sheer weight of this truth: he is alive. He is going to live.
And it’s Luffy—this reckless, absurd, impossible man—who has made that possible.
Law lifts his head again, his vision sharpening as he watches Luffy land in the dirt below, steam rising off his battered body. The fight is over. Doflamingo is down. The Birdcage is withdrawing, dissipating into no more than a fading nightmare.
Law doesn’t feel triumphant. He feels hollow and raw, his heart pounding as if it doesn’t know what to do with itself now that it’s not fighting to stop.
And then, for the first time, a flicker of something else—a spark, faint but undeniable.
Hope.
Law lets out a shuddering breath, his fingers curling against the ground. He doesn’t know what comes next. He doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be without his vengeance, without the ghost of Corazon pushing him forward.
But he knows one thing, as sure as the sunlight breaking through the clouds.
He wants Luffy by his side.
–-
The house in the sunflower field feels too quiet, too still. Law stands at the edge of the field, his back to the warm glow of the little house behind him. The sky is painted in soft strokes of gray and purple, the first rays of dawn whispering over the horizon. The sunflowers stretch toward the fading night, their golden faces bathed in the soft, pale light.
He shouldn't be out here. His body aches, stitches pulling with every breath, but it’s the war inside his chest that’s harder to bear. He presses a hand against his side, fingers trembling faintly, as if anchoring himself to something real could stop his thoughts from spiraling.
It doesn’t work. Nothing works. Not when his mind keeps replaying it—the kiss.
He feels his stomach twist just thinking about it, his face burning despite the cool dawn air. Now with the weight of his revenge lifted, it’s all he can think about. He kissed Luffy. What the hell was I thinking? He feels sick with it, the memory of Luffy’s wide, confused eyes... He’d let himself slip, let something dangerous and selfish spill out into the space between them. And for what?
He doesn’t deserve Luffy. He knows that. He doesn’t deserve someone so bright, so warm, so impossibly good. Luffy has already given him more than he could ever repay—fought for him, bled for him, smiled at him when he deserved nothing but scorn. Law had spent so long convinced his heart wasn’t capable of wanting anything more than revenge. And yet here he was, standing in the soft light of dawn, heart raw and aching for something he could never have.
“Torao.”
The voice is soft, sleep-heavy, and it cuts through his thoughts like a blade. Law freezes, his breath catching in his chest as he hears the unmistakable sound of Luffy’s flip-flops against the grass.
Luffy appears at his side, his hair a messy tangle, his straw hat hanging from his neck. He yawns, rubbing his eyes, and tilts his head to look up at Law. “What’re you doing out here by yourself?” His voice is groggy, but there’s something warm in it, like he’s genuinely concerned. “You’re all banged up. You shouldn’t be alone.”
Law stiffens, his fists clenching at his sides. Shame crawls under his skin, hot and relentless. He doesn’t deserve Luffy’s concern, doesn’t deserve the easy way he says it, like Law hasn’t done anything to ruin this fragile thing between them.
“I’m fine,” Law mutters, his voice low and strained. He keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon, afraid to meet Luffy’s gaze.
Luffy hums, unconvinced, and then he grins, soft and lazy. “You’re thinking too much again, huh?”
Law flinches at how easily Luffy reads him, his throat tightening. He opens his mouth to tell him to go back inside, to leave him alone, but the words don’t come out. Instead, what tumbles out is a stilted, bitter apology.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “For what I did. On the Sunny.”
Luffy blinks at him, tilting his head. “Hah?”
“For kissing you,” Law blurts out, his fists trembling at his sides. His face burns with shame, his heart pounding as he forces himself to keep going. “It was—stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have—” He cuts himself off, his teeth gritting as he looks away. “I’m sorry,” he mutters again, barely more than a whisper.
For a moment, Luffy just stares at him. And then, to Law’s utter disbelief, he laughs.
“Oh, is that all?” Luffy says, his grin wide and bright, his laughter bubbling like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Law’s head snaps toward him, his heart pounding. “What do you mean, is that all?”
Luffy doesn’t answer. Instead, he flops down into the grass, his body sprawling out among the sunflowers. The dawn light catches on his skin, warm and golden, and for a moment, Law forgets how to breathe. The sunflowers sway gently around them, their faces turned toward the rising sun, and Luffy looks like he belongs there—like he’s always belonged there, bathed in light and warmth and something Law will never understand.
Luffy turns his head to look at him, his grin softening into something quieter, more certain. “C’mere, Torao,” he says, his voice light but insistent.
Law hesitates, his heart hammering in his chest, but before he can decide, Luffy’s leg stretches out, his ankle hooking around Law’s waist. With an effortless tug, he pulls Law down, toppling him into the grass—onto him.
Law freezes, his body tense, his hands pressing into the ground on either side of Luffy to keep from crushing him. His heart is in his throat, pounding so hard he’s sure Luffy can hear it.
Luffy looks up at him, his wide, dark eyes reflecting the golden light of the sunrise. He’s smiling so brightly it’s almost blinding, and Law feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something he can’t name.
And then Luffy leans up, his lips brushing against Law’s in a barely-there kiss, soft and fleeting and almost laughing. It’s more a smile than a kiss, warm and impossible, and it leaves Law utterly undone.
When Luffy pulls back, his grin is impossibly wide, his eyes crinkling with joy. “There,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now we’re even.”
Law stares at him, stunned into silence, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do, but Luffy doesn’t seem to care.
