Naghi-Tan: Oh yes – it's going to hurt. Prepare your heart. And it certainly is ;D Only because it was important that it was. This chapter will explain why Law is the way he is.

Jeminaks: Oh ho ho ho, lock yourself in!

Harmonica Smile: This will definitely be a sad – because it just needed to come out! I had the idea of Law's trousers from a pic I saw on Pinterest and never saw it again. I think he was dressed as Moria, but I'm not entirely sure…they were definitely some of the most hideous pants I'd ever seen.

Krito1389: It's definitely who you think. They will be coasting down the hill of angst and pain, and it'll be hard pinning one with the "bad guy" label DX It's definitely a LawSan, but probably not as the way people would want…

Fyoyaran: It's a LawSan, but not a romcom! DX It's more angsty. Yes, Law is a contradiction – but definitely a Law. XD If that makes any sense!

A/N: Thanks for picking up this story! It's going to be painful. (but be rest assured, no tragedy! …for once…)

: : 2

The dog's name was Brook, and while the old man was trained and well taken care of – medications were required to control his seizures – Law couldn't help but stare at the animal from time to time, trying to imagine how the stompy, angry soon to be divorcee could actually find the patience to take care of the thing. The dog clearly adored the man, that part was obvious. But he whined from time to time, looking from one to the other, clearly looking for another. The dog didn't understand that he was an unfortunate part of a custody dispute.

Sanji lavished attention onto him – cradling him like a child, feeding him delicacies from the stove, bathing him and comforting him when the dog obviously didn't feel well; he cleaned up the accidents and somehow kept the apartment from smelling like a dog pound. It was Law's first time seeing the angry man this happy. In a sense, that angry energy that often swirled around him seem to turn into a somewhat sad tornado of desperation and forced cheer because even if Sanji were happy with this dog, he was prepared to take him back.

It reminded him of Rocinante and how hard he tried to keep Law well and focused after the death of his family.

A week later, Brook plopped himself into the center of the living room with a hard sigh, settling his underbite delicately over his inverted paws. His mournful eyes looked this way and that while Law sat on the couch, chewing individual almonds slowly. He was exhausted because sleep hurt – his bed was much too firm and his bones protested every position. Sleep was difficult in the first place – his mind running with work, with food, with focus on what his body was doing. He felt like he was on the verge of some fever with his body's sluggishness but he was positive he wasn't sick.

Just tired.

I need help, he thought vaguely, but didn't put any more weight into that thought.

Brook looked at him, tilting his large head in Law's direction.

You're so ugly, he thought, but that wasn't his voice. It was an echo from his past.

"What are you looking at, mutt?" he asked low.

"Woof," Brook said, droopy eyes looking at him with caution.

"Well, woof you too."

Sanji emerged from the hall, wearing the same dark clothes as last time, zipping up one of his jackets. The blanket over one arm was unfolded to hold Brook within.

"Returning to the scene of the crime?" Law asked skeptically, delicately biting off a piece of almond. "Why don't you just keep the thing?"

"Because I didn't make this decision on my own," Sanji snapped at him, Brook's bottom wiggling as he hauled up onto all four paws and toddled over with hard snorts. "Both of us were involved, both of us should share the care equally."

"What about the papers?"

"What about them?"

"Did you sign them?"

Sanji gave Law a dirty look as he covered Brook with the blanket and pulled him up into his arms, the dog panting noisily. "It's none of your fucking business," he told Law before snatching his keys and stomping to the hall. The door opened and slammed behind him, and Law's shoulder jumped with involuntary action. He examined the almond he had been working on, then diverted his attention to the television set.

Watching TV helped distract him from the growing hunger pains that rendered his body a sore, exhausted mess. His bones hurt – he imagined that they did so because they were crying out for calcium that he steadily denied because calcium products were dangerous. His kidneys wanted relief – they felt dry and withered, aching from time to time because he drank too much caffeine and not enough water. His eyes felt dry and itchy, skin flaking around his mouth because he often drew his brittle fingernails against the edges of his goatee – keeping his fingers and hands busy, keeping the metabolism running.

His hair was thin and was falling out with a brush of his hand through it; absent actions that had turned into a habit. He collected patches of dark blue strands and counted them between commercials, piling them on the arm rest he leaned against. Everything and anything he could do to interrupt the constant thoughts of food running through his head.

