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The lights of the Medical Library at Grand Line University shone especially bright against the night sky. It was exam season again, the air thick with the mingled smells of coffee, old books, and tightly-wound nerves.
Law had buried himself in a corner of the library, the neuroanatomy atlas and biochemical metabolic pathway diagrams spread before him threatening to swallow him whole. His glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose, and he rubbed his eyes, dry from staring too long. His stomach, with impeccable timing, let out an empty growl. He glanced at his phone: 9:30 PM. According to his self-formulated "Nutrition and Rest Optimization Plan for Pre-Exam Sprint Period (Third Edition, Revised)", it was now time for "supplementing easily digestible complex carbohydrates and an appropriate amount of high-quality protein to steadily raise blood sugar and sustain brain function."
He was just thinking about grabbing an energy bar from the vending machine to get by when his phone screen lit up. It was a message from Shanks: "Ten minutes. The usual spot by the library back door. Tonight is creamy chicken and corn porridge, steamed egg with shrimp, and a small side of blanched spinach with sesame sauce. Moderate glycemic index, protein and Vitamin K levels up to standard."
Law stared at the message, the corner of his mouth quirking up almost imperceptibly. His tired body seemed to feel a flicker of solace at the thought of the perfectly timed meal. He quickly typed back a single "Mn." and stood up to pack his things.
His phone buzzed again. Shanks again: "PS: Put on your jacket, it's windy outside. There's a heater behind the third bookshelf on your left, you can eat there, it's warmer than the back hall."
Law paused mid-motion, instinctively looking towards the left-there was indeed a more secluded corner there, and close to the radiator. This guy had even figured out which spots in the library were warm? Grumbling inwardly, he obediently picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.
"Got it." he replied, then added another, "Don't let it be too hot." He felt a bit silly sending it-Shanks's temperature control was always impeccable.
"Don't worry, Doctor Law, guaranteed serving temperature between 65-70 degrees Celsius, optimal eating range." Shanks's reply was almost instant, followed by a bear emoji wearing a chef's hat.
Law looked at the cute emoji, so incongruous with Shanks's own demeanor, pursed his lips, felt his ears warming, stuffed his phone into his pocket, and hugging the insulated bag and study materials, headed towards the corner by the heater.
Ten minutes later, Law had just settled onto a chair near the heater when the back door cracked open gently. Shanks slipped in, sure enough carrying the dark blue whale-patterned insulated bag. He spotted Law in the corner immediately, broke into a smile, and walked over quietly.
"Been waiting long?" Shanks approached, casually placing the bag on the small round table. His other hand reached out, pressing his warm palm against Law's chilly cheek and earlobe. "Your hands are so cold? Were you sitting under a vent again?"
Law flinched slightly at the warmth of his palm but didn't pull away, mumbling vaguely, "...No. Just came out for a bit." He noticed the dark marks on the shoulder of Shanks's coat. "Is it raining harder outside?"
"Just a drizzle, no big deal." Shanks shrugged off his coat carelessly, his attention entirely on Law's face. "You look a bit pale. Brainpower consumption curve must have peaked again today." As he spoke, he expertly unzipped the bag and took out the neatly stacked containers. On top was the steamed egg with shrimp-a smooth, mirror-like yellow custard dotted with pink shrimp and vibrant green scallions. In the middle was the thick chicken and corn porridge, its steam carrying the sweet scent of corn and savory aroma of chicken. At the bottom was the bright green blanched spinach, drizzled with an amber sesame sauce. Utensils were meticulously wrapped, complete with a small pack of wet wipes.
Law looked at this veritable work of art of a meal, momentarily speechless. Every time he thought Shanks was overdoing it, but every time... his stomach and his heart were honestly satisfied.
"Eat up, while it's hot." Shanks handed him the spoon, then pulled up another chair, sitting across from Law with no intention of leaving. "I'll just sit here, won't bother you. I'll take the stuff back when you're done."
Law took the spoon and scooped up some steamed egg. The temperature was perfect, smooth and savory, a perfect comfort for his empty stomach. After a few bites, he felt his stiff body slowly relax with the warmth of the food. Looking up, he found Shanks propping his chin on his hand, watching him eat with focused attention. His red eyes, in the dim corner light of the library, looked incredibly gentle.
