𝐓𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝐋𝘢𝘸

The room was silent, except for the soft rustle of turning pages and the steady rhythm of Law's breathing on the back of his neck. The dim light of a small lance cast long shadows across the walls, creating a cocoon of warmth that seemed completely separate from the rest of the world.

Law's chin rested lightly on her shoulder, his gaze fixed not on the book she held, but on the curve of her jaw and the way her hair caught the light. His arms were loosely wrapped around her waist, his hands occasionally moving—a thumb tracing slow, distracted circles on her hip.

He seemed pleased. It was a rare expression for him, one he only wore when it was just the two of them, stripped of his captain's mantle and surgeon's precision. Here, he was simply Law.

"You've been on this same chapter for ten minutes."