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'i’ll be right here. don’t worry. ’ Ace says in the lack of something better. Stupid, generic stuff because no words, even if personal, sound right. Still, a bunch of cliché words should sound better than none to someone in need of reassurance.
Law startled at the creak of the door abruptly shoved open to slam against the wall. A jolt of panic shot down his spine. Hadn’t he bolted himself in? A glimmering beacon of light snuck through the gap into the darkness of the room. Footsteps closed in. Law hastily made himself as presentable as he could manage in the few insufficient seconds before the footsteps came to a halt beside him. Law stared at the bare feet of his friend—partner—lover—for a moment, silently demanding an explanation.
Eventually, Law raised his gaze tentatively to Ace’s shadowed features and Law’s expression hovered between exasperation and relief at Ace’s intrusion into his confidential brooding session. Ace’s words traveled to Law’s ears and Law hugged his knees tighter to his chest and pressed harder back against the wall, wishing it could swallow him whole, wishing he were incorporeal to fade into nonexistence. Since he evidently remained huddled up in the corner of the room, his wishes gone unanswered, Law adjusted his expectations and gulped a deep breath, cleared his throat, and gripped his calves. Without meeting Ace’s eyes, Law fixed a scowl in the opposite direction. Then he opened his mouth to chase Ace away. Instead, however, against his better judgment, he blurted—
“I’m cold,” Law mumbled, with a trace of a whine in his voice. He secretly hoped Ace would either be telepathic or be able to decipher the code in his (pleading) words. Perhaps the beads of sweat that dripped from his damp mop of hair and trickled down his temples after the sprint around the neighborhood—a futile attempt to work out all his stress—could be telltale hints that suggested the despicable thing Law craved: a hug.
"From today onwards, bread and all bread-related products are banned from this household. You wanna eat bread? You eat it outside, you make sure you clear all the crumbs from your fingers, before you come back in. Understand?"
Before questioning Law’s illicitly acquired authority and rebelling against it, a rebel with a wholesome cause, Ace scratched his chin as though something was amiss before his very eyes. Prolonging the scratch for dramatic effect, he tilted his head up and down, left and right in a slow and steady choreograph.
“Nah. I don’t see it” In spite of Law’s furious silence, Ace proceeded with his pantomime, scanning the room as fully as he could without ever switching his position. “No. Not a single one of them. I’m sorry, you wanna know what I’m talking about? Metal bars. Because this is a prison...?”
Law had waltzed in like the officer in a gluten-free bootcamp for proteinaceous offenders, up for a round of ‘I’m not taking any bullshit from you bread-loving maggots today’. Naturally, Ace couldn’t help feeling like a convict.
Just because Law had to care for his allergies, it did not mean Ace had to take part in the same diet of boring foods washed down with black coffee and a handful of psychotropics for dessert.
Bread was the staple food of life. If Law were to acquire power and channel it into banning bread, he might as well condemn an entire nation to starvation. There would be no bread in Law’s sad, twisted world, for which was a good thing the man did not dwell in politics. His ‘DEATH’ tattoos had never made greater sense.
“Right! As someone who’s actually been to bootcamp,” Military, not correctional. “I should tell you bread’s not among the list of forbidden things. In fact, even prison inmates eat it.”
Once seating cross-legged on the sofa, Ace got up and started a very civilian march to the kitchen, were the air cracked with low, soothing noises and filled up with an uncanny aroma. Law’s dictatorial tirade had quite by chance coincided with the hour Ace had been waiting for.
“Mr. Spotted Pants thinks he’s the president!” Ace gloved his hands with a cat-patterned pair of oven mitts - because they were just so cute! - and opened the oven’s door, allowing for the air inside to escape its own imprisonment and go right for Law’s nostrils. “I sure wanna see what he has to say about this!”
If Law was the prison guard doing his round and little bad cop theatre, Ace was the sassy jailbird who proudly flips him off between the jail bars, which is to say he presented Law with his latest batch of golden mini baguettes.
“UP YOURS, ROO!”A piece of bread was hurled at Law’s head, hot and all.
If Law thought himself big enough to declare a world free of bread, he had better be man enough to face the consequences.
Law is dying here trying to figure out ways to tell Ace he likes---loves---likes him. He goes up to Ace. "Hey, check this out." Law rips his shirt apart in the front, baring his large heart tattoo. Law remains silent for a long moment, expecting Ace to read the message on his chest. Law even waxed and shaved so no traces of hair would obscure any little bit of his heart tattoo. If Ace didn't get this, Law would be sad.
And sad Law would be, then, if his happiness depended on Ace’s ability to read subtle hints.
