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“You have your snack bag?”
“Yes.”
“And the log pose for Sabaody?“
“Yes.”
“What about-“
Zoro grabs your shoulders, pulling you away from the heavy bag he carried. One you’d struggled to even drag and which he slung across his back with one arm, not stumbling the slightest under its weight.
“We’ve got everything. Stop your worrying.“
You sigh, feeling a bit embarrassed even as you subtly try to peak into the bag for one last check.
“Can you blame me? You lost your shoes twice last week.”
“That’s because you move them!” He tries to defend himself, growling as you ruffle his hair. Grabbing his arms, you force him to face you, schooling your face into something as stern as you can.
“I can’t tell you to be safe because I know where you’re going and I know you. But I can tell you to be strong and do your best.” Fixing the collar of the traveling coat, you smooth the fabric with a soft touch. He’d insisted he hadn’t needed it, but with the chilly breeze that brushed past as you stood on the dock made you glad to have wrestled him into the garment. He didn’t need to be getting sick now of all times.
“You’re going to do some amazing things. I just know it.”
Zoro’s scowl softens, a blush creeping up his neck as he ducks his head away. Giving him an affectionate pat on the cheek you turn to the second person boarding.
Persona has a number more bags than Zoro, though her journey is set to continue even further than his. Each one was jam packed, carefully filled to fit the maximum amount in the most efficient way possible. Her wardrobe never seemed to stop increasing, with a good number of the items made by yourself to fit her specifications.
“Promise me you’ll make sure he gets to his friends safe?”
“I never thought I’d see the day where a maid was making demands.” She crosses her arms, though her words lack any true indignance. Just as Zoro, she can’t seem to look you in the eye, seeming just as dejected as last night about your declined invitation to join her.
Pulling her down to your level from her floating perch, you place a kiss on her forehead before smoothing the bangs back into place.
“I know I don’t have to worry about you, but make sure you at least write once in a while.”
She pouts, her cheeks puffing out, but nods regardless. Satisfied, you bring them both into one last hug despite their complaints. They could get out if they really wanted to, and you’re grateful they allow you to hang on to this moment just a little longer.
“Don’t let that old man push you around. Let me know if he gets out of line.” Zoro says, Perona nodding in agreement. You can’t help but laugh.
“I think I shall be fine with him.”
You wave as the boat sails off, watching until it disappears from sight before turning around and making the trek back to the castle. It overcast, as seems to be the permanent weather on Kuraigaina apart from the occasional sunny day. Still, you take your time getting back, knowing you won’t be needed until noon.
Mihawk would be training on the far side of the island, least he accidentally destroy a section of the castle again. Though if he did you could only assume he would move somewhere else. The warlord certainly didn’t lack the funds or connections to get another isolated island if he wanted to.
A part of you wondered if he would leave you behind to fend for yourself or if he deemed you worthy enough to go through the trouble of taking you with him, but shook the thought away. While stern and lacking social tact, Mihawk wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself. At least you hoped you had built a better relationship in your time with him than that. Maybe it was a pit presumptuous, but you liked to think he considered you a friend, even if a silent part of you wished you could be more.
One of the things you had learned early in your life was to never fall for the people you served, having seen too many scorned and cast aside. Best case you were heartbroken. Worst? Well, the rich and strong had more than one way to get rid of things that annoyed them, and Mihawk was the strongest man you’d ever seen.
You could still remember the first time you met.
——————————————
“A little more to the left.”
“Yes, Lady Perona.” You shifted the parasol, blocking the light drizzle that fell from the grey skies in a con cadence.
Despite the weather, Perona was insistent on taking her afternoon walk, and of course who else to accompany her and make sure she was dry but yourself? Even if you were being drenched by the rain and chilled to the bone. Not when she had graciously taken you in after finding you washed up on the beach, out cold and injured. She’d even taken the liberties of bandaging your wounds, which ache alongside your arms as you hold the parasol. It would be easier if she actually walked instead of hovering above the ground but you didn’t dare voice the thought. Your last charge had been quick to deliver punishment if anything in opposition were spoken, and you were broken of the behavior early on in your career.
You were heading back to the castle, the flowers she had picked- preferring fresh ones every other day to be placed in her room- resting in the basket on your back. The pink petals contrasted the atmosphere and you couldn’t help but think they indeed helped to liven up the equally dreary interior of the castle.
It had only been just over a month since being taken into her service, Perona proudly declaring you her maid and putting you to work as soon as your wounds were healed enough to stand and move about. It certainly hurt, but you’d been injured and expected to work before, though your wounds were a bit more serious than any discipline you’d received.
It was just as you’d reached the front doors that you saw them coming in through the front gate. One with mossy hair, looking a bit worse for wear as he limped beside a rather tall man with a wide-brimmed hat. The feather was weighed down under the weight of the rain, but the hat did its job to keep a majority of the now downpour from reaching him.
The hem of his coat was soaked and spotted with mud but the materials shed water and kept him dry while the man next to him was just as just as drenched as you were.
Mihawk and Zoro you assumed. You weren’t completely unaware of the fact that others lived in the castle, Perona complaining about them often enough to clue in on the fact. Apparently they had gone to some distant island for training without a word of when they would be back, so you had served with the knowledge that there would be others to come, even if you didn’t know when.
Now appeared to be that time.
”Who the hell is this?” Zoro shouted as he got close, meeting you on the steps. He had a number of scrapes and bruises, though none seemed to deter him in the slightest.
”She’s my maid.”
“You kidnapped someone?”
“No you idiot!” Perona shouted, hitting him over the head. “I found her on the beach! Unlike some people, she knows how to thank someone when they save her life.”
Zoro glared, rubbing his head as his attention shifted to you. “So you wash up and decide to just stay here? With her?”
He narrowly dodges another strike, though not the ghost that creeps behind him.
“I was traveling with my previous master when our ship hit a rough storm and we capsized.” You swallow, trying not to think too much about the incident. The fear you’d felt upon realizing the ship was going down. The hopelessness as you were booted from the lifeboat to make room for your master's collection of oddities picked up at the market you were traveling back from. Clinging to an errant board of the busted ship as you watched him and the others row away, only to be swallowed in one gulp by a sea beast. “As far as I know I am the only survivor.”
You open the door, stepping aside and gesturing them in.
”I was unaware of your return today. Dinner will be slightly delayed, but should allow you to get dried and changed.” They walked past, Perona without a second glance, while Zoro recovered just enough to stumble in behind her.