'Don't you think you've had enough, Law?'

Rocinante's voice interrupted his counting. The memory was vague, but Law could see himself as a preteen, cramming hamburger after hamburger into his mouth while the man looked at him skeptically. The fast food place wasn't full, but there were enough people there to glance back at them. As an adult, Law had told himself they were only looking back because the man he'd been with had been a freak of nature – their glances weren't meant for him. But it had taken years to accept that.

'It'll all catch up to you,' Rocinante had warned him. 'You're already quite chubby. I don't want you feeling self-conscious about yourself.'

'I'm so hungry all the time,' Law heard himself reply. It was almost a whine. 'I feel like I'll never feel full.'

'You don't need to eat to feel full, Law,' Roscinante had said gently. 'Just eat the recommended amount – or eat slower, you'll feel full much faster if you do that.'

'I'm not worried about it,' Law had said through a mouthful of burger, 'because I'm gonna grow, anyway.'

'Hopefully…'

Law's eating disorder had emerged shortly after. Rocinante had his own troubles, and unconsciously took them out on Law with light judgement on the teen's eating habits.

'Again, Law?'

'You should learn a little self-control.'

'It's weird for a guy to have stretch marks like that. It's a little ugly.'

'Maybe you should just stick to some fruit and vegetables, today.'

'I don't have the money for that, Law. Just a sandwich, today.'

The funny thing was, Law reflected, he was of normal weight for his height and density. He was just a teenager – more involved with his books and his future than his looks. But once the disorder took control, he started to notice more and more of himself than he had before.

If only I did this, I'd feel this…

If only I looked like this, he'd stop nagging me…

If only I could only stick to this, it would show him that I have some goddamn self control…

If I don't ask for that meal, he can save at least ten more dollars…

Rocinante was an absent-minded man – he bought clothes that were sometimes too small for Law to fit but Law made it a mission to fit them. To either please the man, to save money, to make it more convenient for the pair of them, he'd do his damndest to fit the expectations of a man that hadn't any realization what he was doing at that time.

Law began eating less junk food to start off – then turned to clean eating because it was healthiest in the weight of both their expectations. Then he steadily grew obsessed with eating less processed foods in favor of organics and plant based foods and one day, before he knew it, he was in the hospital without any idea how he got there.

'I hadn't even noticed!' Rosinante had exclaimed as the ER doctor looked at Law with some mild disgust. 'I didn't think he was taking this that far!'

'You hadn't noticed your own son's face is concaved? You won't get the ladies like that, you know,' the doctor had told Law firmly, writing sloppily over the form in front of him. 'They want a guy with substance. It's ugly to be that thin.'

'I have plenty of substance,' Law remembered saying. 'Your wife even said so last night.'

'Law!' Rosinante exclaimed with horror as the doctor rolled his eyes.

'His only cure is to eat,' he'd said before making his way to the door. 'Just make him eat food. It's natural for men to do so.'

What do you know what's 'natural'? Law had thought back then. What made a man 'natural'? To overeat excessively, to look like something from an action movie, to get all the ladies? What was wrong with being himself? What was wrong with saving money in not having a meal?

He gained weight with a diet plan the nutritionist had recommended to both of them that day, but one day he came across clothes that he used to fit. They were things that belonged in the children's section – he remembered going to school with high water pants or too short of sleeves, but he also remembered the two jobs Rosinante had taken to support them, the air of stress in the house when there were red sheets of paper on the counter when Rosinante forgot to hide them.

If I just ate less…

If I could just reuse these…

If I could be of no trouble…

…I could help him.

All these excuses were things Law had thought of – things that went into his eating habits that made it "easier" for Rosinante. He was a struggling man trying to provide for a teenage boy that had expensive hopes and dreams for a future where they weren't struggling. Eventually this way of thinking turned comfortable for him, even long after he'd moved out of their apartment and made a life for himself. It was a part of him, now, with no other reasoning to excuse it. It was routine, it was life, it was something as big a part of him as his looks.

He didn't have time for relationships because relationships didn't have time for him. That doctor's words had stuck with him for years after; the expectations of being a man skewed by an ignorant observation. If he wasn't a man for not eating as one was expected to, then what made Law feel confident he could have a companion? He did get lonely, he had to admit, and he had his share of crushes and yearning but the eating disorder often reinserted itself in front of him to remind him he wasn't good enough.

