1: Under A Dome

His boyfriend was the type of man that was selfish with his decisions but Sanji didn't seem to mind. Some of those selfish reasons included him, and sometimes Sanji was surprised to be included.

Not that he was looking for any type of relationship. Not that he considered Law his "boyfriend", but there really wasn't another word for it. For this.

Sometimes he'd awake in the middle of the night to find the taller man crawling into bed with him. Sometimes Law was in a chatty mood, sometimes he was there just for silent and no-frills sex, and sometimes he'd just fall asleep with his feet shoved between Sanji's calves and snore right on through morning.

Sanji never asked Law what he was looking for. Maybe this was just one of those things the older man wanted from him - his silence and his loyalty. Sanji wasn't going to brag about the visits - part of him was ashamed of this mute thing, and another part was grateful for it.

Maybe it was the same for Law. Maybe he thought the very same things. Sanji wondered what title he was under in Law's mind.

My boyfriend, my boyfriend, my boyfriend, he thought silently whenever he thought of Law. The word didn't feel wrong, but it felt wrong because this wasn't what he'd imagined when he envisioned himself being in a relationship.

Maybe he said say his pet, instead.

My pet climbed into bed with me at two am last night, and rode my dick until we were both wrung out.

My pet did this weird thing to me where he made me cum without me shooting out anything.

My pet took over the bed and left me clinging to the edge by my shoulder - even snatched my pillows to elevate his shitty feet.

My pet could not stop talking about how the flavor of water only changed with temperature, and how ghosts were actually charged water particles created by a human who was unaware of telekinetic abilities that warped their way of thinking - oh, yes, he did mention how the sandwich shop down the block sold their cookies by weight and not by pairs?

It had all started when Sanji was on his way towards a better way of life. Growing up, he'd always been the "fat kid" because the house's cook was terrified Sanji would starve to death. As an adult he was eating disordered and anxious and he'd wanted to change all that now that he was out living on his own.

In a bookstore downtown that he frequented for its narrow aisles and walls upon walls of books that were sometimes only accessible with a ladder, Law had approached Sanji from behind and warned him about how wearing animal leather was killing the atmosphere. Sanji wasn't wearing leather that day - but this weird guy with sleepless eyes and breath heavy with coffee and rather obnoxiously sexy aura convinced him that he was, and suddenly they were making out in the alley and Sanji didn't even like men.

They didn't even exchange numbers. Law stalked him back to his apartment one day, forced himself into the apartment and somehow had a copy of his key.

This was obviously harassment but Sanji found himself bewildered in that he couldn't even fight it. He hated men. Yet this one forced his way in, practically rearranged his life to force Sanji to include him, and never gave Sanji a clue as to who he really was or if he was real and Sanji had a hard time determining just what the guy meant to him.

Of fucking course he couldn't even tell anyone about it because he hated men and what would it look like if he told his friends he was fucking/being fucked by one? They'd all think he was crazy.

Maybe Law was a vampire. He ordered about a gang of living undead that stalked normal, disordered humans that were vulnerable to attention and was feeding off him. But that didn't make sense – a little too unrealistic. So it was difficult thinking of him as a leader of anything.

Maybe he was a secret celebrity from another country. But wouldn't Sanji have learned his identity through tabloids by now?

Maybe Law was a ghost Sanji picked up along the way because, by the way, did he mention he could see ghosts?

His friends were ghosts.

The cook had died before Sanji had turned thirteen and in his wild delusions Sanji over-ate because of him. Sanji didn't even know him – the cook just appeared in the kitchen one day and talked only to Sanji, convincing him to eat more and more because he'd persuaded Sanji that he was starving.

His dead mother followed him everywhere. But mysteriously, thankfully, she was never present in his apartment to lecture him because some of the things they did in bed…well…

Random ghosts approached him in the street and caused him to fumble because they were saying all these things and he couldn't help but talk right back and people looked at him funny because he was talking to mid-air…

His real family tortured and created his disorder as a response.

Sanji was a list of problems and strangely, his "boyfriend" wasn't one of them. It felt almost too good to be true, and he was afraid of being happy because there was always an "aha!" moment to end any sort happiness he might be feeling, and…he didn't want that to happen this time.

