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Stepping back into Crocodile's dizzyingly luxurious apartment, Law's brow instinctively furrowed by half a millimeter. The air was thick with the mingled scents of expensive perfume, cigars, and alcohol. Crystal chandeliers were painfully bright, and amidst the glittering dresses and tailored suits, empty pleasantries and the low murmur of interest-swapping filled the space. If he hadn't owed Rosinante a favor, and hadn't been worn down by Shanks's wheedling "Just keep me company, please? And Crocodile's chef is supposed to be super-amazing!" he'd much rather be in the anatomy lab with a cadaver or at home with medical journals.
Shanks tonight was, as usual, in a dark, casually perfect, expertly tailored suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing his collarbones and a hint of firm chest. His striking red hair was styled more loosely than usual, adding a touch of unruly charm. The moment he entered, he was like a small sun dropped into deep water, instantly attracting numerous overt and covert glances. Business partners, old acquaintances, even people who only knew him by reputation, all came forward to greet him.
Law habitually hung back half a step, retreating into a dimmer corner, a barely touched glass of soda water in his hand. His grey eyes coolly scanned the room, assessing the potential for boredom and possible escape routes. He hated these events, but watching Shanks navigate the crowd with effortless ease, his laughter booming, made him think... well, at least this guy seemed to be enjoying himself.
Then, his gaze caught on a figure.
Tall, erect, impeccably dressed in a black shirt, with golden eyes as sharp as an eagle's even in the low light.
Mihawk.
Law's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the cool glass. Unbidden, the memory of that utterly humiliating, drunken "sovereignty declaration" surged forward, bringing a familiar wave of heat-a mix of shame and subtle, lingering irritation. He instinctively looked at Shanks.
Shanks was chatting with some mining tycoon, his profile smiling, seemingly completely unaware of Mihawk's arrival. But Law knew-with Shanks's keen senses, it was impossible he hadn't noticed. He remembered Shanks's earnest promise after the last incident: "From now on, my eyes are only for you, I swear! Even if Mihawk does a hula dance in front of me, I won't look!"
Law had only given him a "you're ridiculous" look back then. But now, he found himself, with a hint of a mindset he wasn't even fully aware of-a near-testing attitude-locking his gaze firmly on Shanks.
Mihawk saw them too. His gaze paused on Shanks for a moment, then those sharp golden eyes turned to Law. Their eyes met briefly in the air. Mihawk's face remained expressionless, only the very slightest arch of an eyebrow suggesting he found the scene... intriguing? Then, he actually started walking towards their direction.
Law's spine straightened slightly, entering a defensive-alert state. He subtly adjusted his stance, ensuring he was in a position to observe the whole scene yet not easily overlooked. He took a deep breath, preparing for the possible awkward small talk. Or worse, Mihawk bringing up last time.
However, just as Mihawk was about five steps away, Shanks-who had been talking to the mining tycoon-suddenly, and with utter naturalness, turned around.
He didn't turn to greet Mihawk.
He turned completely away from Mihawk's approach, took a few large strides towards the corner where Law stood.
His gaze, like a precision navigation system, cut through the noisy crowd, the swaying reflections in glasses, all distractions, and locked-straight, unwavering, firmly-onto Law. Those red eyes, reflecting the fragmented light of the chandeliers, held only the clear image of Law, brimming with undisguised, focused tenderness and amusement. It was as if he'd shut out the entire clamorous world; in his world, there was only Law.
Law froze.
Shanks was in front of him in a few steps, his tall frame bringing familiar pressure and security. He naturally reached out-not for a handshake, nor a pat on the shoulder-but to directly, intimately, wrap an arm around Law's waist, pulling him closer, the movement fluid as if done a thousand times.
"Bored?" Shanks leaned down, his mouth close to Law's ear, his voice low, laced with laughter and concern, his warm breath brushing the sensitive shell. "Or hungry? I smell roast lamb chops over there, wanna try? Or, we could find a quieter balcony for some air?"
His lips were almost touching Law's ear, yet his gaze remained steadfastly fixed on Law's eyes, as if checking every flicker of emotion. His arm was steady around Law's waist, his palm warm, the sensation strong through the thin fabric.
Law could feel the surrounding glances-curious, probing, well-meaning, perhaps even surprised. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mihawk stop a few steps behind them, apparently also not expecting this turn of events. A flicker of something minute, almost amused, crossed that icy face.
