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It was a sunny weekend, and the Figarland residence bustled with life earlier than usual.
Since morning, Lawrie had been sprawled by the window in his room, gazing longingly at the driveway leading to the main gate. Even when Shanks tempted him with a "Super Dinosaur Egg Breakfast," the little boy only poked at it distractedly.
"Papa, is Uncle really coming? He said he'd consider it..." The child's voice carried a thread of uncertain anxiety.
Shanks ruffled his son's red hair, brimming with confidence. "When your uncle agrees to something, barring any force majeure, he always follows through. His 'I'll consider it' basically means 'yes'-he just needs a little time to run it through that complex 'approval process' of his. Don't worry, he'll definitely come."
As if to prove Shanks right, the doorbell rang precisely at nine in the morning. Not a second off.
"Uncle!" Lawrie shot toward the door like a tiny whirlwind, with Shanks following behind, grinning.
Outside the door, Shamrock stood in his usual crisp, dark casual suit-even on weekends, his attire retained a certain ritualistic formality-holding an elegant-looking paper bag. His expression was as calm as ever, but when Lawrie launched himself like a miniature rocket and hugged his legs, the taut line of his jaw seemed to soften by the barest fraction of a degree.
"Uncle! You really came!" Lawrie tipped his face up, his smile dazzlingly bright.
"Of course." Shamrock acknowledged, bending down-this time more naturally than in the office-and steadily scooped Lawrie up, handing him the paper bag at the same time. "For you. A basic woodworking tool model kit. Safe materials, suitable for beginners."
"Wow! Thank you, Uncle!" Lawrie cheered, eager to tear it open and see what was inside.
Watching from the side, Shanks felt a flush of warmth. He knew how difficult it was for his brother to take this step-to voluntarily step into this family environment full of uncontrollable variables (mainly, his son) on a weekend. Behind it was the power of Lawrie's pure and sincere heart, and perhaps, just a trace of that unspoken, quiet yearning for familial connection that Shamrock himself might never articulate.
"Come on in, bro! We've been waiting for you to get the fun started!" Shanks stepped aside, his face alight with undisguised, gratified joy.
The living room and backyard of Shanks' home once again transformed into a playground. But unlike the usual father-son chaos, this time there was a rigorous technical advisor added to the mix.
When building an even more complex block castle, Shamrock pointed out structural weak points based on mechanics. When playing with the new woodworking model kit, he personally demonstrated how to safely use the toy hammer and screwdriver, explaining the principles of mortise and tenon joints. Lawrie only half-understood, but that focused attention and his uncle's low, patient voice fascinated him. Even during their role-playing game, when Lawrie declared that Uncle was the Supreme Commander from Serious Planet, Shamrock actually played along, inclining his head slightly and issuing-in his stern tone-several directives to explore unknown lifeforms (ants) in the courtyard, which nearly made Shanks double over laughing.
Lawrie was clearly almost floating with happiness. Like a joyful little bird, he flitted between clinging to Papa and running over to Uncle, sharing his new discoveries, or simply sitting close to his uncle, soaking in that steady, reliable presence.
Although Shamrock remained a man of few words, that invisible sense of barrier was slowly melting away, bit by bit. He would accept the lopsided, misshapen play-dough cake Lawrie handed him, examine it carefully, and offer an assessment commending its unique styling. His gaze would subconsciously follow Lawrie as the boy ran around happily, ensuring his safety. At lunch, when Lawrie tried to sneakily push the bell peppers he disliked to one side, one sweeping glance from his uncle made the little guy obediently stuff the peppers into his mouth-a sight that left Shanks secretly marveling.
In the afternoon, seeing that it was nearing Law's usual off-duty time, Shanks had a gleefully mischievous idea. "How about we go pick up Daddy from work? Then we can all go out for a big feast together-to celebrate the resounding success of Uncle Sham's first official family weekend!"
