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Luffy loves the mornings.
He loves the cool air, the way it feels so light and free as opposed to the sludgy, thick afternoons he grew up with down in Foosha, even on Mt. Colubo. He loves the rough water as much as he does the calm waves, but the peaceful, nostalgic sound of waves just brushing shore as they do in mornings makes him long for when he was little, too little, cuddled up in his grandfather's arms, half asleep, his lullaby tucked into the foam washing against Garp’s feet.
He loves the way the grass of Sunny feels, cold with dew; how the wood panels feel warm but not too warm, the smell of breakfast cooking washing over the deck. There’s nothing but comfort in the morning light, no loneliness, no wars, no troubles. The morning brings happiness, ambition strong enough to make Luffy believe he could weave himself into the sunrise if he stretched far enough, reaching a hand for that sky turning blue, blue like the ocean.
Luffy loves the mornings.
He loves it even when they stay on shore, despite the fact their home is docked right there. Nami insists on staying away for now, because their home smells like gunpowder woven with blood, charred wood that made Usopp tense up. Luffy just tilts his head and does not understand—that was the smell of a battle well won—but complies anyway. Nami knows a lot, after all.
So he experiences the sunrise through the window of his hotel room, Zoro snoring behind him, loud as ever. He doesn’t bother getting out of bed, resting his chin on pulled up knees, waiting for that blue of the sky, waiting to hear the birds wake as well.
The open air of a ship, of his home, is so much more ideal than a stuffy temporary home, even if the beds are soft and make Zoro happy, even if they provide free breakfast. The sun rises, and Luffy forgets all complaints in an instant.
It’s only when Zoro rises, hands sliding around Luffys bare waist, chin finding his bony shoulder, that breaks Luffy from his trance. Calloused fingers trace his abs, the dip of his hips, then all the way up to the indent of his collar bone. This Zoro—Luffy knows every facet of his personality—is a peaceful Zoro, not looking to redo last night, but only to feel. Luffy leans back into his body heavily.
“Good morning.” The greeting is quiet. Zoros still got sleep in him.
“Hi, Zoro.” Luffy is just as quiet, catching Zoros hand to squeeze it fondly. He turns his head, expectant, and is pleased when he’s granted the reward of a kiss, just a small brushing of their lips, but a reward none the less. “You slept good.”
“I have a good luck charm.” Zoro pats Luffys belly with his free hand, pleased with the soft smile Luffys giving him, returning it right back. His insomnia had been less of a problem ever since he and Luffy started sharing the bed.
They exchange no other words, Luffys eyes drawn to the window, Zoros eyes drawn to Luffy, staying like that for some time. Zoro warms Luffys back with his body heat, and in turn, Luffy rubs his hand with his thumb.
“Zoro?”
He offers Luffy nothing but a noise.
“What’s a word for when you’re really happy?”
So Zoro lists, dutifully listing as many as he knows. Luffy nods along, only processing a few before distraction takes hold or he doesn’t get what the words mean, but it helps try to put a name to what he feels in the mornings, especially mornings like this.
Mornings where he wakes up to the fact he’s got a family, he’s got a loving relationship, he’s got hardships and proof that he is alive. He’s got soft touches from rough hands, soft words from a gruff voice, and plans for the future. A future for him and his family, for his home of the water, for his mornings to come.
Mornings with clear sunrises on summer islands, with warm blankets sprawled, with nothing but love bursting from the light the morning provides. Hope that rises with the Dawn.
“What about bliss?” Zoro offers, making circles with his finger tips on Luffys belly down to his thigh, dragging up and down gently.
“What’s that one mean?”
Luffy contemplates the definition Zoro recites, contemplates how his last hour has been, contemplates if this morning has reached perfect happiness.
Then Zoro turns his head for another kiss, whispers something to Luffy about beauty that makes Luffy giggle and tuck in on himself, then implores him to sleep some more. Luffy goes willingly, the only man he’d ever bend for was Zoro, guided down back to the shared pillow.
Luffy feels warmth spread to his toes as Zoros arms are his security blanket, and the distant waves are his lullaby. The idea of adventure when they wake again, the idea of mornings to come that could have even more for him, that his family would be with him on those mornings...
Oh, this was bliss, after all.