Chapter Text
There’s something deeply unnerving about Law’s customer, Donquixote Doflamingo.
Law’s never quite been able to pinpoint what exactly it is about him that unsettles him so profoundly. After all, the businessman is undeniably charismatic and well-spoken, his magnetic presence revered by the townspeople.
Still, there’s something lurking beneath that façade of his, something that makes Law’s stomach twist with unease.
For one, his lips stretch too wide when he smiles. And if you look carefully, his canines appear too long, too pointy. The way he moves is nothing if not uncanny. Those limbs—impossibly large—swing with an unnatural grace, twisting at angles that don’t quite belong to a human body.
Not to mention, for such a tall and imposing man, he is disturbingly light on his feet. Law often doesn’t hear him walk down the narrow aisles of his dingy apothecary… not until he’s standing right behind him.
Sometimes, he stares at Law with that look, as though he knows exactly what he's thinking. In those moments, Law finds himself frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away from those dark, unreadable eyes.
Those moments haunt him.
Yet, there’s little Law can do but welcome the mysterious Donquixote Doflamingo into his shop. He is, first and foremost, a doctor who prides himself in taking excellent care of his patients’ needs, no matter how eccentric they are.
Law is rearranging corked vials on the top shelf of his medicine cabinet when he suddenly freezes, the hairs on the back of his neck curling.
…it’s him.
Law did not hear the door chime, the familiar jingle signalling the coming and going of customers, but then again, he rarely does when it comes to him.
Unlike most patrons who announce their arrival with a pleasant greeting, he's uncharacteristically quiet. It’s a stark contrast to the flamboyant mask he wears in public, drawing eyes and turning heads everywhere he goes.
Law glances over his shoulder.
Sure enough, Donquixote Doflamingo is standing behind him, his hands casually tucked inside the lined pockets of his slacks.
His features are conventionally handsome, all sharp angles, and his suit fits his broad frame to perfection. He looks polished, as if he’s stepped straight out of a tailor shop. Yet, there’s something about him that makes Law skin crawl. He is viscerally reminded of the deceptively quiet moment before a predator is about to strike.
Law clears his throat. “Ah, I didn’t notice you coming in, Mr. Donquixote.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, doctor," he says, stretching his lips into a grin that’s anything but apologetic. “You seemed very focused and I would hate to distract you from your important work.”
It’s… a blatant excuse. The older man enjoys getting under Law’s skin, and they both know it.
“That’s quite alright, though I’d prefer if you interrupted me. Wouldn’t want to keep a busy man like yourself waiting.”
“How very considerate of you, Law,” the other drawls, tongue rolling over his name with inappropriate familiarity. “Very well, I shall keep that in mind next time.”
Next time sounds like a threat and a promise at the same time, and Law desperately hopes there won’t be one. But first, he has to survive this interaction.
He quickly steps down from the ladder, unwilling to spend another second with his back turned to the man. He straightens himself, but the action does little to close the noticeable gap in height between them. Doflamingo’s impossibly tall figure practically looms over him and Law hates that he has to crane his neck to face the much older man.
“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Donquixote?”
“No need to be so formal,” the other chuckles, waving a hand in dismissal. “You can call me Doflamingo. I insist.”
“How can I help you then, Doflamingo?”
"You see, I have been plagued with strange dreams as of late," Doflamingo steps forward, closing the distance between them in a single, unsettling stride. Law forces himself not to scowl at just how effortlessly his personal space is invaded.
"They are vivid and terribly detailed, although…” The other trails off, as if savouring the obvious discomfort he’s causing Law. “I can never quite remember them when I wake up. Every night, I find myself wide awake at ungodly hours, unable to fall back asleep until daybreak. It’s strange, isn’t it?”
He pauses again, dark unreadable eyes boring into Law’s with burning, unblinking intensity. "...would you have something that may help, doctor?”
“May I interest you in Valerian roots?” Law inquires, his tone even and professional, not betraying the uneasy feelings stirring inside him. “Very effective for a deep night’s sleep and quite soothing too.”
Doflamingo hums thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving Law’s.
“I recently procured a new batch," he continues, holding the other’s gaze despite his every instinct to look away. "I recommend adding a teaspoonful to a cup of tea before bed. It helps mellow out the strong, earthy flavour. If you’d like, I can prepare a sample for you to try.”
“That sounds lovely. I'll take you up on that offer.”
“Excellent, please make yourself comfortable while I prepare your order,” he says, gesturing to the armchairs in the lounge area. “It won’t take long.”
Law is quick to excuse himself, more than eager to put some distance between himself and Doflamingo. As he turns to leave, he feels the weight of the other’s eyes follow him until he disappears into the backroom, where he stores his raw materials and recently acquired ingredients.
