Nothing to your Everything

You Make my Anxiety Run Free

Luffy had a date.

He- he had a fucking date.

And, here's the real kicker, he didn't even remember how he got it.

One moment he'd been in the shop, standing awkwardly in front of his soulmate, and the next he was walking out the door with a time and place written on his arm with sharpie and "Law's" phone number.

Though it was a strange thought initially, he found that he actually kinda, sorta, maybe wanted to go. Even though he knew Law would probably find him out after speaking to him for just a few minutes. Even though he knew it was a lost cause. Even though he knew it was all for naught, that it wouldn't matter and he'd be left a pathetic poser attempting to impersonate someone he had no clue how to be. And god, did he know it.

But there was something that told him to go.  Some type of feeling deep inside his mind urging him to follow that man. Like a nagging itch in the back of his brain, fighting it's way to the front of his thoughts without fail. And he couldn't really ignore it.

So here he is, pacing around his room with clothes strown across his bed and no idea what the fuck to wear.

Should he dress casual? But what if it's a really fancy restaurant and he looks like he lived in a dumpster compared to everyone else? Or what if he dresses too fancy and he embarrasses himself? God, why was this so hard?

After another minute or so of staring intensely at his clothes, he threw his hands up in the air, gave a really big scream, and went to call Nami for help.

Of course the moment she heard what was happening she'd squealed so loud his ears were left ringing for a few seconds and exclaimed she was heading over right then before hanging up.

She ran right through the door as soon as he'd opened it like a hurricane and started trifling through his clothes with a determined face like a woman on a mission. She'd told him to stand still, and he not dared move a muscle, too scared for his life to even flinch when she held clothes up to his body, eyes scanning over every detail they could find and drinking it up like she hadn't felt the coolness of water on her tongue in months.

By the time she was finished he was dressed in a baggy red hoodie, hanging off his tiny frame and ripped jeans adorning his legs. At one point she'd attempted to style his hair but every time she'd tried to get it to lay down right it'd popped right back up and stuck out in all directions like it was so fond of doing.

He was pushed out of the door by Nami and ushered down the street till he was about a block away from the restaurant. She looked over him one last time before giving a satisfied grin, sending him a wink before telling him "good luck" and running back off to wherever she spends her free time these days.

He was left staring at an empty place for a few seconds, or maybe minutes; he'd stopped paying attention to time long ago after his mind began to make minutes feel like years and weeks feel like seconds ticking away in his mind. But eventually he blinked himself back to reality, swallowing down the fear arising in his throat as he turned towards the restaurant and took shaky steps forwards.

He approached the entrance with anxiety raking his mind, scavenging every inch of his brain for any fear, doubt, or unease and pulling them out, placing them under spotlights. He felt like he was drowning within the ocean of voices surrounding him, people walking by and not paying him any attention as his mind was crumbling into pieces.

Deep breaths.

In. Out.

Repeat.

Okay. Calm down. He has no reason to freak out. He's fine. Every things all right. He's fine. He's okay.

(He'd begun telling himself these lies long ago as a way to cope. Pretend like every thing is okay and maybe you can ignore the constant screaming in your brain for a second. Therapists had said it was good, a healthy copping mechanism, for once. He really didn't see what was so good about telling himself blatant lies like this, repeating them over and over in your mind like a mantra, a prayer on his lips spoken to a god he wasn't even sure was listening. But if they said it was okay, then he would keep doing it.)

His lungs filled with air a final time before he opened the door, nose immediately picking up on the overwhelming aroma of food. Oh god. He'd forgotten. How the fuck had he forgotten? Nevermind, he can't do this. He needs to get out, to leave, to escape, he needs to get out right now.

"Luffy!"

A warm hand clasps around his shoulder and Luffy jumps, eyes frantic as he snaps around as fast as lightning. Oh god. It was too late to back out.

Law stood there with a concerned look painting his features into a beautifully sculpted masterpiece, making Luffy's breath catch in his throat because, fuck. He hadn't realized how beautiful Law was before.

He'd probably been too busy freaking out and having a panic attack to notice. But now that they were here, on a date of all things, it was quite impossible to ignore.

His facial features were sharp, all edges and beautiful creases. He had olive skin that was nothing compared to the smudges of black underneath his eyes, so dark and deep that Luffy had wondered if they were make up for a moment.

And oh, his eyes. Brilliant yellow iris's that seemed to stare into his soul, taring their way inside him and capturing him as their prisoner. He was tall, with long legs and black tattoos that added an air of darkness about him. He was as skinny as Luffy, though he looked more like a junky than just a gangly kid like himself. It was weird, that a doctor would look so unhealthy yet beautiful.

Oh no.

This was really bad.