"Yay! Pick up Daddy! Big feast!" Lawrie was the first to raise his hand in fervent approval, immediately tugging at Shamrock's hand. "Uncle, you come too! Let's go to Papa's hospital!"
Shamrock seemed to hesitate for half a second. But seeing the eager expectation in Lawrie's eyes, and his brother's expression that clearly said 'just try saying no, I dare you', he finally conceded with a nod. "Very well."
And so, New World Hospital, on this weekend evening, bore witness to a scene so rare it deserved a place in hospital history-or at least, its gossip hall of fame.
On the Cardiac Surgery floor, near the end of the workday, the medical staff were finishing their final handovers and tidying up. Suddenly, a small commotion and a series of suppressed gasps rippled down the corridor.
The automatic doors slid open. The first to march in was a tiny tot in overalls, sporting a fluffy head of maple-syrup-red hair. He looked exceptionally proud today, for one hand was held by his Papa-Shanks, in a casual shirt and trousers, grinning radiantly.
His other hand, however, was tightly clasped in the grip of a tall, broad-shouldered man who shared the same striking red hair, though his was a shade darker, like smoldering embers. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored black casual suit. His face was identical to Shanks', yet it was as if someone had created a cold, joyless version with all the casualness and mischief stripped away. His features were sharper and more severe, his brow carrying its usual air of detachment and solemnity. His deep red eyes swept the area, and the ambient temperature seemed to drop several degrees wherever his gaze fell.
Three figures. Three heads of vivid red hair. Their faces bore an uncanny resemblance, yet exuded utterly different auras: one lively and adorable like a little sun, one passionate and dazzling like the midday blaze, and one cold and composed like a winter's evening star. This strange trio-especially the two adult men standing in such stark contrast to each other, as if they were the extreme polarities of a single person manifested in two separate bodies-created an immense visual impact.
"Is... is that Dr. Law's... Alpha?" a nurse murmured, recognizing Shanks.
"The one next to him... Oh my god, they look exactly alike! But the feeling is completely different! So... so intimidating!"
"They're holding little Lawrie! This time... all three came together?"
"Who's that stern-faced red-haired hottie? Lawrie's holding his hand! Could he be... could he be..."
Nurse Bepo, just looking up from the nurses' station, witnessed this and promptly dropped the medical chart he was holding onto the counter with a thwack. Penguin and Shachi's jaws dropped in shock. Every medical staff member who saw this scene was momentarily petrified, their gazes darting back and forth between the three similar faces, filled with shock and uncertainty. Their minds instantly flooded with outlandish speculations involving body doubles, clones, and everything in between.
Lawrie, however, couldn't care less about the existential crisis unfolding in the adults' worldviews. Pulling Shanks and Shamrock along, he headed straight for Law's office with practiced familiarity. His little face was alight with the eagerness of seeing his papa, and the pride of showing his papa, "Look, I brought Uncle too!"
Shanks followed alongside, grinning, utterly oblivious to the stunned stares cast their way. He even, in fairly good spirits, nodded to a few familiar nurses, only to receive even more dumbfounded expressions in return.
Law had just changed out of his white coat and was organizing some papers in his office when he heard the unusual commotion outside. Frowning slightly, he walked to the door and pulled it open-
To see his son holding the hand of a glacial version of Shanks, followed by the genuine, radiant version of Shanks. The trio was heading straight for him. And lining both sides of the corridor, a crowd of colleagues had quietly gathered, pretending to just be passing by, but their gazes were absolutely piercing.
Law: "..."
Even someone as composed as Law felt the vein in his temple throb at this moment. He could almost foresee the bizarre and endless questions he would be bombarded with over the coming days.
"Daddy!" Lawrie released Shamrock's hand and shot forward like a tiny cannonball, latching onto Law's legs. "We've come to pick you up! Look, Uncle is here too! Let's all go out and play!"
Bending down to stroke his son's head, Law straightened up. His eyes met Shanks' amused gaze first, and he shook his head helplessly. Then his gaze settled on Shamrock. He nodded. "Sham."
