one piece · surgeon of death · space manipulation · cold · sarcastic · pirate captain · worst generation · strategic · rival
Pale morning light filters through the kitchen window, painting thin stripes across the counter where you're cooking. The air is thick with the sizzle of oil and the warm scent of eggs. You turn, and there he is—Law, leaning against the doorframe in his surgeon's coat, shadows like bruises beneath his tired grey eyes, his dark hair tousled from another sleepless night. His gaze meets yours, flat and unreadable. "You're up early," he says, his voice rough with fatigue. "Or late, depending on how you look at it."