PART I
The headlights have already dissolved into the rainy distance as Trafalgar Law manages to draw a breath deep enough to curse his existence, drenched from head to toe thanks to a passing driver. Frigid rain pours down from the sky, streaming down the sidewalk and seeping into his shoes and Law thinks, not for the first time, that he should have brought an umbrella.
If everyone would just drive bikes and then there would be no more traffic jams and much less work for him and no self-absorbed idiots would be able to dump the equivalent of a small pond on him… Law tries to shake off the worst of the water, but realises with a sigh that his shoes are probably goners.
Bright colours, completely out of place in the grey weather, catches his eye: a large cartoon lion waves at him from a coffee shop across the street and Law makes a decision. He is on his way to work and although he will change into dry scrubs before long, but right at this moment, in this place, a hot drink is immensely appealing.
The door jingles a jaunty tune as he pushes it open, letting in some of the storm. The walls are painted a bright red, with a mural of a whale taking up one wall and an assortment of pictures cluttering up the rest. If he enjoyed pastries and other wares normally found at cafés, he'd probably already be salivating over the scrumptious-looking muffins and cupcakes and scones neatly lined up on the wood-paneled counter at the back of the room.
He doesn't have too long to spare before he has to be at his shift at the hospital, but the line isn't too long, and so he sets to work deciphering the coffee selection neatly written on the blackboard over the counter.
"Can you take the till?" Usopp sounds frantic and Nami groans, trying to finagle the bag of coffee down in a somewhat safe and work-appropriate manner.
"Coming," she answers, finally managing to close the cupboard door without spilling all their beans.
She barely refrains from rolling her eyes as she takes up her position; from Usopp's tone she'd have guessed the line would snake out the door, but thanks to the weather they haven't had that many customers today. When she spies the latest orders, she does cut him a few ounces of slack: they are all very complicated and require allergen-related attention which handling both orders and delivery doesn't allow for.
Most people have straightforward orders, easily fulfilled while Usopp is slaving away over his masterpieces (she has to tell him to stop making latte art when he's stressed, it doesn't help). Although she hasn't worked at the Sunny for long, she recognises some of the faces and with a blinding smile here and a demure twinkle in her eye there, her tip jar is increasing very nicely indeed. After a while she doesn't even need to think, the normal greetings just fall from her lips. A coffee here, a latte there, scone to go of course sir–
"Welcome to the Thousand Sunny, how can I help you?"
The man in front of her drags his eyes from the blackboard and she is met with the most intense pair of gold she has ever seen. He is drenched and his slate grey trenchcoat has already formed a neat little puddle around him on the floor. If he didn't look so utterly pissed off, he'd be quite attractive, with golden hoops in his ears and dark hair peeking out from under a white-spotted cap, although a few days (weeks) of sleep would do wonders for those bags under his eyes. His scowl is deep enough to almost make her forget her tip jar and drop her smile, but years of experience override such amateurish feelings and she adds a few thousand watts to her smile. "I'm not sure if coffee or a towel would help you more right now though, so you'll have to make your order."
Trafalgar Law is not one to easily fall for a woman's charms, but the girl behind the counter is gorgeous. He barely hears her greeting as he takes her in: fiery red hair tied up in a high ponytail, bright brown eyes and a blinding smile are her most obvious features, but there is also the way her black apron cinches around her waist, accentuating her slender figure and the blue-black ink peeking out from under the sleeve of a white t-shirt, curling around her bicep. He realises she's said something more as her grin grows ever wider and he has to focus if he ever wants to get his coffee and get out of here alive.
"Black coffee," he says, trying to focus on his order instead of the dimple in her cheek or the band of freckles draped over the bridge of her nose. "Please." His manners wake up, somewhat belated.
"Sure thing," the girl chirps, already reaching towards a paper cup. "Here or to go?"
"To go. Please."
"And your name?" she asks, pen ready in hand. He tries to look for a name tag but she doesn't have one and he is not disappointed. He is not.
It does take him a second to gather his thoughts, though. "Trafalgar. Trafalgar Law."
"Just wait over there," she says, scribbling something on the cup.
And with a few steps, he moves over to the waiting area and she turns to greet the next customer and he is not disappointed as his phone rings, requiring his attention. He is not.
