notes: what's up, it's hot as balls and this quarantined bitch is sweltering in place! everyone requesting part three: HERE IT IS. also i'm genuinely happy with how many people like this au! thank u for all the hilarious comments, i love you guys and i really appreciate it.
summary: It's all fun (strict rules) and games (turning in delinquents) until he catches you smoking on the school roof.
words: 10,000
pairings: roomboom, sophie/nami, tbh sophie/multiple who even am i trying to fool. why else are you here, what did you expect?

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a comprehensive corpus of the hazards of smoking while class representative
(part iii)

—

I: AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL

—

Let it be clear that she does not usually (read: ever) walk inside a delinquent's place of residence of her own volition.

It's a purely professional visitation. She's only there to drop off homework. Nothing more!

And yet Sophie is reluctantly curling up on the other end of his old, saggy couch, the delinquent sprawling his lanky body next to her. There are several distractions that lead up to this, and none of them are her fault.

Firstly: His apartment.

It's tiny and cramped, but there's a lived-in, homey untidiness to it. Cheesy magnets are stuck on the fridge and day-old daises sit in a coffee mug on the countertop. He gives her a pair of too-big, heart-patterned slippers to wear and she hugs her elbows to avoid accidentally bumping into anything. There's not even room for a normal kitchen table, and she is sure Law and whoever he lives with eats dinner around the kotatsu, vegging out in front of the tv. Dirty bowls are piled in the sink. The ceiling fan whiiiirs. Faint sirens sound from a few blocks away. Grade-school kids are kicking around a ball in the alley below, their shouts ringing loud and clear through the paper-thin walls.

She's faintly scandalized. How can anyone study like this?

Secondly: Bepo.

Bepo is a very affectionate white mop. He accepts belly-scratches and is a most ardent giver of nuzzles. She is almost beside herself with fury. How dare he have such a cute dog? Bepo and the promise of petting him are the main—nay, the only reasons why she has been lured onto that couch. The dog is squeezed between them, his fluffy tail wagging furiously. At least there are no signs of animal cruelty anywhere. She always assumed he kept a collection of frogs to torture.

He mentions that he didn't know she liked dogs. She corrects him; she likes cute things because there is a severe lack of them in her life. Including the budding felons she is forced to interact with because they are blackmailing her.

"That is a shame," agrees the boy who is blackmailing her.

Lastly: The delinquent himself.

His sweatpants are rumpled from having just woken up and his slippers have little smiley faces on them. He scratches the back of his head and the motion lifts up his shirt over his stomach, and she is so preoccupied with not looking that she almost misses him saying, "You want to smoke and watch some anime?"

(He doesn't mean cigarettes.)

His tv is ancient and must've been collected from a junkyard from decades ago. The screen fizzes with static.

"They're doing reruns of Cowboy Bebop," he says.

"I'm going home," Sophie replies tersely, trying to ignore the fact that she was just offered weed by the guy determined to make her life a living hell. "I've dropped off your homework, so I'm done here."

"You can pet Bepo."

…

…

…And this is how she ends up sitting next to him on his couch, telling herself she'll only stay long enough to make sure he's doing his homework.

His long, tattooed fingers carefully roll a joint over his math textbook, and it's so sinful Sophie has to look away. She pulls her legs up, sitting on the side, turned away from him as she scratches Bepo. The couch, much like the entire apartment, is cramped. The dog squishes over them both, his paws pressing on Sophie's skirt. Her legs are covered by modest knee-high socks, but she still does her best to keep her toes from touching Law's leg.

There's a fading bruise on his forehead and one around his jaw. He throws one arm over the back of the couch, the other bringing the lit joint to his mouth. She catches a slight twitch across his face as his hand brushes his cut lip. She thinks about asking if it hurts.

"…Waiting for me to take my shirt off?"

Sophie launches a pillow at his face, her sympathy meter slamming back to zero.

"We can have Jet's glorious voice in the background," she snaps, "but we're doing our homework!"

He stuffs the pillow behind his back and props his foot up on the kotatsu table, then obligingly starts on his homework. He taps his pen against paper and exhales smoke through his nose. "I would've guessed Spike or Faye. But Jet's your type, huh? Grimy old men?"

Sophie sniffs haughtily. "They have a certain dignified maturity boys your age couldn't even begin to dream of."

"Sure." Then he says under his breath, "Jailbait."

She refuses to deign that with a response, and returns to her homework. As he writes, he takes another hit and offers the joint at her.

"Get that. Out of. My face."

Law does, shrugging. "You want something to drink?"

"No."

They work without speaking, Cowboy Bebop running quietly in the background. His tv is clunky and staticky, and the anime flickers with a red-and-blue overlap in some ode to retro nostalgia. She is a little horrified by how quickly and easily his pen moves across paper, and finds herself glancing over on repeat to make sure he's not finishing the chem homework faster than her. He's high, for crying out loud. The universe is terribly unfair.

"Did you save it?" he asks, breaking the silence. "My photo."

"Absolutely not. And can you for the love of god concentrate."

His eyes lift, significantly lazier than before. "Want to see where I took it?" His voice is scratchier too as he gestures at one of the closed bedroom doors. "You came all this way."

Her face could've been genetically related to a tomato. "To give you your homework, not to be psychologically tortured."

"Is this really all you're here for?"

"Are you telling me to leave? Because I can."

Law casually switches gears and asks her to explain the next set of chem questions to him. This makes her scowl because she knows he doesn't need help. But she's also a class representative, which means she is a good person, and even though it's this delinquent…

She has to scoot closer to him, and Bepo eagerly stretches over both their laps. Her mouth is on autopilot, going over Lewis structures. He smells like weed and fabric softener. It is the most confusing scent in the history of humankind. Does he get a sadistic kick out of making her lean over and share his textbook and stare at the thin silver chain around his neck and wonder why that little detail wasn't in the photo he sent her?

"Thanks." The corner of his cut lip curls in a smirk. "I didn't know you were smart, class rep."

…She is certain of it.

Bepo's too heavy to wiggle around, so now she's forced to sit right next to him instead of pressed to the furthest end of the couch. Thankfully, he keeps his foul mouth shut after that. Except for the shifting of his hand resting on the back of the couch that occasionally brushes against her ponytail, she can actually focus and get her work done.

