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It is a beautiful day. The sun is high in the sky, endless blue except for a dash of clouds. The beach is an expanse of golden sand and there’s a constant sea breeze rustling the palms on the coast.
Everything is picture perfect.
Law hates all of it.
For what feels like the fiftieth time in what can’t possibly have been more than half an hour, he swallows a curse as he wipes spectacularly, crashing face-first into the water. When he surfaces, spluttering and with his eyes stinging like hell, his surf instructor has already gotten a grip on his board and is chortling at him. They just met a while ago, but Law already loathes his existence. A short distance away, Shachi and Penguin are laughing so hard that they’re having a hard time staying on their own boards.
Law is going to kill them once they’re back on dry land if they don’t drown first.
Vacations are a stupid idea. Trying to learn to surf while on vacation is an even stupider idea. And if Law weren’t so adamant about not letting some styrofoam board best him, he’d have stormed up the beach and gone back to their hotel room to nurse his bruised ego in peace. As it is, he clambers back onto the board, grits his teeth against the smarting abrasions on his knees, and glares at the instructor who hasn’t given him a single helpful tip yet.
Luffy grins at him, blinking water out of his eyes as he adjusts his straw hat. Law spares a moment to think uncharitable things about his instructor’s lacking sartorial sense.
“Well?” he grinds out, unable to keep from baring his teeth. A passing wave slaps him in the face for his efforts. “Some help?”
“Too tense,” Luffy singsongs. Law really wants to punch him in his stupid, grinning mug for the verdict because the instructor hasn’t said much else since they hit the water. Hasn’t done all that much apart from whoop and have a good time bobbing with the waves while Law struggled to keep from drinking more seawater than was absolutely necessary. He jumps when Luffy slaps a palm against his hip and nudges him towards the centre of the longboard, then scowls when he almost capsizes the entire board trying to move away. Luffy laughs, good-natured and so very fucking annoying. “And bend your knees, you tall freak.”
Law is going to sue the water sports company for verbal abuse. They’re going to go broke from the suit, Luffy is going to be wonderfully jobless, and Law is going to tower over him like the tall freak he is and relish in it.
“I did,” he snarls instead, because he’s the one who might have problems getting back to shore if a fallout happens. “It’s not working.”
Luffy shrugs, looking puzzled. “You’ve gotta feel the wave, you know. Like, it’s got to wanna be your friend so you can work with it.” He seems to mistake Law’s incredulity for genuine confusion. “Use your hips and knees to balance,” he suggests for the nth time, stroking his chin and distracting Law with fantasies of how satisfying it would be to land a sucker punch right there. “It really does help.”
Luffy angles the board towards shore. Law clenches his jaw at the motion, feeling his stomach flip unhappily. He’s going to get seasick from being buffeted around the surf while Luffy picks appropriate beginner waves again for him to wipe on. Someone is going to pay for this.
“It’s easy. You just gotta loosen up.”
Yeah. No.
Vacations are relaxing, Shachi said.
A beach holiday would be great, Penguin said.
Bullshit. Law hasn’t been this pissed in years.
He tries to remember what his anger management classes imparted to him, tries to empty out his mind and think about something more pleasant than the homicidal rage he constantly feels at being surrounded by incompetent idiots. It actually does work, he observes, mildly surprised, as his outrage simmers down into tightly-controlled ire. It helps that Shachi wipes so hard on the next wave that he shrieks like a banshee as he disappears into the surf, board flipping clear out of the water. Law laughs meanly and tries not to linger on the possibility of ending up the same way.
“Ooh, this is a good, big one,” Luffy says from behind him, excitement clear in his voice.
All Law feels is a sense of dread because the sea is swelling alarmingly beneath him in a way that he associates with needing to run away from and he hasn’t stood up on his board even once since this farce began so he’s probably going to break his foot in the shallows or something – he read about the possibility of that in the forums before he’d allowed himself to be mistakenly coerced into lessons by Shachi and Penguin’s combined prowess of incessant harassment – because his neanderthal of an instructor hasn’t taught him a goddamn thing—
Luffy pushes his board with the wave and Law’s heart leaps into his throat.
“Stand, stand, stand!”
Law doesn’t say oh my god, shut the fuck up, or I know, because he’s too busy bracing his feet and pushing into a quick crouch. He blinks in astonishment when he actually does manage to stand instead of immediately toppling sideways to the sound of squeaking styrofoam like he has for the last hundred waves.
It lasts for two seconds before he wipes.