But Shanks, truly, did not look back. Not even a glance from the corner of his eye towards Mihawk's direction. As if the man simply didn't exist. His entire attention, just as he'd promised, was one hundred percent on Law.
This blatant, almost ostentatious focus and intimacy, after the initial shock, stirred in Law a powerful mix of embarrassment, amusement, and... a certain secret satisfaction.
This guy... really was keeping his word. And was the execution a bit... over the top?
"I..." Law began, but Shanks leaned in even closer, his nose almost brushing Law's cheek.
"You've got a little soda bubble at the corner of your mouth," Shanks murmured, then used his thumb to very gently wipe the spot. He didn't pull his hand away immediately, but instead, in this extremely intimate position, let his thumb linger, grazing the edge of Law's lower lip almost imperceptibly, his eyes deep, holding an unspoken suggestion.
Law's breath hitched, his ears instantly burning. This guy was definitely doing it on purpose! In front of everyone!
Behind them, Mihawk seemed to have given up on greeting them. Law saw him shake his head almost imperceptibly (maybe an illusion), then, holding his drink, turn and walk towards the bar on the other side, leaving the seemingly oblivious couple with a cool, collected back.
The crisis seemed to have dissolved on its own. But Shanks clearly had no intention of ending his "performance" there.
"Come on, let's try the lamb chops. The chef really is good," Shanks said, arm still around Law's waist, half-guiding, half-steering him towards the food area. Along the way, he kept turning his head to talk to Law, his voice not loud, but clear enough for nearby ears.
"That guy was talking about nothing but ore futures. So boring. Talking to you is much more interesting."
"You look especially good in that suit tonight. The color suits you."
"Hey, isn't that sculpture over there ugly? I think the ornament you picked for our foyer is better looking."
"Tell me if you're tired, we can leave anytime."
He chattered, topics jumping, but every sentence revolved around Law, his eyes almost welded to Law's face. He'd occasionally reach up to straighten Law's perfectly fine collar, or brush away a nonexistent strand of hair from his forehead. The whole act was like he wanted to carve "This is mine, my eyes are only for him" into his forehead with actions.
Law was made thoroughly uncomfortable by it all, his cheeks flushed. Several times he tried to slip out of the embrace or tell Shanks to lower his voice, but Shanks countered with a tighter hug or an innocent, wide-eyed look. He could even feel the stifled laughter and hushed whispers around them:
"Look at Shanks... so clingy."
"Heard there was some misunderstanding last time? This is clarification?"
"Pfft, this 'clarification' is a bit... intense. Mihawk's face looked pretty stiff, didn't it?"
"But they really do seem close..."
Law wanted to bury his face in his hands. He finally understood what Shanks meant by a "more efficient way to declare sovereignty." Not drunkenly yelling at someone, but doing it soberly, with this overwhelming, suffocating focus and intimacy that shut out everyone, including the specific target.
The scene was, indeed, very, very bizarre.
One was a business legend, effortlessly commanding the room yet forcibly focusing all his attention on a single point. The other was a cold-faced doctor radiating a mixture of "I want to disappear," "I'm mortified," and "but this guy is so warm." They moved like conjoined twins: one chattering with burning eyes, the other expressionless with red-tipped ears, creating an invisible "world of the two of us" barrier wherever they went.
Reaching the food area, Shanks actually picked up a sizzling, aromatic lamb chop, blew on it carefully, and offered it to Law's lips. "Try it, careful, it's hot."
Law looked at the meat right before him, then at Shanks's eyes, full of expectation and a silent "play along," and the surrounding gazes pretending disinterest but secretly watching. He was silent for two seconds.
Then, as Shanks's eyes grew even brighter, he parted his lips slightly and took a bite. The meat was tender, the spices perfect.
"How is it?" Shanks asked, his eyes still glued to Law's face.
"...Acceptable," Law mumbled around the mouthful.
Shanks beamed as if receiving the highest praise. He took a bite himself, then very naturally used the same fork Law had just used.
At that moment, Crocodile himself sauntered over, glass in hand, a knowing smirk on his lips. He glanced at the attached couple, then at Mihawk sipping his drink alone in the distance, and drawled to Shanks, "Shanks, doing some pretty thorough security detail, aren't you? Mihawk was looking for you earlier."
