Work Text:
The hour hand had quietly slipped past one in the morning. Law woke once again in the master bedroom, which felt strangely quiet and unfamiliar. The space beside him was cold and flat, lacking that warm body which always complained about the heat, kicked off the blankets, and unconsciously rolled over in his sleep to wrap him in an embrace. Silence remained, broken only by the low hum of the central air conditioning and the slightly erratic beat of his own heart. The heartbeat was unusually clear in the stillness, making the emptiness around him feel even more profound.
He had lost count of how many nights he had woken up alone like this.
Shanks and Shamrock had been working non-stop on that critical project for nearly two weeks. The past few days, they had stayed directly in the executive suite at the top of the company building, reportedly sleeping in shifts.
Law understood the importance of the project. He understood Shanks's responsibility as a decision-maker. He had even gone through similar experiences during the busiest times of his own internship. But understanding things rationally could not easily soothe the habits his body had formed over time, nor the growing hollow ache deep in his heart, a feeling called missing someone.
The first couple of days, he could still enjoy the rare quiet-reading, organizing medical records. But soon, that quiet turned into loneliness. There was no resounding "Law-I'm home!" from Shanks bursting through the door before he was even seen. No familiar weight of him, smelling of the outdoors or kitchen aromas, pouncing for a hug. No affectionate annoyance of him chattering about the day's events or some new, wildly imaginative recipe idea while resting his chin on Law's shoulder and nuzzling. The apartment seemed too large, too silent.
Especially at night. Law had grown very accustomed to falling asleep with a warm, solid chest against his back, or being pulled into a sun-scented embrace in the haze between sleep and waking.
Shanks's breathing was a reassuring kind of white noise. Now, the scent of his lover on the pillows and blankets was slowly fading. Law found himself unconsciously reaching out to the space beside him, and the chill his fingers met would instantly wake him, leading to even more sleeplessness.
He began to miss the small details he had once found a little annoying. Shanks's terrible sleeping posture, sometimes pushing him to the edge of the bed. His aversion to heat, cranking the air conditioner low in summer yet still wanting to hold him tight. His sleep-talking, occasionally mumbling Law's name indistinctly. Now, all of these had become extravagant longings. He even started worrying about whether that man, who forgot to eat and sleep when working, had stomach pains again. Was he drinking too much coffee? Shamrock, though disciplined, probably could not afford to meticulously look after his younger brother under such high pressure.
Anxiety and worry grew like tiny vines in the silent night, quietly entwining around his heart. Law turned over and buried his face deep into Shanks's pillow, breathing in hard, trying to capture the increasingly faint scent.
But this had the opposite effect, making him more acutely aware of the other's absence. He sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. The warm yellow glow dispelled some of the darkness but could not chase away the emptiness in his heart.
I should go see him.
Once this thought arose, it took deep root.
He did not want to call and disturb them; he knew they were still battling numbers, clauses, and meetings. A phone call might break their concentration. He did not want to send a message either. Pale text could hardly convey what he was feeling right now.
Maybe he could make something to chase away the late-night fatigue, something that would reach both stomach and heart directly.
Thinking this, he got out of bed efficiently, his bare feet touching the cool floor as he walked to the kitchen.
In the refrigerator was the mentaiko that Shanks had enthusiastically bought a while back, saying he would make onigiri for breakfast but had never found the time for. In the cupboard were the high-quality roasted nori and plump rice he had stocked up on.
Make onigiri. Simple. Easy. A quick energy boost. This thought softened Law's heart, bringing a bittersweet tenderness. He was hardly skilled at cooking, especially something requiring such a delicate touch and feel. A scalpel was far more obedient in his hands.
He tied on Shanks's usual apron, the one with the little whale pattern, which seemed to still hold a faint trace of his cologne's base note. He began clumsily recalling the steps his lover took when making onigiri. Rinse the rice, add water, set the rice cooker. While waiting for the rice to finish, he leaned against the counter, his gaze drifting absently over the kitchen, marked by the traces of their life together.
The cookware Shanks had carefully chosen. The cabinets Shamrock had designed. The coffee cups they had picked out together. Without that tall, red-haired figure bustling and humming in front of the stove, this place felt much colder too.