"Sorry to intrude." Shamrock's response was as succinct and courteous as ever. He seemed utterly oblivious-or rather, utterly indifferent-to the almost palpable waves of curiosity radiating from the onlookers.
"Alright, Dr. Law, I've already reserved a table. Tonight, we definitely need to celebrate properly!" Shanks stepped forward, slinging an arm naturally over Law's shoulders, and gestured for Shamrock to lead the way.
Thus, under the sustained, gaping stares of the entire Cardiac Surgery department, Dr. Trafalgar Law was escorted away by his Alpha husband, his aloof, strikingly different brother-in-law (speculated), and his precious red-haired son. They departed in a grand procession, leaving behind a floor strewn with dropped jaws and souls ablaze with the imminent explosion of gossip.
Dinner was at a restaurant with an elegant ambiance. With little Lawrie, the sunshine incarnate, present, the atmosphere was anything but awkward. He excitedly recounted to Law the "super sturdy fortress" he'd built with Uncle today, the new toys he'd played with, and even did an impression of Uncle sternly explaining "mortise and tenon joints." This sent Shanks into fits of laughter, and even the corner of Shamrock's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
Law listened quietly, watching his son so happy under the company of his father and uncle. The potential gossip tsunami awaiting him at the hospital suddenly seemed entirely inconsequential.
Dessert time arrived. Lawrie, his little tummy satisfyingly round, was perfectly content. As their time together drew to a close, the little boy slid off his chair and sidled up to Shamrock, tipping his face upwards.
"Uncle, will you come again next weekend? Will you bring me something fun again?" His eyes were full of hope.
Shamrock looked down at him, silent for a moment. Just as Shanks thought his brother was about to initiate the "consideration protocol" again, he heard Shamrock say clearly, "If there are no urgent matters next weekend, I will come."
Lawrie's eyes instantly blazed like starlight. He didn't just cheer like usual this time. Instead, he stretched out his little arms and wrapped them around Shamrock's waist, pressing his cheek against the fine fabric of his uncle's suit. "Uncle is so nice," he murmured softly. "I'll miss you."
Then, standing on his tiptoes, he planted a kiss on Shamrock's cheek.
This time, Shamrock didn't immediately wipe it off. He simply raised his hand, the movement somewhat slow, but with an unprecedented gentleness. A little clumsily, he ruffled Lawrie's fluffy red hair.
"Same here," he said quietly.
Shanks and Law exchanged a glance, both seeing the gratified smile in each other's eyes. A certain solid, frozen wall, persistently warmed by this tiny sun, was quietly beginning to thaw.
In the car on the way home, Lawrie quickly fell asleep in Shanks' arms, a sweet smile still lingering on his lips. Law gazed at the flowing city lights outside the window and said softly, "Lawrie... seems to have really opened a door."
"Yeah," Shanks responded gently. "A door we never thought could be opened. Thank you, Law. And thank you to our precious son."
And perhaps, to that solitary figure driving back to his apartment alone, this weekend-and those future, promised weekends-might not feel like disruptions to his precisely ordered life after all. Instead, they might feel like an unexpected beam of light, shining into a world meticulously planned yet slightly too vacant.
His hand brushed the cheek where the little one had kissed him. The soft, warm sensation seemed to linger faintly there. Waiting at a red light, his gaze fell upon the paper bag on the passenger seat-stuffed with the bag of "uniquely shaped" little biscuits Lawrie had insisted he take. At his cold lips, a hint of a curve gently tugged upwards.
Monday
New World Hospital. Cardiac Surgery Department.
The scent of antiseptic hanging in the air couldn't quite mask the restless hum of eager gossip. The moment Law stepped onto the department floor, he felt countless gazes swivel onto him like synchronized searchlights, their intensity almost enough to burn holes through his light blue surgical scrubs.
Eyes fixed straight ahead, gait steady, he walked toward his office, trying to erect an invisible barrier with his habitual aura of cool detachment.
