A/N: cross posted on ao3, just finally getting around to posting it here. this is mainly a story about what i wish happened after dressrosa. asexual luffy. explores anxiety, depression, touching on suicidal thoughts.
part one: sisu
(pre-Dressrosa)
sisu (noun) extraordinary endurance in the face of adversity; persistence; determination
full of courage, tenacity, resolve, willpower and indomitable spirit.
indigo skies.
He wakes before Cora dies.
The nightmare sticks, weighted, sinking into the salty air, and it takes Law some time—possibly a full minute—before he registers where he is.
It's early morning, though the sky is heavy with clouds, steel-grey threatening the horizon. Some gold sunlight sneaks through the gaps, warms the air with humidity, touches his face. He leans against the mast of the Sunny, Kikoku gripped tightly in his hand, nails digging into his palm painfully. To his left, Caesar moves, but does not wake; the flag above flutters south-east, waves slapping methodically against the hull beneath them; a seagull takes to the sky overhead.
These are all the things Law notices. It's very normal. Real. He takes time to mull on it. Relearn. Remember. Forget.
Five days until they reach the bay of Dressrosa, a small island to resupply sometime in between. Providing it all runs smoothly—which the Strawhat navigator had reassured them it would—five days is plenty of time for him to sort this out. Fear, after all, is a learned behaviour. That means it can be unlearned. That means—five days, five days, five days—he can end this, and maybe, thirteen years on—
Maybe.
He shifts his nodachi, leans forward, rubs the sweat from his forehead, and let's go of a breath. Takes another. Let's it go. Repeat. Again. Again.
Again.
Five days.
His stomach flips, chest tightens. Kikoku isn't helping, not this time, more of a hinderance than anything. He drops her with annoyance; stands, rubs his palms down his face. Hands in his pockets, first droplets of rain staining the deck. Seconds stretch to minutes. He counts them—one, two, three, four, five, six. Thunder rumbles above. Paces, back, forward, back, forward. Ceasar jerks awake. Says something he can't hear.
Ah.
There is a very brief moment where he forgets where he is, and then Law is back, walking quickly up the steps to the quarterdeck, Kikoku returned to the crook of his shoulder. Caesar calls out, but he ignores him, barely making it to the railing in time as his stomach gives an awful lurch with the next roll of waves.
Leaning over the blackness below, he retches nothing but bile into the lapping water, eyes stinging. He's glad Caesar can't move—glad no one's awake—to see him like this. Broken, useless, terrified. It's like this fear is eating all his discipline, muscles shaking uncontrollably as he vomits again, incredibly dizzy from—what? A dream?
Weak.
Nightmares are nothing but images, hardly real. He knows this, no matter how vivid they are—no matter how accurately they mimic his past, his reality. He's afraid to see Doflamingo again, that much is obvious, but he cannot allow that luxury—cannot allow fear to manipulate him like this. He needs to get this done, whatever the cost. He needs to accept that.
But.
Law leans against the wooden taffrail, the first sprinkles of rain cooling his feverish skin. He stares out to the horizon; considers jumping into the ocean below. Thinks about unsheathing Kikoku to let her rest on his skin. Maybe he could go into the infirmary and just sit for a while, with a drink, with a poison. How quick would that be? A couple of hours—a day? Quicker than whatever Doflamingo has in store, unless the man feels particularly generous; after all, it had only taken Cora 17 minutes to die. 17 minutes wasn't so bad. He's read books in a shorter amount of time.
He sighs.
Stupid, really. To be more scared of a man than of death.
"Oi."
Law is suddenly, painfully aware of a presence by his side: the thick smell of tobacco and cologne in the air, a graceful aura, critical eyes. He does not turn from the water, but he may flinch, edge away.
"Can I help you, Black Leg-ya?" His voice is deceptively calm.
"Yeah." Sanji takes a long drag from his cigarette, the illumination casting shadows across his face, before letting the smoke go in one breath. He flicks the fag out to the sea and shoves his hands in his pockets, leaning up beside Law, all quiet and observant. "It's gonna rain. Come in the galley when you're ready."
He doesn't say anything more, walking back to the kitchen idly, briefly casting an eye to the storm above.
Law waits a minute.
Then two.
And follows.
He's not one to listen or take orders, but Sanji has a way of making requests unrefusable. That, or maybe it's just that Law realises he shouldn't be in his own company right now, sliding Kikoku back into her sheath, unware that he had even drawn her out.
The Indigo sky rumbles threateningly above, and he makes his way inside in three steps. The galley is illuminated dully by two candles on the dining table, and the one light above the sink. Sanji leans against the countertop, reading through yesterdays news with a new smoke pressed between his lips. He barely glances up when Law enters.