"...Aren't you going back?" Law asked, his voice softer from the warm food.
"No rush. I want to see you finish." Shanks smiled. "Besides, I need to collect 'clinical feedback,' Doctor Law. How was the tenderness of today's steamed egg? Was the porridge the right consistency? Does the sesame sauce ratio on the spinach need adjusting?"
Law felt a bit awkward under this seriously-delivered product research inquiry. He lowered his head, took another mouthful of porridge, before quietly evaluating, "...All good. The egg is just right. The porridge isn't too thin or thick. The spinach... maybe a bit too much sauce. Reduce by 10-15% next time."
Shanks's eyes lit up. He immediately pulled out his phone and opened his pages, typing diligently: "Noted. Maintain steamed egg texture, maintain porridge consistency, reduce spinach sauce by 12.5%. Thank you for your expert tasting, Doctor Law."
Law: "...You don't have to be that precise."
"Have to," Shanks put away his phone, his smile deepening. "You have to be rigorous with scientific data. You said so yourself."
Law had no comeback, so he just continued eating. The heater radiated a comforting warmth, the food steamed gently, the corner was so quiet he could only hear the soft sounds of his eating and the faint patter of rain outside. Shanks's presence wasn't disturbing; instead, it felt like a warm, steady barrier, isolating him from the tension and anxiety of the rest of the library.
Halfway through his meal, Shanks suddenly asked softly, "How's your progress today? Did you figure out that part about the hippocampal memory mechanisms?" He remembered Law mentioning getting stuck there a few days ago.
Law paused mid-chew, looking at Shanks with slight surprise. He didn't expect him to remember exactly which concept he was stuck on. "...Almost. It's just the long-term potentiation mechanism in synaptic plasticity. I keep confusing a few signaling pathways."
Shanks nodded, didn't pretend to understand and offer useless advice. He just said, "Need me to find you some more intuitive diagrams or animations? I remember some educational websites are pretty good."
Law shook his head. "No need. I'll sort it out myself." He paused, then added, "...Thanks."
"Don't thank me." Shanks reached out, naturally tucking a stray strand of black hair behind Law's ear, his fingertip accidentally brushing against the now-warm earlobe. "Rest for twenty minutes after you eat. Don't go right back to studying. Walk around a bit, or close your eyes and rest-that's also in your report as 'best practice for improving subsequent learning efficiency'."
Law hummed in agreement, not arguing. He couldn't exactly violate his own guidelines.
Shanks watched him slowly finish the meal, scraping the last bits of porridge clean, a satisfied expression on his face. As he packed up the empty containers, he asked casually, "What do you want for breakfast tomorrow? Oatmeal with nuts and berries, or whole-wheat sandwich with egg and avocado? They're tied on your preference list."
Law wiped his mouth, thinking for a few seconds. "...Sandwich. I have a lab class in the morning, need something more filling."
"Okay. Whole-wheat sandwich it is, with some Greek yogurt." Shanks decided promptly, repacking the insulated bag. "7:20 AM tomorrow, downstairs at your dorm. Guaranteed not to make you late for your 7:30 class."
Law knew Shanks often had to get up much earlier than usual just to match his schedule. He opened his mouth to say "don't go to so much trouble," but meeting Shanks's smiling yet unyielding gaze, he swallowed the words and just nodded.
Shanks stood up, bag in hand, then bent down and quickly kissed Law's cheek, which had regained some color after the meal. He whispered with a low laugh, "Keep it up, my little doctor. Don't stay up too late. Sleep by twelve, that's a red line in your 'guidelines'-drawn by you."
Startled by the sneak attack, Law's face instantly heated up. He shot Shanks a slightly irritated glare, but constrained by being in the library, could only hiss, "...Got it. Go home now."
"Alright, I'm going." Shanks grinned, straightened up, and ruffled his hair one last time. "I'm off. See you tomorrow."
Watching Shanks's tall figure disappear silently through the library's back door, Law sat still, touching the spot on his cheek where he'd been kissed. It still seemed to hold a faint, warm softness. His stomach was comfortably full, his body warm from the heater, and even the nerves strung tight from intense studying had relaxed considerably.