Penguin and Shachi tried to help – often introducing him to potential love interests who lost interest once Law started to talk about food. His actions and appearance made them self-conscious of themselves. The older men meant well but Law began to close himself off once he realized that his ED had more of a priority over him than his loneliness did. Life turned into the mess it was today – moving through roommate after roommate, and listlessly living a life that felt dull and dragging because he couldn't seem to let go of his own control. It controlled him.

Penguin was right, he knew. Outpatient services were needed at this point if he couldn't get himself through his schedule without fainting afterward. He knew that if he made it a part of his routine, the disorder would lessen just enough for him to stay steady on his feet and continue without another hospital visit – avoid the queries of his colleagues. But it felt like so much trouble – it felt like he could just do this himself, and he just had to concentrate on doing so.

He felt so tired telling himself this all the time.

He stood up shakily from the couch, dropping his blanket to the side. Blood pounded between his ears, rushing with intensity as his blood pressure dropped. He had to steady himself against the armrest for a few moments. He was in need of meal number three, but he was sure Sanji had just cooked some stew earlier, and Law could eat that. If he could just eat the meals his roommate made, he'd get some clarity and strength back.

He was standing at the stove when Sanji came back, bags rustling at his arms. When he looked at Law, his face dragged heavy with disgust. But he said nothing, striding towards his room in a flurry of snow and mud while Law wondered what his roommate had thought when looking at him. He touched his face with some self-conscious action, wondering if the skin flakes around his goatee were that bad. He ate at the stove, trying not to calculate numbers or actions, taking note of his heart rate and how it felt to stand.

Food is fine, he thought, chewing a piece of meat thoroughly. It's to sustain and fuel. It's not a shackle.

"Are you helping yourself?" he heard Sanji ask from his room down the hall.

The question itself was aligned with the thoughts in Law's head. Am I? he thought curiously, looking at the spoonful of tomatoes and celery. The salt and seasonings brought a taste to his tongue that made him feel like a kid again – taking apart all the tastes to bring them together to make eating an enjoyable experience. He knew afterward when the food settled it'd be a different thought and feeling.

"Yeah," he replied, spoon in mouth.

Sanji emerged from his room, swiping hair from his face. Smelling of cigarettes and snow. His haggard features were heavy with alcohol and sleeplessness. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "This will keep for exactly three days," he advised crossly. "So warm it up thoroughly at three minutes with a thousand watt microwave, or until the edges bubble in the pot. You don't want bread to dip it in, I advise those god awful crackers in the shelf. Four will count as half a soup with the soup."

Law stopped chewing, skeptical at being instructed like he was some child that didn't know any better.

"Two hours after, hot tea and crackers. In one hour, another bowl of soup, preferably with a light, dressing-less salad. You want me to write this down?"

"You a nutritionist?"

"I'm saying all this because…" Sanji trailed off, looking slapped with some realization. Maybe he hadn't been aware of how bossy he'd come off as.

Law cautiously started chewing again.

"My…my husband…"

"Ex?"

"NO."

With the way Sanji struggled to say it, Law had to assume that this man was not letting go of the other any time soon. It was too tiresome for him to exert anymore thought onto.

They were strangers, not driven to any empathy for each other's dilemmas.

"Anyway, he trained a lot, and wanted to maintain a certain fueling system to keep his metabolism running while maintaining necessary strength and energy. This system will help you from falling dead in the hallway when you come back from work. Not to gain," Sanji added with a tone dripping with disdain, "just so you know, but it's a weight cutting program."

"Are you suggesting that I should cut weight?" Law asked skeptically.

"He's a lot fatter than you are!" Sanji snapped at him. "This is fine for someone underweight that needs strength to get through the damn day! I mentioned 'weight cut' as a way of assuring you that this doesn't have anything unnecessary to cause fear. As you've seen for yourself, there's more water based vegetables than protein and starches."

Because it was true, it did settle some of the demons in Law's mind.

"These things," he said slowly as Sanji glowered at his salt discolored shoes, "are unnecessary things for you to think of. If there's food, I will eat it."