“See?” Luffy says, his voice soft but steady, his grin never faltering. “It’s not that scary, right?”
And for a beautiful, fleeting moment, Law thinks maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not.
Law stares down at him, the tension coiled in his chest unraveling into something sharp and strange. He laughs—he can’t help it. It bursts out of him in a breathless, uneven sound, like something breaking loose inside him. It’s too much. Too absurd. Too bright.
“Not that scary,” he repeats, his voice shaking, laced with a manic edge. His laugh spills into the dawn air, ragged and raw. “You have no idea—no idea what you’re saying, Mugiwara-ya.”
But Luffy just tilts his head, unbothered, his grin softening in the corners but never fading. “Then show me,” he says simply, his voice calm, his dark eyes impossibly steady.
And before Law can process what’s happening, Luffy moves.
His hands shoot up, grabbing the front of Law’s coat with that same wild energy he uses to grab life itself, and he pulls. Hard. Law barely has time to catch himself before their mouths crash together, this time not soft, not fleeting, but alive.
The world tilts on its axis, sunflowers swaying wildly around them as Luffy kisses him with all the enthusiasm of a man throwing himself into the deep end of the sea. It’s messy and chaotic and entirely Luffy, his fingers bunching in Law’s coat to keep him close, his mouth hot and insistent and laughing even as it presses against Law’s, even as his tongue licks excitedly into Law's mouth.
Law freezes for a heartbeat, his mind blank with shock, but then the warmth hits him like a tidal wave—Luffy’s heat, his sheer presence, filling every inch of the space between them. Law’s heart slams against his ribs, his hands shaking as they hover, uncertain, above Luffy’s shoulders.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be letting himself drown in this, in him, but Luffy’s grip is firm, his body solid beneath him, and for once, Law lets himself give in.
His hands sink into the grass on either side of Luffy, his body leaning closer, drawn in by something he can’t name. Luffy makes a sound against his mouth—soft, pleased, a hum of laughter that vibrates through both of them—and it’s enough to send Law spiraling.
When Luffy finally pulls back, his grin is blinding, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, something steady and warm. His fingers loosen on Law’s coat but don’t let go entirely, keeping him close enough that Law can feel the heat of his breath.
“See?” Luffy says, his voice breathless but sure. “I told you it’s not scary.”
Law stares at him, his chest heaving, his thoughts a chaotic blur. He should say something—anything—but all that comes out is a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
“You’re insane,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, but there’s no heat behind it.
Luffy’s grin widens, and he tugs lightly on Law’s coat, pulling him closer again. “Maybe,” he says, his tone teasing, “but you’re pretty crazy, too. ‘S why I like you.”
Law’s breath catches, his heart hammering in his chest, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. Instead, he lowers his head, letting his forehead rest against Luffy’s, his body trembling with something he doesn’t dare name.
He’s still afraid—still uncertain, still so painfully raw—but as Luffy leans up again, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth, Law doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t dare to, because everything feels too fragile. Luffy’s hand fists gently in the front of his coat, keeping him steady, keeping him here, and Law can’t remember the last time someone held onto him like this, like he wouldn’t vanish if they let go.
Maybe he doesn’t deserve this. Maybe he’s never deserved this—this warmth, this light, this unrelenting brightness that doesn’t ask for anything in return. But Luffy is here anyway, smiling at him with a mouth that looks like it was meant to heal, meant to tear apart and rebuild the world all at once.
Law looks at him—really looks at him—and it’s not just Luffy’s grin he sees. It’s Cora-san’s, too. The way he used to smile at Law like he wasn’t broken, like the cracks weren’t too wide for gold to fill. Like there was something worth saving underneath it all.
He sees it now, the same fierce kindness, the same reckless defiance against the world’s ugliness, but it’s sharper this time, more vibrant, more alive. Corazon was the light that slipped through the cracks, warm and fleeting. Luffy is the sun itself, wild and untouchable, and Law is standing too close, burning under it.
But he doesn’t pull back.
“Stop thinking so hard,” Luffy murmurs, his voice low and steady, pulling Law out of his own mind. His smile doesn’t falter, wide and impossible, a grin that could split the sky in two. “I’m here, Torao. You don’t have to figure it out right now.”
Law exhales, shaky and uneven, his hands trembling where they rest against the grass. “You don’t understand,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I can’t lose this. Lose you.”
Luffy tilts his head, and the first rays of the rising sun catch in his hair, turning it a deep, messy gold. His eyes, dark and endless, search Law’s face, his grin softening into something quieter. Something that feels almost like a promise.
“You won’t,” Luffy says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that.”
And maybe Law does know it, somewhere deep in the parts of himself he doesn’t dare look at too often. But hearing it like this, in Luffy’s voice, under Luffy’s gaze—it feels like a blessing. Like Cora reaching through time, through blood and cold, and placing a hand on his shoulder. This is what I wanted for you.
Luffy smiles at him again, impossibly bright, and Law feels the cracks in his chest widening, but it doesn’t hurt this time. It doesn’t feel like breaking. It feels like something filling the empty spaces, spilling over the edges, until there’s nothing left of the void he thought would swallow him whole.
He closes his eyes briefly, just to steady himself, just to breathe. And when he opens them, Luffy is still there, still looking at him, still holding onto him like he’s worth it.
The sunflowers sway in the dawn light, golden and endless, their faces turned toward the rising sun. And for the first time, Law lets himself turn toward it too.