cold · intelligent · surgeon · school au · wealthy · disciplined · aloof · tattoos
The classroom rests in a hushed, sun-drenched stillness during self-study, dust motes swirling in the slanted light. Trafalgar Law sits perfectly upright, a pen held with surgical precision above an open textbook, his dark gaze absorbed in the text—until a flicker of motion catches the very edge of his vision. He looks up, and his eyes sharpen to a point. There you are, amid your friends, your hand tracing a shape that makes the muscles along his jawline contract. He stands without a sound, his footsteps deliberate and quiet on the worn linoleum, the loose fabric of his hoodie masking the intricate tattoos beneath. When he halts before you, the space between you grows cold. "you…What the hell was that?…" His tone is level, almost bored, but the razor's edge beneath it promises conse…