Following instructions, he didn't go back to studying immediately. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His mind wasn't filled with forcibly crammed medical knowledge anymore. Instead, there was the image of Shanks watching him eat with such focus, the way he diligently recorded "reduce spinach sauce by 12.5%", the care he took to remember the hippocampus and the 7:30 class...
A calm, overflowing feeling slowly seeped through his limbs.
He thought, maybe Shanks's logistical support provided far more than just precise nutrition. It was this sense of being securely held, of being carefully cared for. It let him, on this grueling medical journey, always know that there was a warm harbor and a uniquely his, almost comically research-grade level of care, waiting for him.
After resting for about twenty minutes, Law opened his eyes, feeling much clearer-headed. He packed up and walked back to his seat. Opening his notebook, he noticed the neatly folded wet wipe wrapper Shanks had left beside it, with a small, crudely drawn smiley face on it.
Looking at that clumsy smiley face, the corner of Law's mouth finally lifted into a distinct, undeniable curve.
When Shanks got home, the kitchen still held traces of the meal he'd meticulously prepared. An open notebook lay beside the sink, containing not a recipe, but a neatly written "Nutritional Requirements Analysis for Special Periods (Based on Personal Metabolic Profile and Current Cognitive Load)" authored by Law. Beside it, Shanks had made notes and checkmarks in red pen, making it look like a collaborative research project.
The detail in this "guide" was astonishing: from carbohydrate type selection for breakfast to protein-fat ratios for lunch, and even the nutritional composition of late-night snacks. It also included dietary fine-tuning suggestions for different study phases (foundation consolidation, key breakthrough, mock sprint), and a table of "recommended energy supplementation time points" precise to the half-hour, based on Law's daily class, lab, and self-study schedule.
The first time Shanks received this "meal plan" formatted like a medical report, he stared at it for a full three circuits, just to make sure his little doctor hadn't accidentally submitted a paper in the wrong place during a study break. He found it utterly hilarious, yet simultaneously felt an indescribable sense of being deeply moved and a surge of responsibility-Law, with his rigorous, almost compulsive professional mindset, had applied it to planning his own diet and health, and had trusted him, Shanks, to execute it.
Thus, the Figarland Group CEO's decision-making and execution skills were perfectly transformed into the completion rate of the "Trafalgar Law Exclusive Nutritional Support Project." He researched low-GI ingredients, learned principles of protein complementarity, and even figured out how to make vegetables that Law would eat a few more bites of without noticing. The kitchen became his new lab, and Law's feedback, his most precious experimental data.
The results were remarkable. During the high-pressure exam weeks, for the first time ever, Law didn't suffer from low blood sugar or stomach problems. His complexion was even better than in previous exam periods. Penguin, upon seeing one of Shanks's bento boxes, perfectly balanced like a fitness meal, was speechless. He finally blurted out, "Mr. Shanks, this isn't just family bringing food anymore, this is a personal dietician service!"
However, the most amusing side effect happened late one night.
Law was cramming in his study until 1 AM for an extremely important exam. Following the "Late-night meal plan for deep cognitive depletion" from the guide, Shanks prepared a small bowl of fermented rice dumplings and a few strawberries.
Gently pushing open the study door, he saw Law still hunched over his desk, pen scratching on paper, his profile tired and focused under the desk lamp. Shanks walked over quietly and placed the small tray with the dumplings and strawberries on the corner of the desk, calling softly, "Law, it's 1 AM, time for your energy supplement."
Law didn't look up immediately, his pen didn't stop. He just hummed vaguely in acknowledgement.
Shanks didn't leave. He pulled up a chair nearby and sat quietly, watching him write his last few lines. Only when Law himself exhaled, put down his pen, and rubbed his sore neck did Shanks push the tray closer. "Eat while it's warm."
Law slowly, stiffly turned his head. His gaze was first a little unfocused on the midnight snack, then slowly traveled up to Shanks's face. His eyes, after hours of intense concentration, had a kind of "vacant" look, the complex diagrams of neural synapses still lingering in his golden irises.
Then, in an extremely calm, objective tone, laced with academic inquiry, he asked clearly:
"Shanks, considering I plan to consolidate short-term memory for about two more hours, is the glycemic index and absorption rate of the carbohydrates in these glutinous rice products suitable?"