So one night, while Law talked incessantly at 3:17 am about how mumble rap was the new future of rap and cradled his hot mug of coffee, Sanji reached over and spilled it on him.

His theory was disproven because humans screech in a way that describes their pain, and Sanji never heard a ghost (or vampire) screech the way Law did.

Sanji waited calmly while Law rose from the bed - in his animal and environmental friendly jeans, black v-neck, beanie and muddy motorcycle boots (wait) - and gave hissing noises while he looked at Sanji while he was crazy.

"So you are human," Sanji stated firmly, folding his fingers together. "Not a ghost."

Law's mouth was open for several seconds while he pulled his shirt away from his stomach and processed that statement. He cocked his head as his eyes darted here and there with immense confusion.

"Now what'd I do?" he finally asked.

Sanji blinked with question from behind the lenses of his glasses. That was something he'd often heard from himself when it came to his family's accusations. A certain cluelessness to something he wasn't even remotely aware of or brought attention to until it was thrust at him with heavy accusation and blame.

Law wasn't aware of Sanji's silent musings, because of course Sanji hadn't even said anything aloud to him. But what did Law think when it came to him? How did he label this?

Sanji winced, fiddling with his fingers. Then said, "I see dead people, so I just assumed you were one of them."

He added hastily, "This thing has been months upon months of meeting at odd times and…sometimes I think you're not real because we mostly meet at night, and…I never see you outside, and we first met outside, but that was late at night, so…I had a theory that you weren't actually real."

Law was silent after that, but his face was expressive with confusion. He nodded in response, then set the empty mug aside on the white night stand.

"I'll see you around," he said low, and Sanji watched him leave the room with mild alarm because he thought that, amidst the obvious confusion Law was experiencing, there was genuine hurt in that comment as well.

He scrambled off the bed and hurried after the taller man. "I'm sorry, that was a really shitty thing to do, but I just didn't know -!"

"I mean, not only did you burn me, but then you accused me of being a…ghost," Law said, opening the front door. He gave Sanji a look of disappointment. "It's kind of…crazy, y'know?"

Discomforted by that statement, Sanji didn't know what to say. He reached up to fiddle with his frizzy hair, the curls layering his face as he often took his ponytail out for bed. Law shrugged and left, slamming the door behind him. He opened it moments later to deliberately close it gently, as if to appease the earlier show of strength.

Sanji fiddled with his fingers, absorbing the silence left behind. He was confused because he didn't know Law had found something in him that apparently soothed him, and upset because he'd potentially ruined something he was just starting to expect.

This was the "aha!" moment he'd been dreading. It happened at his own hands.

He turned in a slow circle around his living room, biting his lower lip. The silence left behind felt so damn suffocating.

: :

Half of his life was spent in violence – after being witness to traumatic events, Law had become a part-time vegan, sat at protests for climate change and donned a hood and mask for political events to fight against those that were eager for a greater change. He volunteered at the local SPCA, dropped in on homeless shelters and signed his name to online petitions for political protests.

Mostly.

Mostly because he was slightly insane, and these were the things he imagined himself as things he wished he did.

He was working on that. Being a kid who grew up witnessing brutal violence, he tended to warp things a bit just to numb himself a little.

He was actually a meat loving, baseball bat to the body type of bar hopper whose temper snapped at an instant, comfortable in a gang of rabble-rousers BUT he had a mission in life: that was supernatural related. He and his gang hunted ghosts – wicked ones. Demons, life-suckers, etcetera, etcetera. Beings that no one else could see – the ones that made things go bump in the night, and the ones that stole the breath from babies and the ones that wandered roadsides, trying to make the living crash.

A ghost hunter.

One had to have a slightly insane outlook on life to actually see the things, and Law saw them all. He wasn't the type of medium that extended a hand and whispered comforting words – no, he was the type to lift his weapon of choice and send them off into the netherworld for eternal rest because he'd seen too much of the wicked and there was no time to determine which ones were good and which ones were bad.

In response, his actions had allowed him something other humans wouldn't understand – each ghostly life he took, he grew a little more…superhuman. Faster reflexes, stronger strength, and if he concentrated hard enough, locked doors were nothing because he could pass his own hand right through the door to unlatch it himself. He was almost – basically – a ghost himself.

