Luffy likes the way Law talks, he decides.
He likes the things Law talks about, sometimes, when he tells Luffy about the adventures the Heart Pirates have gone through in the Grand Line, but sometimes Law would use all these mystery words to talk about alliances and world politics and — yawn — strategies, and Luffy can’t help but tuning him out.
He still loves the way Law talks, though — the small frown across his brows when he thinks too hard about stuff, the little smile he’d give Luffy when he thinks Luffy isn’t looking. People say Law is hard to understand, that he barely shows his emotions through his expressions, but Luffy thinks people just aren’t looking closely.
Luffy would bear through the boring conversations just to see a thousand different expressions flit across Law’s face.
Law is talking about his crew now, tone light, his eyes softer than ever. There’s a melancholic edge to his smile, and Luffy understands that, better than most — the excitement in talking about your own crew, sure, but also the solid ache against your heart when you miss them. Law is chuckling at his own story about Bepo and Penguin, and Luffy brings his hand instinctively against the scar on his chest, a reminder of the two long years without his own crew.
The sun is setting and Law is leaning against the figurehead, shoulder propped up by one of Sunny’s lion-like mane. Luffy is sprawled on top of the figurehead, his spot, head on his hands, straining his head to catch every single word from Law.
The figurehead is his spot, Luffy reminds himself.
The figurehead is his spot, but it is getting hard to keep talking to Law when the other is so — far. Law still has a small smile on his face, affection filling his tone and warming it up, softening it into something that melts slowly, and Luffy wants to keep hearing it — wants to keep talking to Law — so he sits up and scoots over.
“Come up,” he tells Law.
Law pauses and looks up. “Come up where?”
Luffy pats the empty spot beside him on Sunny’s head. “Here.”
Law hesitates. “Your crew,” he begins, unsure, “they told me that you don’t like it when people try to sit on the figurehead. They told me it’s...” he pauses. “Your ‘spot’.”
Luffy pouts, suddenly irrationally angry at everyone. “Well, it is, but right now i want to talk to you,” he gestures at the empty space. “And there's enough room for the both of us.”
Law looks at him, and for once Luffy can’t quite read him. “Is that so, Straw Hat-ya?”
“I know so,” Luffy crosses his hands and huffs, puffing his chest. “I’m the captain, so I make the rules.”
Law laughs lightly at that. “On this ship, you are,” he relents, “I guess I should follow what the captain says, shouldn’t I?”
The excited yes, I want you here right now dies in Luffy’s lips as Law uses his devil fruit power and shambles his way up the lion, sitting in the middle of the previously empty spot. Luffy is suddenly caught up with memories of a sunrise in his childhood, the way he would stare at the rising ball of light in the sky; Ace would hit him in the head as Sabo scolded him softly — you're not supposed to look directly into the sun.
Luffy steals a glance at the man beside him, and he thinks: like the sun. He watches Law place his hat on his lap, his hair falling in front of his face, and he thinks, like the sun, it hurts to look —
“This is nice,” Law says, oblivious to Luffy’s thoughts. “The view is nice.”
The sun is sinking into the horizon, painting the sea golden, but Luffy pays it no mind.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes never leaving Law, “the view is nice.”
Law smiles at that — the soft, private kind Luffy wishes he could see more of — and Luffy remembers being a little kid, eyes wide towards the sun.
“Thanks for letting me use your spot,” Law says.
“There’s enough room for the both of us,” Luffy repeats. It’s not exactly, I want you here, but he thinks Law hears him anyway.