Boots, polished by the rain and with flecks of grass and mud still clinging to the toe, clicked against stone. You kept your head bowed, expecting Mihawk to follow the two younger occupants, only to have them stop in front of you. Not turned in your direction, but paused.
You didn’t speak, only keeping your eyes on the way water ran down the leather in abstract patterns and hoping he wasn’t angered by your presence even as the very air around him seemed to crackle. Perona hadn’t exactly asked permission to keep you, and by all means he was the head of the house even if you had previously only served directly under her so far. One word from him and he could kick you out, left to the ruins of the island without even a ship to go anywhere else.
You sat in the silence with the handle in one hand while the other still held Perona’s parasol, waiting, braced, only for him to continue walking.
Relieved, you continued about business getting dinner prepared and setting the table. There was enough time to change your own clothes and make yourself look presentable, embarrassed at having met the other two members of the household in such a state.
When the clock struck seven the dinning room was occupied by only three of the four residents, Zoro nowhere to be found.
“I wouldn’t bother. He's probably asleep somewhere.” Perona huffed after you made to find him.
You nodded, deciding to make up a plate and deliver it to him later.
Having been spared of the rain, her outfit remained the same, though that couldn’t be said of Mihawk. He’d changed into a casual white shirt tucked into his pants, the cut traveling down to his waist and allowing a generous view of his chest. It somehow seemed even more scandalous than the complete lack of shirt he wore early.
Without the hat you got your first proper look at his face, the neatly trimmed facial hair just as sharp as the rest of him, matching the dark hair slicked back from his face. His eyes were the most notable feature with their concentric rings set like a bullseye, locking on to yours the moment you glanced his way. It took everything in you not to flinch back, years of discipline nearly breaking under the intensity.
Instead you move Perona’s chair out, gritting your teeth at the weight as the wound in your side twinged. Before you could do the same for Mihawk he’s already seated himself, arms crossed as he watches you move, placing trays from the cart on the table.
Dinner was simple. A roasted meat with spiced potatoes, and sauteed vegetables. Perona’s mug was already filled with a steaming hot chocolate, cool enough to drink but warm enough to last through dinner. You didn’t dare look at Mihawk as you poured his wine- picked from the shelves and already opened, telling that it may be a favorite as you noted the type- keeping your head down as you returned the bottle to the cart. Wordlessly, you took your normal position along the wall, nearly hidden by one of pillars and ready to step forward should they need anything.
Needing no further prompting, Perona dug into her meal, complaining to her dining companion about one thing or another that had happened while he was gone. Mihawk didn’t touch his food or give her a response. Instead his gaze once again found you.
“Are you not going to join us?”
The question took you by surprise, head tilting before you could stop it.
“I will have my meal after cleaning up later, sir.”
Only after you had delivered Zoro’s meal and ensured that the residents of the household were taken care of could you have your own dinner. Leftovers from whatever hadn’t been eaten. A bit cold but still more than flavorful, your cooking up to par with any chef.
“Sit.” Mihawk points to Zoro’s empty seat, everything already set up.
“I’m afraid I can’t sir.”
“Either sit eat or leave. I will not have someone lording over me as I eat.”
You hesitate, propriety waring with command. You couldn’t leave in case you were needed, but it was clear that Mihawk wouldn’t allow you to do so in the manner you were used to.
With light, slow steps you make your way to the chair, sliding in and portioning the smallest amount of each item on your plate. It wasn’t until you saw Mihawk start on his own food did you allow yourself to eat, careful to keep on eye on the other two.
Was this some kind of trick? Was he going to jump up at any moment and kick you to the ground, scolding on how you should have known better, that he wasn’t being serious?
Yet you were left alone, the perfectly cooked roast sticking to your throat like glue as you struggled to stomach even the smallest of bites.
It’s a mostly quiet affair, with Perona doing the majority of the talking. Mihawk doesn’t give much response apart from the occasional hum, glancing over to you as you try to make the least noticeable movements possible in an attempt to not attract attention. Each time he does so you freeze, unsure of what to do under his gaze. Like a field mouse hiding from predators.
As soon as Mihawk set his utensils down and folded his hands in his lap you took it as a signal that he was done, excusing yourself and getting everything cleaned up. The familiar burn of near scalding water acted as a balm on your nerves, unable to rid yourself of the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. It helps in trying to process what had just happened. Never in the fifteen years you’d been presenting dinner had you actually sat to dine with them. It was unnerving to say the least.
After everything was set and taken care of you checked with Perona for the last time of the night, collecting her clothes and adding them to the basket that would need to be washed tomorrow along with Zoro’s. The young man had been confused upon seeing you with a plate outside his door, and even more so when you asked for his clothes. He handed them over eventually, and that left only one person to visit before you could get some rest yourself.
Standing before the ornate wooden doors, your hand hovered, unable to bring yourself to knock. It was late at night and the thought of disturbing him had you shifting from one foot to the other, but there was nothing to be done. His wet clothes could not be allowed to sit and grow worse. That might only make him cross.
You needed to prove your competency. To show you could be here without being a burden and hope that he didn’t send you out the first chance he got.
The knock echoed into the next room, followed by a ringing silence. For a moment you feared he was sleeping, intending to turn around and come back in the morning, only to hear an ‘enter’ come through the wood.
Mihawk was seated at his desk when you walked in, everything on top neat and organized. One hand grips a pen while a number of papers sit before him, of which you recognize the insignia of the world government at the top of. Being gone for so long must have left some matters to be attended to. Perona had told you he liked to be bothered the least he could but it seemed even he couldn’t get away from the occasional dealing with bureaucracy as a Warlord.
He doesn’t say anything or get up from his desk, letting the silence between you grow as he only stares, a cold sweat breaking out along your back.
Would he be angry if you were to speak first? ‘Seen not heard’ as well as ‘speak only when spoken to’ were two golden rules of your previous house.
Thankfully he seems to take mercy on your quickly fraying nerves. The words are sharp and direct.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here for your clothes, sir.”
He shifts, chair creaking as Mihawk rests his chin on his hand.
“No. Why are you here. On this island. There is a supply ship that comes to deliver things every two weeks. If you wanted, you could easily go with them.”
You’d already met the small charter twice, run by a polite enough group that had offered to take you to the next island. They themselves knew of Mihawk’s aversion to others and seemed a bit concerned for your safety.
The offer had been politely rejected.
“I am here to serve. I owe Perona my life.”
“Is that all?” He asks, the words stabbing through your facade of calm, probing for any hint of a lie.
“I know how to do nothing else, and I will not be accepted back to my previous life.”
