Law's arm was draped across your waist, his chest pressed against your back, warm and solid. His breathing was slow, even, but you knew better than to think he was asleep.

You turned slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his jaw in the dim light. The tattooed lines of his fingers flexed against your skin, grounding you in the moment, in the weight of him.

Neither of you said anything for a long moment. The silence stretched, familiar and heavy, like a worn-out blanket you couldn't quite throw away.

You felt his arm tighten around you, just barely, like he was bracing himself.

<Trafalgar D. Water Law: his voice barely a murmur against your hair> Then ask.