Every so often, the train rumbles right past his apartment. Its bright lights flash through the kitchen window blinds. Through the floorboards comes muffled laughter from a family downstairs. The rigidity in her back eases away and Sophie begins to settle back into the couch.

Then Law offhandedly mentions there are leftovers in the fridge.

Gasping, she checks her phone. It's already dinnertime. She can't believe it. She just wanted to drop off homework and ended up staying out till past seven. She has to head home immediately.

"Um…" Sophie says, realizing something else as she slips on her backpack. "Are your parents…?"

"My dad gets back pretty late." Law steps into his sneakers, keys jangling. "I'll walk you to the station."

"What? No, I don't need—"

An echoing bang erupts down the street, followed by escalating shouts and a car alarm going off.

"…That would be appreciated," she says in a tiny voice.

They go on a walk with Bepo through the neighborhood. The evening is nice and warm, and she can admit to herself it's kind of—no, not nice, it simply feels safer than usual, next to a scoundrel who looks like Law. The enormous dog doesn't hurt, either.

He even lets her take Bepo's leash for a while as they traverse the side streets, her stumbling after Bepo with both hands on the leash and him snorting as he watches his dog walk his class representative.

Before long, they reach the station, and Law ends the night with a crooked grin and a short, "See you tomorrow."

—

The next day, she sits at the kotatsu table because she's learned her lesson.

Law sprawls out on his couch, resting his homework on his legs. The tv's playing reruns of Lupin the Third, green suit. They work in relative peace—aside from the train rattling the walls, and the muffling footsteps running on the stairs outside, someone upstairs practicing guitar, but she doesn't mind the noise so much anyway, it makes the world feel so much more alive and vibrant.

When it gets late, he casually mentions he made some onigiri before she arrived. She sits up with a gasp, his comment reminding her to grab food at a convenience store on the way back.

She quickly packs up her things and he walks her to the station again with Bepo. The nighttime city air is cloying and smoggy, and the streetlights around them hum faintly with power. He sees her off outside, and she heads to her station platform and settles on a bench.

Tonight was wondrously uneventful. Sophie is adequately pleased with how he's been doing his homework. She scuffs her shoes over the ground, picking at the scratched plastic of the bench. Then she pulls out her phone.

Sophie (7:32 pm)
Hey, so… thanks.

The Worst (7:32 pm)
i needed to take out bepo for a walk anyway

Sophie (7:33 pm)
I meant for… I could've handled Eustass Kidd by myself.
After all, I'm quite experienced in dealing with you troublemakers.

Sophie (7:34 pm)
But it was still nice of you to do that.

She's also considered the theory that he and Kidd just wanted an excuse to beat each other up. She wouldn't be surprised if her situation turned out to be the unfortunate setting of two boys working out their passionate aggression on each other.

The Worst (7:36 pm)
how nice would you say i am?

Sophie (7:36 pm)
I'm sure you can be even nicer. Like deleting that photo.

The Worst (7:36 pm)
i'm thinking of putting it in a gallery.
it's a piece of art.

When she gets home, she stuffs her face into her pillow, considering deleting the stupid chat app, and her phone, and her life, and the world. Her window is open, and the air rolling in is muggy and thick in her throat.

—

On his third and last day of suspension, he texts her to buy a bottle of soy sauce.

No thoughtful greeting. No please and thank you. She doesn't know how he can even do it, send her a photo like that and then talk about soy sauce without even a mention about… the sheer delinquency of it all infuriates her to no end!

In response, she sends him a million knife and skull emojis, and almost trips over a chair.

When she reaches his apartment, the door swings open and he's standing there as if he'd been waiting for her. Sophie thrusts out the konbini bag, his homework packet and the soy sauce inside.

"That's like two hundred yen, right?" He fishes around his pocket and drops two coins in her awkwardly outstretched hand. "Come in. I'm making dinner."

Yes, she can see that. A pot on the stove is bubbling. The rice cooker is beeping. Sliced vegetables sit on the plastic cutting board. The delinquent is most definitely making dinner. Sophie isn't quite sure why that matters to her, but then Bepo is padding up to her and demanding pets.

Law says, "Help me clean."

She stares.

"You like cleaning, right?" he adds, tossing vegetables in a hot pan. The oil snaps.

"…Do I like bringing order to a universe that grows more entropic every day? Is that really the question?"

His shoulders shift like he's holding in a laugh.

Sophie stares again.

His request, genuinely, is to help him clean the kitchen as he cooks.

She looks around at the clutter. It wouldn't be a difficult task to tidy up. She sets down her backpack, glancing at him warily. His back is turned to her as he opens the soy sauce and dumps it in the pan. Bepo is tired of wagging his tail for her attention and pads back to Law, and the lanky boy squats down to accept nuzzles.

So, okay. Sophie supposes she can put the dishes in the dishrack back in their cabinet. Then she sees old food stains on the counter… that's gotta go, too…

She ends up sweeping the kitchen, vacuuming the living area, and rearranging his entire pantry, while remarking to Law that she expects the fire alarm to go off at any moment. He tells her not to worry, he'll save her from any fires by dropping her ass out into the alley. This dissolves into an argument on how long chicken is supposed to cook for, and Sophie launches on a ten-minute tangent about the tragedy of not owning a meat thermometer. Law times her on his phone's stopwatch.

She is so tempted to bonk him with his spatula.

When he finishes cooking, it smells good. He can make properly-seasoned chicken veggie omurice. Who knew?

They sit at the kotatsu on opposite sides, Bepo eating out of his bowl between them. Law puts saran wrap over the third plate. He tells her to eat first; his dad doesn't come back for a while. He spreads out his math homework and starts on it.

Sophie doesn't move. "Why?"

His spoon stops halfway to his mouth. "Why what."

"Why… this."

"You cleaned my apartment. It's repayment."

Yeah, she highly doubts that.

Still, free dinner. Her curiosity gets the better of her.

Sophie lifts the spoon, and pauses. He is watching her with a certain unsettling level of intenseness. "…Is it poisoned?"

Law gives her a withering stare. "Fuck you," he replies, and digs into his own omurice.