It was a funny thing. Ace could be perceptive, arguably more than people might think, as people don’t tend to think much of half-naked, narcoleptic young men - what’s the world coming to? - and he knew how to take hints as well. The tension accumulated in a fist was the prelude to a physical confrontation. A change in breathing might indicate fear, as might a barely perceptible shift. However, if these things were very well, to read code that was already ciphered was almost impossible.
For one, Ace did not understand why Law felt the need to rip the garment off his body. If he was feeling hot - and that would have been something! - why not undress it like any normal person? Law… it was foolish to think he was any more well-adjusted than Ace was, but this inadequate behaviour was far too outlandish for either of them. At least they were not in public, nor were they entertaining.
Similarly, Ace did not comprehend what it was Law wanted him to see, so desperately. That waxed torso? He couldn’t recall one single instance where he had seen Law bearing chest hair, thick or thin. The tattoo? Hardly a novelty. The same could be said about any other of Law’s ink, unless he’d gotten a new design somewhere the sun did not shine. Could it be a small wound? A pimple? Not quite something for one to boast about, was it?
“And what exactly am I supposed to be checking out?“ Two pectorals, two nipples, two halves of the same heart design. Yes. All was in order. Nothing new to see here, pimple or ink or even a metal ring. Ace would not be surprised if one day Law came home with his nipples pierced.
He tried harder, eyes narrowed and focus increased to full capacity. In a way, yes, he was admiring Law’s torso… What? Didn’t hurt a bit. Plus, how was he supposed to find out what this new acquisition was if he closed or averted his eyes?
“Oh!” A very hopeful ‘oh’, this one. “I get it. You’ve been going to the gym! We should go together. What do you say, Roo? How about we have a little weightlifting face-off? First one to pant like a dog buys the other lunch”
If Law was truly serious about maintaining his athletic built and decided to a patron to the local gym, then Ace would gladly sign up for membership. It would be fun, to shake things up with equipment they did not have at home and add new exercises to Ace’s humble routine of which a jog around the block and the pull-up bar in his bedroom’s threshold were the foundation. It would be fun, too!
As for the challenge, Ace trusted his own strength and stamina and hence saw himself as a contender. If he won, they would go out for lunch. If he lost, they would go out for lunch. With his bad habit of dining-and-dashing, it was not like he’d ever truly lose anyway.
Feeling more beast than man, there was nothing Ace wanted more than to free himself from Law’s hands and the blanket that heavied on him, adding heat he did not need to his ever-burning self. He wanted to get up and walk in circles around the room, hands firm on the sides of his head and stubby nails doing their best attempt to pierce the flesh, like a caged up wild animal would after trying to escape and find all its efforts powerless against the trap.
Law’s fingers and weak, awkward, unnatural warmth felt just like it, a trap Ace had allowed to fall upon him and of which he wanted and needed to flee from. Still, though his body did not suppress a mild shake, he found he couldn’t. Get away from Law, that is. There was something commanding about his hands that ordered Ace’s body to stay. Without much thought he figured, there was one thing he wanted more than walk away and play the animal - and that was to stay close to Law and bask in his little miracle.
And then to bask in his embrace when Law enfolded him one small movement at the time, uncertain and shy until his arms were around Ace’s waist and Ace’s arms around Law’s back, grabbing the muscle, face against his neck.
Ace fought the tears with all his might but still some disobedient ones travelled down his cheek and onto Law’s exposed skin and shirt. He didn’t seem to mind and had little reason to. Surgeons ought to be exposed to nastier fluids and excretions anyway.
Despite his best intentions, Law’s actions were of robotic nature. Rather than an inability to sympathize, Law was simply lost, far out of his depth, blindly stumbling in the dark. He understood to some extent what plagued Ace, but what he lacked was a comforting bedside manner, and the knowledge of how to tackle Ace’s guilt and grief. Was it even the right moment to suggest remedies? When was the right moment?
Law could only be thankful that Ace had neither denied his company nor help, choosing to confide in him over shutting him out. Regardless, with each tear that poured out of Ace and soaked his shirt, stinging his skin like blobs of hot wax, Law’s nerves were fraught with gut-wrenching helplessness that festered within him and triggered his urge to flee from their awkward embrace. Nevertheless, Law reflected on his personal vow. He would never again flee alone while leaving others behind. He had enough of running.
Law tried to relax and concentrate on Ace’s words, but his arms held Ace like cold, stiff, and rusty iron bars. He was afraid, he admitted inwardly. But it was a fear borne out of inexperience and ignorance. Naturally, it wasn’t the end of the world. Conundrums surfaced daily and he had never adopted a defeatist attitude towards them. While it could be considered insensitive to regard Ace’s struggles as a problematic situation, it was easier to acknowledge it as such. For with problems existed resolution—all in good time, of course.