Winner-of-best-customer-service-trophy-Nami does not let her smile drop when the dark, brooding man – Trafalgar Law, what a curious name – turns away. She does not think about the gleam of golden eyes when she takes the next customer's order of a large caramel macchiato nor of the curt 'Yes?' when Trafalgar Law answers his phone as he accepts his coffee from Usopp and turns to leave, without so much as glancing at his cup. A pity; Nami would have liked to see his reaction.
She does resolutely not think about him during her whole shift, nor when she and Usopp, dead tired and aching all over, finally lock up shop at way too late in the evening.
And she does not think about his smooth, deep barytone, murmuring indecent things in her ear as she falls asleep.
Law manages to both open the door, slip his phone into his pocket without spilling scalding coffee all over himself and manoeuvre out of the way for a large man who enters the café carrying a stack of heavenly-smelling cardboard boxes with 'COFFEE BEANS' printed on the side, and he is a little proud of himself for that feat.
Luckily enough, the hospital is close enough for his drink to be the perfect temperature when he reaches the lockers and so he can just sit for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and some frankly delicious coffee.
And then Shachi and Penguin enter.
Oh well, it was good while it lasted.
"Bepo is ill, so we'll be short-staffed today."
"Great," Shah groans, the sound muffled by the t-shirt he is struggling out off. "We can only hope we'll have an easy shift."
"It's a Friday," Penguin says with a snort, buttoning up his own scrubs. "What do you think?"
"One can hope, one can hope," Shachi hums. "Hey, Law, where did you get this?"
He's holding up Law's empty coffee cup with an inquisitively raised eyebrow.
"From the coffee shop around the corner. Why?"
"And what did you tell them you name was?"
Shachi sounds too innocent and Law narrows his eyes in suspicion. "…my name, how come?"
"You sure about that?"
The laughter in Shachi's voice is almost audible now but before Law can demand an explanation, Penguin has snatched the cup from Shachi and promptly bursts into laughter.
"Oh, captain," he manages to squeeze out. "You sure did."
He throws the cup to Law who turns it around in trepidation.
And he knows an entry is added to the highly annoying list Shachi and Penguin keeps of Acceptable Nicknames.
On the side of the cup, in neat black handwriting, the barista has written Traffy, accompanied by a small smiling heart.
PART II
Somehow, it becomes a habit.
Law doesn't know if it is the simply delicious coffee, roasted with some secret recipe one of the café owners has developed, or the eclectic assortment of people employed there. So far, he's been served by a blond guy with bangs all over the place (Trafalgar), a chatterbox (Torao) and a man with the largest afro he's seen (T. Law) who made an admittedly amazing little drawing of a seal pup in his cup the one time he made the mistake of ordering something else than black coffee and ventured out on a cappucino-coated limb.
And of course the redhead.
Sometimes she wears her hair up in a high ponytail and other times it cascades down her back in waves of fire. Once or twice she's put it up in pigtails or an elaborate updo, the last one really too fancy for a Tuesday shift at a small independent coffee shop. But her smile and twinkling eyes are always the same though, a little bit too knowing for his tastes. He still doesn't know her name, but the few times he's seen her, she's as bright and bubbly as the first, rain-drenched time. He doesn't know her name and it does not bother him. It does not.
As the weather dries up and the first tender shoots of springtime greenery appear on the barren branches of unattended sidewalk trees, the habit is established enough for the staff to have his coffee ready to go, with an assortment of misspellings of his name, depending on who's manning the till. Shachi and Penguin add Tarafalgarar and Traf and Mister Trafalgar Law Sir and Tally-ho to an ever growing list they pin to Law's locker.
Law notes with some scorn and touch of jealousy that their orders always come properly labeled and named. Shachi waves it away with a flick of his wrist and his nose up in the air as he inform Law that they have been going there for years. Of course the crew knows who they are.
Law feels even more petty but then Shachi did employ his best impression of snobbish upper-class twat from the Redline and he feels a traitorous smile tug at his cheek.
Apparently, he had stumbled upon the exact café his friends had tried to get him to go to for quite a one with the amazing coffee and the cutest new barista and the tarts are to die for and–
His coffee runs are mostly done alone, before his shift. Sometimes, however, Shachi or Penguin insist on joining and the next time two of them converge outside Café Sunny, it's a sunny Tuesday afternoon and the line is out the door.