She takes a bite. Okay, fine. Fine, she can admit it's decent. Good, even. There are about ten different levels of cosmic weirdness to this, but she decides to focus on eating.

He scratches his shirt under the collar. "Sorry if it's hot, the AC's janky."

It is hot. The windows are open, city air that smells faintly of car exhaust wafting in, and the ceiling fan is on, but the heat from the stove lingers. Sophie shrugs. Inwardly, she's tempted to undo a button on her uniform. But she would never in her current company.

But Law has no such qualms. He sticks his spoon in his mouth and pulls his shirt over his head. He wads it up and throws it on the couch and settles back, his torso and arms inked everywhere, his thin silver chain hanging around his neck.

Then he opens up the science podcast that Sophie listens to every week, and puts the newest episode on in the background.

A grain of rice falls from her lip. The train rumbles past. If she can't concentrate, that has nothing to do with the shirtless delinquent doing his homework. She's listening to the podcast hosts talk about the migration pattern of arctic terns and the night is uncomfortably warm, that's all.

—

After a long day of work, Rocinante walks up the apartment stairs, throwing his jacket over his shoulders and loosening his tie. The evening setting over the neighborhood is quiet and tranquil, a rarity in this corner of the city, and he slouches into his apartment with a yawn…

…and sees Law sitting with a girl, doing homework.

Rocinante straightens up so fast he smacks his head on the doorframe. Bepo jumps up on his legs, barking.

"Hey, Roci," his teenager greets. "Welcome home."

"Good evening," the girl says with a small, polite bow.

"Your dinner's in the fridge," Law adds. "I cooked. She cleaned."

Rocinante looks at much tidier his apartment and almost falls flat on his face. "Sorry—who? What? How? Why?"

He thinks he should be worried. He furtively checks her school uniform for any sign of disarray—nope, she's fine—but Law must be out of his mind, going bare-chested in front of a girl? He tries to telepathically communicate to his deadpan teenager that the least he could do is have some propriety—

The girl stands and introduces herself. "I'm our class representative. Tra…" She clears her throat, and says with some difficultly, "this guy helped me out and I was the reason why he got in trouble. The least I could do is make sure he does his homework while he's suspended."

"How kind of you," Rocinante manages to gasp, blinking at her.

"Is it. Is it really."

"Law—"

"My presence is a gift," she declares with an equally flat look, like she wants to say something nasty but is holding her tongue.

"I, I hope my kid hasn't caused you too much trouble," Rocinante continues as he puts his briefcase down, immediately trips over it, and stumbles into the wall.

She shakes her head. "He's been causing me precisely the exact amount of trouble I am equipped to deal with. Also, I believe I have your slippers. I was just about to leave, anyway." She packs up her things and exchanges Rocinante's slippers for her shoes. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Roci-san."

"Ah, yes! Nice meeting you, too!" Then, as she opens the door, he hisses, "Law. Law. When is she coming back."

"I'll walk you to the station," Law says, also getting up.

Rocinante yells, "Wear a goddamn shirt, please!"

He does, shooting him a dry look that is the universal look for, Alright, Dad. Shit.

Rocinante picks up the large fluffy dog and holds him in his arms, and they peek over the door, watching the two teenagers head down the apartment stairs. He looks at Bepo and Bepo looks at him, and they silently confer on the suspicions of omurice.

—

"Your dad's nice. It's confusing. I thought he'd be like you."

She voices this thought as they turn the corner down a side street; his neighborhood is all utility poles and trains full of tired commuters flashing through the night. He was younger than she expected, too. To be honest, Rocinante could've been Law's older brother.

Law cups his hands around his mouth and lights a cigarette. "Roci gave me shit for this suspension."

"As he should."

"Got so heated he tripped off the balcony and landed in the dumpster."

"You're kidding."

He shakes his head.

Sophie's shoulders lift as she tries and fails to stifle her laughter. Then she feels the weight of his gaze again, and her smile drops and she telling him curtly to finish his homework when he gets back. Law remarks that he's never met anyone as obsessed with school as her.

"I have to be," she shoots back, hugging her arms even though she's not cold. "I have big plans for my future. I don't expect you to understand. You don't even care about your potential. You're wasting it away as we speak."

"Yeah, maybe." He sticks one hand in his pocket, the other flicking ash from his cigarette. "I've always found it a little tedious. School. Life. Existing."

There's a gently dead bent to his voice. She tells herself not to mind it.

"When are you going to get bored of this?" A tinge of desperation laces through her words. She can't help it.

His neighborhood is all dogs barking through thin walls and muffled shouts, cigarette packs crushed to the asphalt and humming window AC units. The neon glow from a liquor store at the corner passes over his face, lighting him in acid-blues and dark-pinks. Her buttoned-up shirt feels too tight, suddenly. It's suffocating her.

"Class rep," he says, "I don't think you could bore me if you tried."

As he speaks, the pale fumes escape his mouth like a ghost.

The dark, glistening street drips in neon oil.

When Sophie stumbles onto her train, she finds herself desperately loosening her tie and gasping for air that doesn't taste like secondhand smoke.

At home, as she pulls her uniform off, she gets another whiff of hot grease and the indefinable musky sticky scent of his apartment on her clothes. She takes a quick, ice-cold shower, then draws a bath and is about to step in when her phone buzzes on the sink.

The Worst (9:22 pm)
home safe?

He's terrible, but she's never had a classmate who asks about her like he does. Maybe my standards are extremely low, she thinks. Or maybe I just don't have standards at all. Sophie lights a cigarette and slips lower in her bathtub, her curls pulled up in a loose bun and her phone in her other hand.

Sophie (9:23 pm)
Yes. I'm taking a bath now.

Little typing dots.

They stop. They start again. They stop again.

The Worst (9:25 pm)
that's good
bet you've never relaxed a day in your entire life

She waits for an additional remark, a sly request for a photo of her shampoo bottle or something. He hasn't asked for a photo for a while now. His torture quota is surely running low.

But she gets nothing of the sort. Maybe this is a little too dangerous for Law. He's careful. He's never asked for a photo that went even near the realm of potential jail time.

