Law doesn’t like bread.

He’s never liked it, even as a child. He doesn’t like the taste, doesn’t like how it dries out your mouth and throat, and doesn’t like how carb-y it is. Law doesn’t like bread. And yet, he always visits the same bakery in Sabaody to buy some.

Every time he happens to be near the Sabaody Archipelago islands, he always makes time for a stop there. Doesn’t matter if he’s a few miles away or a hundred, if he’s near, he’ll force his crew to make a pitstop. To be honest, his crew doesn’t mind too much. After all, Sabaody has lots to offer in terms of entertainment, and who doesn’t love a good bit of sightseeing after being stuck in a dark submarine for weeks at a time?

While his crew frequent shops and amusement parks, he makes a beeline for that bakery, a small, quaint little place nestled in between a restaurant and a cafe. The smell of bread makes his stomach churn, but he doesn’t come for the bread.

He comes for the baker.

His crew all know it, but none of them dare say a word about it. Except Bepo. That poor polar bear doesn’t understand that the captain’s feelings are a delicate thing, and Law himself hardly understands the fluttery feeling he feels every time he sees the baker.

They’re sweet, like the pastries they make. Law always buys a large amount of bread and sweets — things he doesn’t like nor does he eat them, but he loves the smile he gets in return from the baker. He doesn’t know why, but he does.

“I’ll take three loaves of the brioche, please.” He requests politely. Despite that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest spreading throughout his body like a disease, his expression is as neutral and stone cold as ever. The baker would be intimidated if they hadn’t known that this is simply the way Law’s face is.