Law's heart does not skip a beat when he sees a flash of orange behind the counter, it does not. He pointedly ignores Penguin's wide grin as they join the queue, Law's fingers tapping away in annoyance. He resolutely refuses to examine his feelings further than against the length of the wait because the now non-existent possibility of exchanging a few words with coffee-lass does not factor into it. Usopp (why has he learned the names of almost all other employees but her?) is quick with his coffee-pouring, though, and the mass of people move at a respectable pace.
She doesn't even notice that they are in line before it's their turn and it does not bother Law. It does not.
Nami is slammed by the afternoon rush. She doesn't have time to think more about her paper, due in three short days, or the looming deadline to apply for internships or how she should get some groceries and…
And then he is there, standing in front of her once more.
And he's with one of her favourite regulars.
She puts on her best customer service smile, the one with a hint of sincerity in, and says, "Welcome to the Sunny. It's been too long, Penguin, almost started to miss your hat. One matcha latte and a black coffee, right?"
As if either of them ever gets anything else. She has already picked up two to-go mugs and her smile grows a smidgeon as the pair engage in a silent battle of wills which Penguin apparently loses, since he throws his hands up in the air and Law, with a touch of smugness, unearths his wallet from the depths of his pockets. Nami can't help but notice the smooth expanse of skin revealed as his shirt shifts with the movement, and the way his shirt tightens over his shoulders when he hands her his card.
Both of them look out of place in the café's cheerful cacophony of colour. Law's dark, spotted jeans and well-cut trench coat clash almost as heavily as Penguin's bobble-topped lime green hat and white hoodie with a yellow smiley face decorating the front.
By no means do Nami feel particularly strongly about the café, but after her few months in the crew, the place starts to feel a bit like hers. Growing up in the less pleasant parts of town instilled a fierce sense of pride in her own accomplishments and to value the things she created, from friendships to her paltry attempts at latte art. She hasn't had a hand in designing the Sunny –that's all the founders' work– but she loves the easy familiarity of the film posters she cajoled Sanji into accepting as part of the décor, and the old geographical maps she found at a yard sale, now proudly hanging opposite The Whale. She wants to make the café a happy place, with mismatched mugs and chairs and a sense of home. She might not have been the first to join, but she was still going to make this place hers as much as the others.
Nami sends them off with a smile and doesn't think about how Law again hasn't said a word to her. Nor the way his eyes look like deep pools of molten gold in the soft café light.
When the men disappear with their beverages, even the small bells tacked onto the door sound a bit miffed, their normally joyous tintinnabulating dropping from major to minor. She does not think about that, or what she thinks about her thinking about that.
PART III
Law's responsibilities are never-ending and yet, the girl from the café slowly permeates the order of both his life and coffee.
He catches himself drifting off in the middle of a lunchtime discussion (argument) with Shachi and wondering if her hair isn't a shade lighter than his; although Shachi has to forego his hat in the operating theatre in lieu of appropriate and standardised head-coverings, he quickly covers his bright red locks outside it with his trademark cap and surely the café-girl's hair is more burnt embers and vermillion and orange peels than Shachi's deep auburn?
When Penguin laughs at one of Law's bad puns her bright smile flashes in front of his eye, complete with the lovely laugh lines forming around her beautiful eyes, the amber and hazel and toffee and a thousand other shades of brown flickering through them stirring a kaleidoscope of unfamiliar feelings and Law always, always leaves with a uncomfortable feeling that his coffee (the shade of her eyes when she turns away to hide a smile) is laughing at him.
And he realises it's gone too far when he hears her lilting voice in Bepo's gruff 'good morning'.
He has to do something about this.
Especially since his friends start to notice.
"We love you Captain, but you have to do something," Penguin groans one day, moping the sweat off his brow after a gruelling operation gone perfectly. "Your pining is getting too intense, even for us to make fun of."
"I–I do not pine," Law sputters, trashing his latex gloves with more violence than strictly necessary. "What makes you–"
"The yearning?" Shachi cuts him off, pushing past them to get to the showers first. "The moony eyes and wistful little sighs–"
"–and languishing looks thrown over the café counter," Penguin finishes his sentence, like he's done too many bloody times before. "Just do something about it, Law. Before we do."