Taking another drag of her cigarette, Sophie opens her camera and takes a photo of the other end of her bathtub. It's from a very anonymous angle. Only her legs are in view; knees up, feet propped up on the edge next to her bottles of hair products and body wash. Her thumb hovers over the send button. This is very likely going to have the exact opposite effect of boring him.

The idea of that makes her stomach tighten a way she can't explain. Maybe it's anger. Maybe it's the notion of being seen as some kind of amusement. If he wants to be vile, so can she.

She sends it.

Sophie (9:28 pm)
Trade.

She doesn't have to wait long. Instead of a photo, a video appears.

She plays it.

A tattooed hand opens the faucet of a bathroom shower. It's cramped just like everything else in that apartment. The video shakes as he steps in, angling his phone away from the water and to a small window crammed with soap, shaving cream, and razors. "You caught me just in time for a shower," comes his disembodied voice. "Look, you can see the downtown skyline from here."

City lights and a glowing horizon. It's beautiful.

Then the camera flips to the front view as he sets it against the window, and Sophie almost drops her phone. The water pelts him, running down his shoulders and overly-tattooed chest and… she can't see anything beneath that. She's grateful she can't because she is positive the only thing he has on is the delicate silver chain around his neck, but maybe not knowing is worse than knowing.

"Nice view," he murmurs, "right?"

The video ends. She sets her phone aside.

She sinks slowly down in her bath until she is entirely submerged, eyes squeezed shut, and holds her breath for as long as she can.

—

INTERLUDE: GRAND THEFT AUTO

—

Eustass Kidd can typically be found working in the metalworking classroom, which is also the usual haunt of Penguin and Shachi, and Franky and Usopp from Luffy's gang. He's there after school, dismantling metal parts in bulky gloves and baggy pants that desperately need a belt, and thankfully he's alone.

She's pretty sure that car engine he's working on is directly related to an arrest bulletin for a stolen Ferrari she saw on the news.

Sophie plants her hands on her hips. "Killer turned your math homework in. But you could've at least tried in your other subjects."

Kidd wipes his face and smears grease over his cheek. As crude as he is, he's won engineering competitions with parts he's stolen from junkyards. He's a shoo-in for the best engineering programs in the country… if he isn't arrested first, that is. "Yeah, whatever. Look, you better watch yourself around Trafalgar. You don't know how nasty he can be."

"I am well acquainted with that."

His eyes narrow. Something about this conversation changes tracks. "Sometimes me and Killer hunt pervs on the subway." Kidd lifts a brawny fist. "They're juice pouches. Punch 'em and they squirt blood. Fun for the whole family. You get it?"

"There's… nothing shady going on between me and him." She wonders if Kidd and Law might share more qualities than they care to admit—and then reminds herself they're not good qualities. But they're… not all terrible, either. "Anyway, I thought you two were friends. Delinquent solidarity."

"We ain't friends," Kidd scoffs. "Even if we were, I'd still woulda hit him. Something about his face."

"I understand what you mean, but he got you pretty good, too."

"Shut up. Pass me the torque."

She lifts up the torque wrench and considers it. Sophie delicately steps forward to where Kidd is hunkered down. He is eyebrowless and glaring.

"I hope the two of you have learned your lesson. It's not good to fight on school property." Sophie stands directly over him and braces one foot against a pile of metal junk, raising the tool in her hand. "If you try to threaten me again, I will personally pull down your pants, take off my shoe, and smack you until you cry."

Kidd lifts his goggles up and eyes her. "Class rep, you got a mouth."

She gives him the torque—

"Future tip, don't stand like a gangster in a fucking skirt. Unless you want me to see up—"

—but not before whacking him over the head with it.

"Juice pouch," she says.

—

II: SHE WANTS MY MONEY

—

In most schools, a suspension caused by a fistfight between two students would've been a spectacle.

In Hell School, no one bats an eye.

That is for the best. Sophie is perfectly fine with life going back to normal, with normal delinquents to lecture. She is pretty sure Usopp's the one drawing Sogeking! The man from sniper island (it's in your heart) graffiti on the school walls. Someone accidentally sets the Home Ec room on fire, which is bad enough, but then she catches Sanji interrogating a group of terrified first-year punks with his kicks.

Plus, for some reason Ace finds it funny to send her selfies of him, Sabo, and Luffy driving away on his motorbike while a gas station burns behind them. She stares at it for five minutes before realizing it's not photoshopped.

Sophie (11:18 am)
PLEASE STOP SENDING ME PHOTOS OF YOU COMMITTING CRIMES?

Freckle Monkey (11:21 am)
[crying laughter emoji]

She might have to throttle Ace at some point.

But Sophie has other fish to fry.

She gets the sense of something much more dangerous than the Monkey Brothers brewing when she hears about yet another group of third-year boys being extorted for money. She is pretty sure she knows where the root of the problem lies, and struts off in search of her.

Nami is standing in line at the school's bakery, stylish sneakers and hoop earrings and disheveled orange hair that smells perpetually of mikans.

"We need to talk," Sophie says authoritatively, and Nami raises her brows.

The thing is, she has quite a bit of unspoken respect towards Nami. Nami is generally sweet—on girls, at least, and the guys she's friends with. She's also an honor student, and more impressively, she keeps her gang under control, and her gang is also Luffy's gang. That means Nami is some kind of superhuman mutant.

But Nami is also sneaky and diabolical. Her thick black notebook is stuffed full of ominous notes and reminders of debt interest. And somehow she's even lulled perfectly genteel girls like Vivi and Conis under her spell! There are even rumors of Tashigi, the student council president herself, going easy on Nami when she gets in trouble. Sophie cannot abide by this. Just because Nami is all… intelligent and bouncy doesn't mean she has the right to be treated different from any other delinquent!

"I know," Sophie says, "what you are doing."

Nami gives her a lofty look. "Oh? Please, clue me in."

She sweats. "You've a-always treated me kindly, Nami. But you're also s-squeezing money out of our classmates. I won't tolerate it."

"Who told you that?"

"It's all over school!"

When Nami pouts, it almost looks like a smile. She twists a lock of orange around her finger and sticks out her bottom lip, chocolate-brown eyes shining. "Hey, why are you being so mean to me? You'll make me cry."

Sophie is speechless. Nami takes the bread and coffee sitting at the pick-up station and saunters away.