The rice finished, releasing its warm fragrance. Imitating Shanks's method, he scooped the rice out to let it cool slightly, dampened his hands with salted water, and tried to form the rice balls. However, the seemingly simple action proved unexpectedly difficult. The rice was either too sticky or too loose. The amount of mentaiko was hard to gauge. The shape was impossible to control. They were either lopsided or loose and flimsy, nothing like the round, full, sharply defined onigiri Shanks made.
Law frowned, his lips pressed together, treating it like a malfunctioning instrument, or like a novice practicing suturing for the first time, concentrating fully on adjusting the pressure and angle of his fingertips, battling the unruly grains. The tip of his nose even beaded with a fine sweat from focus and the kitchen's slight warmth.
After an unknown amount of time, over a dozen onigiri - varying in size and shape, but vaguely recognizable as such - were finally carefully placed into an insulated food jar. They were not exactly beautiful; some were wrapped in wrinkled nori.
Law picked one up to examine, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. This was probably the lowest in technical difficulty, yet possibly the most mentally draining operation of his career. But he checked them; they should not fall apart. The ingredients were all good. It should not taste too bad. He also took two bottles of electrolyte drink from the fridge and put them in the bag.
At two in the morning, the city streets were empty and silent. Streetlights stretched his shadow long. Law drove towards the Figarland Group building, a glass-curtain-walled structure that was often brightly lit even late at night. Now, it stood like a silent lighthouse. Several windows on the top floor were indeed lit, exceptionally bright against the dark night sky. That was where the people he cared about were.
Carrying the little whale insulated bag, he took the private elevator to the top floor. The corridor was thickly carpeted, absorbing his footsteps, leaving only silence. Approaching the familiar office, through the slightly ajar door, he could see two tired figures inside under the lights, and hear faint sounds of keyboard clicking and low voices.
Shanks had taken off his suit jacket. The collar of his expensive shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the smooth lines of his forearms. But now those arms were propping up his forehead, his whole bearing radiating a heavy exhaustion. He was staring at the dense data charts and contract clauses on his computer screen, his brow furrowed into a knot, his red hair mussed, dark circles heavy under his eyes, stubble appearing on his chin.
Shamrock sat beside him, thick stacks of documents spread before him, his fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. Though his posture remained textbook straight, his complexion was pale, his eyes showing the dryness and fatigue of intense screen use, his thin lips pressed tightly together.
Law's heart felt like it was gently squeezed by an invisible hand, a fine, detailed ache spreading through him. He did not go in immediately. He just stood quietly at the doorway, watching the two people striving with all their might toward a common goal, also sharing each other's burdens.
After watching for a while, he raised his hand and knocked softly on the door.
"Come in," Shamrock said without looking up, his voice holding the conciseness of work and a faint, hard-to-detect hoarseness.
Shanks, however, followed the sound, lifting his head somewhat slowly. When he saw Law standing at the door, he froze, his red eyes widening in disbelief, as if seeing an illusion that should not be there. "...Law?" His voice was dry and raspy, carrying the fog of staying up late, but more than that, immense surprise, like a light suddenly turning on in the darkness. "What are you doing here? Did something happen?" He instinctively started to stand, but the motion was stiff and unsteady from sitting so long.
Law pushed the door open and walked in, setting the insulated bag on the table. He tried to make his tone sound as if he had just stopped by casually. "Nothing. Could not sleep. Thought you might still be working, so I made a little something." But his gaze involuntarily took in every inch of Shanks's face - his dry lips, the shadows under his eyes, the furrow in his brow - and the ache in his heart deepened further. His fingers twitched slightly, almost wanting to reach out and touch that face right then.
"Made a little something?" Shanks had already come around the desk and hurried over, his steps a little unsteady. When he saw Law open the bag to reveal the onigiri - plain-looking but emanating the warm fragrance of rice, the clean scent of nori, and the savory aroma of mentaiko - he froze as if someone had pressed a pause button. He looked from the misshapen but earnestly made onigiri back up to Law, and his eyes, at a visible speed, filled with a thick layer of moisture, rapidly accumulating, shining brilliantly under the cold white office lights.
"Law... you... you made these specially?" His voice began to tremble uncontrollably, thick with a nasal quality, his fingers curling and uncurling unconsciously, as if not knowing where to put them. "It is so late... you have not slept... you remembered I like mentaiko... you even..." He was speaking incoherently, the overwhelming emotion and surging longing instantly breaching the dam built by days of intense work. Like a traveler who had trekked too long in the desert finally seeing an oasis, his eyes reddened rapidly.