Law feels the small muscles in his cheeks fight to release his jaw and let it drop in astonishment at the sheer nerve of his so-called friend, but years of iron self-control finally pay off. His face is set in stone, not a movement betraying his inner thoughts.
Which is, of course, its own type of shining beacon to two of his oldest comrades.
"A- ha!" Shachi high fives a smirking Penguin. "Knew it."
Penguin turns his too perceptive eyes to an extremely uncomfortable Law.
"Seriously, Captain. Just ask her out. Can't be that hard, can it?"
And of course it is exactly that hard.
If it would be easy Law wouldn't be in this situation, mercilessly heckled in a locker room. He glowers some more as he dries his hair, weighing the benefits and challenges of different approaches and tactics.
Because Law is nothing if not a planner. He had a roadmap for his studies, he had a strategy for his job when he started, and he has a full binder for his friends and family.
A plan will help him scheme his way to victory and the barista's name.
And, hopefully, her number.
If Nami didn't know better, she'd think Trafalgar Law was starting to stalk her.
But she shrugs the thought off.
Of course a respected surgeon, working at the local hospital, wouldn't be so cowardly as to map out her life instead of simply asking for her name and number.
Subtle questioning of her colleagues ('So, the flirty barista…' 'Oh, you mean The Witch?'), a social media deep dive (he understands why you can't sort people by, for example, hair colour, and yet he curses the fact daily) or loitering in the small park opposite the café ('No officer, I'm just enjoying a crisp morning walk before work, yes I work at the hospital, here's my ID–') get him absolutely nowhere.
And not even outright threats make Penguin, Shachi or Bepo give up her name, which in turn makes Law question why he has friends at all.
But he refuses to give up.
When spring turns towards summer and Law finally gathers his courage and walks into the café to the familiar silvery tinkle, he stops in the door so abruptly that Penguin walks into him, his muffled curses disappearing into the icy realisation trickling down Law's very bones.
The woman, whose name he still doesn't know and this does not irritate him at all, is leaning on the counter, laughing with her head propped up on her slender arm, completely focused on a blue-haired lady who stands there, alla innocence in white summer skirts and a large bonnet (who even wears hats anymore, except that one employee who keeps calling him Torao and has the most annoying habit of chit-chatting away when Law just wants some peace and quiet) and a deep red blush painting her cheeks.
The barista's laughter (because he still doesn't have a name and he wasn't going to do something about that today, oh no) is beautiful, musical and honest, coming straight from the heart. And yet Law feels a thin reed of something wrap its roots around his rib-cage, nestling into the cracks of his heart. And there it stays, pushing its hooks deeper into his flesh every time he thinks about the carefree way his coffee-lady had talked to the customer-woman and the easy, familiar press of her fingers on her arm, as if to reassure her of something.
But Law is nothing if not introspective and after a week or so of reflection (and moping, as Shachi put it), and an exponential increase in Sad Bepo (his kryptonite), he's ready to admit it to himself.
He is jealous.
Of something he never had and never managed to figure out if he could ask for.
Nami's list of Stupid Nicknames her fellow baristas have given Trafalgar Law grows by the day. Number one so far is a tie between Tally-ho (Luffy was so proud) and Totoro (Usopp earned a muffin out of that one).
And it doesn't bother her that he hasn't bothered to ask for her name. It does not.
She even forbade his friends from sharing it with him, a wink and a slender finger placed to her lips enough to swear them to undying loyalty. Shachi and Penguin have quickly become some of her favourite regulars, the sight of their stupid-ass hats in the doorway enough to make her smile and their easy banter enough to lift her spirits and make her laugh.
She isn't disappointed every time he leaves with his coffee and without her name. She isn't.
And she definitely does not think about the whole situation at all when she's home alone, fighting with her papers and trying to cram in some much-needed sleep into the cracks left between work and studies.
She waves Vivi away, stopping by for her bi-weekly chat and coffee towards the end of the counter where her hazelnut macchiato is waiting, and turns to the new arrivals with a smile.
Penguin and Shachi are their normal rays of sunshine, but Trafalgar Law–
If looks could kill, she's certain she'd be a smouldering pile of embers by now.
But why?
