This took me so darn long to finish, oh god. Between work and how crazy it's been due to Christmas being near, I just couldn't sit down and concentrate. But hey! This chapter! Is finally done!
The edge of Luffy's cardigan is trapped between his numb fingertips, locks of wet-plaster black hair stuck to his forehead. His hair is getting a little too long and wavy, damp with rainwater. Paired with his wide eyes (from your mother, his grandfather used to tell him) and the round rubicund apples of his cheeks, Luffy looks quite pretty with a masculine, boyish charm. Maybe it's an odd appearance, but he doesn't mind. He's not big and strong like Ace, or traditionally handsome like Sabo, but he has his own charisma that takes form in the appearance of high cheekbones—courtesy of his Japanese heritage—, a sharp, slim nose that surprisingly doesn't have any cracks in it, despite the number of fights he's been in, and a thin upper lip with a kinda-full bottom lip. And—- usually he doesn't give much thought to his appearance, but lately, he can't seem to help it. Can't help but to ponder if Law thinks he's pretty, or handsome, or both.
Can't help but to fear that Law doesn't think he's either.
Luffy sighs and wrings the yarn of his cardigan tighter. His knuckles are bone-white, taunt. Feet pad along the sidewalk, toes cold and pads rough against the concrete. The pace is sluggish, even though there are butterflies fluttering in the pit of Luffy's tummy. Lips are pressed together in a tight line; he's nervous, and terribly inexperienced. Perhaps a bit resentful. Each feeling is a strand of string, and they're all woven, tangled together into a tight ball. Luffy just can't appear to disentangle them. Like he's just taken a pen and scribbled—where does it start and where does it end?
He's close to arriving at the library. He's nervous. And terribly inexperienced, and young, and he's most definitely worrying over nothing, but those emotions keep reverberating. This isn't like him at all.
Law is lounging back in his chair—lax and there is possibly a little smirk-smile playing at his lips. But there's a tinge of warmth in the Cheshire curl of his mouth, boiling a blush on Luffy's cheeks —as if that isn't obvious at all. Luffy leans back against the spine of his own chair, knees pressed tight together, with his hands snug between his thighs. His jeans are black, in regulation with his school's uniform policy, and the fabric is itchy against his knuckles.
A palm props up Law's chin, fingers curled and resting against his left cheek. "Don't you have some homework?"
Luffy peeks up, ink irises glimpsing through his lashes. "Yeah, but I—" He puckers one corner of his mouth, letting out a puff of air, "I don't think I can focus on it right now." A hand is lifted—a hand with long, spindly fingers and big, bruised knuckles—and those knuckles press lightly against Luffy's temple. Those fingers have an edge of elegances, but Luffy thinks that Law's tattooed fingers are prettier. They're slim, with a wide, smooth palm—and Luffy has most definitely not thought about how those palms would feel sliding over the taunt skin of his hips. Another knock to his head. "My skull is all empty."
He's so not thinking about it right now.
Law laughs a bit and lets his head tip lazily to the side, staring unwaveringly at the younger with hooded eyes. He has dark circles that do nothing to detract from his appearance; if anything, they add to his air of mystery. "Do you ever have anything in it?" There's a playful lilt to Law's tone that tells Luffy that the man is just teasing. Suddenly, his lithe body is pushing back from their joint table, chair legs screeching along the ground. Law stands, stretches, and shows off how truly tall he really is.
Luffy hopes he isn't too obvious with his gaping. (He is.)
"Well, if you're not going to do any work, why don't we take a walk?" And Law smiles—in that strange, condescending way of his, with a fond glint in his dark eyes—holding out an open hand, palm up.
Luffy grabs on tightly.
"Thank you for the food!" Luffy exclaims around a bite of cotton candy. The sun is setting, barely obvious through the obscuring rain clouds, and there's a downpour still, of course; but they've managed to stay semi-dry, sticking close to the downtown buildings. Luffy doesn't notice how Law walks on his left side—the side closer to the street.
They're still holding hands. Their fingers aren't intertwined, but their palms are pressed snugly together, clinging in a childish manner. Law snorts, ending on a small snicker. "You really are like a little kid."
There's an offended sound gurgling in the back of Luffy's throat, drowned out by cotton candy. Cheeks puff out, and he's sulking, maybe—with slightly squinted eyes and a wrinkled nose. And Law can't help but to laugh, loudly, boisterously, because now Luffy even looks like a little brat.
Luffy huffs. "Yeah, well, you like this little kid," he says, but he's not really even thinking—it just kind of slips out.
Law leans down, shoulders diagonal, and he's tall enough, long enough, to almost be face-to-face with Luffy, despite his feet being planted at the younger's side. The man smirks, blinks slowly, and damn near purrs, "Yeah, I do."
Streetlamps glitter off his eyes. His feet avoid stepping on the cracks in the pavement—"I don't wanna break my mother's back," Luffy had said, practically skipping earlier. There's a band aide wrapped snug around his thumb, that hand curled around the handle of his cotton candy—the saccharine floss that is colored a powder blue.
And Luffy's other hand is clammy against his palm, but he holds on so securely.
Law leans down further. A tiny piece of cotton candy is stuck to the corner of Luffy's lips—it's sticky against his own tiers, sweet on his tongue. And if Luffy presses closer, and if Law licks into his mouth, then it's lost in the rain.