Your head tilts down, staring at your feet and waiting for dismissal.
The chair scrapes back, followed by the sound of heavy steps across stone as he rounds the desk. Mihawk’s approach has you begging to back away, to find some reprieve from his overwhelming presence as you hold your ground dutifully. You see him only by the shadow cast by the fire, stretching like a creature of the night looking for its next victim as he slowly circles, observing. The steps finally come to a stop in front of you and this time you can’t hold back the flinch that comes as his hand grabs your wrist.
Golden eyes inspect every inch with a stormy impassivity. Every callous and scar that decorates the skin, still red from the water. Them move to your arms, the muscle toned not with training and battle but years spent scrubbing floors and carrying the endless purchases of your employer. There are few marks across the skin considering some of the others you’ve seen, but enough to let you know you will never have the flawless complexion of the highborn, who will never lift anything heavier than the weight of their overflowing cups.
Mihawk says nothing, only turning the limb back and forth, gaze flickering to yours before he drops it and turns on heel, settling himself at his desk once again.
“My coat is hung to the left. You may take the clothes beside it as well.” He says, gesturing towards the door to the side of the room.
It seems his bedroom is attached, though you don’t dare to peek around as you retrieve the garment, setting it on top of the half filled basket of others. At least he’s kind enough not to make you gather the clothes from all over the floor yourself. He doesn’t seem the messy type though, and when you’d first started the task of cleaning the massive castle you found that while things were dusty and unused, very few areas could be considered messy. In fact most of the place seemed rather sparse, a contrast to the way nobles normally decorated their houses with abundance to flaunt status and wealth.
Shivering, you note the low fire, adding a few more logs to bring both more heat and light to the room, as well as gathering an empty cup set on a side table. Mihawk remains silent, only the sound of his own scratching paper giving any indication he was still in the room.
“Is there anything else you require before I leave, sir?”
The scribbling stops, and from the way gooseflesh raises you can only assume he’s looking at you once again.
“No.”
You nod once more, taking your collection and heading back out. Only when you were down the hall and around the corner did you allow your knees to give in like they wanted to, holding yourself against the wall as you tried to calm your racing pulse. Not from fear, though that might have been a small part of it, but more so from overwhelming relief that you weren’t going to be dismissed and tossed onto the streets. Not that Mihawk couldn’t change his mind at any moment and deem you more trouble than you’re worth.
It’s with a sense of determination you stand, already forming a plan of everything that needs to be done in the morning. A plan to secure your position and prove your worth.
======================
As the door closed, Mihawk listened to the sound of your footsteps retreating, his hand slowing to a stop. A heavy sigh escapes him, rubbing his eyes.
The last thing he expected upon coming back was another stray to have showed up on his doorstep. Two was plenty enough for him. It would be a pain if people started to think they could show up whenever, and his first instinct was to send you on your way. Perona might be upset with him but he was not one to bend to the whims of a whining teen.
You were a pathetic sight, drenched to the bone like a cat caught in the rain. Despite your evident misery you didn’t complain, face impassive as you held the umbrella for Perona with shaking hands. It was only the fact of his own weariness from the return journey, and the fact you hadn’t shied away at first glance, that kept him from turning you out then and there.
Dinner was a surprise, the food more than palatable. While no chef, he could cook up his own meals just fine, but yours seemed even more flavorful despite being the same ingredients he used. Mihawk wondered if Perona had told you of his taste, or if you had picked up on his preferences already. He assumed the later, what with the way you flittered about, as if predicting the next need of them both.
You were competent in any case, and for that he was given one small mercy. If you’d been as stubborn as Zoro or chatty as Perona he might have truly lost his temper. Instead you seemed content to blend into the shadows. Something remembered only when needed, your presence lingering like an afterthought.
It was annoying. He hated weak people with no spine, finding no more interest in them than one would a bug on the side of the road. They offered nothing to him and would only get in the way.
But your body told a different story than what it first portrayed. It was not weak or pliant, but roughened and hard. A contrast to your demeanor. Marks that are not received from light house work that one would expect of a typical servant, nor would one accept such abuse without leaving under most circumstances. They were gained from years of abuse and use to the fullest extent. Mihawk had his own suspicions that you were either a slave or indentured servant, attributing the dismissal of your past, likely fearing you would be turned in. Many would, looking for some reward, but Mihawk didn’t care for such things.
While he didn’t care for the presence of others he also wasn’t so blind as to not recognize your use. At least you seemed to keep Perona entertained enough, and you weren’t a complete freeloader like the other two.
You could stay for now.
The thought pleased him more than it should have, and he attributed it to the fact there would be someone who would actually listen to him now.
———————————-
Serving at Kuraigaina castle marked a dramatic shift in your life. There were far less occupants for one thing, but that didn’t mean you had any less work to do.
Zoro was the most resistant to your efforts, jumping whenever you appeared and constantly trying to do everything himself.
“I’ve got two working hands don’t I?” He would always grumble, though he was more receptive to your efforts to help in the evenings when he came back bone-tired from training, especially when he didn’t have to do his own laundry. Oftentimes you would have to find him to deliver his food, both his internal clock and compass broken beyond repair.
Perona remained as she always was, one of the more familiar personalities you had learned to deal with from your previous service. She had all the attitude of someone brought up in an environment where they got what they wanted with no issues making demands. As time went on she seemed to soften the slightest bit, and while she still ordered you around like a normal, the occasional please and thank you made their way in.
Maybe it was due to the fact you were the only two women on the island, so some kind of bond was inevitably going to form. It was nice, as never before had you been able to relax and do the more girlish things in life. Meanwhile Perona radiated everything you wished you could have. Confident and assertive, but also indulging in her enjoyments without a care of what others thought. More than once you were roped into a ‘girls night’, as she called it. Staying up late and watching movies on the snail transponder, allowing her to do your nails and dress you up like a doll until she considered you acceptably ‘cute’.
Then there was Mihawk.
As the technical lord of the castle he had the most pull, and had no issue with making demands. He exuded the same aloof nature as many of the nobles and upper class you had met, while the air around him remained much more dangerous. There was no suggested threat of danger, but only the very real fact that being around him simply was. Yet he was never violent. Never was a hand raised to you. Orders were not barked, but given in a calm and collected tone that, while not kind, also held no anger or disgust.
He was simultaneously familiar and unknown.