Her thoughts run distracted loops inside her head, making her sluggish and slow, almost mixing up Shachi's macchiato and Penguin's matcha. She laughs their concerns away, assuring them that she is getting her vitamins and isn't getting a bout of the flu and how sleep is for the weak, Penguin, when a girl has work to do.
She is still reeling from the unexpected encounter and unforeseen animosity and the way the door slams shut with more force than usual behind the trio. Trafalgar Law hadn't so much as looked at her once he got his order in, opting to glower at the world by the pick-up spot instead.
What is up with the man?
"Green does not suit you," Shachi mutters as he grabs their coffees, realising Law can't be trusted with hot beverages at the moment.
Law merely glowers some more.
A fortnight passes and things don't return to normal. Law's visits drop dramatically in frequency, although Penguin and Shachi do order more take away black coffees than they have hitherto been accustomed to.
And then Vivi drops by, leaving a gold-embossed invite to her upcoming wedding, date finally set, and Nami hugs her and can't help but wipe away a tear–
And Penguin and Law are there, one a bright bubbly ball of sunshine and the other a looming cloud of darkness and despair.
Nami gives Vivi another quick hug before waving her off with a happy smile and turning to her new customers.
"What can I get you boys?"
"I trust you to whip up something suitable."
Penguin smiles widely at her and gives a silly shake of his head, the bobble on top of his ridiculous hat wobbling with the movement. Nami snorts at the display, jotting down their orders and handing the cups to Usopp, standing to attention by the coffee grinder.
And Trafalgar Law scowls, as has become usual by now, countenance all grim lines and stormy brows under his equally silly hat with seal-spots and a fluffy brim.
She'll be a rich girl if she ever figures out what makes the man smile. That'd probably cure all sorts of things wrong with this world.
She even thought–
But no, she banishes the taste of half-formed regret with a flick of her ponytail as she punches their orders into the system with more force than strictly necessary.
His loss, definitely not hers.
"Miss?" Penguin's voice cuts through her thoughts that were not spiralling in any way whatsoever.
"Yes, favourite customer of mine?" she answers, wiping down the counter to keep her hands busy. "How can I help you?"
He leans against the counter, disarming smile at the ready. "By giving me Vivi's number, of course."
An amused chortle escapes before Nami can tamp it down. "Vivi? My beloved friend? Who you have been pining after for a year, at least? And you very well know is engaged to Mister Kohza? Who just– "she holds up a gold-embossed invite, still fresh from the press "–dropped off the invites to her wedding? That Vivi?"
"A man can dream, can't he?" Penguin says with a dramatic sigh and hand to his forehead. "And it's good for said man to get a reality check every now and again."
"That I can agree with," Nami says as she hands him his matcha. Law's drink stands on the counter, a sloppy 'Traf' scribbled on the side.
He doesn't deserve the effort.
"You are welcome," Penguin hisses as he steers a dumbfounded Law towards the exit. "Now please stop acting like a jilted teenager and. Ask. Her. Out."
Law has the decency to blush and mutter a chastised 'sorry' as the merry jingle of the bells close the door behind them.
Nami doesn't know what changes, but Law returns to the café.
Things are still weird, but something's shifted. She doesn't know what and it takes all her willpower not to just blurt it out and ask the guy, but day by day the return to something approaching acquaintances.
It's somewhere around the third week of his return –and she is not unnaturally chipper, thank you Sanji– when she has the most uncomfortable encounter of her life.
It all starts with something out of a pulp romance novel and ends with her sweeping up the shards.
Although Trafalgar Law always looks somewhat bedraggled and scruffy, there are times he is better; a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye.
And times when he is so much worse.
Today, the bags under his eyes are deep and dark enough to rival the party updo of the most meticulous goth.
It's one of those rare times he's ordered his coffee to stay, so Nami brings out the largest mug they have, cursing Usopp's tendency to forget that she is shorter than him and five centimetres can make or break both a girl and a mug as she tries to finagle it down from the shelf, standing on tiptoe to reach it.
When she turns around, his vacant stare is almost enough to make her question his state of consciousness. He does jerk awake when she turns on the coffee grinder so maybe all is not yet lost. And there is something about that gaze–
And Nami doesn't know if it's her lack of attention or his sleep-deprived reflexes, but she tries to hand him the card reader and he tries to reach for the coffee and the cup goes tumbling off the counter and crashes into the floor, the pseudo-Rorschach patterns created by the coffee reminding her of butterfly wings.