If Ace could look upon himself now from some higher plan, he’d tut-tut and ask company who needn’t be there ‘Who’s that guy?’. His eyes would be prejudiced and go blind for a moment… No, not blind. Cloaked, as it were, resisting the vision before them and, with it, the realisation of his own weakness.
It was a pathetic man he who Law held in his stiff arms; someone Ace did not want to be. But that was him, all right, and so a joke would be cracked as a distraction while the spectre reflected on limitations that would not change even if eyes averted them. There was not where this out-of-body analysis stopped. If Ace was being less than himself, Law was being a bigger man than it might be expected.
Slowly, he brought flexibility to his limbs and moved them around the figure of the anguished man - not without similarity to an angel’s embrace - in a sequence that resembled a step-by-step lesson from the coursebook of human comfort.
It worked, though, if it was ever in Law’s intentions to make Ace feel groundless. For all of his good intentions, the idea of being comforted by Trafalgar Law was a difficult one to process, as most novelties are. His gestures were mechanic and devoid of warmth, even if they were arguably the most human those tattooed arms had ever produced.
Ace did not know what to feel, let alone what emotion to settle on. Should he feel embarrassed, not about the earlier share, but about the way he had not managed to remain fiery cool and straight? Should he express the anger such a feeling gave him? It was unfair to Law but, then again, it was unfair to himself that he should feel such a maelstrom of conflicting emotions instead of the fair relief prompted by Law’s fingertips.
Alas, anger was the emotion Ace was most comfortable with, the same way Law was in his own ‘Lawness’, and it caused him to shake under the other’s never soothing digits. Knowing he’d carve a regret in his memories should he lash out at Law, Ace kept himself silent, eyes squeezing out the resentment in liquid form.
Law was doing his best. No man could ask for more and no man could offer more. The kiss he pressed to his loved one’s forehead was the blow of mercy. Like the stubborn kid he was, conflicted between seeking physical reassurance from a caring grown-up and stepping away from what was considered baby behaviour, Ace released his right hand from the grip and made a kerchief out of its back, wiping tears and snot in a single movement. That was when Law spoke.
To the younger man, the words he heard sounded matter-of-factly as always, though it was noted Law let no superiority - fabricated or not - perspire between them. His practicality truly was for Good, aimed at helping Ace come to terms with the helplessness he felt in regards to his mother and aid him to see how vain this pain was, how he’d carried it for far too long. Not meant to insult his wits.
Comically, Law sounded more like a priest than a doctor. Wonder what he’d make of such a comparison.
Indeed, when the other man made a mention to fair Rouge and hinted at what she would make of her son’s heavy conscience, Ace’s body jerked and something like a growl came deep from his vocal tract, aptly bestial. Again, like a boy, he averted Law’s gaze, which was just as well - the metal in them could very well be the hammer and anvil that would cause sparks to fly off Ace’s hot coals and who’d be burning in that situation if not the peacemaker? One casualty was enough.
Once up, Ace circled the emptiness of the space; Law behind him. Why was it so hard to see reason? He was not completely useless of the brains. He was - dare he say it? - a smart kid. It was not his fault if he wasn’t, at any rate. Hadn’t he exceeded expectations already? And what was Law suggesting? That he could not separate dreams from reality?
“I know dreams ain’t real, Roo! That’s why they’re called dreams.” Eyes still not meeting his lover’s, Ace contracted his fist, only to unclench it. Clench, unclench, clench, unclench. Though he had no stress ball to hold and no patience to use it if he did, the clockwork exercise helped him release some tension and alleviate the drive Ace felt to punch a wall. For once, this was not a time for action but for thought. If Trafalgar Law shows himself willing to listen to your concerns and offer counsel, you take that chance. “The guilt came first. Definitely”
Guilt seemed to be in the air he breathed. However, he’d breathed so many airs ever since he’d left Dadan’s, and even the bandit’s home ‘breathed’ differently than the Baterillan cradle, it was unlikely to be a component of it. Perhaps it was in Ace’s very blood… Law would not see it, unlike plasma, but it might be there… There was not a day Ace remembered as a day where he had not felt guilty for his mother’s death so, naturally, and to answer a question Law could have asked five seconds, minutes or hours ago, guilt must have manifested prior to the nightmares.
