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The weeks-long major project finally came to a successful close with a final agreement that satisfied both parties. After sending out the last confirmation email, Shanks practically collapsed into his office chair, feeling as if every bone in his body had been dismantled and reassembled, but mentally, he was exhausted to the point of near blissful relief.
Shamrock, too, uncharacteristically did not immediately organize the data or debrief. He simply took off his glasses and used his fingertips to press against his throbbing temples. The long hours of intense focus had left him feeling somewhat dazed.
"It's over..." Shanks let out a long breath, his voice hoarse. "Sham, we can go home."
Shamrock was silent for a long moment before letting out a low grunt of acknowledgment. His eyes held a deep, unshakeable fatigue, but also the relief of a weight being lifted.
The two of them practically supported each other - mostly Shanks half-hanging off his brother - as they made their way back to the apartment. When they opened the door, Law had already prepared simple sandwiches and was waiting for them. He asked no questions, simply took their nearly weightless briefcases, pushed them towards the bathroom to wash up, and then watched as they collapsed like two puddles of soft mud onto their respective beds. Their heads hit the pillows, and they immediately sank into a deep, dark sleep.
This sleep was profound and world-obliterating.
Shanks was woken by sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains. He groggily opened his eyes, feeling his body as if soaking in warm water, every cell radiating a long-missed sense of relaxation and lethargy. He habitually reached out to the space beside him - empty. Oh, right, Law had clinic duty today. He rolled contentedly in the sheets that still held Law's scent, lazed in bed for a good while longer, then shuffled his feet into slippers and stumbled out of the bedroom, his red hair an explosion of messy spikes.
The apartment was unusually quiet, only the soft hum of the central air conditioning breaking the silence.
Shamrock's door was still tightly shut.
Shanks grinned. Looks like he was really worn out. Even his robot-like, ever-disciplined brother had, for once, slept in.
He was just wondering whether to forage in the kitchen or collapse back onto the sofa when the doorbell rang.
"Who's that..." Shanks muttered, rubbing his eyes as he went to open the door.
Standing outside was Rosinante, holding an insulated bag, his smile gentle.
"Rosi?" Shanks was a bit surprised but immediately broke into a smile, stepping aside to let him in. "What brings you here? Come in, come in!"
"Thought I'd check on you guys. Heard the project finally wrapped up, figured you'd be exhausted." Rosinante walked in and set the bag on the table, containing food he had prepared and some small pastries. "Law said he had a shift today and asked me to drop by. Is Shamrock still asleep? Not up yet?"
"Nope!" Shanks yawned widely, pointing at Shamrock's closed door, shamelessly ratting out his brother. "He's out cold. Probably wouldn't wake up even if a bomb went off. First time I've ever seen him sleep this late." He himself was still in a drowsy, just-woken state, his hair a complete mess, wearing a wrinkled home t-shirt and shorts, barefoot, exuding a thoroughly lazy aura.
Rosinante smiled knowingly and sat on the sofa. "Let him rest properly. You should catch up on sleep too. You look a bit thinner."
Shanks chuckled, went to pour water, and the two settled into the living room for a chat. Mostly Rosinante asked questions, and Shanks animatedly recounted the thrilling final stages of the project, not forgetting to boast about how he and Shamrock had worked in perfect sync to conquer all.
Just then, a soft click sounded, and Shamrock's door opened.
A figure drifted out, swaying slightly.
It was Shamrock. But his current appearance was a far cry from the meticulous, self-possessed vice president of the Figarland Group.
He was clearly still in a half-asleep, fuzzy state. His usually neatly combed, perfectly untangled long hair was now slept into a chaotic mess, several disobedient strands sticking up wildly, like a bird's nest hit by a gale, with one small tuft even standing stubbornly atop his head. His eyes were half-closed, his long lashes lowered, veiling his usually sharp red eyes.
The most striking thing, however, was his sleepwear. It was not his usual dark silk pajamas. Instead, he was wearing a hooded fleece onesie, clearly several sizes too large, printed with cartoonish little green dinosaurs. The sleeves hung past his hands, which he unconsciously kept tucked in, and the pant legs bunched around his ankles. He looked fuzzy, inexplicably adorable, and utterly bewildered. This was clearly something Shanks had sneaked into his closet at some point, which he had grabbed in his sleep-fogged state and put on.
In this state - bird's nest hair, oversized dinosaur pajamas - he drifted like a sleepwalker toward the bathroom, completely oblivious to the two people sitting on the living room sofa.
The moment Shanks saw the scene, his eyes went wide. He clamped his hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking violently as he tried desperately to suppress the explosion of laughter about to erupt.