Nami's service mode switches on automatically, and she hurries to clean up the mess.
"I'm so sorry–"
Law's monotone breaks through her fretting. "You owe me a drink. Because when I looked at you, I dropped mine."
"What?" She stares at the man, meeting his thousand-year stare. She is sure she misheard him, too focused on sweeping up the broken pieces of pottery and–
Neither blinks.
Until Trafalgar Law snaps out of whatever dimension he's currently inhabiting and returns to the present.
"Sorry, forget it. Today is clearly not my day."
She stares after his back, dumbfounded, soggy paper napkins still clutched in her hand.
"Aren't you going to–"
But with a backwards glance, he is gone, the tinkle of the door suddenly the only sound echoing in the café.
It's not until she's managed to clean up the mess that she realises he left a twenty on the counter.
"I couldn't stop staring at her ass," Law groans, head buried in his arms as Shachi rubs soothing circles on his back. "And then I just– the only thing I could think of was this really horrendous pick-up line I found online and then I panicked and just dropped some money on the counter to cover it all and–"
"There, there," Shachi says, almost hiding the amusement in his voice.
Law contemplates going into hiding, especially since the day after doesn't go any better.
Well, that's not completely true. It does have its upsides.
He learns her name, and after months of agony, that is certainly something.
"Excuse me, is your name Chamomile? Because you look like a hot tea."
Nami groans as the artsy one fist-pumps behind her and mouths a ' Yes! ' before drawing a tally on the fridge barely visible from behind the counter.
But there is a pleased turn to her mouth as she raises a questioning eyebrow. "It's not Chamomile," she says with a long-suffering sigh, half-heartedly glaring at the artsy one who is now drawing something on the to-go mug, his face set in self-satisfied curves. "It is Nami, however."
And Law walks on small clouds the rest of the day, which is very inconvenient when you're supposed to keep your balance.
But he really doesn't mind.
Third time's the charm, however.
"Are you my appendix? Because I have a funny feeling in my stomach that makes me feel like I should take you out."
Nami tries in vain to hide her smile behind a napkin as Trafalgar Law leans against the counter, lanky arms neatly folded around his coffee and a surprisingly earnest look in his eyes.
She could not have delivered that line with such panache, not even with practice.
"If I say yes, will you stop with the creepy pick-up lines?" The words are scathing, but the intention softened by the amused tilt of her mouth, almost hidden as she turns to wipe down the coffee machine once more.
"Pick me up at my place, seven o'clock," she says and although her tone is nonchalant, Law is certain he senses an undercurrent of nerves in the tilt of her head and the way she polishes the already sparkling coffee cup in her hands. "And don't be too creepy, or else my roommates will either eviscerate you or adopt you outright."
Law raises an eyebrow. Who is this woman? "Anything else to keep in mind or do you always invite trouble back to your place this easily?"
Nami looks him up and down and a pleased smile turns her pretty mouth into an inviting Cupid's bow and Law can't wait to kiss her–
She breaks his reverie with her wonderful, musical, slightly off-key laugh.
"You are welcome to find out."
Gobsmacked, Law distractedly lets his friends lead him away. The alternative is to jump over the counter and press the gorgeous woman up against the blackboard and kiss her senseless, and he suspects that might be a bit far so soon.
"Told you, you just need to be yourself," a too pleased Penguin sing-songs when they steer towards the door.
"Creepy?" Law sighs.
"Authentic," Shachi stresses.
"Law?" Nami calls out from behind the counter, beautiful smile still radiating something straight into his bones.
And Law doesn't trust his voice just at this moment, not with Nami almost ethereal in the early morning sunlight, her hair shimmering gold and flickering flames. He hopes his questioning head-tilt is enough to convey his bemusement.
"Just relax. I don't bite." And then she winks and Law realises how hopelessly, besottedly, completely he has fallen for this woman.
"Unless you ask for it."
End note
This was posted over on AO3 a while ago and I just realised I should probably put it up here as well. It was originally in three chapters, thus the "Part I…"-thing.
Leave a review if you liked it – all comments and favourites and follows encourage the muse within and the production of more writing!