Only then did Shanks seem to remember the other man existed. He turned his head, using an utterly ordinary, flat, almost stranger-like tone, nodded casually in Mihawk's direction, and called out, "Oh, Mihawk, you're here too." Then, he immediately turned back, continuing to stare at Law with concern. "Want something else? There's seafood over there, but you might find it too cold."
Law: "..."
Crocodile: "..." His mouth twitched as he walked away, looking like he couldn't bear to watch.
In the distance, Mihawk merely raised his glass slightly in acknowledgment, his face still impassive, though a very faint flicker of something like resignation and "I knew it" seemed to pass through those sharp golden eyes.
For the rest of the party, Shanks flawlessly maintained his "Law-centricism." If Law wanted air on the balcony, Shanks was right there. If Law exchanged a few words about medical topics with a doctor he knew, Shanks stood beside him, hand on Law's waist, projecting a "just listening" vibe that was overwhelmingly present. Even when Law went to the restroom, Shanks "casually" lingered near the entrance, earning him odd looks from people exiting.
Law went from initial embarrassment and awkwardness, to later exasperation and amusement, and finally, looking into Shanks's eyes-which truly held only his reflection, focused to the point of seeming silly-found the lingering traces of irritation and that subtle thorniness dissolving without him noticing.
This guy was fulfilling his promise, smoothing over all his unease, in a clumsy, exaggerated, even slightly comical way.
As the party finally wound down and Shanks, arm around Law, prepared to leave, Law couldn't help but mutter, low enough for only the two of them to hear:
"...That's enough. The act is overdone."
Shanks looked down at him, eyes sparkling with triumphant mirth. "Is it? I'm just earnestly looking at my boyfriend. I promised."
Law turned his face away, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, curving up in a tiny, almost undetectable arc.
The party's energy continued to simmer, and Shanks's blatant, near-grafted-to-his-side focus on Law had become a bizarre fixture. Law progressed from initial mortification to numb acceptance, to now being able to block out most of the curious stares-as long as he avoided looking directly into Shanks's frighteningly bright, single-minded eyes.
Just as Law was attempting, for the Nth time, to steal a breath of fresh air from Shanks's all-encompassing care (which included but was not limited to feeding, lip-wiping, collar-straightening, and constant whispering), a group of familiar, boisterous figures crashed into the opulent scene.
"Wow! This place is huge! So many shiny lights!" Luffy's signature voice instantly overpowered the background music. He shot in like a cannonball, eyes wide, scanning for food. "Meat! Shanks! Is there meat?!"
Close behind was Nami, trying to rein him in. "Luffy! Mind the setting! Mr. Crocodile invited us to network, not to eat him out of house and home!" Despite her words, her shrewd eyes were rapidly appraising the attire and demeanor of the guests, calculating potential value.
Usopp nervously adjusted his ill-fitting, rented suit, muttering, "Sogeking arrives... wait no, Captain Usopp graces such a high-class event, must maintain composure..." Chopper hid behind his leg, only antlers and a pair of curious, timid eyes visible. Zoro yawned, utterly unimpressed by the luxury, his gaze already fixed on the distant drinks table. Sanji instantly switched to gentleman mode, though his eyes still turned to hearts when they swept over Nami and other ladies. He soon noticed the attached couple of Shanks and Law, a knowing, slightly teasing smile touching his lips.
The Straw Hats' arrival was like a stone tossed into the previously restrained pond, instantly creating ripples. Their raw, noisy vitality was jarringly out of place, yet it unexpectedly drew even more attention.
Shanks naturally saw them and waved, his smile wide. "Luffy! Over here!"
Luffy immediately "zoomed" over, beelining for the food, but not before yelling, "Shanks! Law! You're here too! Oh, that black-clothes uncle is here too!" He pointed vaguely towards Mihawk, who had just walked nearby, seemingly for a glass of water.
Mihawk didn't pause. He took the water, nodded briefly at Luffy in acknowledgment. His gaze swept over Shanks and Law again, lingering for a fraction of a second on Shanks's arm, possessively tight around Law's waist. Then, he did something utterly unexpected.
He didn't leave. He didn't approach.
Holding his glass, he turned and walked to a single armchair not too far, not too close from Shanks and Law-a spot perfectly positioned to clearly observe their interactions without seeming deliberate. He sat down.
And then he just sat there. Legs crossed, golden eyes calm and unblinking, like a museum visitor admiring a famous painting, or a scientist observing lab mice. His gaze was open, direct, even holding a hint of inquiry, fixed on Shanks and Law.
