*--*

Neither of you talked about that.

The crew noticed anyway.

Law looked less dead in the mornings. Shachi started grinning too widely whenever you walked into the galley after him. Penguin made one comment about “improved captain maintenance” and immediately regretted it when Law looked at him.

The mornings changed depending on the night. Sometimes you woke with Law’s arm over your waist and his face near your shoulder. Sometimes he was on his back beside you, his hand loose around yours beneath the blanket.

No matter how much space you left between each other before falling asleep, you always woke touching.

That was the part you did not know what to do with.

Not the bed. Not the almost-kisses. Not even the way he said your name now when the door was closed.

It was waking up to proof that, somewhere in the dark, Law had reached for you.

And awake, he was worse.

Careful.

Quiet.

Always stopping just before either of you could do something that would make pretending impossible.

A hand at your back when he moved past you in the infirmary.

His shoulder pressed to yours over a chart.

His fingers brushing yours when he handed you a scalpel, a file, a cup, anything.

The tension had gone from strange to familiar to unbearable.

By the end of the second week, you had started to feel it in your teeth.

That night, Law was still in the infirmary when you let yourself into his room.

You closed the door behind you and crossed to the shelf. The book you chose was not one you intended to understand. It had diagrams. Too many footnotes.

Perfect.

You settled on his bed with your back against the wall and opened it across your lap.

The room was quiet.

A little while later Law stepped inside and stopped.

He looked at you.

“You’re late,” you said.

His hand stayed on the door.

“I wasn’t aware I had an appointment.”

“You do. Very important.”

“With my own bed?”

“With sleep.”

“That explains why I wasn’t interested.”

Usually, you would have gotten something for that. A flat look. A dry correction. Maybe the smallest pull at the corner of his mouth.

Tonight, nothing.

Law shut the door and crossed to the desk. He set a folder down. Then his hat. Then his sword within reach. His movements were controlled, but too controlled.

You lowered the book.

“Bad night?”

“No.”

You waited.

He did not elaborate.

That meant yes.

“Did someone misfile something? Because if this is about the labels on the upper cabinet, I maintain that your system was awful.”

Law did not look at you. “It’s not about the labels.”

“Good. Because I was prepared to defend myself.”

He moved the folder from one side of the desk to the other.

Then back again.

“Law.”

“I’m fine.”

He still did not turn around.

You could have pushed. There were nights when pushing worked with him. Nights when the right amount of annoyance loosened whatever knot he had tied himself into.

This was not one of them.

So you slid the book onto the small table beside the bed and pulled the blanket down.

“I’m tired,” you said.

Law finally looked back at you.

You climbed beneath the blanket before he could tell you to go.

For a moment, he only watched you. Then he turned away and dragged a hand through his hair.

You moved onto your side, facing away from him, and settled near the wall.

Law moved around the room without speaking. After a few minutes the mattress dipped behind you.

He got in carefully, leaving space.

Too much.

You stared at the wall.

Law lay on his back beside you. You could hear the controlled pattern of his breathing, too even to be natural.

You reached behind you without looking.

Your hand found his.

For half a second, he did not move.

Then his fingers opened.

You took them and pulled.

Slowly.

No words.

No jokes.

The mattress shifted as he turned onto his side. His chest came against your back, cautious at first, barely there.

You pulled his hand farther around you.

That was all it took.

His arm slid over your waist.

His body settled behind yours. His face lowered near the nape of your neck, close enough that you felt the first unsteady breath he let out.

You kept hold of his hand at your stomach.

Law’s fingers curled between yours.

Neither of you spoke.

After a while, the stiffness went out of him slowly. His shoulders loosened. His arm grew heavier over your waist.

You felt the exact moment he gave up staying awake.

His forehead touched the back of your shoulder.

His fingers twitched once in yours.

Then nothing.

You closed your eyes.

For once, you did not wake tangled by accident.

You fell asleep already held.

Law was still behind you when you woke up.

His chest was against your back. The two of you had barely moved. His face was close to your shoulder, but his hand had left your waist.

He was tracing your arm.

Not asleep.

Awake.

His fingertips moved from your shoulder down to your wrist, light enough to raise goosebumps. Then back up again. Slow. Even. Like he had been doing it for a while and had no intention of stopping until you made him.