Shanks: "…………"
His hand holding the tray froze mid-air. It took him a full three seconds to process this. Glutinous rice products? Glycemic index? Short-term memory consolidation? Was he... conducting an on-the-spot academic evaluation of the snack's suitability?
Looking into Law's deadly serious eyes, he knew he was genuinely thinking about it-his brain was still running on professional mode and hadn't switched to "eating mode."
Struggling to suppress the laughter welling up in his chest, Shanks forced his expression to look equally serious and professional. He nodded and answered in a steady, reliable tone:
The text is already almost entirely in English, with only two small phrases remaining in Chinese:
"Yes, Doctor Law. According to the reference data in your 'Nutritional Support Model for Late-Night Cognitive Activity,' this snack's carbohydrate composition is designed to provide a quick but not overly dramatic blood sugar spike. Paired with the small amount of protein and the natural sugars in the fruit, it should provide stable energy for the next two hours, theoretically without causing drowsiness or a sugar crash. It should be beneficial for memory consolidation." He paused, then added, "Besides, the fermented rice theoretically has a mild nerve-calming effect, which might help you sleep better later-this was one of the alternative options you mentioned in your guide."
He finished in one breath, inwardly marveling at his own professional-sounding improvisation. Sure enough, spending time with Law meant even making excuses sounded like a thesis.
Law listened, his vacant golden eyes blinking slowly, as if processing this "professional analysis" in his brain. After a few seconds, the tense, academically-focused expression on his face relaxed. He nodded almost imperceptibly, as if approving the review.
"Mn." he murmured softly, finally reaching for the bowl and spoon. But before eating, he paused again, looking at Shanks. "Did you eat?"
Shanks was surprised that Law, even in academic mode, could spare the concern. Warmth flooded his heart. He smiled, "Yes, I ate earlier. You eat up, it's getting cold."
Law finally lowered his head and began to eat quietly. His demeanor was natural, as if the earlier serious discussion about glycemic indexes and memory consolidation was just part of their daily academic exchange.
Shanks sat beside him, watching him take small bites of the dumplings, occasionally picking up a strawberry. His profile under the desk lamp looked peaceful and cute, his long lashes casting shadows under his eyes. It was completely incongruous with the medical student who had just been seriously debating the relationship between glycemic index and memory. The huge gap moe made Shanks's heart melt. His smile, unable to be contained, overflowed from his eyes.
He leaned in, grabbed a tissue, and naturally wiped a tiny bit of fermented rice from the corner of Law's mouth, whispering with a low laugh, "Eat slowly, my little doctor. Got to be full to consolidate that memory."
Law looked up from the bowl, his eyes now clear, holding a hint of embarrassment at being teased. He shot Shanks a glare, but didn't say anything, just the tips of his ears turning red. He quickly finished the rest of his snack, pushed the empty bowl to Shanks, picked up his pen, and muttered quietly, "...You can go to bed. I'll finish this and sleep."
Shanks took the bowl but didn't move. "I'll stay until you finish. In case a certain doctor gets too focused and forgets the midnight deadline again."
Law: "...Suit yourself." He refocused on his notes, but his speed noticeably increased.
Shanks sat quietly, watching Law's concentrated profile, watching him frown occasionally in thought, watching him finally write the final period, put down his pen, and truly relax.
"Done?" Shanks asked.
"Mn." Law took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his voice thick with exhaustion.
"Go wash up and sleep." Shanks stood, pulling Law up with him and gently pushing him towards the bathroom. "Breakfast is whole-wheat sandwich and Greek yogurt tomorrow, 7:20."
Law was so sleepy he was almost in a daze, letting Shanks guide him, mumbling vaguely in response, "...Got it."
When they finally lay down in bed, Law was practically asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Shanks pulled him into his arms, felt his steady breathing, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
"Goodnight, my little doctor." he whispered. "Today's logistical support and academic assistance mission is also successfully completed."
Sleeping Law unconsciously nuzzled closer to him, letting out a satisfied little sound.
Outside the window, the autumn night was silent and deep. In the study, the "Trafalgar Law Rearing Guide (Nutrition and Feeding Section)" lay quietly on the desk, next to the empty midnight snack bowl. And in the warm bedroom, the rigorous medical student and his research-grade partner slept in each other's arms, ready to welcome another challenging, but warmly accompanied, day.