At first the only times you saw him were meals and the occasional passing in the hall, to which you would step aside with a small bow. Sometimes he would stop for a moment, staring as he did the first time you met, before continuing without a word. That was another thing; Mihawk was not an avid talker. The biggest hurdle to overcome was to properly take care of his needs without them being spoken, and you were an excellent study. Years of perception for the smallest of body cues and behaviors allowed you to eventually fall into step with his silent needs.
Mihawk was both an early riser and late to bed, but preferred for his laundry to be collected and room cleaned in the morning. He didn’t eat breakfast, but took coffee as he sat on the balcony outside his room, keen eyes watching the distant horizon as he read the paper. For someone so intent on his own privacy he seemed adamant in remaining up to date on the events of the world.
You would wake Zoro- which was a challenge of it’s own right, never having met someone who could sleep so soundly- and he Mihawk would be off to train, stopping at noon for lunch.
It was terrifying the first time you saw them fighting, nearly blown off your feet by the force generated as their blades met. A slice through the stone next to you had you jumping, eyes wide at the split as Zoro called out, asking if you were okay whike Perona laughed at your disheveled state, sipping at her own tea not far off. Mihawk said nothing, his glare making you shrink in fear of having interrupted. Still he accepted the food, sitting down with the others to eat.
Once again you were ordered to join.
It was one of the many peculiar things he would insist upon, feeling too casual. It was precisely his lack of standing on ceremony that you blamed on the eventual slip of your etiquette, not helped by the casual manner in which the other two treated you as well.
The first instant you realized was at dinner upon pouring Mihawk’s drink, the man watching the liquid pool in the glass. A crystalline white with a light orange hue.
“This is not what I requested.”
“No sir.” You say as you move the glass closer. He had a preference for reds- so sweet it was almost comical in comparison to his demeanor- and his collection only contained a few of the lighter bottles. “As seafood is being served you’ll find a white will go better.”
The moment the words leave your lips you stiffen, realizing it could be interpreted as lecturing. Acting as if you knew better than him. It certain seems that way, not aided by the sharp laugh Perona lets out.
You’re ready to apologize and grab his requested selection when Mihawk grabs the glass with an almost delicate hold, swirling the liquid for a moment before tipping it back. He seems to consider for a moment, eyes closed as you watch, trembling, before nodding and dismissing you with a wave of his hand. You eagerly retreat, taking your seat beside Perona and using her as a shield between you for the rest of the night.
It was the first block to tumble, but certainly not the last.
It’s late afternoon and you’re taking down the linens from the line- ever cautious of the constant chance of rain- folding them and placing them in a basket to be prepared for bedding changes tomorrow. Dinner was over and Perona had gone to bed early while Zoro and Mihawk headed out for a late training. The sky had shifted from dove to iron grey as the sun sets, hardly able to see as you work. It would have been better to bring a lamp with you to see but feared singing the fabric when carrying it back in.
Instead you set out with the determination to get things done quickly, though the efforts were hampered by the wind pulling the lines just out of reach. It was already a struggle, the beds of the castle both wide and long, all of them seemingly king sized, and the lines in turn had to be put up higher to avoid the sheets dragging on the ground.
With a triumphant grin, you grab hold of the pin, releasing it and allowing the sheet to fall, only for you to have the same fate as a figure is revealed behind it. You're only saved by their quick reflexes, grabbing you by the arm and keeping you upright.
“Sir?” Your question comes out louder than intended, the surprise of seeing Mihawk there more startling than anything.
“You’re out late.” He says, dropping his grip, through he doesn’t step away. “I could see you from my room.”
Ah, so that was the reason. You must have been making quite the noise to draw him out.
“Apologies. I’ll make sure to do the laundry earlier in the day as to avoid bothering you.”
”You should not be out this late on your own. The humandrills are not the only threat on this island.”
Of course you knew. Venomous snakes and wandering mammals you’d only ever seen the gleaming eyes of also liked to wander at night, as well as bats nearly half as tall as you. They never came close to the castle however. Likely Mihawk had already taught them what happened when they did.
”I’ll head in now sir.” You reach for your basket of laundry, already dreading the weight of the heavy fabrics required to keep the chill of the island at night away, only to have it snatched away as Mihawk grabs the basket with one hand.
”Oh, please sir, I can take that.” You attempt to take the basket only for him to hold it above his head out of reach like it was nothing. Your first instinct is to grab it, and you do try, one hand on his arm as you jump to reach. Only as you feel his hand on your own shoulder holding you back do you realize you’ve touched him, drawing back as if burned.
”I do not favor you dumping the whole thing into the dirt.” Is all he says before heading back towards the castle, leaving you to follow.
Two days later, now early afternoon when you head out to grab the laundry, you discover Zoro gathering it from the line already. Orders from Mihawk apparently. If he has so many dirty clothes then he’s not moving swiftly enough to avoid staining them, so he can gather the laundry to remind him of how slow he is. Even as you try to help the man materializes seemingly out of thin air, not having to say a thing as he glares, following the entire way until you’re back in the castle.
His peculiarities only grew from there.
In your spare time you liked to visit the library. Something yo had been a bit surprised at the first time you stumbled upon it.
While none of the shelves seem to contain anything written in the past five years, it was still enjoyable to read through the old romance novels that were tucked away in the corner. It was particularly useful when you found yourself unable to sleep at night, sneaking through the empty halls to get a few chapters in.
It all went fine and well until you discovered Mihawk in there one night, perched in front of the fireplace with a book balanced on one knee, his head resting in his hand perched on the armrest.
He looks up as you enter, unable to get away without notice. Stalling, you debate your options, clutching your robe tighter to your chest. What a sight you must make, hair messed and clothes wrinkled from tossing and turning. Yet he makes no comment on your appearance even as he scan you from head to toe.
”Do not leave on my account.”
The nicety sounded more akin to an order, drawing you further into the room after a moment of hesitation. Mihawk returns to his book, leaving you free to make your way over to the section you were looking for in the corner. The weight of the pages feels heavier than normal, unsure as to what to do now. Could you just take it back to your room and read? Or would that be impolite? He’d told you not to leave after all.
Taking a seat in your normal spot across from him, you resist the urge to tuck your knees underneath, spine stiff as if fused to the chair back. It’s plush and luxurious, as most thing were in the castle. While there weren’t many furnishings the ones that could be found were nice.
You sit in silence, only the occasional flicking of the page. When the fire gets low you move to add more wood, careful to avoid even the smallest of sparks in the fire hazard of a room.
“You come here often.”
Of course it wouldn’t escape his notice. Nothing did it seemed, those golden eyes catching everything even which they didn’t see. Like he had a sixth sense.