There's a small plate of fruit and crackers before a barstool, and Law doesn't have to wait for Sanji to invite him—he knows what this is about, and takes his place, pulling the plate closer across the bench and picking at it lazily. Lightning flashes outside, catching weirdly on the metal surfaces.
Sanji says, "Don't play with it. You're sick because you won't eat."
He wants to say, 'I'm sick because I'm weak', but doesn't—stays quiet, because that's safe, sure. Thunder rumbles across the ocean as his answer, and Sanji returns back to his paper, seemingly satisfied.
There's strawberries and cut peaches before him—a strange fruit he remembers growing on Punk Hazard that he always assumed was inedible, and some bananas. The crackers are plain, and he plops one into his mouth, leaning back in the stool and letting the silence wash over them.
It's comforting in here, really. Away from the humidity and rain, now coming down in sheets, desperate to break through the small port window. Droplets ricochet off the glass panes like bullets sent from the clouds, and he watches for some time, thinking of nobody and nothing while the torrents slide down the windowpane. He counts each droplet, studies them to see which will reach the bottom of the window fastest, their twisting paths marring the outside.
The silence is peace, broken only by the ruffling of newspaper, and each breath of smoke Sanji lets out. He's calm like this, Black Leg, lulling Law into a strange, uncharacteristic sense of ease.
"Are you always awake this early?" he asks eventually, breaking the quiet.
Sanji huffs a laugh. "Have you slept in the men's quarters? Marimo snores like an beast. Usopp talks in his sleep." He waves a lazy hand and grins at Law above the edges of the paper. "Plus, if I didn't start cooking now, there would never be enough breakfast for Luffy."
Law watches the way his smoke rolls between his lips as he talks, from left to right, burning almost to nothing.
"He does eat a lot," he comments absently.
"Understatement of the year." He returns to his reading, but asks, "And you? You always up this early on your own ship? Or do you just not sleep at all?"
Law smirks, though it doesn't reach his eyes; takes another cracker and bites into it. "Bit of both. Never been a good sleeper."
"My old man was the same." He turns a page. "Though I think it was more stubbornness on his part. You tell him to go to bed and he'd just kick your ass."
Law laughs a little then. "Tough love."
A grunt. "Something like th—"
Sanji stops suddenly—groans with a sigh and rolls his eyes. He stubs out the butt of his cigarette into the sink, and in one fluid movement, picks up Law's plate of food and holds it above his head. Before Law can ask what the hell he's doing, the galley door slams open with a loud bang, almost shaking the whole ship; and Luffy is everywhere then, launching into the kitchen which is suddenly way too small and suffocating.
"SANJI!"
He's laughing like a maniac, the sound filling the tiny space, knocks over a couple of chairs; crashes into the sink and lands on the tiles. Another too bright flash of lightning, and Luffy jumps up, then, shaking himself like a dog. He's dripping wet from the small storm outside, cool puddle pooling around him on the floor.
Sanji yells at him to get away with a foot in his face, food still held safely in the air as Luffy scrabbles for it.
"Sanji! Is it breakfast!"
"Nope!"
Sanji kicks him, then, and Luffy skids back, laughing again and holding down his hat on his head. Droplets rain off the tattered brim, drip, drip, dripping on the galley floor.
"But I'm hungry, San—Oh! Torao!" Law cocks a brow, leaning backwards in his chair as Luffy shoots himself to the one by his side, grin almost splitting his face in half. "You're awake! What are you doing? Did you hear the thunder? Were you hungry, too?"
Before Law can answer, Sanji snaps, "Leave him alone", returning the plate to its original place on the bench. Luffy peers at it, eyes wide—but is then promptly rapped across his head with a sharp hand. "Don't eat that, you shitty piece of rubber. Hang on—"
Sanji sighs, turning to the fridge and rifling through. He pulls out something in a paper bag, grabs a frying pan off the wall, and starts his dance—oil, spices, meat—the smell filling the kitchen and warming the space. He lights another cigarette and mutters something about Luffy around it.
Luffy just kicks his feet happily. "We should play that game, Sanji!"
"What game?" He doesn't turn, flipping the meat in the pan with practiced ease.
"The word game. Oh, Torao, you can play to! It's really easy: I say a word, and then you have to say a word that begins with my words last letter."
"No," Law says flatly, biting into a cracker.
"Hmmm." Luffy pouts. Hums. Frowns over at Law. "You're no fun, Torao."
"Dressrosa," Law says, ignoring him, finishing the rest of his biscuit. "Let's talk over our plans."
Luffy grins. "That's a good one! Is Dressrosa your word? Animal!"
"Mugiwa—"
"Animal, Torao. Come on, that one's easy. It ends in 'L'!"
"Luffy—"
Sanji again, but he's cut off by his captain, Luffy leaning forward into Law's space with no filter, face inches from his own. His expression is deadly serious.