"The ingredients were all on hand. It was not much trouble." Law avoided his nearly burning gaze, lowered his eyelashes, and picked up an onigiri that looked relatively presentable, holding it out to him. His fingertips accidentally brushed against Shanks's cool fingers. "Try it. It might not be as good as yours."
But Shanks did not take it immediately. As if finally confirming this was not a dream, his Adam's apple bobbed violently, as if using the last of his restraint. Then he lurched forward, opening his arms, and pulled Law into a fierce embrace, holding him as if trying to press him into his own body. His body was stiff from prolonged sitting, but his embrace was still warm and broad, carrying a reassuringly familiar scent mixed with a faint trace of coffee. He buried his face deep in Law's neck, greedily breathing in his lover's cool scent, as if it were a more precious, more soul-soothing energy source than any caffeine or any victory.
"Waa... Law..." A choked, nasal cry came from Law's neck. Hot tears welled up without warning, quickly soaking the thin fabric on Law's shoulder. The warmth seared through the cloth, scalding his skin and reaching deep into his heart. "I missed you so much... so, so much... Work is so exhausting... Those numbers and clauses were driving me crazy... I want to go home... I want to hold you while we sleep... I want you to scold me for not eating properly... Waa..." Like a big dog battered by wind and rain, scarred, finally returning to its only harbor, he let out all his grievances, fatigue, stress, and bone-deep longing. His body trembled slightly in Law's arms, not just from emotion, but also from the physical response of finally relaxing after long periods of high mental tension. It was the raw feeling of shedding all armor.
Law was pushed back half a step by the sudden, forceful embrace but quickly steadied himself. The familiar warmth and scent enveloped him, instantly filling the hollow ache of the past days, bringing a sour, warm sensation. He raised his arms to hug Shanks's broad back, stroking it gently. He could feel the tense muscles beneath his shirt. He pressed his lips to Shanks's ear and said softly, "I know. You have worked hard. Hang in there a little longer. It will be over soon."
Shamrock had, at some point, stopped working entirely and was quietly watching them. His face still held no clear expression, but his red eyes flickered slightly. His gaze first fell on the slightly steaming box of misshapen onigiri on the coffee table, lingering for a moment, then slowly moved to the embracing couple. He watched silently, as if this sudden scene of late-night warmth was another piece of data to be recorded and analyzed during his high-intensity work break. But this time, the analysis result might have nothing to do with efficiency.
Law gently patted Shanks's back, signaling him to let go, at least to wipe his tears and eat the onigiri. "Sham, you eat something too. Take a break." He looked at Shamrock, his voice returning to its usual calm, but the concern in his eyes was equally clear.
Reluctantly, Shanks loosened his hold but still firmly held one of Law's hands, as if afraid he would disappear if he let go. He lifted his face, his nose and eyes red, small teardrops still clinging to his long eyelashes. With his messy red hair and stubble, he looked pitiful and adorable, completely unlike the usual commanding CEO.
Law could not resist using his free hand to gently wipe the wet tear tracks from his cheeks, his motions as tender as handling fragile treasure. "Stop crying. Eat first." His tone held an indulgence he did not even notice himself.
Shanks sniffled, nodded vigorously like a soothed big child, but still did not let go of Law's hand. Law had to use one hand to push the food box slightly towards Shamrock.
Shamrock walked over obediently. His pace was still steady, but his movements showed the sluggishness of fatigue as well. He looked carefully for a moment, then picked up one of the more neatly formed onigiri and took a small bite.
The savory saltiness of the mentaiko, mixed with the warm, soft fragrance of the quality rice, and the crunch and unique ocean flavor of the roasted nori enveloped it all. The taste was simple, rustic, but satisfying. It was the most direct and effective energy boost after long periods of intense mental work. More importantly, it was completely unexpected late-night care.
He chewed slowly, even slower than usual, as if carefully savoring the flavor of each grain of rice and each ingredient. After swallowing, he said quietly, "The moisture content and temperature of the rice were properly controlled. The ratio with the mentaiko is balanced, neither flavor overpowering the other. The nori maintained its crunch and did not get soggy. Thank you, Law."
No exaggerated praise, but a single thank you, along with a confirmation as detailed and almost technical as a report. Even for something as simple as onigiri, coming from Shamrock, it was the highest form of recognition and gratitude.