He smashes so hard into the water that he feels the resulting tickle of foam and bubbles surrounding him as he submerges. He doesn’t quite manage to break the surface in the next moment because a second wave knocks him into the small undertow and he feels a tug on his ankle as his board is dragged along with him through the leg rope. A beat later, he’s yanked upwards by an arm around his waist.
Luffy is laughing obnoxiously, spluttering seawater in his ear as he deposits Law back onto his board like an errant kitten. His straw hat has been knocked off his head, held against his neck only by a white string. Luffy’s hair is plastered in a ridiculous way across his forehead that matches his gormless grin. Law finds it strangely impossible to scoff at the other man’s enthusiasm.
“Awesome!” Luffy crows in-between approving pats on Law’s sunburnt, stinging shoulder. “That felt amazing, huh?”
“It was okay,” Law says when he catches his breath, but he can feel a half smile tugging at his lips, something that Luffy’s gaze flicks fleetingly to before he turns to drag them both back out into the waves.
The rest of the session goes by without much fanfare. Law only manages to stand another time, but he’s feeling somewhat accomplished by the end of it, so he parts with his instructor on terms less abrasive than they’d met, with plans for another day of lessons.
He’s in a good mood, so he doesn’t immediately murder Shachi and Penguin when they fall in step beside him, re-enacting some of Law’s more humiliating moments as they head to the outdoor washing area. He bears their teasing with as much dignity as he can muster and swaps their sunblock out for moisturiser later that night when they’ve both gone to bed.
-
“Oh, wow,” Luffy says in greeting the next afternoon, eyeing Shachi and Penguin who are positively ruddy and in the throes of ultraviolet-induced misery. Law forced his own sunscreen on them after the first hour out by the pool earlier, but the damage is done. “You guys look baked.”
One of the instructors flanking Luffy whistles, lifting his sunglasses to peer at them.
“That looks brutal, man,” Franky says with a commiserating wince.
“You look all right, though,” the other instructor, Usopp, observes suspiciously, glancing at Law.
“Good genes,” Law deadpans. “And SPF 115.”
“We can’t even complain about him not sharing, because he did,” Shachi complains.
Next to him, Penguin lets out an invective when the wetsuit that Luffy tosses to them hits him in the reddest, shiniest part of his sore shoulder. Law resolutely keeps a straight face as his friends whimper while pulling on the rental wetsuits, but his good mood only lasts until they hit the surf.
Board rash is fucking excruciating and, as Law quickly learns, worse if aggravated by continuous activity. The tenth consecutive time that he freezes mid-haul up his board because his calf and knees are killing him, Law decides that the value of boardshorts are a commercially constructed fairytale. He’s fairly sure that something is bleeding, which is all terribly sanitary, of course.
He doesn’t realise he’s muttering everything out loud until he registers that Luffy’s playing audience to his grumbling and snickering, eyes bright with amusement. The image gives Law slight pause. Then he rolls his eyes, swats water at the other man, and goes back to trying to focus so that he doesn’t do something stupid like capsize his board because he’s too busy staring at his instructor.
He’s catching more waves today, which means that Luffy is tailing his progress on a shortboard instead of the float board he’d been using the day before. Law catches glimpses of Luffy riding the surf, bent low as he weaves about with ease and gambols in the sea spray like gravity and simple laws of physics don’t apply to him. Law would be more frustrated about his instructor having more fun than he is if not for the fact that it made for a lovely sight in-between wipes.
By the end of their second lesson, Law has successfully managed a full minute on the board, but all he can really think about beyond the vague rush of satisfaction is the way that Luffy’s delighted laughter travels across the crashing waves.
He’s at dinner when it hits him.
He ignores Penguin’s worried looks and Shachi prying his beer can from where it’d been halfway risen to his mouth.
“Shit,” he grimaces.
-
Not that he’s averse to a good lay, but summer flings aren’t something Law usually has any interest in.
Which, unfortunately, makes the progressive week of lessons that they’ve signed up for absolute torture because Luffy does his damndest, oblivious best to try Law’s resolve. As a result, even Franky and Usopp have started making encouraging catcalls as Law throws himself into trying to master the sport instead of entertaining the misplaced attraction he now has for his sorry excuse of an instructor.
It works as well as he expects it would, because less time in the water means more time having Luffy frolic about him like some sort of surfing sea god. Drowning is almost preferable.
This is all aggravated by Luffy having no concept of personal space, something that becomes an increasing problem with every single day because Luffy is one of the most tactile people he’s ever met. He detests it.
And he can’t decide if he hates that more or less when they’re at dinner together in front of a bonfire at the beach.