“They used to be more recurrent when I was a kid; but then again I didn’t have this sleep thing back then” By ‘sleep thing’ Ace meant his narcolepsy. Lacking formal, unambiguous diagnosis, the word was unknown to him, though its ways weren’t. “Until the day I did. The nightmares never went away, they just… changed”
This was a talk about Rouge. Now was not the time for Sabo’s name to make itself familiar to Law. Other names, might, however, join in the conversation, provided they were kept to the female gender…
Ace pouted, ruffled his hair and sat across from Law, deeming himself relaxed enough to be civil and tackle the issue at hand with thoughts and words. Everything else - chiefly frustration - had failed so far, so who was to say the doctor couldn’t make it better?
“Brave…!” He tutted. “They’re not always bad, you know? Sometimes they’re pleasant enough. At least in them I can see her.” And he huffed, not expecting Law to understand.
Oh… but he did. Ace did expect Law to understand. Now it was he who sought Law’s gaze. Wouldn’t he understand how sinfully blissful it felt like to taste sweetness in what was bitter? Nightmares suck, the fuckers, but they also brought Ace the joy of seeing his mother living her life, even if it was an artificial one. In them, Portgas D. Rouge sang her lullabies, baked her pies, watered her flowers. There was nothing else that could provide Ace with such a vision. If Law was not capable of understanding this, pray tell, who was?
Coming to think of it, the man was bound to have his own coping mechanisms. A man who bore ‘death’ twofold across his fingers and who never spoke of his family or hometown wouldn’t have gotten his ink on a whim… He was bound to ache just as much…
And lo - now Ace couldn’t help feeling a tad guilty for robbing Law of his own ‘me and my issues’ time. If Law considered it brave of Ace to share, then maybe it was time for he, too, to be brave and expose his familial demons to the cleansing light. Maybe, just maybe, the two men could ease each other’s pain. If anything, they would have gained a bit more of the other’s trust at the end of the day.
While it sounded safe to assume Law had no living relatives, it also sounded too big a coincidence if he’d lost his own mother to the same causes that had robbed Ace of Rouge’s mother. Plus, in his speech, while keeping his own mother a secret, there was no word of empathy for a fellow member of the “I lost my mum before I could see her” club.
Ace may not be very thoughtful. He was more of a man of action. Yet, he was bright and sharp, taking note of details others might judge him too obtuse to get, and thus guessed Law had lost his own mother at a later age he had. If that meant both were motherless motherfuckers, it also meant… He’d had a mum.
Naturally, the notion sparked the younger male’s interest.
(needless to say this is crackish af) Ace is singing and this time... it ain't pretty. "Make my wish come truuuue! All I want for Christmas is ROOOOO!"
It was habitual of Ace to sing and croon all kinds of tunes: Disney, Britney, Backstreet Boys, and etc. Law did not mind. Undoubtedly, Ace had a sensational voice, even if Law sometimes secretly plugged his ears for better concentration due to the lyrics of certain songs being completely distracting. This time, because it was Christmas, Law was a keen solo member in the audience. Expecting Christmas carols, Law got another pun of his name slipped into the song, eliciting a frown over an unimpressed stare—that lasted only a brief second as emotions swelled within Law. He broke out a candid half-smile and then he brushed his fingers through his hair.
Law had an arch gleam in his eye. “Well,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “you got me.” Law sauntered over to Ace and paused by the couch. He bent his knee and lifted his foot onto the seat, naughtily opening his crotch at an obtuse angle toward Ace’s eyes. Alas, his jeans concealed his thighs, hindering his attempt at seduction. Thankfully, it was an easy fix. Law unbuttoned his jeans and fumbled and struggled to yank off his pants. The cuffs caught around his ankles and he spent a moment hopping on one leg and stumbling and staggering before he sat down and properly removed his jeans. Law tossed the jeans over his shoulder and, standing tall in only his sweater and boxers, proudly flaunting himself and his hairless thighs in all their naked glory, Law returned his attention to Ace. Law gave a jerk of his chin at Ace to beckon. Toucan play the pun game.
“Take a gander…” Law purred, making flirty eyes at Ace. A lascivious smile stretched across his lips, once again, Law raised his leg and replaced his foot on the couch, affecting absolute self-confidence as he modeled his heart print boxers provocatively, giving Ace a sneak beak of his sexiness.
“So how d’you want me?” Law used his deepest, most sensual voice. He grazed his fingertips over his inner thigh as he said, “D’you want…some Roost Turkey?” Unfortunately, it had sounded heaps smarter in his head. Soon as the words left his mouth, Law grimaced slightly at his moronic comment. But—good grief, God in heaven—Ace could be kind of dim with regards to flirting, so Law hoped Ace just thought he had lost it, his mind gone down the toilet as a result of the drugs.