“Yes sir. When I can’t sleep.”
His head tilts forward, pressing for more.
“I’m used to a much heavier work load.” You confess, settling down in the chair once again. “Many of my duties have been reduced, and I find myself restless at night.”
Mihawk’s eyes flicker to the book on your lap, fingers having unconsciously begun running along the edge. He reads the title, brow raising almost microscopically, and if you didn’t know any better you would say his lips twitched.
Of course he would find your choice silly when he held what looked to be something about fighting, elegant swords crossed over the cover.
You go back to reading, desperate to escape the conversation where neither of you were fans of small talk in the first place. The silence was neither comfortable or uncomfortable, but rather charged with an energy that had you on edge. Like anticipation of something.
Once an acceptable time was reached you excused yourself, quickly rushing back to your room where you would spend the rest of the night awake, unable to get the interaction out of your head.
Not long after, a few more novels were added to the collection of the library, and the romance section grew just large enough to start encroaching on the other shelves.
Neither of you said anything about it.
From then on, once or twice a week when you went to the library you would find him waiting there. It soon became routine, the familiarization of his presence only continuing to weaken the rigid, self-imposed constraints that had guided your survival in the world of the upper class.
Now when he walked by in the hall you no longer bowed your head, but instead would offer a polite nod- of which he would return- and ask if there was anything he needed. Most of the time there was nothing, as it seemed he preferred to do most things himself, but once in a while he would command your presence as he did one thing or another. Sometimes it was tending to the small vineyard he kept, while others it was accompanying him as he walked the island. For security reasons, he explained.
There were even times he had you sit in the same room as him just in case he needed something, claiming it was too much trouble to find you for every little thing, yet refusing to use the bell system that had been rigged through the castle and would have you running at the first chime.
Your favorite thing to do by far was watch Zoro and Mihawk train. The strength they wielded was astonishing, and it was no wonder their bounties were so high. Even if it was often more of a thrashing on Zoro’s end, you were glad to be there to bandage any wounds.
“I look like a mummy.” The young swordsman growled one day, arms crossed as you wrapped an ice pack to his head in an effort to combat the rising bump, courtesy of Mihawk. Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but the mental image of him shuffling around covered in bandages wouldn’t leave, and the laugh escaped before you could stop it.
“You think that’s funny?!”
Yes. And it was only made more so at his indignation and the fact that Perona was now teasing him about how he’d look much better if he covered his face, chasing the girl around the clearing that served as a training ground.
You couldn’t help it, bent over laughing while watching them run about, sides cramping. When was the last time you had laughed, let alone like this? It was like every nerve was alight, filled with a giddiness that wouldn’t go away.
It was only as you were wiping your tears away, trying to catch your breath, did you notice Mihawk standing a dozen feet away. His eyes watched with a keen intensity that had your hair on end, sobering as you schooled your composure once more even as the occasional hiccup shook your shoulders.
As the duo raced by you grabbed Perona, guiding her back to the waiting chairs you’d previously been sitting in to observe.
With a click of his tongue Mihawk called Zoro back, easily sliding into a fighting stance, though his eyes flickered over the younger man’s shoulder to where you sat.
Zoro took the distraction to try and get the upper hand, only to have his weapon batted away without Mihawk ever looking at him.
You watched them fight, eyes tracking them the best you could with the speed at which they moved, though your attention tended to linger more on the teacher.
Oblivious to her observation, Perona looked between you. From the way Mihawk seemed to angle his attacks to give where you both sat a wide berth, to the way you seemed almost dreamy watching. It wasn’t the first time she had caught you doing so either. While she could be self-absorbed, she wasn’t blind.
”You like him, don’t you?”
”What?” You nearly choke on your drink, covering your mouth as you try to clear your lungs, much to your companions amusement.
”I don’t know what you see in him. He’s so old and grumpy.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. It would be very inappropriate to have a-a crush, on him.”
”What, because he’s you boss or something?”
Exactly. Even if he were normal it would be inappropriate, but this was Mihawk; world’s greatest swordsman and a Warlord. You were just somebody who had washed up on his island by chance. In terms of power and importance everyone on the island ranked above you, even the humandrills arguably, If you were going by strength that is.
Perona just waved her hand, leaning back further in her seat as one of her ghost snuck up on Zoro, diving through his back and leaving him to drop to the ground, susceptible to a kick from Mihawk that sent him flying, much to the girl’s amusement.
”Don’t worry, he looks at you too.”
You can only gape at her, unable to press any further upon spotting Mihawk making his way over. Apparently training was done for the day, and you quickly scurried off to retrieve Zoro from where he’d landed and help him back to his room.
Definitely not because you were trying to avoid Mihawk.
It was to your relief that Perona didn’t bring the subject up again, though you did note the grin she would sport whenever she found the two of you together, doing something as innocent as gathering papers from him that needed to be sent out as part of his Warlord duties.
———————————-
Voices had a tendency to carry through the halls, the lack of adornments only allowing them to echo further. You took special care not to wake anyone in the late hours of the night when you ventured from your room to read or get something form the kitchen. Unfortunately, other occupants didn’t have the same courtesy.
”What are you two doing up?” You question, standing in the doorway, hands on your hips. They could have at least have had the sense to have the conversation in one of their own rooms.
They both jumped, moving quickly to hide whatever it was they had behind their back. It was of little use, the object much to long to be covered, and your eyes widened, nearly dropping the light you held upon spotting the gleam of metal, the curve too familiar.
Maybe it was too generous of you to assume they had any common sense. If they did, they certainly wouldn’t be holding Yoru. Or at least what you hoped was an impeccable replica. Judging from their wide eyes it didn’t seem to be the case.
”It’s his fault!” Perona points her finger, putting distance between herself and Zoro.
”My fault? You’re the one who took it!” Zoro barks.
”But you’re the one who said you wondered what it was like to hold it and put the idea in my head! That’s practically asking me to take it!”
”No it’s not!”
They argued back and forth about who is to blame as you rub your eyes, tempted to turn around and pretend you hadn’t seen anything. But when they got caught it was certain you would be roped in somehow to lessen the blame.
How had they even gotten he thing in the first place? Mihawk kept it in his room and he wasn’t a heavy sleeper, though it was questionable if he even slept at all. Any time you got out of bed at night for something even as quick as a glass of water he seemed to find you, making you jump each time he emerged from the shadows.
”You have to put it back!”
”Me? You’re the one who took it! He’ll skin whoever he catches!”
”Yes, which is why it should be you!”