Law: "..." He could feel that gaze; the hairs on his nape stood up. This was more unnerving than being covertly watched by many. Was Mihawk planning to observe Shanks's clingy performance art live?
Shanks noticed too. His arm around Law tightened almost imperceptibly, but his smile didn't waver; if anything, it grew brighter. He didn't avoid Mihawk's line of sight. Instead, he subtly shifted his angle, ensuring their interaction was even more clearly presented in the "observation window."
"Law, you've got something in your hair," Shanks said with exaggerated concern, reaching to gently brush through Law's hair where there was nothing. His fingers lingered as if Law's hair were a priceless treasure.
Law said flatly, voice low, "...There's nothing."
"Oh, my mistake. The lights are too bright," Shanks smoothly replied, but his hand didn't withdraw. Instead, he ruffled the back of Law's head, his eyes soft enough to melt, all while checking with a sidelong glance if Mihawk was still watching.
Mihawk took a sip of water, expression unchanged, not even an eyebrow twitch, but those hawk-like golden eyes were indeed still on them.
Luffy, now holding a heaping plate of roast meat, squeezed over, mouth stuffed. "Shanks, what are you guys doing? What's wrong with Law's hair?" He was blissfully oblivious to any subtle atmosphere.
Nami followed, politely nodding to Mihawk first, then her sharp eyes caught the bizarre triangular standoff: Shanks and Law attached, performing affection; Mihawk quietly spectating nearby. She elbowed Usopp, whispering, "See? I told you there was a story after last time! Mr. Mihawk is... conducting a field study?"
Usopp's eyes widened. He whispered back, "Is he assessing Law's threat level? Or collecting data on Shanks's relationship behavior patterns? How terrifying!"
Zoro also wandered over, grabbed a drink, leaned against a nearby column, looked at Shanks and Law, then at Mihawk, and snorted. "Pathetic." But he didn't leave, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Sanji lit a cigarette, blew a smoke ring, and offered a dry roast, "Hah, idiots." It was unclear whether he meant the clingy couple or the observing spectator.
Chopper, hiding behind Nami, whispered, "They... why are they all looking at Shanks and Law? It feels weird..."
The pressure mounted on Law. He felt like a specimen under both a spotlight and a microscope. On one side was Shanks, escalating his intimacy to near-embrace levels (Shanks was now playing with the top button of his shirt!). On the other was Mihawk's cool, persistent, emotionless yet intensely present "observational gaze," surrounded by the Straw Hats' curious,八卦, stifled-laughter ring.
He took a deep breath, trying to maintain cool. "Shanks," he said calmly, though a warning edge was there. "I want some air by the window over there."
"Sure, I'll come with you," Shanks immediately responded, starting to steer them away.
However, after just two steps, Mihawk, on the sofa, moved.
He picked up his glass, stood up unhurriedly, and walked-with measured steps-also towards the general direction of the windows. He stopped beside a large potted plant, an angle that still offered a perfect view of the window area and whoever might stand there.
Shanks's step faltered, his smile straining. Was Mihawk deliberately provoking him today? Insisting on being a live audience member?
Law saw it too, his lip twitching slightly. The scene grew even stranger: they tried to move, and Mihawk, like a silent shadow and mobile observation point, followed.
"Ahem," Shanks cleared his throat, deciding to take the initiative-or rather, continue his performance. He stopped heading for the window and instead guided Law to a small table with delicate desserts. "Have some dessert first? This chocolate mousse looks good." He picked up a small plate.
Law, wanting to end the awkwardness, nodded in agreement.
Shanks scooped a spoonful of mousse, offered it to Law's lips, his gaze tender and focused, his voice low but audible within a certain radius. "Try it. Probably not as good as the one we make, but a change is nice."
Law steeled himself and ate it. The sweet flavor spread, but he barely tasted it.
And Mihawk moved again. He set down his glass, walked closer to the small table, leaned against the bar counter, picked up a boring financial magazine, and flipped through it. But between page turns, his gaze would invariably sweep over the small table.
Now even Luffy sensed something was off. He swallowed his meat, looked at Shanks and Law, then at Mihawk, and scratched his head. "Shanks, why does that black-clothes uncle keep following you guys? Does he want dessert too?"
