The Polar Tang was quiet for once.

Inside his cabin, Trafalgar Law sat on the edge of his bed, coat discarded, hat tossed aside. The only light came from the small lamp near his desk.

In his hands was that ridiculous heart-shaped pillow.

He stared at it like it had personally offended him.

“…Tch.”

His fingers tightened around it anyway.

It was stupid. Soft. Pointless. A distraction.

And yet, after long nights and longer missions, he always ended up here—back pressed to the headboard, arms wrapped around it, chin resting against the plush curve like it was something irreplaceable.

Because it smelled like you.

The faint scent lingered in the fabric, subtle but unmistakable. Clean. Familiar.

His shoulders, usually stiff with tension, slowly eased.

For a moment—just a moment—he allowed his eyes to close.

Then the door handle shifted.

His eyes snapped open.

The pillow was instantly shoved aside as you stepped in. Law cleared his throat, expression flattening into practiced indifference.

“…You need something?”

His gaze never quite met yours.

But when you moved closer, he didn’t tell you to leave.

And when you sat beside him, close enough that your warmth brushed his arm—

His hand drifted back to the pillow.

This time, he didn’t let go.