Again (will you never learn?)

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece nor do I make any profit from this.

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You have gone and done it again. (Will you never learn?)

Silver trumpets and white stone – you have gone and deluded yourself, made the world in your memory to be brighter than reality; so how dare you be disappointed? How dare you be disappointed?

Time passes. The trumpets are brass and the stone grey.

Law has aged. Of course, it's still Law. Still him, with the earrings and that crazy long nodachi. (But it's not really him, not the him from your memories because you have gone and made the world brighter than it really is.) Whose fault is it? (Clearly not his.) You rub your eyes, hope to clear the muck from them so the world can become all the bright colours you remember; but when you look again, it's still dark – still as grey. You feel yourself despair. (You have gone and made the world bright and it is no one's fault but yourself. Will you never learn?)

It hurts, of course. Nothing like his nodachi would, because whilst the nodachi might pierce you it will never rip you apart. Whilst the nodachi might cut you it will never suck you from the inside. Whilst the nodachi might kill you, it will never steal all and leave you empty. (You are the sole to blame. It doesn't make it any easier.)

Law hardly remembers you. It's not a surprise. (North Blue is vast, and for all you remember him, the genius hailed amongst his peers even back then, you don't doubt he would never remember you. What are you, if not a shadow on the wall?) You suppose Law has got nothing good to remember, no soft tones to take away the sharp edges of reality and turn it into a sunny, long distant memory. You remember him tinted in gold, but he cannot recognise your face. (How dare you be surprised?) You tell yourself it's better that way, persuade your crazy mind you don't mind – and you believe it, for a second. It's enough to crack a grin. (It fades promptly, because your brain is unfailingly logical and you know, you know the ball in your stomach is clenching painfully and that means you want to cry.) You hope you won't burst into tears. It would be embarrassing for Law. (For you too, but then – that's not the first time you have hated this wimp that you are, is it?) You grin and it flashes, true for a second, before it freezes on your features and falls slowly. Yeah. You are a fucking liar.

He is turning away from you. You have proved too fleeting, not quite puzzling enough to retain his attention and you think it doesn't matter. It shouldn't, at any rate – but it does. Your Law is golden hued. (This one has got grey streaking his hair.) He turns away from you, his attention shifting back to his legendary crew and something within you burns to rise and grab his gaze again. You want his attention, because this Trafalgar Law might be so different from the one you remember, but you cannot lose the certainty that he is still there, somewhere buried under years of piracy. (Golden hued.)

His body turn away for good. Your chance is gone.

(The stone is grey and the trumpets made of brass.)

You turn back to your drink and don't look up from the table again. (You are small and filthy and negligible; and how dare you even think he might remember you? How dare you be disappointed he doesn't?)

You long for the golden light.