"I'm not here to take care of you," Sanji said snidely, pushing away from the kitchen, "I cook this shit because I'm still buying too much when I stop somewhere. Eat it all!"

Law licked warm juice from his thumb once he saw he'd consumed most of the veggies and some meat. "So when do you return to your husband?"

"Once he lifts the damn restraining order."

Law's eyebrows lifted. "Did you beat him?"

Sanji gave him a dirty look. "I'm not that crude. It was the only way he could keep me from my house."

"Will you give thirty days' notice before you do?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"This order does not apply to Brook?"

Sanji was silent on that one, but the volume on the television went up.

So troublesome, Law thought of relationships in general. Sharing with another human being means giving too much of one's self. Giving up on one's self. Who has the heart to do that?

: :

Sanji didn't think too much of his roommate and his obvious problems. His head was consumed too much of his husband.

That night found him staring morosely out his bedroom window, watching the snow fall over the gentle city lights that were already under the weight of it. His stomach ached, his chest hurt, and he'd smoked too much cigarettes. Every part of him felt like someone had taken a hammer to it, weighing heavily with stress, tension and anger. He'd been forced to take Brook to the neighbor's because the doggy door had been locked with something new and he didn't want to leave the dog outside while Zoro was wherever he was. The neighbor had taken the dog with a gentle chiding that perhaps he should abide to the restraining order that had been served to him, alongside the divorce papers.

This room felt like a temporary cell, outfitted with the things he'd taken from his house.

'You can take those suitcases,' Zoro had told him. 'Take the trash bags for all I care. Just get your shit and go.'

'You can't kick me out of my own house!'

'It's under one name.'

'Yeah, under your name because I gave mine away!'

'I put the deposit down – I signed first. I have legal standing to kick you out.'

'I'm not leaving this fucking house!'

'You left a long time ago, what's the difference?'

And Sanji couldn't argue with that because it was true. He had left – it had started out with one anonymous name, then turned into two, then three – Zoro finally noticed when the fifth called the house and told Zoro what Sanji was doing. It was almost laughable that it had taken five men for Zoro to finally notice Sanji, to actually see him.

Sanji could remember the day when he decided he was tired of being ignored – it was their sixth anniversary, and Zoro had said there was no point to anniversary parties because to celebrate the day they'd married year after year was pointless when they lived and breathed together, so what made that day any more special than what they were already doing?

Sanji eventually started telling himself Zoro was too comfortable with expecting him to always be there without any effort on his part, and Sanji was tired of feeling like some roommate.

'I just want you to reassure me that you love me, sometimes,' he'd said some time ago. 'Because it doesn't feel like it.'

'I don't understand why I have to when I already show it,' Zoro had said. 'Bills get paid, chores get done, I do all those stupid things you want me to do when you ask me of it. Saying a few words over and over sounds greedy.'

'What a stupid thing to say!'

'I don't know why you expect weird things from me, sometimes,' Zoro had continued with a shrug. 'I agreed to get married, I'm here, you call I'm there – isn't this more than enough?'

'I just want you to fucking notice me, sometimes, because it's like you see me like I'm just some dude that just lives here.'

'I don't even know what that means!'

'Sometimes, you idiot, I feel insecure, too.'

'Calling me names doesn't help, you know. I don't want to look at someone who's calling me an idiot all the time.'

'How else can I get your attention?'

'You already have it! How much more of it do you need?'

Did I? Sanji thought now. Did I expect too much of another human being?

He had to wonder if he'd blown everything out of proportion – Zoro was faithful, he was loyal. He wasn't the prince that Sanji dreamed of, but Zoro paid his share of the bills, he was there when Sanji needed him to be. But Zoro rarely touched him, anymore. He rarely asked about Sanji's day, he didn't say anything about the food Sanji cooked, and he never seemed to notice Sanji when he dressed up. He complained whenever he felt Sanji was too pushy or invasive, wanting space, sometimes.

'Why would you want 'space'? It's not like I'm clinging to you!'

'I just feel like you try and take control over every little thing,' Zoro had explained carefully. 'Sometimes I want to make the decisions.'

'It's just that I know what's best for you,' Sanji had told him, looking at him as if he were a slow child, 'and after all these years, what I do for you has made you a bigger man, so…what's the problem?'