However, that barrier clearly failed today.
"Morning, Dr. Law!" Penguin materialized seemingly out of nowhere, his face plastered with an excessively bright smile. He pretended to organize a medical chart in his hands, but his feet were firmly planted in Law's path.
"Morning." Law didn't break his stride, his reply terse.
"So, uh... busy weekend, huh? Sounded lively!" Penguin fell into step beside him, eyes darting around shiftily. "That other... uh, other red-haired gentleman who came to pick you up yesterday looked really... familiar!"
A vein pulsed near Law's temple. He ignored him.
Just as he pushed open his office door, Nurse Bepo was already "coincidentally" waiting inside, holding a few documents for signature. His face was a valiant struggle between professional composure and irrepressible curiosity.
"Dr. Law, these need your review and signature," Bepo handed over the files, then casually added, as if just making conversation, "Your little Lawrie was so adorable yesterday, holding the hands of... uh, two elders on his way in?" He cleverly swallowed the question "Two dads?" and opted for an ambiguous phrasing.
Law took the files, scanning them rapidly. His fountain pen hovered over the signature line. He merely lifted his eyelids a barely perceptible fraction at the words. "Mm."
This cold reaction clearly wasn't enough to douse the blazing flames of curiosity. Bepo cleared his throat, lowering his voice-though the office door wasn't fully closed, and ears outside were practically swiveling. "That gentleman... looked so much like Mr. Shanks! Like they were cast from the same mold! Is he a relative?"
Law signed the last name, handed the files back, and fixed his calm, gold-flecked eyes on Bepo. Just as Bepo thought he wouldn't get an answer, Law's lips parted slightly, and he enunciated clearly, "Brother."
"Oh! It's his brother!" Bepo looked enlightened, but then a new wave of curiosity hit. "A twin?"
"Yes." Law was parsimonious with his words, already beginning to organize the papers on his desk. The dismissal couldn't be clearer.
Bepo tactfully retreated, but that keyword-"twin brother"-was like a stone dropped into a pond. Immediately, it sent even larger ripples through the medical staff pretending to be busy outside.
After Law finished his rounds and was heading to the operating room, he was "coincidentally" intercepted in the hallway corner by Shachi and several residents.
"Dr. Law!" Shachi wore an expression of sheer marvel. "Your Alpha is a twin! That's amazing! That gentleman yesterday was the older brother? Completely different auras! If they didn't look exactly alike, you'd never believe it!"
"I know, right!" A young resident couldn't help but chime in, his face alight with excitement. "Dr. Law, how do you tell them apart? When they stand together, don't you ever mix them up? Like... when you come home at night?" He realized what he'd just asked only after the words left his mouth. He immediately clapped a hand over his lips, his face turning bright red.
Law's footsteps halted abruptly. He slowly turned his head, and those gold eyes, usually so cool and detached, now clearly blazed with an uncharacteristic irritation. The surrounding air seemed to drop several degrees instantly.
"The difference," his voice was colder than ever, carrying a fierce, almost exasperated edge, "is unequivocal."
He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over this group of colleagues, their faces a mix of avid curiosity and dawning "did I just mess up?" realization. His words came slow but cutting, sharp as a scalpel parting tissue:
"One," he began, "smiles like an idiot. Talks incessantly. Is loud and chaotic. Wears aprons with ridiculous patterns printed on them. Mistakes sugar for salt when cooking. Turns pale and panics loudly when he sees his son trip and fall."
"The other," he paused, his eyes growing even colder, "is facially inexpressive. Uses as few words as possible. Sits like his spine was measured with a ruler. Dresses with flawless precision always. Approaches problems like solving multivariable equations. The first reaction upon seeing his nephew dismantle his absurdly expensive fountain pen is to analyze whether the disassembly technique was methodologically sound."
He surveyed the now-stunned crowd. Finally, in a tone of definitive, conclusive summation, he asked pointedly:
"You tell me-is there any possible way I could mistake the two?"