When he re-emerges from the back, carrying a small vial of Valerian roots in his hand, he doesn't immediately notice the dead silence.
“Thank you for your patience—” he starts, his words falling flat as his gaze sweeps across the apothecary. Empty.
What the hell?
Law should feel relieved be left alone. Yet, Doflamingo’s sudden and unexplained disappearance leaves him with a creeping unease. He can’t quite shake off the strange feeling that Doflamingo is not truly gone, that the other is somehow still here, watching him, waiting—
A shiver creeps up his spine.
Law glances instinctively at his surroundings, eyes flickering to the dark corners, as though afraid that Doflamingo might suddenly materialize from their depths and lunge at him.
He mentally shakes his head. Fuck this!
He slips behind his workstation, determined to see the insufferable bastard’s order through. If not for him, then for Law’s own damn sanity.
The familiar sight of his tools and logbook offer him comfort, but it’s fleeting. His hands move mechanically, setting the dried Valerian roots into a mortar and grinding the contents into powder.
Law doesn’t dare look up when he hears footsteps slowly approaching from behind.
The old wooden floorboards groan beneath them, the ominous sound reverberating off the walls and amplifying. Law’s hold on the pestle tightens, his knuckles turning white, as the steps come closer and closer… until they’re almost right behind him.
Don’t think about it, Law, just pretend he’s not here—
But then, a deep voice cuts through the tense air, right next to his ear.
“You’ll have to excuse my rudeness, Law.”
Law tenses.
Every muscle in his body screams for him to move far away from the creature behind him—
“An old acquaintance of mine stopped by the entrance just now, and I had to step out for a moment to say hello.”
The thinly veiled lie hangs heavily in the air between them. They both know there was no such acquaintance, the lack of the telltale door chime deafening and unmistakable in the emptiness of the apothecary.
Doflamingo is simply toying with Law.
“I see,” Law manages to rasp, not daring to turn around.
“By the way, I simply adore watching you work,” Doflamingo resumes, hot breath tickling the back of his neck. “I find it truly fascinating, the way your hands move with such grace. You don’t mind if I stand here and watch, do you?”
Law licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry like sand. He wants to say yes—he should say yes—and ask for some well-deserved personal space, but something stops him.
Doflamingo’s question feels like a challenge, and Law, foolish as he is, hates backing down from one.
“I… don’t mind,” he hears himself say, sealing his own fate with those damning words.
Law’s hands resume working, but there’s a slight tremble to them that he can’t shake off. Behind him, Doflamingo’s presence lingers. Too close, too quiet.
He feels a trickle of relief when Doflamingo finally breaks the unsettling silence.
“I do hope you’ll indulge me, Law," he says, voice smooth like silk. "How does one as young as yourself come to own an apothecary?”
The question seems harmless enough, but Law knows better. He doesn’t need look up from his work station to know that Doflamingo is watching him very, very closely.
“It’s a family business," he replies carefully. "passed down from my father.”
"I thought as much,” the other murmurs, before pausing almost contemplatively. “And I suspect the apartment above us belongs to you as well?”
Law stiffens. How did he—
“Yes," he responds reluctantly.
“Living right above your little shop," Doflamingo hums softly. "How very... convenient.”
“The proximity certainly has its advantages,” he laughs, but the sound that escapes his lips comes out as strained. Nervous.
“And speaking of family business, where is your family? I’ve only seen you and that helpful assistant of yours working here...”
In other words: where do you live? Do you live alone?
“My family’s dead,” Law says bluntly, pounding the roots as fast as humanly possible, desperate to put an end to this conversation that’s beginning to feel more like an interrogation. “I’ve been running the apothecary ever since their passing.”
“Tragic,” the other whispers, almost wistfully. “I suppose that’s something we have in common. My family’s dead too. Had to take over the business at a young age and work hard to expand it to what it is today. I would have done anything to get them back—I still do.”
Law twists around, his gaze flickering up, caught off guard by the unexpected response… only to find a pair of dark, tunnel eyes staring straight into his own, hungry.
His breath hitches. Law wants to look away, tries to look away, but there it is again—an eerie pull to those bottomless eyes, holding him captive. It could a trick of the dim, flickering candlelight, but those irises seem to expand, drawing him in like a gravitational pull. Impossible to escape. The air shifts between them, heavy and thick, growing difficult to breathe…
And then—as quickly as it came—it all comes to a stop.
“Is everything okay, Law?” Doflamingo asks with a concerned expression, one that could have fooled anyone.
…except that there’s a subtle, knowing curl to his lips.
“Yes,” Law rasps, catching his breath. He drops his gaze to the floor, unable to meet the other’s eyes after… whatever that was. “It’s—it’s been a very long day for me, though it’s not something for you to be concerned about.” He quickly glances at his desk, relieved to find his work completed. “Well, it looks like your order is ready. Let me wrap it up for you.”