”Enough!” You snap, taking them both by surprise. It was the closest to anger you’d ever spoken to either of them, as well as the loudest. “Give it to me.”
If you were going to be used as a scape goat, you could at least face the problem head on and actually do what you were going to get in trouble for. And in any case, if the arguing continued it would certainly wake Mihawk before an attempt to put the sword back could be made.
The weapon was much heavier than expected. With the way Mihawk swung it around you would have thought it to be lighter. Yet the weight almost pulls you down, clutching the sword to your chest as you fix them both with a stern gaze.
”Both of you are to return to your rooms at once, and I better not hear a peep from either of you until sunrise.”
They nodded, mutely shuffling out the door without argument. Maybe it was the fact it was the first time you’d given them an order, or their own fear of being caught by Mihawk and glad to be rid of the incriminating evidence. Whichever the case, you set out alone back towards the residential wing.
Mihawk’s room, as well as your own, was located on one end while Perona and Zoro were on the other. If you had heard them arguing it was a surprise Mihawk hadn’t, though there seemed to be more troubles than normal burdening him. He would never voice it but you could tell, a skill gained from years of service and learning to read the smallest of changes or risk being caught in a flare of anger, by the way his eyes tightened more than normal as he looked out over the horizon, or how he seemed to swing just a bit harder during training.
”Are you alright sir?” You had finally worked up the courage to ask, gathering the mail that needed to be sent out and delivering what had been brought that morning.
His head tilted, expression remaining flat as keen eyes fixed you in place. The silence of the room stretched further than was comfortable, but then again, when had Mihawk been particularly concerned about he comfort of others? You were ready to apologize, already cursing your presumption that you could ask such a thing, when he spoke.
”Nothing that you can do anything about.” The words are sharp and final.
”Of course sir. I would never presume to be able to do anything about what troubles you, far above my strength. If there is anything I can do to help make the rest of your day easier, please let me know.”
Mihawk seems to hesitate for a moment, just enough that you think he might actually say something, before dismissing you with a wave of his hand. Of which, of course, you listen.
But while he says nothing you make an extra effort in the following weeks; cooking food more suited to his taste than the groups, ensuring he has a change of clothes warmed by the fire when he returns at night, making sure Perona and Zoro are on their best behavior (or as much as you can). It may be your own ego talking but you like to think that he seemed to become a little less tense. In any case Zoro didn’t seem to be suffering so many injuries.
You could only hope that you managed to get in and out without notice to avoid worsening his mood once more, and on likelihood he did wake up hope that he wasn’t in a foul mood.
The room was empty as you crept in, fire long ago extinguished as only low embers burned, keeping the space just above freezing.
Yoru was normally left just inside his door, ready to be grabbed first thing in the morning on his way out. You didn’t even have to go all the way in. Just crack the door and slip it through onto its stand, though that plan is quickly tossed as you hold the weapon in your arms, barely able to lift it with two hands let alone one, and silently at that.
Taking a deep breath, you slowly turn the handle leading to the bedroom, flinching at the soft click as the tumbler moves. You pause, waiting for the door to be ripped open, listening for the faintest sound of movement. Though the odds of hearing anything are slim, your own pulse pounding so loud it might give you away by itself. When nothing happens you carefully push, making an opening just wide enough to slip through. It’s a blessing that the fire’s out, making one less thing to worry about waking Mihawk.
Yoru is heavy as you creep in, eye’s wide as you take in the dark room, the lack of moon outside making it that much more difficult. But through the darkness you can make out the figure of Mihawk, still as stone and lying flat on his back, little more than a bump in the blankets, had sunk into the soft pillows that litter the mattress. He has refined taste despite his aggressive nature, and you’ve often found yourself envious of the fluffy adornment whenever you were changing the pillowcases.
His position only adds to your anxiety, expecting at any moment to see him jolt upright like some sort of horror move. But Yoru’s stand sits close by, waiting for its weapon.
It’s on tiptoes you move, not daring to breathe as you’re forced to turn your back on the sleeping man in order to put it back. Your hands shake, praying that the stand doesn't tip over as you gently rest the sword in its place, momentarily panicking about which way it should be facing. Handle to the door made the most sense, but who knows. Maybe there was some swordsman use against it that you didn’t know about. In your defense, of all the times you’ve cleaned Mihawk’s room he’s always been out and had the weapon with him, leaving no chance of being able to have any reference.
As soon as the sword is back in place and stable you’re back out the door and in the main area once again, your legs feeling like jelly as you catch yourself on the wall.
But you’d done it. Yoru was back in place, Zoro and Perona were in their rooms, and you could go back to your own and pretend like none of this happened in the morning. Hopefully Mihawk wouldn’t be able to pick up on all the nervous energy, or if he did not say any thing about it.
“What are you doing in here?”
Your heart leaps to your throat as your stomach plummets to your toes, spinning around to see the door to the bedroom now opened, silently, and Mihawk just beyond.
He stands leaned against the frame, hair tousled from sleep and clothes slightly askew, the short sleeves allowing you to see the well defined muscle of his forearms which sat crossed. Golden eyes burned without a hint of sleep, as if he had been awake for hours.
“It’s getting colder out and the fire is low. Would you like me to add more wood sir?” You ask. The first thing that pops into your head. A blatant avoidance that has even you cringing. Mihawk merely lifts a brow, chin titled as his eyes scan you from head to toe.
“You’re no good at lying.”
”I’m not lying!” You say, too loud, clamping your hands over your mouth as the proclamation echoes through the room.
”You’re avoiding giving me a straight answer, and that is because you know I can tell when you lie because you’re a bad liar.”
You stand there, frozen, unsure of what to say as he’d already seen through you.
“So tell me; what business do you have sneaking around with Yoru?” Your pulse spikes at the mention of the sword, all hope lost as you're smacked with the fact he knew why you were there. Preservation tells you to get out of there as quickly as possible but it’s uncertain if your legs could even move, let alone carry you fast enough to get away from Mihawk. The thought of telling him about coming upon the other two squabbling over it crosses your mind but you can’t bring yourself to give them up, but neither can you lie to your master.
To Mihawk.
The thought alone is enough to have your stomach churning, especially as he pushes off the wall.
Each step is silent, bare feet padding across the stone with little fanfare in contrast to the click of boots he normally wore. One second he’s across the room and the next he’s in front of you, breaking the bubble of personal space as he towers above. You can’t bring yourself to meet him in the eye, hands gripping the hem of your shirt as you keep your head tilted down, though it doesn’t remain that way for long.