The crowd: "..."
Well... now that he put it that way. It did seem... highly improbable. That description painted such a vivid picture, the contrast was just too stark! They were fundamentally polar opposites!
"But..." another, slightly bolder nurse mumbled under her breath, "they look exactly alike... And, a two-for-one deal like that..." Her voice trailed off, silently dying a death under Law's icy stare.
Law inhaled deeply, feeling that his patience for the day had already been exhausted before he'd even performed a single surgery. He pressed his fingers to his throbbing temple, deciding to end this topic once and for all. "First. They didn't choose their looks. Nor can I control that. Second. There is no two-for-one deal. That is Shanks' twin brother, Figarland Shamrock. An independent individual. Not some kind of free add-on. And lastly-"
He paused. A glint, almost dangerous, flickered in his icy gold eyes, successfully making the eavesdroppers around him shrink back in sudden wariness.
"-This matter concerning my family members ends here. If anyone allows irrelevant personal affairs to interfere with work, or brings this up in front of me again..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the look in his eyes said it all. He wouldn't mind using means beyond his scalpel to ensure their permanent silence.
The sheer force of his presence instantly quashed all those squirming, budding gossip-seeking souls. The crowd dispersed like startled birds, scurrying back to their posts. Yet, the silent exchanges between them still screamed: "Wow, twins!" "The aura difference is insane!" "Dr. Law described that so perfectly!" "Only Dr. Law could handle a situation like that!"
Shaking his head, Law tried to fling off the lingering exasperation from the relentless questions as he strode quickly toward the OR. Scrub in, surgical gown on, gloves and mask secured. Only when the cold surgical instruments were in his hands and the patient's vital signs appeared on the monitor did he finally find his way back to being that absolutely calm, completely focused Dr. Trafalgar Law.
What he didn't know, however, was that during those hours he was immersed in surgery, a post had quietly blown up on the hospital's anonymous forum. Titled A Rational Analysis: What It's Like to Have a Twin Alpha Brother-in-Law (With Bonus Transcript of Dr. Law's Classic Roast), it detailed and exaggeratedly dramatized his morning's "differentiation doctrine." It had already sparked a series of heated discussions on topics ranging from "How to Distinguish Polar-Opposite Twins," "The Necessity of Accurate Partner Roasting," to "The Diversity of Figarland Family Gene Expression."
It wasn't until the afternoon, when Law returned to his office after surgery and saw the barely suppressed grin on Nurse Bepo's face as he handed him a coffee, and the "we totally get it" expressions Penguin and Shachi were failing to hide, that he had a vague realization: the legend of the red-haired twins in his family was probably going to be making the rounds at New World Hospital for quite some time.
He took a sip of coffee, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.
Fine, he thought. Let them speculate all they want, as long as they don't buzz in my ear about it. Besides... how could he ever possibly mistake that idiot.
At the thought of Shanks, that flicker of irritation in his eyes, born of being disturbed, silently dissolved. It transformed into waves of helpless yet warm affection. As for the other one... Shamrock's recent behavior hadn't been too bad, actually.
At the very least, Lawrie was happy.
Law decided to reserve the remainder of his limited patience for the more important things and people-like his next surgery, and like coming home tonight, where he might have to face an idiot Alpha who'd be utterly thrilled about the whole "hospital must be talking about us" thing.
Evening arrived. When Law walked through the door, carrying the residual fatigue of the day and a faint, lingering vexation from being bathed in speculative glances, he was greeted by the wonderful aroma of a home-cooked meal-and two gleeful heads of red hair, one large and one small.
"Daddy! Welcome home!" Lawrie was the first to barrel into him, his little face smudged with what suspiciously looked like flour.
"Law, tough day?" Shanks poked his head out from the kitchen, wearing that ridiculous dinosaur apron and brandishing a spatula, his smile so bright it was almost dazzling.