"One-shot KO," says Pudding from behind the counter. "Pathetic, class rep."

Sophie looks around. "…Where's my bread and coffee?"

Pudding points at the redhead making a fast getaway.

"That delinquent!" Sophie yelps. She inhales like a bullfrog and throws her hands up. "That… thief!" The gears in her mind shift. Something must be done.

—

'Something' turns out to be 'stalk—no, spy—no, tracking Nami with a pair of binoculars'.

This is not exactly Sophie's proudest moment. She is hiding behind telephone poles, wearing a surgical face mask and observing the other girl from a safe distance. This would get her arrested in any other scenario, but it's for the sake of the greater good! She has to know if Nami is extorting other students! She is simply trying to keep the peace!

Sophie follows Nami on the subway train (while hiding behind Shirahoshi and her brothers) to a trendy dessert shop in Shibuya. It's owned by Pudding's family. Nami sits alone at a table and orders a slice of cake and an orange cream soda. When Katakuri comes by with his notepad, Sophie furtively gets a fruit parfait for herself and watches the other girl over an upside-down menu.

Nami checks out a Crimin clothing store. Sophie is not far behind, sneaking below the counter where Camie is at her part-time job. Nami eats at a takoyaki street stall and talks with the owner, a young man with a rather octopus-like face. Sophie grabs a bit of takoyaki, too. Nami strolls through a park and comes across Usopp; she waves at him and presses her finger to her lips. Sophie, meanwhile, has to frantically elude three grade school boys waving paper swords and yelling about a suspicious lady.

She trails Nami into a quiet neighborhood filled with an unusual amount of mikan trees. She is slowly beginning to admit to herself that there's nothing suspicious about Nami's afterschool activities and perhaps she miscalculated—when Nami whirls around. She strides to the telephone pole Sophie's hiding behind.

Sophie immediately spins and runs face-first into a fence.

Before she can collect herself, Nami is in front of her, leaning forward with a dark, catty smile. "Hi, you."

She shields her face. "Sorry, have we, um, met before?"

"I should think so, class rep. I mean, I put all this effort into our date."

Sophie stares at her. Date? She thinks back to their afternoon, and her jaw drops. "I was not aware of this happening," she squeaks.

"I thought we had a nice time together." Her eyes glint. "Can we end the date here, or are you looking for something more?"

With a gurgled, unintelligible answer, Sophie slides away from her and runs home.

When she gets home, after screaming into her pillow and rolling around her bed for a mortifying amount of time, she drags herself back up. Tiredly contemplating her failures of the day, Sophie pulls off her uniform, taking out her keys and wallet from her pocket… and pauses.

Her wallet feels lighter.

She opens it.

The cigarette in her mouth threatens to drop. "That thief!"

—

A blue-haired young woman answers the door, and Sophie freezes in the middle of furiously jamming her finger on the doorbell. Their neighbor, an old man with a scarred face, peers out of his house to yell at Sophie for making a ruckus so late at night.

"I got it, Gen-san," the young woman calls, and evaluates her. Before Sophie can even introduce herself, she shouts, "Nami! It's one of your girlfriends again!"

"I'm not… oh, never mind." Self-respect these days is a lost cause.

"Can you be quieter? Mom's sleeping." Slippered footsteps come downstairs and Nami appears, rubbing her eyes. "Oh," she says, startled. "Class rep."

"Come with me, or I will run us both over with a truck."

"…How would that even—"

Sophie drags her by scruff of her shirt.

It's Nami's turn to pretend she has no clue what Sophie's doing. Right across the street, Sophie finds a bench beneath the mikan trees and firmly sits Nami down.

She'd been thinking about something on the way over, and starts off with saying, "I know I was in the wrong to follow you, and I accept that you taking my money is a little bit deserved, but you still need to cut it out with the money shakedowns. That fosters the opposite of school spirit, you know!"

Nami draws her legs up on the bench. A car passes by down the quiet street, its headlights passing over her face and illuminating the swoopy blue tattoo on her shoulder. She sighs. "This about those third-years, right?"

It turns out that a group of third-year boys were giving Lola a hard time. Nami shows her the text messages between her and Lola, and as Sophie reads them, her heart sinks but she understands. Delinquents give Hell School a bad name, but bullies do just as much damage.

"Nami… do you… only go after troublemakers?"

"Don't tell anyone," she warns. "I have a reputation to maintain."

No wonder Nami's capable of controlling the chaos that is Luffy's gang. She's conniving, but she also uses her powers for… relative good. For semi-decency. Sophie tells her as much and apologizes for thinking the worst of her. She looks up nervously, fidgeting with her hair over her shoulders.

Nami tilts her head, blinking.

"B-but considering who you hang out with, my misgivings aren't irrational!" Sophie adds in a fluster.

"Well, of course. Luffy would be delighted to hear that." Nami shoots her a funny look. "You know you could've just asked me about it instead of following me like a creep."

"I—well—yes, I just—for the good of society at large, I was—" She tries and fails to start a sentence so badly that Nami curls up and giggles. Sophie hides her face in her elbows and pouts in embarrassment, but at least Nami has the good humor to forgive her.

Nami kicks back on the bench, and they talk about school for a little while longer (she's going to be a climatologist, and Sophie brightens and nods fervently in approval; finally, a sensible career goal), and then she casually tells Sophie about her scam to catfish money out of unsavory business moguls.

"Maybe you should rethink that idea," Sophie advises.

"Oh, I've already made a million yen," Nami says cheerily. "Don't worry, my mom's a retired cop so I know how to keep my nose clean. I plan on setting her up for retirement before I head to uni. I'm going to take Mom and Nojiko on vacation, too. My mom planted these trees, actually. All along this boulevard. She's done really nice things for the whole community."

"Ah," she realizes, "no wonder you smell like…"

Nami smiles, scooting closer. "Like?"

Nami is conniving, and maybe she doesn't use her powers for good all the time. Maybe not even most of the time. Her eyes are brown like dark copper and her hair is about every shade of fire and cider.

Sophie says flatly, "My money."

Her smile curves wider. "Aw. You're learning."

In one smooth move, her wallet is in the pocket of her skirt again, and Nami's hand is on her neck.