Rosinante was also stunned. His usually warm, smiling eyes quickly filled with surprise and growing amusement. He watched his usually cool-to-the-point-of-cold lover appear in such a defenseless, even adorable guise. The sheer contrast left him momentarily unsure how to react.
Shamrock stumbled several steps before it seemed the unusual quiet of the living room registered. He glanced unconsciously toward the sofa.
That one glance was like ice water poured over his fogged brain, snapping him to full alertness.
On the sofa, besides his brother who was shaking with barely suppressed laughter, sat Rosinante.
Rosinante was looking at him, his expression a mix of surprise and barely suppressed mirth.
Time stopped.
Shamrock froze, his drowsiness instantly gone. He blinked his still slightly watery eyes in disbelief. Then, his gaze slowly traveled down his own body - to the childish, ridiculous green dinosaur pajamas, the sleeves hanging comically loose.
Silence.
A wave of heat rushed from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head. Shamrock's usually pale, expressionless cheeks flushed a visible, rapid red, spreading from his cheeks to his ears, down his neck. His whole body seemed instantly boiled.
The next second, he spun on his heel, like a startled rabbit, and fled back to his room at nearly the speed of light, slamming the door shut with a resounding bang. The force was such that the door frame seemed to shudder.
Shanks finally let go, bursting into earth-shattering laughter. "HAHAHAHAHA!!SHAMMY! Your hair! Your dinosaur pajamas! Hahaha! Rosi, did you see that?! He blushed! He actually blushed! Hahahaha!"
Dead silence from the room, but behind the door, one could almost feel Shamrock's intense, murderous embarrassment and desire to evaporate on the spot.
Rosinante couldn't help but laugh softly too. He shook his head and said gently toward the closed door, "Shamrock, it's great and... cute." He considered the word carefully before using it, his eyes crinkling with more amusement.
"Right?! Super cute!" Shanks, laughing so hard tears were forming, jumped up and ran to Shamrock's door, starting to pound on it. "Shammy! Shammy! Come out! Rosi brought delicious snacks! Don't be shy! I've seen you in every state! Come on, come out!"
No response from inside.
Shanks thought for a second, then simply turned the doorknob - it wasn't locked. Grinning mischievously, he pushed the door open. Inside, Shamrock was completely buried under his blankets, wrapped up tight, even his head hidden, like an ostrich refusing to face reality. A large lump in the bedding, perfectly still.
"Hehe, caught you!" Shanks didn't hesitate. He pounced, accurately hugging the lump through the covers, and began coaxing in a pleading tone. "Come out, Shammy! Rosi's not a stranger! If you don't come out, I'm going to tickle you!" His hands started sneaking under the covers.
The lump twisted violently, and a mortified voice came from within: "Shanks! Get out!"
"No way!" Shanks, caught up in the game, used his strength advantage to start peeling back the blankets, trying to dig out the shy ostrich. "Let me see! Are you still blushing? Hahaha!"
The two wrestled on the bed, the blanket getting completely tangled. Shamrock clung stubbornly to the edges, fighting a losing battle against his energetic younger brother. Finally, Shanks succeeded in prying open a gap, revealing Shamrock's flushed face and hair so messy it was beyond description. He laughed even harder and, as if for good measure, ruffled Shamrock's already chaotic hair even more, sending several strands sticking straight up.
"Shanks!" Shamrock couldn't take it anymore. He reached out from under the blanket, trying to push away his brother's insufferably grinning face. The blush hadn't faded from his cheeks, leaving him a mix of shame and annoyance. His usually icy red eyes were now bright and moist with emotion, and his glare held no intimidation, only making him look even more endearing.
Rosinante had, at some point, walked to the bedroom doorway. Leaning against the frame, he watched the ruckus between the brothers. His gaze lingered especially on Shamrock - usually so composed, now flushed, with wildly messy red hair, stuck under the covers and his brother's grasp in ridiculous dinosaur pajamas. The smile on his face was soft enough to drip honey.
He chuckled softly, his voice carrying undisguised fondness and indulgence. "Shamrock, the pajamas suit you. Your hair... also quite stylish. No need to be embarrassed. You look more... domestic like this."
That sentence was the final blow. Shamrock let out a sound almost like a desperate groan and completely buried himself again, leaving only a lump radiating a feeling of having lost the will to live, and beside it, Shanks, hiccuping with laughter, still trying to dig him out.
Under Shanks's shameless assault and Rosinante's gentle gaze, Shamrock finally realized that playing ostrich in front of his own lover was not only ineffective but actually encouraged his brother. The body under the blanket stiffened for a moment, then, as if resigning to fate, shifted slightly.