“Excellent work, as always.” Doflamingo says, flashing him a wide smile. All teeth.
Law doesn’t miss how sharp they look.
The rest of their interaction proves to be uneventful, though he can’t quite allow himself to relax in the taller man’s presence. It’s only when Doflamingo leaves the shop, the bell above the door chiming behind him, that Law dares to breathe again.
It takes several more minutes for his heart to stop racing.
To his immense relief, Doflamingo doesn’t return to the apothecary in the days that follow.
Despite this, the tension in Law’s body doesn’t quite dissipate. A familiar dread settles in his lower stomach when the apothecary grows still, the steady stream of customers tapering off. In those quieter moments, Law finds himself glancing at the entrance every now and then, half-expecting to see a tall, blond figure slip through those doors unannounced.
After all, Doflamingo has the strange, infuriating talent of cornering him all alone in his own shop. He always seems to know exactly when the apothecary becomes empty, giving him free reign to terrorize Law.
By the fifth day, Law allows himself to relax.
The immediate threat of Donquixote Doflamingo, while not entirely forgotten, has faded to the back of his mind.
He easily slips into the familiar rhythm of his work: organizing herbs, conducting patient consultations, and preparing concoctions for his customers.
On weekdays, his regular clientele consists of a steady mix of older folks and housewives. They like to browse the store at leisure, perusing the endless shelves of herbs and remedies with polite interest, while engaging Law in casual conversation.
Unlike with a certain individual he won’t dignify by naming, Law has grown to enjoy their company. He listens idly to snippets of their daily anecdotes and small town gossip, sometimes adding a few comments of his own here and there. Naturally, he makes a point to remain tight-lipped as ever regarding his own private affairs, especially when it comes to inquiries about his romantic life—or lack thereof.
“Such a shame, my dear,” an elderly woman sighs. “My granddaughter has just turned of age. Bright girl, very sweet. Oh, what I would give to have a handsome, hard-working grandson-in-law like you…” she trails off, a knowing smirk tugging at her thin lips.
“I'm at a stage in life where I’d like to focus on my career,” Law says smoothly, corking a flask of healing salve. “I would hate to be a neglectful partner.”
“Always so dedicated to your work, doctor,” she says. “Almost to a fault, one may argue.”
Law chooses to ignore her comment, and eagerly diverts the conversation away from him. “I’m sure that your granddaughter is lovely, though, and she’s certainly very lucky to have such a doting grandmother.”
“That she is, but, of course, you wouldn’t hear it from her,” the corners of her pale blue eyes crinkle warmly. “That girl prefers to call her grandmother meddling.”
“I'm certain that she means it in a fond way,” Law says good-naturedly, placing the last of her purchase into her bag. “Is this everything on your list, madam?”
The old woman blinks slowly, before a spark of remembrance lights up her entire face. She then rummages through her leather pouch to pull out a wrinkled piece of parchment. With careful hands, she slips on her reading glasses, adjusting them before scrutinizing her own handwriting.
Law catches the words full moon and wild roses scribbled in dark ink that bleeds deep into the yellowed parchment.
“Oh, yes! Would you be so kind as to fetch me a vial of dried wild rose petals, doctor? I would like to purchase some as a gift for my dear granddaughter…”
“I’m afraid we don’t have them in stock,” Law says. “However, we have rose hip and regular rose petals available. We also have an assortment of other dried flowers that can be a good substitute depending on your granddaughters’ preferences—”
The elderly lady waves her hand in dismissal, cutting him off. “No, that won’t do. Wild roses have unique properties,” there's a sharp edge to her voice now, and Law feels like is a schoolboy being reprimanded. “Their strong scent and magical powers are unmatched. You, of all people, should know this, doctor.”
Law blinks, momentarily at loss for words. “My apologies, madam, but what do you mean by magical powers?”
“Wild roses are known to keep evil at bay,” she explains, her once warm and vibrant voice replaced by something colder. “My own grandmother cautioned me to always carry a pouch of dried wild rose petals with me. A protection against those who crawl under the full moon.”
Law’s eyebrows knit into a frown, a flicker of unease settling into his lower stomach. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow… what’s this about crawling under the full moon?”
The lines on the old woman's pale face deepen, making her look much older. “Strange things happen on the full moon, especially to those who live near that cursed forest,” she glances at the door, before lowering her voice to a near whisper, as if divulging a dark, forbidden secret. “Have you heard the stories, my dear boy?”
A memory stirs from deep within.
His parent's hushed voices. Bedtime stories told in firelight, weaving dark tales of an ancient creature crawling in the darkest hour of the night, hunting those who have wandered too far into the forest. His sister’s wide-eyed face flashes in his mind’s eye with striking clarity, his own little body trembling under the bed covers as his mother recited harrowing lines from a heavy, leather-bound tome.