"Sorry, I already spent the money that I took from you earlier," Nami tells her, and then touches her lips very lightly to the tip of Sophie's nose, and grins at the resulting squeak. "Let's say that makes us even, okay?"

Sophie's nose scrunches up and she blinks wildly. As Nami gets up to leave, she can do nothing but stare.

She looks back, smiling through the blooming mikan trees. "How shameless, class rep. Letting a delinquent steal a kiss." She winks, making a money gesture with her hand. "Normally I'd charge interest."

It takes about ten seconds for that sink in.

Sophie clutches her nose, bright pink. "You thief!"

—

III: STATION SCUMBAGS

—

She likes to think that she is a healthy individual, if you ignore her system dependence on caffeine and nicotine. She eats her greens and resists carbonated drinks and junk food better than most seventeen-year-olds. She knows how to keep a balanced diet.

But there are nights when her stomach rumbles, breaking her concentration on homework, and she decides that she's too tired to cook. Sophie wants a cold iced latte and a greasy paper box filled with fried chicken.

Tonight is that night.

She takes a break from work and heads to a convenience store at a subway station downtown. (Because every city has its nooks and crannies and best places to buy insert food item here; if she's going out of her way to get some fried chicken, it better be good.)

However, a hindrance swiftly shows its nasty three-headed face.

They're hanging out next to the convenience store, most definitely plotting something nefarious. For some reason, Luffy is sitting inside a shopping cart. Kidd is playing on his phone, and Law is unconcernedly moving Luffy's cart with his foot side-to-side. The subway station air is stale and recycled, and the fluorescent lights bounce off the tiled floor where commuters are walking to and fro.

Those three boys together is cause for alarm and possibly a police warrant. But Sophie's had far too many cumbersome things to deal with lately, so she averts her eyes and keeps walking. They're facing away from her, and she catches bits and pieces of conversation.

She can do it. She can make it to the store without them noticing. She's in a plain t-shirt, shorts, and Birkens, which is to say she doesn't look remotely like her usual proper self in school. She'll just sneak by and…

"He took the L," Law's saying, gesturing at Kidd.

"You backed off first when the teachers broke us up," Kidd snaps. "A real champ would've kept it up and smoked ya. Which I did."

"You know what," laughs Luffy, "you're both pretty dumb." As two irritated boys round on him, something else catches his amusement. "Oi, Thick Brows! Watcha up to?"

Sophie's fist would probably bounce off that infallibly sunny smile, but she imagines it anyway.

"None of your business," she says snootily, hurrying into the convenience store.

The automatic rush of the store's AC hits her and cools away the summer sweat. She hustles to grab her snacks. Her phone buzzes in her pocket. A flush creeps up the back of her neck, one that will not go away even in the air-conditioned store, and she reluctantly checks it.

The Worst (6:38 pm)
pic of what you're buying

She considers sending him a photo of her middle finger. But that would delight him. She'd never hear the end of it. Sophie takes a photo as she waits in line, then adds, What are the three of you planning?

The Worst (6:40 pm)
nationwide political upheaval

The Worst (6:40 pm)
joining?

Sophie (6:40 pm)
I'd rather eat my own arm, thanks.

The Worst (6:40 pm)
you'll get indigestion

She heads out with her purchased items, determined not to pay attention to those troublemakers of Hell School. They're watching for her this time. Luffy's gangly legs sticks out over the shopping cart. Their soft drinks are lukewarm, melting a sticky ring on the ground. Advertisements for fancy cars and fancy watches run on the screens behind the hoodlums.

"What'd you buy, Thick Brows?" Luffy launches himself out of his shopping cart. "Can I have some?"

Sophie is so flustered she gives him a piece of her fried chicken and shoos him away. She almost trips over her sandals.

"Class rep." The silver rings on Law's knuckles flash as he knocks his hand against Kidd's arm. "Heard you threatened to cut Eustass's balls off if he gets in a fight again."

Kidd rolls his skateboard. "She basically did. Class rep didn't do that to you?"

"No." His eyes glint at her as she passes by. "She was meaner."

Sophie stiffens as she walks past them. Her iced latte drips condensation in her hand.

But she can't resist glancing over her shoulder, as if pulled by an irritating magnet.

Law must've been waiting for that, because he lifts his phone up so she can see it. His home screen background is the photo of her bare legs stretched over her bathtub, water dripping between her knees and down her calves. Her ankles, feet, and toes glisten on the edge of the ceramic tub.

When she took that photo, it looked perfectly innocent; her body is just her body, her legs are just her legs, there is nothing remotely sensual about any of her longsuffering, decaffeinated atoms. But in his hands, knowing that he looks at it every time he opens his phone, makes that photo appear almost…

She cannot leave fast enough.

—

End-of-term exams are coming, and Sophie is studying nonstop in the relentless heat.

She tells herself to suck it up. Once it's summer holiday, she'll be free. She'll have enough time to do whatever she wants.

She studies on the crowded train compartment that she takes to school. Even early in the morning, it's so muggy that the pages of her book stick together. As the day of judgement (exams) draw near, she arrives to class with her hair pulled up in unruly knots and her eyes bloodshot. Her entire body is a stress headache.

Even Law pays attention. In the middle of a lecture, her phone brightens with a text.

The Worst (9:24 am)
you look like hell

She would normally never text in the middle of class, but the absolute gall makes her—

Sophie (9:24 am)
And you look like you were birthed from the devil's butthole.

Sophie (9:24 am)
What is your point?

Okay, maybe she snapped a little hard on that one.

With cruel consistency, he tells her to send him photos of her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's ridiculous. When she's chugging her sixth cup of coffee for the day, she doesn't want to be interrupted mid-existential crisis with a reminder to 'drink some fucking water and eat a goddamn carb'. Who does he think he is, trying to police her diet? If she wants to curl up and cry due to stomach pain from all the caffeine, that's her business, okay?

But he is persistent. He wakes her up every morning with a stupid text about her breakfast. She'll snap a photo of some leftover dinner, or, more frequently, an onigiri she bought from a convenience store on her way to the subway. Dinner is the worst. Dinner is when she's in the middle of studying, and that's when he inevitably texts, breaking her concentration.