“Oh, cockadoodleroo, fuckadoodleroo.” Law cleared his throat, rooking a little sheepish. Regardless, he kept his foot planted firmly on the couch at a right angle. For some reason, he had much more to say. “Get it?” Law asked. “Roo’s Turkey? Roost turkey? Rooster-turkey?” Because Law thought Ace might not get it and thus needed to explain because he was determined to beat Ace at the pun game.
Law finally dragged his foot off the seat and flopped down onto the couch. He sprawled uncouthly on the couch, all too roosey-goosey, with his gaze fixed on Ace. “Well…? I’ll grant your wish now,” Law said. “It’s all you want for Christmas, isn’t it? Some rovey-dovey roomance? Why don’t you come on down and warm my roosty turkey? It’s feeling kinda cold. Don’t be so roothless now. Perhaps I’ll even let you rule the roost, since it’s Christmas.”
Seconds later, Law had a rooful expression etched on his face. “I really egret those… The mood isn’t rooned, is it…? Let’s flock. Come fowl my cock.”
Law stepped closer, just like Ace knew he would. Although a man of little to no patience to listen to other people’s troubles and worries and give them a friendly shoulder, unless the topics in question were either part of his area of expertise or of his still scientific interest in humanity - maybe they were two sides of the same coin, the biological approach and its social counterpart - Law, if forever unable to perform the popular miracle of the multiplication of bread, which he’d never do even if it fell within the sphere of his powers, would always manage to deliver his very personal miracle of giving a shit about a fellow man, free of charge. Ace reckoned not many other honours would be higher than being in Trafalgar Law’s good graces.
First he appeared tired, a facet only enhanced by those eyes forever in need of rest and perhaps not even the powerful sleep of death would be refreshing enough for them. Then, he sat next to Ace and held his hands.
Again, the contrast between the two men couldn’t possibly seem bigger. Law’s hands were thinner, his fingers longer, somewhat more delicate for defying gestures and flourishes, for either healing or killing with finesse, and cold. As cold as the death tattooed on them was. Ace’s hands were wider, goofier, more of a farmer’s hands. And they were warm.
That, too, was an honour exclusive to a select few - to have Trafalgar Law touching you in a way that felt intimate, even if it was externally casual.
Ace’s lips parted and he heaved as he readied himself to answer Law when his friend walked some more steps in the undesired direction, putting distance between his shoes and the sofa. What now? If by chance he’d never meant to listen to Ace’s gloomy thoughts, why then had he asked? A dark cloud formed over Ace’s head due to his ill temper not mixing well with actions such as these, of throwing bait only to walk away at the first nibble.
When it came to the art of intimate conversations and dealing with human emotions, Law was a floundering fish out of water. His initial diversion to grab a blanket could be attributed to a subconscious anxiety to procrastinate engagement in an aspect he remained incompetent about; as if by simply disappearing elsewhere for a moment, Ace would fine and dandy when he returned, as if whatever ailed Ace could resolve itself in the blink of an eye. For despite Law’s astuteness in battle and surgery, his cluelessness in comforting another unnerved him and stirred up turmoil in his heart, his worry exacerbated by how uncharacteristic brooding was of Ace.
Admittedly, co-existing with the inclination to offer his support, deep down, flitted a selfish notion to walk away. The moment would pass. Ace would return to his usual self. (Perhaps Ace wanted to be alone?) Except Law couldn’t just walk away. If he was going to walk away from this, he might as well leave forever. Even if he could do nothing to alleviate Ace’s distress, he should at least be present instead of feigning oblivion.
In an effort to coax Ace into sharing, Law had draped the blanket over their shoulders and held Ace’s hand, a gesture he hoped would convey his willingness to listen. Law frowned when Ace mentioned that he was not born in time. Nevertheless, Law allowed his silence to prompt Ace to continue with his explanation. Meanwhile, Law cradled Ace’s warmer hand in his own. He traced his fingers over the lines on Ace’s palm and studied it intently like a fine abstract work of art.
At Ace’s mention of his mother delaying his birth by eleven whole months, Law’s fingers squeezed Ace’s and Law’s lips parted with an unspoken skeptical remark. Although Law didn’t yet say it, inwardly, he thought Ace must be mistaken. Perhaps Ace had sensed his disbelief, for Ace insisted on the truth of his statement, and a twinge of guilt caused Law’s grip to falter. A flurry of thoughts buzzed in his mind.
Feeling more beast than man, there was nothing Ace wanted more than to free himself from Law’s hands and the blanket that heavied on him, adding heat he did not need to his ever-burning self. He wanted to get up and walk in circles around the room, hands firm on the sides of his head and stubby nails doing their best attempt to pierce the flesh, like a caged up wild animal would after trying to escape and find all its efforts powerless against the trap.