Usopp had already pulled out a small notebook, scribbling furiously. "Bizarre stalking phenomenon... observer appears fixated on target... target behavior exhibits deliberate exhibitionist tendencies... is this a new form of interpersonal game?"
Nami facepalmed, whispering to Sanji, "I think Mr. Mihawk might just... find it entertaining?" Even she found the guess a bit absurd.
Zoro finished his drink, grunted, "Two troublesome guys meeting an even more troublesome spectator."
Sanji blew smoke rings, beyond comment.
Law felt his patience and shame being put through an ultimate trial. He put down the spoon Shanks was offering again, turned abruptly to face Shanks, his golden eyes looking directly into those still-sparkling, "I'm acting but I'm serious" red ones.
"Shanks," he said, his voice calm but carrying a note of finality.
"Hmm?" Shanks blinked.
Then, under the collective gaze of a shocked Shanks, a calmly observing Mihawk, the wide-eyed Straw Hats, and the rest of the crowd, who were pretending not to listen while all ears-Law reached out, grabbed the front of Shanks's finely tailored shirt, and yanked him down.
Shanks obligingly-or eagerly-leaned down.
Law rose on his toes and pressed his lips firmly against Shanks's.
Not a gentle touch, but a brief, firm kiss, laden with clear declaration and an "enough is enough" message.
Time seemed to freeze for a second.
Shanks's eyes widened instantly, then blazed with a light brighter than all the chandeliers combined. He almost instinctively tried to deepen the kiss, but Law had already pulled back.
Law released his grip on the shirt, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed, but with a fierce glare (mostly to mask the shame). He swept a glance around.
Luffy's jaw was on the floor. "WOW!!!"
Usopp's notebook hit the floor. "K-KISSED!!"
Nami covered her mouth, eyes shining like searchlights.
Chopper shyly covered his eyes, but his hooves were spread wide.
Zoro snorted and went for another drink.
Sanji raised an eyebrow, a rare look of approval crossing his face. "Tch. Not completely without guts."
And the most important spectator-Mihawk.
He closed the magazine he hadn't really been reading. Those sharp golden eyes moved between Shanks and Law, lingering on Law's flushed but fiercely set face. Then, very, very slightly, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth lifted.
It could hardly be called a smile. More like a just as expected,foreseen,show's over kind of subtle expression.
Then, he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod in their direction, as if saying, "Performance concluded. Objective achieved."
Next, he set down the magazine, picked up his empty glass, turned, and with his usual steady, unhurried stride, walked towards the area opposite the food. This time, he truly left the "observation zone," blending into other guests without a backward glance.
Shanks was still basking in the afterglow of the sudden kiss, a silly grin plastered on his face. He looked down at Law, eyes dazzling. "Law... you..."
Law took a deep breath, avoiding that scorching gaze, willing his racing heart and heated cheeks to calm. Then he took Shanks's hand, his voice returning to its usual coolness, though with a barely detectable tremor. "Let's go. Home."
"Yes! Home!" Shanks immediately agreed, gripping Law's hand tightly, fingers interlaced, grinning like a child who'd gotten all the candy in the world.
They hastily bid farewell to Crocodile, who wore a "finally" expression, nodded to their friends (Luffy was still yelling "Do it again!" before being violently subdued by Nami), and practically fled the party scene of their bizarre chase-observation show.
In the car, Shanks was still grinning goofily, occasionally touching his lips.
Law fastened his seatbelt, looking out the window, the redness at his ears slow to fade.
"...Next time," Law finally spoke, his voice muffled, "if there's an event like this, you go alone. Or we fake sick."
Shanks leaned over, kissed his still-warm cheek, his laugh low and pleased. "But, Law, your method of resolving the situation just now... I liked it very, very much. Much more efficient than mine."
Law shot him an exasperated look but ultimately didn't shake off the hand that came to rest on his.
Alright. The process had been excruciatingly awkward, and Mihawk's observational behavior had been outrageous, but at least... the issue was resolved. And that kiss... Law forced himself to stop thinking about it.
As for what Mihawk had actually been thinking? Was he simply amused? Getting back at Law for the previous drunken offense in his own way? Or just bored and looking for entertainment? It would likely remain another unsolved mystery in Law's mind.
But one thing was certain: after tonight, Mihawk probably, maybe, possibly... wouldn't attempt to spectate their interactions again. After all, even spectators had their limits for mental impact.
And Shanks? He'd probably savor the memory of Law's "public proactive kiss" for years to come.