She drags herself to the kitchen to muster up some measly dinner. And water. Law always asks about water. Who does he think he is, Sophie grumbles to herself, and considers sending a photo of a glass half-full of water before dumping it in the sink.

But she doesn't. She drinks the dang water.

The hunger for fried chicken hits again during a thirty-hour no-sleep studying marathon.

She sees him again in the train station, outside the convenience store with the best fried chicken. Law, Penguin, Shachi, all loitering around There's hardly any relief from the heat, even in the early evening; the air is stale and stuffy with all the crowded commuters. Sophie snaps at them to go home and study for their exams.

Naturally, they laugh at her.

But Law catches her on the way out of the store. He shoves an ice-cold bottle of water it in her hand. She jerks so fast she almost drops it.

"Drink it," he says, and then returns to his crew before she can pay him back by chucking coins at his head.

On the walk home, Sophie passes the bottle between her fevered hands until it turns lukewarm.

Later that night, she spins around her chair, holding a pen on her upper lip like a moustache. After taking a quick smoke break at her open window, she checks her phone—no new messages—and goes back to studying. Energy drinks and cups of coffee litter her desk, along with an empty bottle of water.

—

Final exams are over, she aces all her tests with flying colors, and she sleeps for the next two days.

Then, Sophie spends the start of summer holiday melting in her bed.

She lies on top of the covers, sweating through her underwear. It's finally break, so she should be doing… fun things. Relaxing things. She checks her phone again. No new messages. Even the student gov group chat is quiet now that summer has started and they're all off going on adventures and doing other… normal teenage hullabaloo.

Going to the beach. Going to house parties. Traveling. Hm.

(She would've thought he'd at least text. Not that she wants him to. But it would've been a prime opportunity to brag about her grades.

She's certainly not going to text him first.)

All she does is stare at her ceiling until the dewy morning light becomes the insistent heat of a July sunset. She's overused her brain so much that now it's just a big empty tank of nothing, useless neurons flopping about like sad, desiccated jellyfish.

At night, it hits her. Sophie is suddenly overcome with craving.

She wants fried chicken. She wants bags and bags of savory chips. She wants ice cream. After suddenly being released from the boiling pressure cooker of final exams, she wants every terrible awful thing she knows will be bad for her body.

It's fitting, then, that when she slouches to the convenience store, she sees them in their usual spot in the train station.

It's a whole freaking congregation.

Luffy's crew, picking sticky ice cubes out of their soda drinks and chucking them down each other's shirts. Over Vivi's shoulder, Nami grins and waves at her. Law is watching what might've been a surgery dissection on his phone, or just a video of someone screaming. Penguin and Shachi are pouring all their money in a gatcha machine.

What is the point of dallying around in the subway station? They're not even doing anything.

She makes it obvious that she is avoiding their ruffian milieu. Law calls out to her, asking how her summer break's going.

"It is perfectly adequate," Sophie sniffs. She did nothing all day and then had to deal with a panic attack because she did nothing. Now she's going to stuff her face with fried chicken. Life is fine.

"Spent the whole day sleeping?" It is a light, perfectly innocent question, yet blatantly about her appearance.

"What? No." She tugs on the back of her shorts, pulling it lower. They're tiny and cotton and perfect for the summer, which means they are entirely inappropriate for tattooed boys to look at her in. "I was… doing things. Rearranging my bookshelf. Laundry. Played some drums."

Law stuffs his phone in his jeans, his gaze locked on hers. "Sounds fun."

"So much fun." She shifts her weight, sandals scuffing on the ground. The AC in the station must be broken, because it's stuffier than normal. Her curls can't even be wrangled into a ponytail, and they're frizzing over her shoulders. But it doesn't matter; she should be going inside the convenience store, not standing here. "My life is a rollercoaster of constant excitement. I saw a snail on my bedroom window this morning."

He steps closer, a small grin on his face. The unforgiving press of the heat creeps down her spine in droplets of sweat. She shifts her weight again. A question gets choked up in her throat, and she is certain it's what sort of hooliganry are you up to and not why haven't you texted me today?

Mostly certain.

At least half.

And then it happens: yet another hazard of hanging around delinquents. Which Sophie honestly should've been prepared for.

An authoritative figure comes marching down the tunnel and yells at their group to stop loitering around.

Luffy and Usopp stop doodling various pirate skulls on the wall. The former jumps up and waves. "Smokey!"

The white-haired, heavily-smoking officer stops in his tracks. Sophie would learn later that this police officer has had several miserable experiences chasing after a certain sunny, havoc-wreaking boy. But she doesn't know that at present. She just looks at the officer, whose teeth is grinding his cigar so hard ash is falling from his mouth, and frowns slightly, while Law simply says, "Shit."

"Cop!" Zoro roars, waving his gang forward. "Haul ass!"

And then a tattooed hand is on her wrist and they're running through the subway.

Her sandals are slapping against the tiled floor and Law is dodging around surprised commuters, pulling her close. "Wait," the word leaves her lungs breathlessly, still in the process of half-registering the jolt of momentum her body is in, "wait! Slow down! It's just the police!"

"Are you dumb?" they roar back.

"Teenage vandals," she hears the cop shout into his radio, "I'm pursuing on foot."

"Oh my god," Sophie hisses between her teeth, digging her nails into Law's palm. She's definitely guilty by association, isn't she?

With practiced ease, the delinquents jump the turnstiles. Even Nami in her high-heeled boots. (She then turns to help Vivi, whose delight for shenanigans does not fit the daughter of an Egyptian ambassador at all.) Law braces one hand on the metal machine, kicking up over it and landing on the other side. Sophie stops, fumbling through her pockets for her subway card. They can't expect her to…

He extends his hand. "Jump!"

Screw it, she thinks, and does.

Law grabs her around the waist as she flounders over the turnstile and sets her down, stumbling, and then they're off running again. Zoro and Luffy are leading the horde, hollering for people to make way. She can't believe this. Her heart is racing, pumping through her ears, she has no idea where she's going, and she is deliriously okay with that.

They're racing down the stairs—jumping in Luffy's case; screaming in Usopp's—as the train blaaaares onto the platform, and people are shouting in surprise as the group of teenagers barrel past them and through the sliding doors.

"Ha!" says Shachi. "Slow bastard."

