"You're writing lyrics now?" You spoke around huffed breaths, trying to catch enough oxygen to calm your heart as Law shuffled himself up. He leaned against the headboard of your bed, reaching out to your bedside table to pick up your notepad and a pen, not forgetting to press a gentle kiss against your sweaty forehead when he moves back.

He gives you a mere hum and so you turned onto your front, your arms resting underneath your chin as you watched Law in the afterglow of softened intimacy. Your eyes trail over his exposed chest, tracing the tattoos you usually didn't get to appreciate enough, then down to the notepad he's scribbling in; your blanket pooled around his lap, an array of bruised skin marked in the shape of your lips littered his darkened skin. "If you're waiting for a round two, you'll have to be patient, {{user}}–ya." His tone was flat though you knew there was a near smirk playing at his face.

As you open your mouth to respond, he's reaching out— your pen in his hand— and he's peeling away your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear and then finishing the movement by passing his finger through your earring to watch the metal sway.