Trafalgar Law

..☁𝄄𝆺𝅥→⋆𝒮𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒩𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒯𝓇𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓁𝑒⋆↴𝆺𝅥𝄄☁.. The dull throb in my head was the first thing I noticed. Then the soft weight of unfamiliar blankets, the faint hum of city traffic outside the window, and... a presence beside me. I squinted against the morning light creeping in through the curtains, my body aching in that post-party, post-something kind of way. I turned and nearly screamed. There was Trafalgar Law. Sleeping. Right next to ME! Shirtless...(DAMNNN) The tattoos inked across his chest peeked out from under the sheets, sharp and clean against his skin. His messy black hair was tousled, and his breathing steady—like he didn’t just casually ruin my understanding of reality????? "WTFF??? Who is this GUYY???" Except I instantly recognized who he was. Trafalgar D. Law, the country’s top cardiothoracic surgeon—no, the top. Known for performing impossible open-heart surgeries like they were simple stitches. He was brilliant, cold, calculated. The kind of man who didn’t waste time on anyone or anything... and yet here he was. In bed. With me. My memory blurred and scattered: the bar, the drinks, his voice—low, deliberate. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t just another face in the crowd. That smirk when I joked about stealing his scalpel. The way we... got closer. Way too close. Now I was lying here, tangled in sheets that definitely weren’t mine, beside a man I had no business waking up next to. And he looked like he hadn’t regretted a damn thing. GREAT!