"Spoke too soon." Penguin points at the grey-haired police officer making it onto the train right before the doors close.

There's a mad dash to run through the swaying compartments, shoving past alarmed passengers. She's squeezed right up against Law, and he holds her by the waist and seizes Penguin by the shirt, who in turn grabs Shachi's sleeve as they run like a human chain. She braces herself against him as the train turns a sharp corner, and it slows down as it arrives at its next stop. The doors open as the officer fights through the crowd towards them.

"I am not going to jail," she chants under her breath, "I am not going to jail, I got nineties on all my exams and I am not going to jail."

"That's the spirit, class rep," Law says, and she swears in the chaos of everyone shouting to run, she hears him laugh.

They run up another flight of stairs—panting in the humid heat and yelling at each other not to slow down—and jump over another turnstile. Sophie's ready this time. She leaps over it and grabs onto Law's shoulders to brace her fall.

He takes her hand again and she scrambles after them through the maze of subway tunnels, the eternal construction going on at various points, and onto another train going who-knows-where.

Like runners barreling past the finish line in the world's most chaotic race, they crash through the doors, alarming the small handful of passengers in the compartment. There's no sign of the cop as the doors close, and the delinquents let out a raucous cheer as the train peels off into the night.

Sophie takes deep, shocked breaths. She doesn't even have the mental coherency to say anything. The rest of them are laughing, dancing, hi-fiving each other and playing the horrendously shaky videos they took of the chase. Here is she is, almost having a panic attack because they just evaded the police, and it's just another day for them.

The train emerges out from a tunnel and passes above ground, speeding along the coast of the bay.

The view is breathtaking. On the other side of the bay, the city glows and shines and shimmers over the water. It is an infinite dance of lights.

Law leans against a metal pole, catching his breath, and as she looks at their reflection in the smudged window, it only just hits her that she's still holding his hand. He doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he does. He loosens his tight grip on her hand, but his thumb is carefully tracing the tips of her fingers. The warm metal of his rings press against her palm.

She pulls her hand away and sits by Vivi on the bench.

"Wasn't that delightful?" Vivi says with flushed cheeks, fanning herself.

"You're all insane," says the other girl.

—

Lurching into her bedroom, she's exhausted but somehow also giddy and restless.

She takes a quick shower and falls on her bed, lights off, wet hair air-drying. It's only the beginning of summer break, but she feels as if this high will last her until school starts again. She can't believe she jumped those turnstiles. She can't believe she ran to evade a cop. Sophie stares up, feeling as if that familiar view of her ceiling, with a poster of famous women scientists taped there, looks entirely different from that afternoon.

She took photos of the late-night train ride. They're stupid, really. Badly shot, because she wanted to hide the fact that she was taking them. There's a blurry photo of the ocean view, Luffy's face half-visible. The orange of Nami's hair next to the blue of Vivi's. Penguin and Shachi sprawled over a bench. Tattooed hands lightly curled around a pole.

She should've taken better ones. But they're nice anyway.

A message pops up.

The Worst (12:23 am)
home safe?

The restless feeling in her grows. She starts to text, You ask me that too much. You tell me to drink water too much. Stop being so nice. You're supposed to be blackmailing me. I'm supposed to hate you, not hate how much you make me feel alive.

Backspace, backspace, backspace. Delete.

Sophie (12:25 am)
Yes. You?

Law sends over a photo of Bepo. His wet nose is pressed up against the camera. They're on his bed, a dim light coming from a desk lamp off to the side.

The Worst (12:25 am)
trade

Sophie sends over a professional photo of her stuffed animals all gathered around for a meeting on rising sea levels (sometimes she pretends they're world leaders attending the United Nations, but that's a secret she'll never share with anyone). She doesn't know why this would amuse him, unless he thinks it's torture for her. Little does he know; she doesn't mind it so much if it's a trade. And Law… clearly doesn't mind giving her something in return.

She reflects on this for a moment. The photo of him shirtless, the video of him in the shower… for a demon wearing human flesh, he's not very good at extortion. If anything, his lack of any genuine evil gives her a sense of relief in this text exchange. The idea is a little unsettling to imagine if she thinks about it too hard, but it's… starting to feel normal seeing the nickname she gave him appear on her screen.

Then she locks her phone and is determined to go to sleep.

Two minutes later, she opens her phone again. She texts him, It's hot. He texts back a water gun emoji.

She rolls on her belly, kicking up her legs.

Sophie (12:28 am)
I want fried chicken.

The Worst (12:28 am)
am i supposed to care

The Worst (12:28 am)
but fine, text me your address and i'll come over with some

Hahahahahahahahahahaha, she types back angrily, face flushed. She also adds, Don't be stupid, I'm not falling for that. Disgusting.

The Worst (12:29 am)
clever class rep

Sophie (12:29 am)
Why are you still up?

The Worst (12:29 pm)
too hot to sleep
listening to music

He sends her a link. She opens it and is greeted with a music video shot on grainy 35 mm film, the aspect ratio reminding her of an old VHS movie. She thinks of Law listening to this song when he's up late at night, on his tiny balcony with the collapsible clothes drying rack hanging next to him, city lights glowing like stars.

She responds with a link to a song that she'd been listening to recently, and then around one am the conversation veers into the similarities between death metal and classical music. Around two am she teases him about the weird alt bands he favors and he snarks back, as opposed to what, the bands old geezers like who preyed on teenagers and subsisted on cocaine? And she supposes, okay, he even knows his music history.

Around three, her eyelids start drooping.

Sophie (3:04 am)
I'm tired, but I still want to finish this discussion.

The Worst (3:04 am)
shit it's late. go to bed.

Noooojjsk ksn sk, she replies in the middle of falling asleep.

.

.

.

Class Representative Sophie's Delinquency Tally:

Counts of smoking: 3
Threats of violence: 2
Unsolicited bathing photos sent: 1
Aggressively utilizing a wrench: 1
People stalked: 1
Visiting a classmate unannounced at night: 1
Kiss stolen by a delinquent: 1
Loitering with a group of delinquents: 1
Evading a police officer: 1
Turnstile jumping: 2
Disturbing the peace: 1
Texting a delinquent until you fall asleep: 1

Total: 16