Shanks cheered and pulled the blanket open, revealing Shamrock's still flushed face, a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment. His normally immaculate red hair was plastered messily to his cheeks, and paired with the loose, cute green dinosaur pajamas, the urge to ruffle his head was almost irresistible.
Under Rosinante's affectionate gaze, Shamrock felt the heat in his face rise even more.
"That's more like it!" Shanks, emboldened, pounced again like a giant koala, wrapping himself and the blanket around Shamrock, his fuzzy red head nuzzling into his brother's neck. "Shammy, don't hide! Rosi isn't going to judge you! Right, Rosi?" He looked at Rosinante for support.
The warmth in Rosinante's eyes seemed about to spill over. He walked closer and sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze focused on Shamrock. It was rare to see him so shy, and Rosinante couldn't help but offer praise. "Of course not. It's very cute... Makes me want to get closer than usual." He reached out and gently brushed away a particularly stubborn strand of red hair from Shamrock's forehead.
This intimate, soothing gesture seemed more effective than any words. Shamrock's body gave a slight tremor, the tension quietly melting away. He looked up and met Rosinante's smiling eyes. The tenderness and affection there dissolved the last of his embarrassment. He let out a soft sigh, a silent acceptance of the current situation, even tilting his head slightly toward Rosinante's hand.
Sensing his brother's softening, Shanks grew even happier, nuzzling more enthusiastically. "Exactly, exactly! This is a rare sight! A home-limited edition!" He played, completely oblivious that his brother's attention had been drawn to the man by the bedside.
Rosinante's hand slid down Shamrock's messy hair, gently stroking his warm cheek, his thumb pad brushing the faint dark circles under his eyes. "You were exhausted. Just relax. You don't have to put on any front with me."
Under Rosinante's gentle touch, Shamrock completely relaxed. The warmth on his face remained, but the embarrassment faded. He gently grasped Rosinante's hand, which was still resting on his cheek, and said quietly, "...Understood."
Shanks blinked, watching the silent intimacy flow between the two. He belatedly realized he was maybe a bit superfluous. He chuckled and sensibly rolled off Shamrock. "Okay, okay, I'll stop being the third wheel! Rosi brought snacks! Sham, get up!"
He jumped off the bed and, barefoot, ran to the living room, leaving the couple alone.
Rosinante smiled, shook his head, and gently pressed a kiss to Shamrock's still-warm forehead. "Go wash up? Or rest a bit more?"
Shamrock shook his head. "...Wash up." His voice was still a little hoarse from sleep, but had regained its usual composure, though his ears remained red. He glanced down at his wrinkled dinosaur pajamas, and unusually, didn't immediately go to change. He simply shuffled to the bathroom in this outfit, his hair still a bit messy.
When Shamrock appeared in the dining room wearing the dinosaur pajamas, Shanks was already sitting obediently at the table, eyeing the shrimp dumplings and siu mai Rosinante had brought. Seeing Shamrock emerge, he immediately started shouting, "Come quick, Shammy! I'm starving!"
Rosinante pulled out a chair for Shamrock and placed a bowl of perfectly warm cream of mushroom soup in front of him. "Drink slowly."
Shamrock murmured his thanks and picked up a spoon. The warm soup slid down his throat, spreading warmth throughout his body. The food Rosinante brought always suited his taste, catering to his discerning palate and his body's recent depletion. He ate quietly, listening to Shanks's energetic chatter and Rosinante's occasional gentle responses, feeling the exhaustion of the past days slowly being smoothed away.
The atmosphere at the table was warm. Shanks, while wolfing down his food, continued his teasing:
"Shammy, you should wear my pajamas more often. You look so much less unapproachable!"
"Rosi, next time you come, can you bring more of these dumplings? I think Shammy likes them too."
"Oh, by the way, what's our plan for the holiday? Should the four of us go to a hot spring? Relax a bit!"
"The way you dove under the covers just now was almost as efficient as how you handle urgent data streams!"
Shamrock ate his dumpling slowly, glanced up at Shanks, ignored his teasing, but under the table, gently nudged Rosinante's calf with his foot.
Rosinante turned his head, giving him an understanding smile. His hand, which had been resting on the back of his chair, slid down to give a reassuring squeeze to the back of Shamrock's neck. He murmured, "Ignore him. Focus on your food." The intimacy in his tone made the skin on Shamrock's neck tingle slightly. He looked down, pretending to concentrate on his food, but the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch almost imperceptibly.
"Speaking of which," Rosinante looked at Shamrock, his eyes full of gentle teasing, "These pajamas... Shanks forced them on you, didn't he? It's a wonder you kept them, and actually wore them."