Law’s fingers and weak, awkward, unnatural warmth felt just like it, a trap Ace had allowed to fall upon him and of which he wanted and needed to flee from. Still, though his body did not suppress a mild shake, he found he couldn’t. Get away from Law, that is. There was something commanding about his hands that ordered Ace’s body to stay. Without much thought he figured, there was one thing he wanted more than walk away and play the animal - and that was to stay close to Law and bask in his little miracle.
And then to bask in his embrace when Law enfolded him one small movement at the time, uncertain and shy until his arms were around Ace’s waist and Ace’s arms around Law’s back, grabbing the muscle, face against his neck.
Ace fought the tears with all his might but still some disobedient ones travelled down his cheek and onto Law’s exposed skin and shirt. He didn’t seem to mind and had little reason to. Surgeons ought to be exposed to nastier fluids and excretions anyway.
Similarly, and for once, Ace felt no shame or anger for his tears, the same ones that attested to the weakness in him no one should know about. If the old saying ‘men do not cry’ was bullshit, fora man’s worth is not in neglecting his humanity, it was true Ace did not want the frailty within to be of public knowledge - as far as everyone was concerned, Portgas D. Ace was that guy who brought life to any party with his antics, endless digestive system and that funny quirk of his about falling asleep unexpectedly and in just about any place…
And he wished his reputation to remain so. No one should know…
But Law knew and Law should and it was by all accounts better that he did.
Anyone with a rushed judgement would quickly classify Law as an individual very full of himself. ‘Look at my smug smile, of course I’m better than you. Look at my healing powers - do you really think Jesus was any greater?’ There were times when even Ace believed him, only to curse himself for his foolishness and the doctor for allowing such folly to happen under his very nose.
The room was still mostly dark when Law crept in and climbed onto the bed to lie over Ace. He kissed Ace’s mouth until Ace would wake. What time was it? What’s up? “Wake up,” Law whispered. The bedside clock would display 4:48AM, the numbers glowing faintly. Law handed Ace a parcel. Inside, Ace would later find (if he decided to open it) a pair of pizza print boxers and a set of pizza print pajamas. Law eased himself out of bed and tugged at Ace’s hand. “Let’s go somewhere,” Law said. [1/2]
[2/2] “I don’t know where, but we can decide later. I’ve got your sandwiches prepared-with bacon, and some energy bars.” Law ruffled Ace’s hair (for the fun of it). A brief moment of hesitation later, Law added, “…All right, fine, we can also stay in if you want, but you’re keeping me company. So kiss your beauty sleep goodbye. We’re taking a bath.” He paused halfway to the door and said, with a slight smile, “Merry Christmas, Ace.”
Ace wished to kill Law. And not for the first time. Notwithstanding the sweetness of his poison lips, the hour was unbecoming for kisses, and as soon as Ace saw the LED numbers flashing in a faint red, there was nothing he wanted more than to push Law away and, with some luck, send him flying off the bed and right onto the floor, to fall face flat against the wooden boards.
Others could argue this nighttime surprise was a romantic gesture, but not one who had just managed to sleep after fifteen minutes of annoying wakefulness, a decent sleep of mere two hours sandwiched between this and another moment of conscience. It was a fucking living hell not being able to sleep the night away. Even the prospect of being a noctivagus creature and going against the standard of human sleep cycles looked tempting to Ace, whose days were a succession of moments of conscience painted in different hues. It was cruel to wake him up when he happened to be in that time frame where his rest was a tad more decent than the rest of the day would have it.
But Ace did not bestow wings upon the anthropomorphic raccoon to send him flying, partly because he was too tired, partly because the parcel now sitting over his bare chest intrigued him. At the prospect of a gift, his eyelids lost that heavy quality weighing on the orbs and Ace’s feet pushed the mattress while his back looked for support in headboard as to make himself comfortable.
The gift was… kinda awful. By the standards of any person with the very minimum amount of taste, that is. Of course a man who found it appealing to complement a naked torso with a beaded necklace - as important as said item was, and important it was! - found the pizza-patterned apparel the most amusing thing since he’d gotten his cowboy hat. He wanted to try the pyjamas right away but Law had other plans.
“Go?! Where to? Maybe they didn’t teach you this at Vampire School, Roo, but us humans don’t ‘go somewhere’ at 4:57AM” For that was the time the red numbers said it was now.