'I just feel like you invade my space and make too many of my decisions so that it feels like I'm living your life, and not mine.'

Sanji had stared at him for such a long time that Zoro had glanced up at him, lowering his tablet with a skeptical look. 'So…would you want to return the gesture?'

'I'd rather live my life the way I wanted, and not have to control yours,' Zoro clarified slowly. 'Neither of us should have to live the life the other wants. I don't want you to do something you don't want to do, and I shouldn't have to do something you'd want me to do. Make our own choices.'

'But if that happened, you'd forget I'm even here.'

Zoro's brow had furrowed with thought. 'I think it'd be okay if we didn't have to rely on the other to entertain the other. You know what I mean? We've been together for so long, it's like we weren't ever individuals.'

'I don't want to be an individual, I want to be with someone that wants to be with me just as much!'

'I think this conversation is turning into something different, and you're not listening to me. You're set on what you think and not listening to what I think.'

It had been the first conversation where Zoro had mentioned wanting to be an individual, and all Sanji thought was that his husband was falling out of love with him. He was turning away all of Sanji's actions and suggesting that it would be okay going without each other. It had caused Sanji to feel insecure, because it was too similar of a rejection gesture than a polite cry for space.

He did his best to give Zoro the space he needed but it felt like neglect to him. He wasn't sure if Zoro could feel that Sanji still felt for him, so he started slipping back into his own ways. Zoro would be quick to boot him back into his space, so it wasn't long when Sanji found some affection from someone that was willing to give it. Temporary things, brief things that gave him a taste of what he was craving but dangerous things capable of blowing everything he had to pieces.

And it happened.

Now he was driven into a seemingly constant mindless rage. Angry at Zoro, angry at their friends, angry at himself – angry that he didn't listen to his gut years ago, angry that he gave so much for so little. For caring too much, for wanting too much, for not being realistic, for learning first hand that love wasn't what he thought it should be.

He couldn't seem to control this anger. His heart felt like it was aflame, burning him from the inside out. Angry at Zoro for not seeing him, for making him choose those men, for being caught. For no one to understand his side of the story –

Not that he said anything. Their circle of friends had no idea this was happening before Zoro outed their troubles in front of them at a birthday party. It had made Sanji angry that they chose his side because they didn't know his. Zoro had rejected couples counseling because he felt nothing would help after knowing that his husband was messing around with multiple men already.

Everything was a convoluted mess. With no outlet, no resolution in sight, Sanji could only take all these things and mix them together without any helpful hand to reach in to lessen the weight. Only Zoro could do that, because it had been "for better and for worse", and this was surely one of those worst times and it only had to get better if Zoro could only see what he'd been doing and help Sanji fix it.

Sanji's chest burned with helpless fury. He reached out and snatched the bottle of wine he had been nursing, trying to douse the flames. Sanji assumed this was probably why Zoro drank all the time – for staying true to his vows because that was the kind of person he was. Sanji's gut had told him to wait years ago, but he had been certain that they'd evolve once the years fell behind them.

Sanji knew he had himself to blame for what could be unrealistic expectations of love but he'd always wanted someone to love him.

He had to pull himself together. He was jobless, his savings account would be gone, soon. He had to put all these rioting emotions away to function – they were weighing him down, forcing him into making all the wrong decisions. Stealing Brook right out of the house for a stubborn point in custody wasn't helping him any. It looked like Franky, the next door neighbor, had helped Zoro install a security system. Any capture of Sanji going against Zoro's restraining order could damage Sanji in the future. He'd never see Brook again.

It hurt that the people Sanji had considered friends had taken sides. It hurt that they didn't see his. All that they knew was that he'd been caught cheating, and that automatically made him the villain.

He left the bed, every step full of the weight he carried. His guts twisted and burned and he had too much angry strength in his arms and hands, so the door slammed open as he strode out of his room. He headed to the kitchen, so used to the cooking schedule he'd had for years with Zoro that he just needed to abide to this habit to stay sane.

He cooked some pork stew, the dish being one of Zoro's favorites. He wondered if Zoro missed coming home to food on the table and the fridge loaded with tomorrow's prepared meals. He wondered if Zoro missed his presence - did he even think of him? Was he angry? He was never angry when Sanji was – never raised his voice or looked at him with contempt; Zoro seemed emotionless, carrying himself with a rigid posture that he often used in his competitions. Maybe he felt nothing of the situation but thought of it as an inconvenience to his schedule.