The atmosphere of home instantly dispersed all that senseless hospital chatter. Law bent down to hug his son, wiping the white smudge off his face in the same motion. Then, he walked towards the kitchen, naturally taking the bowl of soup Shanks handed him.
At dinner, Lawrie, as usual, was the entertainment committee, chattering about all the great things he and Papa had done today. Shanks put food in his son's bowl while listening with a smile, his eyes occasionally drifting to Law, who was eating quietly. His perceptive nature picked up that his Omega seemed just a shade more silent than usual today, even though his expression was as calm as ever.
Later, after Lawrie had been coaxed to sleep and the light in the children's room was dimmed, leaving just the two of them in the living room, Shanks sidled up ingratiatingly to Law, who was leaning back on the sofa with his eyes closed. He looped an arm around Law's waist and rested his chin lightly on Law's shoulder.
"What's wrong? Did my Dr. Law seem a little... homicidal today?" Shanks nuzzled Law's ear affectionately with the tip of his nose, teasing, "Which clueless intern managed to provoke our Cardiac Surgery's 'Demon Wail' this time?"
Law opened his eyes and shot him a fierce sidelong glare that eloquently said, "You tell me."
Shanks blinked, then had a flash of insight. "Ah... Could it be... because we went to pick you up yesterday, and today the hospital gossip mill has gone into overdrive?"
Law let out a soft snort through his nose, effectively admitting it. For once, he spoke with a rare hint of complaint, "From morning till night, I was asked no less than ten times. 'Who is he?' 'How can they look exactly the same?'..." He paused, recalling that resident's bizarre question. He could feel that vein threatening to pulse near his temple again. "One even asked if I ever mix you two up when I come home at night."
"Pfft-HAHAHAHAHA!" Shanks froze for a second before erupting into earth-shattering laughter. He collapsed back against the sofa cushions, shoulders shaking violently. "Oh my god! How did they even come up with that?! BWAHAHAHA! Such imagination!"
Law, feeling utterly unamused, jabbed him with an elbow. "Is it that funny?"
"It's not, it's not," Shanks managed to suppress his laughter, but mirth still brimmed in his eyes. He straightened up, pulling Law closer into his arms, and said smugly, "But this just proves how incredibly captivating my Dr. Law is. Everyone's so curious about you and the Alphas by your side."
"'Alphas'? " Law raised an eyebrow.
"Me and my brother," Shanks grinned, then leaned in close to Law's ear, lowering his voice. Hot breath ghosted over sensitive skin, his tone brimming with absolute confidence and intimacy. "Besides, my Omega-how could he possibly ever mistake me?"
His fingers gently brushed the back of Law's neck, right where his Omega glands were, the place where their scents intertwined most deeply. "Our pheromones are completely different, aren't they?" Shanks' voice dropped to a low murmur, laced with unmistakable possessiveness. "My Law could pinpoint my scent from any distance. Just as I can always, instantly lock onto you-even in a crowd."
Law's body gradually relaxed, leaning securely into Shanks' embrace. Pheromones were, indeed, a far more unique and intimate marker than any visual trait. Shanks' scent was one of scorching, sun-baked wildness-dry, powerful, and fiercely warm. While Shamrock's... Law recalled, was something much colder, calmer, an aura like the polar regions-rational and remote.
They were worlds apart.
"And," Shanks continued, his fingers idly carding through Law's dark hair, "my brother's whole vibe-the moment he stands somewhere, the temperature within a ten-meter radius automatically drops. 'Strangers not welcome' mode full activated. Whereas I-" he deliberately drawled, grinning like an oversized dog, "am universally beloved. Flowers bloom when I walk by. A blazing inferno of passion! The difference, a blind man could feel it!"
Law's mouth finally quirked into a small smile, his irritation from the excessive external attention completely dissolving. "Idiot," he muttered softly, though it held no real reprimand.
"Your idiot," Shanks answered with affection, pressing a kiss to Law's lips before contentedly holding him tight.