But they were nothing more than that. A fairytale, designed to keep children from venturing too far after nightfall.
“Yes, my parents used to read them to me when I was a child,” Law says fondly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “They always warned us not to wander into the forest after nightfall. Said something terrible would happen to those who fell victim to the monster—”
“Unspeakable things!” The elderly woman suddenly shrieks, staring at Law with unblinking eyes.
Law jolts at the sudden change in tone.
“Countless people have vanished without a trace over the ages," she continues. "Most of them young women… terrible fates, they suffered. Such horrible details are better left unspoken, indeed.”
The weight of her words lingers oppressively in the air.
Slowly, the old woman closes her eyelids, her thin lips twitching as she whispers unintelligible words under her breath. The knot in Law’s stomach tightens at the sound of her mumbling, echoing louder and louder through the apothecary's empty walls. Each second seems to stretch longer than the last, dragging on forever. It’s as if time passing inside the apothecary is warped, marching at an entirely different pace than the world outside...
Then, without warning, the old lady’s eyes snap wide open. They don't look at him, but through him.
“The hour is late,” she announces in a distant voice, as if speaking to someone just beyond the room.
She raises her pale face to glance out the window. Law follows the trail of her gaze. Outside, the sun is already setting over the horizon, its deep crimson light bleeding into the shop, spilling across the floor and casting long, dark shadows.
“I will take my leave at once,” she declares, her voice trembling with poorly concealed urgency. “Beware of the shadows, child,” she pauses, glassy eyes tracing around the dark corners of the apothecary. Law notices them narrowing, fixed on a spot just beyond his shoulder, as if seeing something he doesn't.
“Make sure they stay where they are, lest they swallow you in darkness.”
She exits the shop without looking back, the door chiming loudly behind her. Law stares blankly at the now empty seat in before him, her ominous warning echoing like a mantra in his ears.
He watches, fear gripping tightly in his chest, as the shadows stretch further along the wooden floor. The dark corners of the apothecary seem to grow deeper, more menacing.
Law spends the rest of the evening trying to shake off her words, convincing himself over and over again that they are nothing more than the ramblings of an old, superstitious woman.
That night, Law dreams.
He's standing in the heart of a dense forest. The layout is a familiar one, as if it’s etched in the back of his mind. Though how exactly, he cannot explain.
The full moon hangs high over the cloudless sky, illuminating the forest ground in a silver sheen.
He moves swiftly, gliding through the shadows cast by the bright moonlight, weaving between the looming trees with unnatural ease.
His footsteps leave no mark, no sound.
He inhales, recognizing the sweet scent lingering in the air. It’s faint, but he can smell the young woman’s blood.
He knows exactly where to find his prey.
In the darkness of the forest, his body undulates like a snake’s silhouette. Twisting and turning at sharp angles until he’s on her tail, gliding right behind her footsteps…
He untangles his body from the shadows, his powerful muscles coiling, and in an instant, he pounces—pinning her weak body between himself and the forest ground.
He laughs as she thrashes helplessly under him.
“No! Please don’t kill me!”
He usually grows tired of those who cry and beg for their lives, but it has been so long since his last feast that her pathetic sobs sound like music to his ears.
He presses his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply, savouring in the delicious smell of fear that pools into his nostrils. The high pitched scream that escapes her lips sends a thrill through him as he sinks his fangs into her bare throat.
The burst of flavour that fills his mouth is nothing short of delectable.
He cradles the young woman against his chest, almost tenderly, as he suckles on the open wound on her throat. He feels her body gradually grow cold and limp in his arms as he drains her blood.
That’s when he notices something deeply wrong.
His feeding comes to an abrupt halt, his bloodlust interrupted by an unfamiliar presence lingering in the back of his mind.
Someone’s watching.
In an instant, everything—the full moon, the forest, the girl—disappears, swallowed whole by a crushing darkness...
Then, from the void, a pair of bright red eyes lock onto his own.
Law wakes up in a start, his body drenched in cold sweat.
His heart pounds wildly against his ribcage, his mind spinning with disorientation. He feels sick, the metallic taste of blood still lingering in the back of his throat.
A cruel reminder of his nightmare.
But it felt too detailed, too vivid, too real; nothing like the fading quality of a normal dream. More terrifyingly, it felt like a vision, a fresh memory—one he was clearly not meant to witness.
With a shaky breath, Law pushes himself up from his bed and stumbles to the window, pulling the ivory curtains open with clammy hands.
The world outside is eerily still, bathed in the silver glow of moonlight.
Slowly, his gaze lifts to the dark, cloudless sky.
The full moon stares back at him, unblinking.
Law doesn’t fall back asleep that night.