Still, Ace got up and got in his new sleepwear bottoms - which he would later dub the ‘pizza pants’ - while he chewed on Law’s words. The destination may be lacking but it was clear Law had planned a nocturnal outing, if he’d already prepared a lunch (or breakfast?) box for them to take. Why, he’d even made sandwiches! He’d touched bread…! Well, if that did not spell the four-letter word…
Maybe because his first suggestion was turned down, Law decided to change his plan with too light a mood, unless the ruffling of Ace’s hair was a distraction, something meant for Ace to believe he was not upset all his suffering in a sandwich purgatory had been for naught.
“I’m not taking a bath. Took one this morning, remember?“ he asked while buttoning up the complementary top, only noticing Law was leaving when his ‘Merry Christmas’ wish sounded like a farewell. “WAIT, ROO! I got you a present too”
Almost tripping on his own feet, Ace grabbed a soft package wrapped in a children’s pattern of funny-looking fish from under the bed and offered it to Law. The smile he flashed demanded the present to receive his immediate and utter attention.
Unwrapping it, Law would find a big bear onesie inside. For men, of course, meaning it came with a very thoughtful zipper to accommodate to those ‘bear bare necessities’. The white colour indicated the animal in question was of the Arctic kind… Think of a slim Bepo the mink!
“What are you waiting for? Try it on! Let’s get those lunches and go somewhere. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Ace chuckled. Yes, that was his plan - to take the packed lunches and their motorbikes and go for a ride before the sun rose up and, with it, those humans who did not suffer from the sleeping disruptions the pair of them did. It was cold but Law’s brand-new fleece onesie should keep him warm and Ace’s body temperature was higher than most people’s anyway.
The shutters were closed. As far as they could tell, it was not raining nor snowing outside. So why the fuck not go on a crazy Christmas ride while the neighbourhood kids pretended to sleep some more before skipping downstairs to raid the presents under the holiday tree?
There was a second gift for Law but that one could wait until their return. Knowing of the man’s unnatural love for fluffy hats, Ace had searched high and low for the most ridiculous-looking hat he could find. Thinking all choices far too simple for his taste, Ace remembered of Law’s second unnatural love, this one for hoodies.
Law would also receive a black hoodie complete with bunny ears for Christmas this year. Though he was bound to be on Santa’s ‘naughty list’, there was no way for him not to be on Ace’s ‘nice’ one.
☼ : What kind of outfit they think your muse should wear
It was unclear whether Law was asking for fashion advice or coming up with a random conversational topic with the purpose of killing his boredom. If the question was legitimate, then he must be very desperate to seek advice from a man who lived most of his days baring freckly skin under the sunlight.
Ace did not care much for questions of fashion. In fact, he could not care any less what people wore, his reactions not going beyond the knitting of his eyebrows or the opening of his lips in circular shape whenever the ensemble in question was of a peculiar or extravagant nature. - Law’s taste in apparel quite fitted this expression, for Ace did not know of anyone who loved furry, fuzzy, fluffy clothes as much as grumpy old ‘Roo’ did.
First he blinked at the question. Then, he blinked again and after doing so twice, Ace answered Law with his own query.
“Why? I thought you liked the clothes you own. I mean, why would you wear them if you didn’t?” The latter part of this intervention was peppered with giggles because, apart from all the teasing component of this reply, Ace knew he was of no help when clothing was the matter du jour and, were it a question of life and death, depending on him, any asker’s scales would tilt to death’s side.
Real talk, though. “You should wear what you already wear. I can’t think of anything else that would suit you”
Those pelts and voluminous tops Law liked to much, normally branded with his Jolly Roger to boot, were such a big part of him Ace had trouble imagining Law wearing, say… blue shorts, an orange cowboy hat and a bare torso! Fuzzy hats and frilly collars were just part of the visuals that made Law ‘Roo’.
♚ : What my muse thinks your muse is good at
As for what Law was good at… The question was a tricky one, wasn’t it? Law was good at a handful of things and any of them would have provided Ace with a good answer were the things not so good themselves: he was good with profanity, great with sarcasm, phenomenal at disfiguring bread and send it flying to its death (a non-good deed on the account of it being wasteful), Law was also good at getting Ace frustrated, angry, afire and even embarrassed.
But none of that did Ace voice because he was not so bad at this thing of being humanly decent and did not wish to upset Law for no good reason. Law was a humanly decent fellow as well - it should not be hard to come up with something pleasant to his ears.
“You’re good at all that medical stuff” Sure, he had to be, but might as well say it. “You’re not so bad at fishing either”
It was one of Ace and Law’s big pastimes, as well as other outdoor activities. Having spent his childhood in environments of the kind, Ace could still release boyish chuckles at what could be regarded as playtime and make light of the more dangerous aspects of forests, woods and jungles. As for Law… Ace suspected it was the peaceful, lonely existence one could lead when in a bucolic landscape he liked - only he did not have to be truly lonely for it.
