Eyes of Sin ☾ t.law x reader

Chapter Nine

I could be anything in the world, but I wanted to be his.
~ Rupi Kaur

Track 9; My Blood by Twenty One Pilots

————— ☾ ❆ ♛ ❆ ☽ —————
SEPTEMBER 3RD, 20XX
DAY -64
HURON, SOUTH DAKOTA

The heat around you was sweltering, and the sun beat down on you hard enough to make your head feel foggy. Dust billowed with the hot, almost stagnant breeze, creating a cloud of dirt to sit in the air as you wandered around. South Dakota was dry and hot compared to the mild summers you were familiar with in Minnesota. Most of the dry state was plateau and open fields, with bits of trees scattered across it. There wasn't as much shade as there was back home, you'd have to search long and hard for a sunspot in your backyard, while here you just couldn't get away from it. You waved a hand in front of your face to disperse the dirt lingering in the air and cough.

It was at least 80 degrees out, and the everbearing sunshine made it feel like you had suddenly teleported into the Mojave Desert. You weren't made for this type of weather: in shorts that crawled up the inside of your thighs and a light-colored tank top to offset the sun, you were sweating like a sinner in church and fanning yourself with a leftover paper plate you had gotten from a concession stand; you'd only been out here 30 minutes. At least the horse arena had giant fans on the ceiling to offset the stagnant air.

The fairgrounds you stood in were bustling with life, amusement ride jingles echoed off of the various buildings while screams of excitement made up the nonexistent background noise. You felt the rumble of the roller coaster as it dove towards the ground on your right, shaking your bones and making a thrill of adrenaline rush through you. All the other fairgoers were dressed for the weather, much more acclimated to the heat than you were—shorts, tank tops, crop tops, and even less all around.

All except for one person.

"How in the hell are you wearing that?" You asked, frowning as the paper plate you'd formed into a makeshift fan finally crumpled under your aggressive flapping.

Trafalgar Law stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the people walking around you. Donned in a black t-shirt, jeans, and his normal every-day shoes, he was almost entirely unphased by the sun. You wondered how the hell he wasn't drenched in sweat, seeing that he attracted every ounce of heat to him with the lack of color he was wearing. His golden eyes practically sparkled in the sun when he shifted them from a child with an animal balloon to you as you spoke.

"What do you mean, hela?"

You motioned to him with a hand. "Why?"

"You just gestured to all of me."

"Exactly. Why are you dressed like a goth in 90 degree weather?"

"What do you mean?"

You inwardly sighed. It was like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Instead of trying to further your point, you let your fingers slide down the inside of his arm and twine them with his, forcing him to follow you. Without a word, he obeyed, eyes glued to the back of your head while you weaved through the crowd. "Come on, let's see if the rodeo clowns are done with their performance yet."

Law had only come with on this little getaway trip because he wasn't sure if he was able to spend three days away from you. A few hours out on patrol back at home and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to be over with it and back in the little rambler he shared with you. Three days seemed like a nightmare. No, he didn't want to jump on the festival rides with you, nor did he want to stuff himself on elephant ears and cannolis or shop through knick-knacks people had displayed in their tents. No, he didn't want to see Jami's events in the rodeo—he just wanted to spend time with you.