So the day he saw Sanji in the bookstore, mumbling responses to the ghosts that followed him from shelf to shelf, Law thought he hit a gold mine. Mediums always had ghosts around them, interrupting their lives.

Only…

It didn't go as expected. Law was surprised that it went on for as long as he did. When he sat down to think about it, he counted finger after finger to realize why Sanji had these questions.

I've been someone's companion for nearly two and a half years, he thought incredulously.

And now here he was, sitting in the crowded bar with a cross look on his face while his coffee-stained shirt stiffened to his skin. Not that the incident had physically hurt him – he just wasn't expecting that type of response. And Sanji's theory was just a little too close to home, it had rattled Law, and Law was, for the first time in a long time, blank because he was forced to think about it.

He'd let Sanji think whatever he was thinking then pop up later, like always. Humans couldn't hurt him, anymore. But that incident stung in such a way that he was rattled.

Well, duh, he thought crossly as his ragtag gang of ghost hunters drank themselves silly and bullied regulars that weren't drunk enough to fight back. The bartender was ignoring them all, the Closed sign on the door diverting other customers away from the scene.

Of course I visited late at night because I didn't want him getting the wrong idea. Of course I don't take him outside during the day, I'm trying to save my identity, here, he thought, folding his arms over his chest while grumpily glaring at the empty shot glass in front of him. But what an idiot he is to think that I was a ghost myself because of these things! Of course it's just a booty call!

…a two and a half year booty call, he amended, once again wearing a surprised look.

He looked up at the ceiling, wiggling his nose to upset the thick rimmed glasses he wore. He was a fashionably attractive guy – he wore clothes that fit and coordinated, he showered on the regular, he styled his hair, his tattoos were…mildly acceptable. "Death" on his neck, insignias in places he could hide, double earrings at his lobe – the glasses only allowed him to look, well, casual. Not too hoodlum. He went to the gym, he liked to run in the early evening hours, and he occasionally had a salad with his BBQ ribs. He knew what he looked like – he used it as a weapon in itself.

Sanji wasn't his usual fare – but there was something about that messy haired, hungry looking and shabbily dressed mouse that drew Law in like a moth to a flame. He was a very quiet man, looking Law straight in the eye and refusing to budge despite the shy blush on his cheeks – oh, and did Law have to remind himself about that body he hid underneath those shabby, ugly clothes?

He'd gone in expecting to be the predator, and ended up both predator and prey when he was in the mood for it (which was quite often – the mouse sure knew how to use his hips).

His mouth drew into a tightened frown, stubbornly scowling across the room as he willed his own body to obey him.

Law spent most of their time together bullshitting or sexing or sleeping – but none of it was geared to knowing just who Sanji was. He never seemed resentful of those roles, and Law would have never thought anything different until last night.

He was upset that it had. Couldn't he just come over when he wanted to and just resume where they left off without having a title to it? He could find any bed mate he wanted in this crumbling, crappy city. But he had to admit there was only one bed he gravitated to. It had been the only bed he'd gone to in the past year and a half.

"Fuck me up sideways," he muttered. He tilted his head to the left when a beer mug shattered at the wall near his ear, and men were fighting each other rambunctiously – but his attention didn't stray that way.

He'd gone off course.

He was a ghost hunter, Sanji was a ghost lighthouse. He needed to use that. Law had the gift of gab and distraction. Plus it was fairly obvious with the lack of family pictures on the bare walls or mention of friends that Sanji was a loner – he was in obvious need of Law's attention, so more than likely he'd feel guilty about running Law off so Law was going to let him stew about it before he popped back up without any indication of hurt.

Because he wasn't hurt – just surprised. He nodded with satisfaction, and refilled his glass before someone crashed into it, sending it flying away from him as they continued the fight onto the floor.

: :

Sanji went two months without seeing the man. He tried not to think about it but he was really upset about losing the only real connection he had to another living being. Ghosts flitted in and out of his space like a change of wind, and, despite himself, he glanced over his shoulder whenever he went out because he was hoping to at least catch sight of the older man.

"Who are you looking for?" his mother asked, sitting across from him in the sparsely lit coffee shop that was in sight of the bookstore. Her voice was soft and gentle – her presence glowing like candlelight amidst the booth seat. She was still wearing the nightgown she'd died in – a silky, lacey thing that was both prim and pretty at the same time. Cancer. It consumed her too soon for chemo to cause any hair loss.