“Hey, that ain’t a bad idea! When’s your next free weekend? We should go camping”
Making sure Law is asleep - on the sofa, an open book under his limp hand - Ace grabs a lipstick he'd found on his way home and starts painting pink hearts on Law's cheeks. Were it the other way around, Law would have plenty of canvas on Ace's torso but alas, Law would not be shirtless as often as his roomie and Ace had only so much space to colour. He kept his hearts as small as the tip of the lipstick allowed.
His pulse pounded in his ears, so loud that for a second, Ace wondered if a poltergeist was hammering on their walls or an intruder had invaded their home. But Ace was a determined fellow. With a goal in mind, nothing would stop him, not even some vengeful spirit consumed by wrath. Thus, his vision tinted by a pair of swimming goggles, several beads of sweat streaming down his back under the large yellow raincoat, Ace tiptoed toward the living area in his diving fins that went flap-flap-flap. He pretended he was an underwater undercover agent, surveilling the great Roo in his afternoon slumber. Luckily for Ace, Law had passed out in a deep sleep after staying up too long and exhausting himself comatose.
Anyone familiar with Ace should know: boredom and Ace was often a disastrous recipe for quality mischief. In Ace’s defence, however, Law was presenting himself a temptable target for a harmless, innocent prank. Much like a huge, enticing puddle that beckoned one to jump in. You knew it could be dangerous but you only had one life to live! Just look at Law, sprawled out on the sofa, his head tilted so far back his neck was completely exposed. His mouth was wide open and he even snored audibly. If Ace loved Law less, he would have dumped bread into that temptable mouth that always protested so stubbornly and strongly, expressing his vehement hatred, for the ‘doughy gluten abomination’ – Law’s words.
There are times that Luffy, being the selfish little brother he is, will barge into and interrupt a moment between Ace and Law. Tonight he has claimed the freckled man's chest as a bed, literally wedging himself between the two.
“Check! All clear, Colonel Traffaroo! Lieutenant colonel Portgas ready for disrobing!”
There was a soft but clearly audible sound of fabric ripping (imagine a piercing fart in a quiet room) as Ace yanked off his shirt – struggled a little with it being stuck before Law strolled across the room to help Ace out of the shirt like a kind boy friend.
Ace stretched his arms high and flashed Law a bright grin. Then he turned and dived onto his bed with a dull thud, sending all the pillows and stuffed toys flying in all directions and scattering the floor like the passengers of the Titanic. Ignoring Ace’s antics – although the tips of Law’s lips did twitch with a smile – Law locked the bedroom door and sauntered back to the bed. He picked up Grumpsy Pumpsy, a stuffed gorilla, and hugged it to his chest.
“Don’t you need to tell your folks you’re staying over?” Ace propped his back against the headboard and patted the empty spot beside him.
“Nah – Well, later. It’s still not yet midnight.” Law didn’t need further prompting. He scrabbled onto the bed and over Ace like a moth to a flame. Except Ace was his flame alone; his light, his life.
Minutes later, Law lay with his face pressed against Ace’s chest. Ace’s heartbeat echoed soothingly in his ears, a bedtime nursery rhyme bringing calm to his mind. While Ace combed and brushed his hands through Law’s hair, twirling and curling locks of unkempt hair around his fingers, Law traced Ace’s ribs, and then he slid his hand over Ace’s firm abdomen and over the slight dip of Ace’s hipbone. Neither spoke, enjoying the silence. Eventually, after exchanging brief murmurs, both allowed their eyes to shut and their consciousness to drift into a dreamland Utopia, troubles begone –
Law screamed when something burrowed itself between them. Ace screamed when Law screamed. A cacophony of screams exploded through the room. Law caught a glimpse of Luffy and screamed some more. Law lurched to the side and tumbled off the bed.
“Roo!” Ace exclaimed, peering over the edge at Law, who had his feet above his head.
“I – I’m okay,” Law mumbled sullenly. He picked himself up and dusted his clothes. “Don’t worry. Anything broken was already broken in the first place.”
Ace sat upright with Luffy clinging to his chest, refusing to let go. Before Ace could scold Luffy for interrupting and intruding, Law said, “I – I’ll leave. I’ll see you tom – later.” Law started toward Ace and Luffy. He planted a kiss on both their foreheads and he ruffled their hair affectionately. “Bye.” Law grabbed Grumpsy Pumpsy and showed himself out the room. While there was nothing wrong with the three of them lying together – just lying, sleeping – perhaps Luffy and Ace deserved some brotherly time together, and who was he to get in between that?