Law's heart completely relaxed at his words. A wave of warmth washed over him, and he nodded. "I am glad you like it. Eat it while it is warm."
Shanks could no longer contain himself. Still holding Law's hand, he picked up an onigiri with it and began eating it in big bites, sniffling. His tears were not completely dry, but a happy smile was already spreading across his face. "So good... waa... Law's onigiri are the best in the world... Better than any Michelin-star restaurant, better than any gourmet dish..." he said indistinctly, unable to resist rubbing his cheek against Law's hand as he ate, like a pleading big dog, looking at Law with wet, puppy-dog eyes filled with emotion and undisguised love. "It tastes like Law..."
Watching his silly, endearing display of tears, wolfing down food, and busy declarations of love, Law's heart felt incredibly tender. He felt both heartache and amusement, and an unstoppable surge of tenderness. He let Shanks rub against his hand, reached for a napkin with his other hand, and carefully wiped grains of rice from the corner of his mouth and tears from his eyes. His own tone held a gentleness he did not even recognize. "Eat slowly. Do not choke."
The simple onigiri and drinks, in this silent, deep night, became the warmest comfort. Shanks quickly regained his spirits. Though his eyes were still red, he seemed re-energized. As he ate, he chattered to Law about the difficulties in the project and the difficult opponents he faced, and could not resist a childlike boast, describing how he and Shamrock had worked in perfect sync to pull off a nearly impossible critical juncture.
As he spoke, his body unconsciously leaned toward Law, his hand tightly holding Law's, as if only through skin contact could he confirm this warmth and companionship were real. Law sat on the arm of the sofa beside him, listening quietly, occasionally responding, or gently pressing the back of his hand when Shanks got too excited, signaling him to slow down.
Shamrock ate his second onigiri quietly, occasionally taking a sip of tea. He did not join the conversation, but neither was he as completely closed off as he was during work. He listened to Shanks, occasionally adding a correction or a small note when Shanks made mistakes on key clauses or logic, then continued eating his onigiri. His expression was noticeably much calmer than when Law first arrived. Though still tired, the sharpness and coldness honed by the high-intensity work seemed to have been quietly melted by the warm food and this sudden, clumsy, yet sincere care.
Law did not stay long. Knowing they still had work to finish, he glanced at the time and prepared to leave.
Shanks immediately sensed his intention. His just-loosened embrace instantly tightened again, and he practically clung to Law, nuzzling his neck, his voice taking on that thick, pleading tone again. "Stay a little longer. Just a little."
"You still have work to do." Law patted his back helplessly, but did not push him away forcefully. "The sooner you finish, the sooner you can come home."
"Then give me a kiss." Shanks pouted, pushing his luck, his red eyes full of expectation and longing, like a child begging for a reward. "A kiss will give me more motivation."
Law's ears warmed slightly. Glancing at Shamrock, who seemed intent on studying the beverage ingredient label, he felt a bit embarrassed but could not resist his lover's pleading eyes, nor the equally fierce longing in his own heart. He quickly pressed a kiss to Shanks's lips. "There. Now work seriously," he said in a low voice, trying to maintain his composure, but his reddened ears betrayed him.
But Shanks, as if suddenly supercharged, his eyes dazzlingly bright, was far from satisfied with such a brief kiss. He immediately chased after him, returning a deep, gentle kiss, ignoring Law's token resistance, until their breaths were a little disordered before reluctantly separating, resting his forehead against Law's, and laughing softly. "That is more like it. Wait for me to come home."
Law's breathing was unsteady from the kiss, his cheeks flushed. He finally steadied his breath, gave Shanks a gentle push, and straightened his rumpled collar and hair. "Alright. We will talk about other things when you are done. Sham, you should rest too. Do not push yourself too hard."
Shamrock nodded to Law again. "Take care."
Shanks walked Law all the way to the elevator, clung to him in another needy hug for a long moment, and only let go when the elevator doors were about to close. He stood outside, waving vigorously until the doors completely closed, hiding that deeply attached red figure.
As the elevator descended, silence enveloped Law once more. He leaned against the elevator wall, sighed softly, and raised his hand to touch his lips, which still seemed to hold a lingering warmth, as if Shanks's presence was still there. The emptiness and insomnia-induced restlessness of the past days had, unnoticed, dissipated, replaced by a solid, warm feeling, and a sweet sense of longing.