As a ghost, she looked tired and swollen.

Sanji kept his head down, rereading the same paragraph he had been reading since he came in an hour ago. There were three people at the coffee bar, two at various tables, and a single waitress wiping down booths nearby. All of them too distant to notice him mumbling to himself.

"No one," he answered. His hair, curly all the time and manageable in the ponytail he made carelessly at the crown, was sectioned off to allow enough strands to dangle in front of his face. His glasses kept them from catching on his eyelashes. He wore an ugly striped polo shirt that was tucked into overalls that were a size too big. He also wore all weather boots to protect him against the relentless rain outside. His skin was currently covered in goose pimples from the AC chill.

Sora smiled lightly at him. "I see you peeking out the window every time someone moves."

"No one, mother."

"How is work?"

Sanji worked at a restaurant down the block. His hours were being cut as the economy seemed to slag. The city was unhappy with the modern changes. He didn't want to talk about his job. It once gave him pleasure, but the ghosts…well…they were intrusive.

"Never mind that question," Sora then said, fluffing out her hair. A man shuffled over in bedraggled clothing, but changed his mind once she set a glare at him. Sanji heard the new ghost shuffle off, flicking through the waitress as she passed through him. "I suppose I already know. I visited the house, today. Your father has made renovations to the library, and the kitchen. Zeff is upset. So Judge has had to hire two new contractors because the others are frightened. I was hoping you could go over and calm the chef."

"I'm not talking any sort of sense to a ghost, mother. Absurd."

"If he could, Zeff would follow you. But we're all bound to the things we love the most. And he loved that shabby kitchen. And I love you all very much," Sora added, her tone reflecting that.

Sanji looked up from his book. "Then why not move on?"

"To where? The bright, shining light?" Sora gave him a skeptical look as she fluffed her hair once more. "And miss out on watching my children grow up?"

"Nothing exciting here to see. We're still the same little shits you knew, just bigger."

She reached out across the table to flick at his hair. His curls did jump with the motion, and Sanji glanced around cautiously to make sure no one saw that. But everyone was focused on their own matters. The music here was changed to something orchestral, and it did seem to perk up the place.

"I just want to make sure that you'll all be okay," she said. Hearing the change in her tone, Sanji frowned at her. Her expression was heavy as she watched him. "And none of you are 'okay'."

Sanji didn't want to hear this. He shut his book, and shoved it into his bag. Scooting out from his seat, he said, "We're fine, mother. Just as fine as we can be."

She followed him out into the heavy rain, unaffected by the unforgiving moisture and damp chill that had many people scurrying for their destinations with their heads down. Traffic moved slower than usual. Sanji removed his glasses to see better, hair already sticking to his skin. Once it dried, his hair would explode with curls and frizz. None of his siblings had this problem – it was unfortunate that he had to have this added to his list of difficulties.

Despite himself, he glanced around to catch sight of a bright yellow jacket with fur (wasn't Law a vegan?). He waited at the crosswalk with a few others as cars passed by, urging those in front of them with minute honks and angry yelling. Sora paused next to him, still glowing that dim glow she had. She reached up to fiddle with his hair, and he twitched about to avoid her gentle fingers.

A man running through the line of vehicles made the motion to yell at Sanji, but all it took was a glare from Sora to have him reconsider. He turned and raced back to where he'd come from, re-enacting his last dying moments on the sidewalk. Gunshot wounds, Sanji supposed with a grim frown.

"You're still looking," Sora said, almost in sing-song. "Not at that scene, but you're looking. Whoever you're looking for, my duckling – "

"I'm not looking for anyone!" Sanji insisted impatiently, his voice a tad too tight. Sora drew back from him, and he felt guilt all over again. Other pedestrians glanced at him, then tried to draw their attention back. He exhaled heavily, breath visible in the heavy rain. "I'll go talk to Zeff."

"Yay!" Sora said, clapping her hands together. "I'll see you there. Be safe, honey. The rain is heavy, today. You might be looking, but no one else is."

Sanji's lips fell into a tight line as he attributed that to his current problem. Why would Law look for him after what Sanji did? And it wasn't as if he had anything to give anyway. Sora was gone, and the world felt a little darker than it did earlier.