Their last night coincides with a local festival being celebrated, so resort guests and locals alike have been invited to the festivities. This means that beer is on tap every five metres or so and that there’s good food everywhere.
Law is under one of the canopies nursing his drink. He’s not keeping count, something he registers when the stars start getting a little brighter and he can’t actually remember how he got his last two drinks. Shachi and Penguin have long since disappeared into the fray of dancers with pretty girls on their arms. For some bizarre reason that the bottom of his mug has yet to yield an explanation for, Luffy is plastered against his side, a warm chattering weight that Law is doing a terrible job of trying not to lean into.
He blinks when someone switches out his empty mug for another full one with froth still sloshing down the sides. It’s a perfect gold colour, which can’t be a bad thing because that’s a good colour. Law likes it. It’s probably not poisoned, so he can drink it. Although it won’t make a difference either way, because he’s got his housemanship when he returns home and that’s as close to death as a living man can get. If anything bad happens, he’s insured to his eyeballs anyway.
He hears a snort and the mug is gently removed from his grasp. He dutifully slurps whatever spills off onto his hands and ignores the odd noise that his companion makes.
“Zoro’s a good friend and he likes his beer. He wouldn’t dream of poisoning it, but you’ve probably had more than enough, Traffy.”
An exaggeration, surely— Law can still remember his room number.
What on earth does Luffy always find so funny? Who’s Zoro? Stupid name. Law doesn’t like the sound of it. Does Luffy shorten everyone’s name into two syllables? Is that why ‘Law’ won’t do in place of a butchered variation of his family name?
“You talk a lot when you’re drunk.”
Luffy is grinning at the bonfire when Law finally summons up the motor reflexes required to face him. It’s a surprising chore and a half, considering that he’s apparently already being propped up by the other man. Luffy studies him from the corner of his eye, mouth curved upward, a nice shape that Law traces with his own fingers. He feels Luffy huffing another laugh against them.
“If ‘Traffy’ bothers you so much, I can try to stop calling you that if you want.”
The idea of that irritates Law somehow, so he tries to say so, but he doesn’t quite know what he mumbles into Luffy’s neck. Luffy laughs again at that and Law hums his approval at the sound. Luffy’s fingers are tapping out an erratic rhythm on his thigh and it’s very distracting, so Law reaches out to stop them. He misses a couple of times before he gets there. They’re very nice fingers, calloused on the pads but long and surprisingly slender.
Law lists slightly to the side as Luffy shifts, and grunts when some of Luffy’s weight settles on his lap.
There is fire reflected in Luffy’s eyes before they flutter shut and the universe suspends all motion in the time that there is a warm press of lips against Law’s. He chases the sensation when it pulls away. Then everything starts up again and there are fingers trailing up his face, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin on the back of his neck.
“Sleep,” Luffy says, his voice faraway like a dream. “I’ll wake you if your friends get back.”
Law wants to protest the improbability of that, wants to propose a continuation of whatever it is they were doing before he has to catch a flight back home in the morning. Instead, he mouths Luffy’s name one last time into the other man’s skin and closes his eyes.
-
Law wakes up the next morning, fully clothed and with a hangover that immediately makes its presence known. Daybreak is only just starting to creep in through the windows. He lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling as everything comes trickling back to him in a series of images and phantom touches.
He’s alone in the room, but the imprint in the sheets to his left is still warm.
-
Law is in a horrible mood. It’s been over thirty-six hours since he started his shift. The paediatric ward hasn’t calmed the fuck down in forever and he needs caffeine transfused directly into an artery or he’s going to collapse.
He forgoes the break room completely to head out to the nearby park for some fresh air before he loses his mind. He’s in the middle of shrugging on his coat when someone rams into him and they both go sprawling onto the pavement just outside the Flevance City General Hospital.
He thinks that he might actually have passed out from a combination of the impact, stress, and sleep deprivation.
There’s no explanation for who he sees looming over him otherwise, because it’s been months.
“Traffy?”
Law blinks hard once. Twice. Then gingerly takes the offered hand so that he can stagger to his feet. He shuts out all the questions about hows and whys because Luffy is standing right before him. He hasn’t changed at all. He’s still got the stupid straw hat and bright eyes that remind Law of beaches and hotel rooms with someone dozing next to him in the sheets.
Law says the only thing that he can come up with as he drinks in the sight of Luffy bundled up in autumn clothes, bronzed and smelling of sea spray.
“Hey.”
Luffy’s answering grin is still the same as he reaches out towards Law, the sunshine on his lips still just as warm as he breathes a greeting into their shared space.