You kept your eyes closed.

His fingers reached your wrist again.

Then your elbow.

Then the bare skin where your sleeve had slipped down your shoulder sometime in the night.

You swallowed.

“That feels nice,” you whispered.

His hand stopped.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then his fingers curled lightly around your arm.

You opened your eyes.

Law shifted behind you. His hand moved to your waist, and with the smallest pressure, he guided you to turn.

You did.

Slowly.

The blanket shifted between you as you rolled onto your back.

Law stayed close.

Too close for either of you to pretend this was still about sleep.

His hair was loose over his forehead. His eyes moved over your face, heavy and quiet, then dropped to your mouth.

You took his hand.

His fingers were warm in yours. Tattooed. Familiar now in ways that still made your chest ache if you thought about them too long.

You lifted his hand and kissed the back of it.

Law went very still.

Your mouth stayed there for one second.

Then another.

When you lowered his hand, his eyes were on you.

You barely had time to breathe before he leaned down and kissed you.

His mouth opened against yours. His hand slid to your jaw. You made a small sound, and he pulled you closer before the sound was gone.

Then the kiss turned deeper.

His body shifted over yours, not fully on top of you, but close enough that the blanket trapped heat between you.

You kissed him harder.

Law’s hand left your jaw and went to your waist.

Then under your shirt.

His palm moved up your back, skin to skin, dragging you closer as you turned toward him. Your knees bumped beneath the blanket. One of his legs slid between yours, and your hand tightened in his hair hard enough to make him break the kiss for half a breath.

His mouth came back to yours immediately.

Your hand moved to the side of his neck, fingers pressing against the warm skin there, feeling the spike in his pulse. His mouth missed yours once before finding it again.

His hand moved along your back and then around your side.

He stopped there.

You arched closer.

Law’s hand moved to your breast.

The sound you made was quiet.

Not quiet enough.

His mouth stopped against yours. Then his fingers flexed once, and your back lifted off the mattress before you could stop it.

“Law,” you breathed.

His mouth moved to the corner of yours.

Then your jaw.

Then lower.

Your head tipped back before you could think better of it.

He kissed your throat once, open and warm.

Your hands moved without permission. Down his back. Over the bare strip of skin where his shirt had ridden up. Then lower, to his waist.

Law’s whole body went tight.

Your fingers found the edge of his waistband.

He stopped.

Not slowly.

All at once.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder.

For a second, he did not move.

His hand was still under your shirt. His body was still pressed close to yours. His breathing was uneven against your neck.

Then, with visible effort, he pulled his hand back.

“Not yet,” he said.

The words were rough enough to scrape.

You froze.

Then your hands loosened at his waist.

“Okay.”

Law’s jaw flexed against your shoulder.

He stayed close, but his hand pressed into the mattress beside you instead of going back under your shirt.

You slid your hand up his back again, slower this time, gentler.

His shoulders lowered.

Law lifted his head.

His eyes were dark. His mouth was still close enough that you could feel the next breath he took.

“It’s not because I don’t want—”

“I know.”

He stopped.

You brushed his hair back from his forehead. Your fingers lingered there because he let them.

That was new too.

Law closed his eyes for half a second.

When he opened them again, some of the strain had eased, but not all of it.

You smiled faintly. “So this is you being responsible?”

His expression flattened.

Barely.

“You make it difficult.”

“That’s generous. I thought I made it impossible.”

“You’re close.”

You laughed softly.

The sound made something in his face shift.

He leaned down and kissed you again. When he pulled back, he did not go far.

His fingers brushed your cheek once.

Then he sat up.

The morning came back into focus.

The hum of the ship. The faint voices outside. Your shirt twisted. Law’s hair completely ruined.

You sat up after him and fixed your shirt while he looked very deliberately at the wall.

“Subtle,” you said.

“I’m being polite.”

“You were very polite five minutes ago.”

His ears went red.

You smiled and reached for your boots.

Law got out of bed and found his hat. Once it was in place, the captain came back over him piece by piece.

Almost.

Not completely.

He turned toward you before opening the door.

His eyes dropped to your mouth once.

Then back up.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

Not a question.

Your fingers tightened around your boot.

“Yes.”