He knew, of course, that Shamrock would never actively buy such a style. The only way they could have appeared in his closet, and been worn, was due to Shanks's doing and a moment of extreme, exhausted acquiescence on Shamrock's part.
Shanks immediately declared proudly, "Of course I put them there! My pajamas are top-quality cotton fleece, the most comfortable in the universe! Sham doesn't say it, but his body is honest!" He was completely unaware of the double entendre.
Shamrock's hand, holding his spoon, paused slightly, his ears warming. It was true. When he had stumbled back to his room, too out of it to search for his own pajamas, he had simply grabbed the softest, most convenient thing from his closet - which turned out to be this onesie Shanks had secretly hung there at some point. In moments of deep exhaustion, that soft, enveloping feeling actually brought a sense of security.
He met Rosinante's knowing gaze, recognizing that Rosinante understood him. He gave an almost imperceptible press of his lips. "...It's just soft." It was an explanation, and also a quiet admission.
Rosinante's smile deepened. Under the table, his hand sought out Shamrock's hand resting on his own leg, gently taking it, his fingertips soothingly rubbing Shamrock's palm. "Indeed. Comfort is what matters most."
Shanks watched the silent sweetness flowing between the two even without words, and dramatically covered his eyes. "Aaah! This breakfast is too sweet! I need Law to come back to balance it out!"
Shamrock emotionlessly pulled his hand back from Rosinante's grasp, picked up a siu mai, and precisely stuffed it into Shanks's still-yapping mouth. "Shut up."
"Mmrf!" Shanks, his mouth blocked, chewed vigorously, puffing out his cheeks, and playfully made a face at Rosinante.
Rosinante smiled, shaking his head, and steered the conversation toward holiday plans, smoothly moving past this warm little interlude prompted by the dinosaur pajamas.
His lover by his side, his younger brother also here. Shamrock slowly savored the comfort of the food, feeling Rosinante's occasional gentle gaze upon him, and the hand that had again quietly found his under the table. That stray strand of red hair might still be sticking up, that childish pajamas might not fit his usual image, but in the relaxing atmosphere of the holiday, all of this was part of what made him feel most at ease.
As evening approached, the sound of the fingerprint lock on the front door signaled Law's return from his clinic shift.
He pushed the door open, habitually looking down to change his shoes, and said casually, "I'm home." Then he looked up toward the living room.
The next second, Law's movements froze.
On the sofa, Shamrock was lounging against a cushion, holding a tablet, his expression relaxed.
That was normal.
What was not normal was what he was wearing. It was, unmistakably, the fleece hooded onesie printed with little green dinosaurs - the one that belonged to Shanks. Though the hood was not up, the bright cartoonish patterns and the fuzzy texture formed an intensely jarring, almost absurd contrast with Shamrock's handsome, cool features and his overall calm demeanor. Furthermore, Rosinante was sitting on the nearby armchair, holding a cup of tea, looking at Shamrock with fond amusement.
Law's brain short-circuited for a second. He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating from overwork or had walked into the wrong apartment.
The combination was too surreal: Shanks's meticulously neat older brother wearing his sibling's childish pajamas, while Law's own lover sat nearby, watching contentedly.
He instinctively took a half-step back and closed the door. Then opened it again.
The scene inside hadn't changed: Dinosaur-pajama-clad Shamrock was still on the sofa, now looking up at him with a hint of resigned understanding in his red eyes. Beside him, Rosinante finally put down his teacup and laughed softly.
From the open kitchen, Shanks poked his head out. Seeing Law's actions, he looked confused for a second, then erupted in explosive laughter.
"HAHAHAHAHA!! Law! What are you doing?! Did you think you had the wrong door?! Hahaha! Were you scared by Shammy's dinosaur battle suit?! Hahaha! Rosi, look at him!" He was laughing so hard he could barely hold onto the spatula in his hand.
Rosinante also looked at Law, smiling, and teased gently, "Welcome home, Law. Looks like Shamrock's new look is quite impactful."
Law finally fully processed that he was indeed home, his and Shanks's and Shamrock's shared apartment. It was just the scene before him... He cleared his throat softly, trying to regain his usual composure, but the tips of his ears flushed uncontrollably.
He changed his shoes and walked inside, his gaze carefully taking in Shamrock's dinosaur pajamas, then turning to Rosinante, nodding in greeting. "Rosi, good evening." Then to Shanks in the kitchen, "I'm back."
"...Welcome back, Law." Shamrock's response was expressionless, a simple greeting, but the reddening tips of his ears betrayed his own lack of complete calm.