A strong hand grips your hair by the roots, tugging just enough to force you to look up. It’s not violent, but the simmering anger that swims in his eyes promises that it could quickly change. His gaze flickers between your own as you thickly swallow the begging plea that threatens to escape.
Of course he would be enraged by the fact that his prized sword was touched, you just weren’t expecting it like this. A cool, simmering rage so unlike the explosive episodes you were accustom to in your previous service. There was no yelling, hitting or throwing things. Only a silent promise of retribution.
The heat of Mihawk’s body is nearly overwhelming, sleep shirt unbuttoned and allowing warmth to roll off him in waves. Your knuckles brush the exposed skin from where they remain clenched tightly in front of you, both of you jumping at the contact. The movement has Mihawk’s grip pulling just a bit tighter, a small whimper escaping before you can stop it.
You both freeze at the sound, Mihawk taking a deep breath to compose himself, his jaw flexing while pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath in and out. He seems to come to a conclusion, molten gold eyes once again fixing you under his gaze.
“Was it the two brats?”
Your eyes widen before you can stop them. It wasn’t the most outlandish guess but was more so surprising that it had been the first one.
What one could guess to be a smirk curling at the very edges of Mihawk’s lips at your reaction, the ghost of a smile scaring you more than anything else from the man could have. The only answer he needed, and all without you having to say anything.
Then, without another word, he lets you go, giving your head a gentle pat as he smoothes your hair back into place. You can’t find it in yourself to say anything, voice stolen as you watch him calmly head out the door to the hall beyond. He turns left towards the end of the hall housing the only other two occupants of the castle, still silent as a ghost.
All the while you sit on the floor, legs giving out the moment he was out of sight and barely able to believe your luck.
You were alive.
Mihawk caught you and somehow you were still alive.
Pulse racing and feeling as if you were about to faint yes, but a practically ideal ending given the situation. It takes another moment to muster the strength to get to your feet, stumbling back down the hall to your own room while you can just barely make out a surprised shout from Zoro. Hopefully he can forgive you. It’s not like you actually ratted them out, though you still feel guilty.
Just as you shut your door there’s a rumble of what sounds like stone breaking- of which you would discover in the morning was indeed an entire wall being brought down- prompting you to curl up under your blankets and hide from the world.
———————————-
You wouldn’t exactly call what you had a family, but something akin to it. Nothing like the initial relationship you had.
Things were not demanded or ordered but requested-apart from Perona who treated everyone as if they served her, though even her treatment had softened- and you found yourself working not just as it was expected, but because you wanted to, growing shy under their thanks. Not that there was much else to do on the island, but with each thanks for food and hand received to help clean the endless halls of the castle, you felt as if you grew a bit taller, smiling easier, and scolded about making a mess without fearing punishment.
But of course all good things come to an end.
Two years had passed before you knew it, and the time for Zoro to meet up with his friends approached. While you insisted he had a bit more time before he had to leave, a month at least, he was insistent that he knew the correct date. Perona decided to follow him, apparently having had enough of the island and looking for something more exciting, in search of her former companions.
The castle would certainly be a lot quieter, and you found yourself just a bit more attached to them.
Their last night you made an extra special dinner. All of their favorites, feeling the need to indulge them one last time. Who knew when- not if, as you knew both were too stubborn and skilled to be killed or captured before you could see them again- you would see them next.
Of course they were excited. Perona chattering on about all the places she thought of where her former crew could be, her ghost weaving in the air above her, while Zoro wondered about his own. Even through his complaints you could tell he was excited, looking forward to seeing them after so long and showing how much they’d all grown.
Mihawk was silent as always, though a dark cloud seemed to hang over him. His shoulders which normally laid straight and flat against the chair back curled ever so slightly, giving him the slightest look as if he were slouching to your keen eye. To any other he may seem indifferent. Was their leaving really that big of a deal? You would have thought he was looking forward to the day to have his peace back, though it may be the fact that he’d no longer have Zoro as a sparring partner. They were still many levels apart, but the young man showed great promise even to your limited knowledge of swordsmanship.
“You could at least act like you’re going to miss us.” Perona huffed.
“I’m sure he will. Being alone on this island can’t be fun.” You said, trying to assure her.
At your words Mihawk seemed to go rigid, his eyes darting over only to go back to focusing on his plate.
Had you offended him somehow? Maybe just the lone wolf image he always seemed to be trying to project. It would be presumptuous of you to assume that he kept any of you around for something as silly as being lonely. He wouldn’t have moved here in the first place if he didn’t want to be alone.
It seemed your statement only sparked a feud between the two young adults, arguing over who Mihawk would be more glad to be rid of as you served dessert.
“There’s still a lot of packing to do.” You say, standing and clearing the dishes. “I’ll be by later to make sure everyone has everything they need. It’ll be a long time before you see it again if you leave it.”
Zoro and Perona stack their plates on the cart, still arguing as they head out. You fondly watch them go, laughing as you see Perona slap the man upside the head before running off, Zoro hot on her heels. The sight has you laughing, warmth bubbling in your chest as you gather the last of the plates.
Turning to take them to the kitchen, you run straight into Mihawk who had been standing right behind. You hadn’t even heard him approach, the plates dropping from your hold as you stumble back.
Deft hands grab the glass plates before they can hit the ground.
”I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there sir!”
You panic, the previous contentment replaced by panic He was already in a sour mood, and there was no reason to make it worse! But why had he been there in the first place? The path from his chair to the door shouldn’t have brought him anywhere close, and he normally preferred to retreat to the greenhouse after dinner.
It seemed gardening helped him unwind from the day, at ease among the sprawling vines. The atmosphere was positively cozy in comparison to the rest of the castle, the structure clearly something that had been added on after his arrival.
You often joined him, clearing away any trimmed leaves or branches- not to mention the endless amount of glass that composed the structure needed to be cleaned at least once a week- content in the lack of conversation as a radio snail played gentle music. The station never changed, the music memorized long ago. Often you found yourself humming along as you worked, the tune following you through the rest of your routine.
”Do you like music?” Mihawk had asked one night. Apparently you had been humming a bit too loud, though he didn’t seem angry, just curious. It was difficult to see him as the intimidating man you knew, covered in dirt and hair a bit out of place from the humidity.
”I’ve never had much chance to listen to it sir.” You admit, feeling a bit uncultured. “But I like the music you play.”
The sweeping melodies were lovely, though Perno often complained that it was old people music. It was easy to get caught up in the sway of the notes, your oft moving slightly with the rhythm.