There is a long second where Law just stares back—can't think—breath leaving him all at once. Silence settles, blanketing the room in heavy wool, rain rattling the windows like its wayward sidekick. A metallic taste fills his mouth. A blinding flash illuminates the room once more.
Too close. Too demanding.
He struggles to maintain eye-contact with Strawhat—struggles to hold his own at all—struggles to just—fucking—breathe—
Weak.
Luffy says, voice low, "Torao. Something that starts with 'L'."
Law blinks. Ah. "Lemon."
"Knife!"
Sanji turns around then; throws down a plate of food before his captain. It is mainly meat, but Law can smell the spices wafting from the dish—turmeric and paprika and masala. It looks like something that would take hours to prepare, yet it's barely been five minutes.
Luffy's attention is immediately captured by the food, and he turns away. He grabs the whole steak and shovels it into his mouth all in one go; the epitome of greed, mumbling something that sounds like "M'good!" and "Sanji!".
Law lets out a breath, returning to his own plate, trying to shake the uncomfortable nerves crawling beneath his skin. His stomach churns unpleasantly. His heart thuds painfully out-of-time. He can hear his own breathing now but it's not right, and the food before him looks like carboard, bland, flat.
He pushes it away.
Sanji snaps, "Knife starts with 'k', Luffy."
"Hmmm." He pouts, shoulders sagging as he chews. Seconds pass, and then he's back up, straight, turning to Law with renewed vigour. Though his mouth is full of food, he manages, "Fwait. Night."
Law does not look at him. "Tachycardia."
Luffy swallows. "You made that up."
"No, I didn't." Strawhat hums, frowns. Law's lips twitch slightly then, like a statue that's made a mistake. He continues, "It ends in 'a', Mugiwara-ya."
"Animal!"
"You can't say the same word twice."
Law's distinctly aware of the soft click behind them—the sound of the galley door closing—Sanji gone. Luffy doesn't seem to notice, melting on the countertop with a moan, looking up to the ceiling like that will give him answers.
"Ant? I'm still hungry."
Law's fingers twitch. "I don't care."
He desperately needs to breathe.
"Ant's an easy one though, Torao. Lots of things start with 't'. Like Torao!"
He does not answer—stands, taking his sword from his side and leaves the galley. Luffy calls out to him, but he ignores it, taking a breath, filling his lungs—
breathe.
The only difference when he returns is his hair is dripping wet.
Luffy's lounging on the sofa instead of the bar, now. "Torao!" he says, face splitting in half with a smile—like Law wasn't just here ten minutes ago. "You're back!"
"It's raining." He places his sword on the dining table with more force than necessary, rattling some of the empty plates and cups on its surface. "Did you eat all the food?"
"No, that's Torao's food."
Law doesn't stop to think what that means, resuming his place at the bar, resting his chin in hand. His heart thuds uncomfortably in his chest, a little too fast, a little too painful, and it's still difficult to breathe, the air not quite enough to fill him.
Better though. If he's learnt anything over the years, it's that the small steps do matter. This is one—in an hour he will have taken two. By midday his past will be forgotten, and his day will play out just how he wants it to.
That's how his life works. Ideally.
"Torao."
The voice is soft, gentle, calming, so unlike Luffy in every way. Almost too quiet, Law barely hears it at all.
He hums an answer; takes a strawberry from the plate and holds it between his thumb and index. Eats it. It's sour and sweet, and he savours the taste, rolling it over his tongue.
Luffy does not let him dwell on it for long. "I said 'ant'."
Law laughs then. A short, sharp sound that cuts through the air. A weight seems to lift away, and he blinks, swallows, drawls, "Tree."
He almost laughs again.
"Ear." Law can hear Strawhat's smile in his answer.
"Rain."
"Nami!"
"Names don't count, Mugiwara-ya."
"Oh."
Law turns around, crossing his legs and leaning back on the bench. Luffy's sprawled on the couch, easy and relaxed, glaring up at the roof and pouting with a curious hum. The dim candlelight catches the thin scar across his cheek, and Law can see droplets of water drip from the tip of his hair, tracing the curve of his jaw to pool in his throat.
His chest, rises, falls, rises, falls, heart beating steady, and he says, "Nose," throwing Law a cheeky grin across the expanse of the kitchen.
All Law can hear is Luffy's breathing. Something shifts inside of him, his heart slowing to a steady pace, and Law realises he needs this comfort, these small threads to tie him down.
"Nose," Luffy repeats.
He watches the scarred chest—up, down, up, down—a breath every second. Breathes, "Eggplant."
And what is it again?
"Tea."
Ah.
Five days until Dressrosa.
Luffy chuckles for the third time this morning, eyes brightening as he sits up. "I think I'm winning, Torao."
Five days.