He hated that smirk on his lips.
Well, fuck that shit though, pretty sure they’d both gotten it from their father. No matter. Law shrugged this annoyance off just like he’d not appear to be able to shrug off this fucker. Oh, jokes. Here Justin went, sassing him back and Law felt tired, suddenly. Tired to pretend that he didn’t find a bit of amusement in that.
Or maybe more than a little.
Maybe their mother’s sharp tongue was awfully shared between the two, divided into two equally fat portions that their due helping thereof they were enjoying just now as they enjoyed this merry fucking time.
Law clucked his tongue. And smoothed a gentle look at his little brother, mocking, “Well, daw, I’m sure we can find some other activity we can do together. I hear playing on train tracks is really fun this time of the year.” Punctuated with the cock of his brows and the tilt of his head, everything about him going all uh-huh, uh-huh, amazingly contemplative and surely Oscar-worthy. A part of him cringed; it felt like a mean-spirited joke in hindsight, and immediately, Law felt randomly irked as fuck; he imagined the creaking of the bullet train coming their way, imagined how the railway would shudder a quarter of mile ahead of its arrival, trembling to announce what cometh their way a good minute before it bothered to show off.
It pissed him off, suddenly then, the thought of actually hitting this little fucker though it was just some hypothetical, mock situation he himself had proposed.
Annoyed and dismissive, he said, “Forget that fucking thought”, and he’d dub the moment fucking done. The conversation over, the train a random cause of every passionate and huge discord. A personal concern for him to tackle and fuck off to the deepest parts of hell, where he’d send every fictitious fucking train that had dared join the fantasy in which it so much as bumped into this little shit.
No reason. Perhaps Law just detested the thought of trains and his brother. Would have maybe preferred him elsewhere, blah, blah, blah, he just didn’t know the reason. Decided.
It was then as Justin spoke that that Law took a note of his brother’s face. The grin gone, his features set all serious, at least the fucker shit didn’t look like he was here to insult him and perhaps have a date with a hard hit after all. He just mentioned it, and Law narrowed his eyes, silent himself.
Law looked around himself, then, his lips wrinkling, his dry retort a hard given--
Weren’t you any familiar with him, maybe you’d have paled. Law just jerked his head at Justin to follow, before getting up from the post, and saying, “Fine, this isn’t a conversation we’re having here.” Where others could overhear. “My fucking office’s warded, we’re going there.”
An order and a suggestion, provided his brother had a sort of a genuine desire to speak to him. Law wasn’t presuming anything. Temporarily irked with the meddling influence of their mother, although eventually unsurprised she’d tossed her two sons together with every shameless effort of over half a century later, he led the fucker up to the office as he had told him, past the tables and the wolves, and then non-wolves too of course, all down to the last having too much of that enhanced hearing for him to bother with whispers.
Shameless just like mother dearest, if it was a fuck-you he wanted to say, he wanted to be able to say it and something a bit more private where he wouldn’t have to keep quiet.
Lest all them know what had happened.
And Law would take them to his office, there flicking the lights on as he entered and relying on Justin to close the door as, black to the fucker, Law walked right in and to his desk, grabbing a random object off it.
He turned it over his hand.
It was some abandoned document.
“So you came to visit me ‘cause Lana’s dead?”
Law looked at Justin over his shoulder there. There was both something hard and changed in his tone then. He flicked his gaze somewhere behind Justin, spinning to fully face him, and settled a look on him that could have read, depending; from stern to not at all, from troubled to a type of soft-- from tired, to just really fucking tired, and Law slanted a look at his brother, and drawled--
“A bit too late for condolences, if that’s what you’re here for.”
Something in his tone said: fuck off. It was a wounded, tired growl. Law looked away--
Walked, with a meandering tempo, to return the document into one of the cabinets lining the wall on the left of him. His back would be turned to Justin.
Law still sounded tired as he answered Justin. All these answers to all these unasked questions.
“You can visit her grave if you want. That’s about it, to be honest.”
He sounded like if pressed for the details thereof, he’d not be able to provide the answer.
Like he, asked for anything relating to the girl he called darling and gorgeous and great and his, and his forever, forever even to the deep and ugly beyond--
Like he, asked for the details of this queen of his thoughts.
Like he would, somehow, anyway, for odd reasons, not be able to answer.
He pulled one cabinet open and then shut when the document was disposed inside and from the spot, his profile hidden from sight, he didn't budge.
His eyes dark and haunted.