Just then, Shanks, like a red whirlwind, came barreling out of the kitchen, carrying the aroma of food and a wave of longing. He gave Law, just returning home, a solid, crushing bear hug, burying his fuzzy red head in Law's neck and sniffing heartily like a real big dog. "Law! You're finally home! I missed you so much! Mmm... disinfectant smell, and a bit of your scent... were you tired today?" He nuzzled as he asked, completely oblivious to the two people watching from the sofa.
Law was pushed back a half step by the impact, barely managing to steady himself. The initial bewilderment on his face was replaced by helplessness and affection. He raised his hand and ruffled Shanks's messy red hair. "It was fine. Let go first, I have outside germs on me."
"Don't care! I have a strong immune system!" Shanks said this, but obediently loosened his grip, though he still clung close to Law, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Law, don't you think Sham is super cute?! He got cold from the living room AC this afternoon and dug this pajama out again! I told you it was comfortable! Rosi said it suits him too!"
Law looked back at Shamrock. Shamrock had already returned his attention to his tablet, as if this had nothing to do with him, but his slightly reddened ears and a marginally stiffer posture gave him away. Watching the usually composed Shamrock wearing such childish pajamas, being watched fondly by Rosinante in their own living room, Law's initial surprise slowly transformed into a warm, reflective feeling.
Indeed... very cute.
"Yeah, looks... very warm." Law went along with Shanks's words, a hint of an unseen smile in his voice. He saw Shamrock's eyelashes flutter almost imperceptibly, and Rosinante's smile deepen.
"Right? " Shanks, gaining support, grew even happier. He pulled Law toward the kitchen. "Rosi is helping me cook! We're having a feast tonight! Celebrating the project being done and you coming home! Law, come try it!"
Law, pulled by Shanks, glanced back at the living room. Rosinante smiled at him, stood up, and also headed to the kitchen, saying gently, "I'll help with the vegetables. Shamrock, want to join? Or continue being a 'static decoration'?" The last sentence was clearly a tease.
Shamrock put down his tablet, shot a glance at Rosinante, which, due to the dinosaur pajamas, had significantly less impact. He also got up and walked over, the fuzzy green dinosaur swaying slightly as he moved. "What do you need me to do?"
"Watch the stew on the stove. Time it. You're good at that." Rosinante handed him a timer, his fingers brushing inadvertently against Shamrock's.
And so, the kitchen presented this picture: Shanks, wearing his little whale apron, energetically stir-frying, humming an off-key tune. Rosinante, beside him, skillfully prepping ingredients, occasionally discussing techniques with Shanks. Law, at the counter, helped pass things and plate dishes, his gaze frequently softening on the busy Shanks. And Shamrock, leaning quietly against the far end of the counter, the green dinosaur pajamas looking fluffy under the warm light, tasked with watching the stew and timing it.
The four of them worked together in silent harmony, a warm cooking team. The dinosaur pajamas were no longer a punchline, but a charming feature of this cozy scene.
Dinner was naturally rich and delicious. Shanks pulled out all the stops, and Rosinante's specialty dishes were also highly praised.
Rosinante and Shamrock were increasingly in sync. A single glance, a casual serving of food, all spoke a wordless understanding. Shanks and Law were even more so; Shanks practically piled everything he thought was tasty onto Law's plate, and Law, while resigned, was indulgent, occasionally transferring something he knew Shanks particularly liked from his own bowl.
After dinner, the four of them cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen. Rosinante checked the time. Though reluctant, he suggested he should leave. "It's getting late. I should go. Thank you for the wonderful meal, Shanks, Law." He said gently to Shamrock, "Shamrock, rest well. See you tomorrow?"
Shamrock nodded. He walked Rosinante to the door. "Take care."
Rosinante naturally reached out to straighten Shamrock's already tidy collar, his fingertips brushing the hair behind his ear. He murmured, a hint of expectation in his voice, "The dinosaur pajamas... you can wear them next time I come too."
Shamrock's ears warmed, but he didn't argue, just gave a soft, "I will."
After seeing Rosinante off, the apartment returned to its usual quiet rhythm. Shanks was already getting sleepy, yawning. Shamrock also prepared to go back to his room.
"Sham," Law called out to him, a gentle smile on his face. "The pajamas... really do suit you. Get some rest. Good night."
Shamrock paused in his step, looked back at Law, then glanced at Shanks, who was grinning beside him. Finally, he nodded. "Good night, Law. Remember to brush your teeth, Shanks" With that, he turned and went into his room, his back seeming a little less rigid than usual.
"Night, Shammy!" Shanks called after the closed door, then immediately attached himself to Law. "Law~ Let's go wash up and go to bed! Today was so fun!"
Law, being pulled toward the bedroom, smiled. "Yeah."