Sanji sliced his fingers, hissing as blood spurted over the cutting board and vegetables. He swept the entire thing away, feeling like his throat had just closed up and his breath caught in his lungs. Silence descended over him as he leaned over the counter, blood coloring the light countertop.

He wished he had his phone, but had broken it having a conversation with Zoro while drunk.

'When I come back, I'd like things to change, please,' he'd said drunkenly while Zoro had sighed impatiently, the sounds of some restaurant in the background.

'I don't want you to come back,' Zoro had told him firmly. 'There's no way I could be civil towards you after finding out what you did.'

'I only wanted some affection, you ass!'

'Yeah, from five different guys. Not knowing that you were doing this, like…when you were finished, did you just come home to me and act normal? How could you do that? It's like you don't have a heart.'

Maybe I don't, Sanji thought, touching his aching chest.

: :

"I have to find a job," he said the next morning, as Law was scrambling to pack his things and rush out the door. "I'm going to, so don't worry about it."

Law paused in stuffing a couple of articles of clothing into his overnight bag – Sanji had to wonder where he slept doing…whatever it was he did. The fact that Law was some kind of surgeon blew his mind because didn't that job require a certain amount of health and mindful well-being?

The guy was a tall, walking skeleton – his blue-black hair so limp and dull and unkept that it took all of Sanji's self-control not to take scissors to it himself. His bones protruded from his wrists, his jawline so sharp and grotesquely carved that if it hadn't had skin covering it, it would resemble a sort of shelf over a painfully thin neck that allowed his Adam's apple to protrude like some sort of cancer.

Sanji only wanted this guy to stop judging him for his mess of a life.

"Okay," Law answered after giving his messy room a dazed glance. His tone clearly reflected his own lack of care towards Sanji's declaration, near similar to telling a stranger where he was going to sit on a crowded bus.

"How do you get to work?" Sanji asked curiously, trying to picture him behind the wheel of an electric powered vagina wagon.

Law gave him that blank look again, stuffing his keys atop of his clothes. "Uber."

"Your friends don't pick you up?" Sanji asked skeptically. Did they even care? he wondered, thinking about Penguin's appearance that one day. Or were they as tired of it as this man was?

"Yours don't?" Law returned, wondering if Sanji even had any. He never heard him talking to anyone, nor did he mention them.

Sanji rolled his eyes, as if disgusted that Law would even ask that. "I'm just asking because if you faint in someone's car, they are going to haul your dumb ass to the hospital through a different entrance."

"And that's thought for concern?"

"You're right," Sanji muttered, shaking his head as he walked out from his room. "It's none of my fucking business!"

Law had the thought that perhaps Sanji was just a naturally bossy guy – whoever his husband was must have been tired of the earful Sanji heaped on him all the time. He zipped up his bag.

"You know," he said slowly, thinking about his words carefully, "if you didn't insert yourself into people's personal business as much as you do, perhaps others would be willing to reach out for you."

Sanji paused at his room door, then looked back at him with a glare. "Then no one would know I was there. I assume you know this as well as I do, considering what you look like."

Law pulled his bag over his shoulder. It felt heavier, today. His heart was pumping furiously, giving him a flushed appearance. Surely he'd been eating more to allow some strength back.

"I never wanted the attention," he replied. "I just wanted to stay out of the way."

Something in his words affected Sanji enough to make him cringe a little. But he wore a rotten expression because of it. He gave Law a snide look. "Maybe I should take a page from your book, eh?"

"I wouldn't think so," Law returned, "because yours already seems a little too flashy."

With that he turned and left, and Sanji felt angry all over again. He kicked his doorframe, pent up energy going nowhere productive.

Outside the door, Law did feel some regret for saying that. His roommate was already done on his luck. Law's own life was painful enough with what he was dealing with – he wouldn't wish it upon another person. He considered going back inside to deliver an apology, but his phone was vibrating – Penguin and Shachi were hounding him with messages to make sure he was fine to work. He had the thought that maybe what he was doing was Sanji's own rough way of caring. Maybe this was how he expressed it because his husband had required it.

He'd apologize later.