”I was taken to galas at times, though I never got close to the dancing. My mother said it was fun, though I think I’d make a fool of myself if I tried.” You had heard people talking about them. All the opulent decorations and outfits, costing more than you would ever make in a lifetime. It was tempting to ask Mihawk if he had ever been to one. Being a warlord he was likely invited to at least one gathering or another, but you couldn’t imagine him going if he had a choice, and certainly not being around the upper echelon with his intolerance for foolishness.
A branch cracked, nearly scaring you off your ladder as you looked to see Mihawk standing near the bottom rung. His face held an odd look. One you had only seen a few times before when he seemed to be deeply thinking about something.
”Is there something you need sir?”
His eyes, which had been staring almost far off, focused once again. He stood there a moment longer before shaking his head and waving you off, already heading back into the rows of grapevines as you quickly lost sight of him.
But the look stayed stuck in your head, pondering what he could be thinking.
It was the same look he gave you now, equally as confused as to what he could be thinking as he remained still, silently staring down at you.
Hesitantly, you reached out to grab the plates. Your fingers brush his by accident, just the lightest touch, unable to look away from his piercing stare.
At the contact he seemed to snap out of whatever thought had hold of him, giving a small shake of his head as he stepped back. He spun, pace swift as he exited the room and leaving you stunned, wondering what that had been about.
In any case, you needed to get the dishes done and move on to help in the other two pack. You could deal with whatever Mihawk needed tommorow after they had left.
————————————
Arriving back at the castle, you head for your room to change, chilled from the morning mist. Mihawk would likely retreat to the library when he got back, and you made a mental note to make sure there was firewood stocked to keep the place cozy. It was only a shame that Zoro wasn’t here anymore to help you chop the wood, your back already aching in protest.
The room itself was dimly lit, barely able to make out the outlines of the furniture in the dull grey light of the morning as the sun rose behind the clouds. Still an upgrade from the room you’d first been staying in, which would be in the proper servants quarters. While the beds there were small and cramped, the setup familiar, it was closer to the kitchen and laundry room. You’d come back from picking up a new shipment of fabrics for Perona to discover everything had been moved to the residential wing. With so many empty rooms you still had your own space but the walk to the others was much shorter, not to mention this part of the house was much warmer.
‘More convenient.’ Is all Mihawk had said when you gently broached the subject, not even looking up from his paper.
You could have lit a candle but felt you wouldn’t be there long enough, instead opting to walk with your hands just in front of you, toes curled in fear of stubbing them.
Making it to the drawers that held your clothes, it’s only by chance that you glance up, going rigid as you spot a distinctly human figure on your bed through the mirror setting on top. For as much as you’ve gotten used to the eerie island this is an entirely new experience.
For a moment you think someone’s broken in but the thought is quickly banished. Who would be stupid enough to do that? And with Perona and Zoro now gone, the two young adults having no concept of personal space, that only left one person.
You spin, now facing Mihawk who lay reclined casually in your bed, feet kicked off to the side. At least he had the decency to not put his boots on the comforter.
“Sir? Did you need something?” It was the only reason you could think of for him to be here. Maybe the weather deterred him, though that never seemed to be an issue before. The normal coat and hat that accompany him are gone, as well as Yoru. Instead he’s dressed in his sleepwear, as if he had no intention of going out at all even though it was far past the time he was normally up and about.
“I thought you would be going with them.”
You stall, head tilting. Did he mean Perona and Zoro? Where in the world had he gotten that idea from? Sure you had helped a great deal with the packing and hadn’t had much of a chance to see him lately, but that was because Perona would want to take much and if it were up to Zoro he would have gone with nothing but the clothes on his back and the swords on his hip.
“Why would I be going with them? They have their own adventures. My place is here.”
“Here on the island,” Mihawk’s chin tilts, eyes seeming to glow in the dark. “Or here with me?”
Swallowing thickly, you mull over what he could possibly mean. Was there a reason for you to be here without him? Maybe it was his way of telling you that you were no longer needed. With the other two gone, Mihawk himself had seemed to be getting by just fine before your arrival, even if the place was a bit more dusty than one might prefer.
Or maybe, like the others, he was moving on to something else. But there was nowhere else for you to go. You had no connections anywhere else, and you couldn’t return back to your previous employer with the death of the patriarch hanging above your head. You would for sure pay with your life, and had been one of the contributing factors of staying on the island in the first place, the fear of being discovered alive.
It wasn’t so much the fact of being abandoned, but being abandoned by Mihawk that made your eyes burn.
Of course you had developed a crush on the Warlord. He was handsome, yes, even if his personality could be prickly at times, but he had never been unkind to you. In fact he was downright considerate most of the time, actions speaking more for him than he ever did with words. It was impossible to snub out the growing feelings despite your best efforts, combined you had lychee on to the first person to treat you with respect and mistake it for something more.
“With you of course, sir.”
At your answer he stands, crossing the room in long strides. You’re unable to get away in time, too shock to move as he corners you, back pressed to the dresser as you stare up at him.
“Sir?” You hesitate to ask, wondering if it was the wrong answer. Apparently so, as his eyes tighten a fraction more.
“Why do you call me that? I thought by now you would have dropped it as you did with the two brats.”
Perona and Zoro were just that to you. Perona and Zoro. All formalities dropped somewhere along the line as your relationship grew. It made them feel more familiar. Closer. Something you couldn’t do with Mihawk without fear of falling even deeper into your emotions than you already had.
“It’s only proper, sir. You are my boss.”
“And if I wasn’t? If we were equal, would you call me by my name?”
Maybe. Maybe if you had met him traveling in the road, or eating dinner at a resultant. In the cozy isles of a bookstore or a chance encounter on the street. But you hadn’t. He was still a Warlord and you were his maid.
What a pipe dream. As if you could even imagine reaching a station such as his. The oceans would sooner dry up then such a thing to happen.
“I don’t see how that’s possible s-“
“I can offer you another job and stable life on a peaceful island of the East Blue. There is no obligation for you to stay if you do not wish to. But if you do,” For the first time in all that you’ve known him you see Mihawk hesitate. Almost as if he fears to say the words, though you can hardly associate the words with him even as his jaw clenched, brows drawing tight.
“You will always have a place at my side.”
His hand grips your chin, tilting your head up and forcing your eyes to meet his. Eyes that never failed to send a shiver up your spine from the first time you saw them until now, though the reasonings have changed.
“Will you stay with me?”
The question is loaded with more than what it appears to mean, hanging heavy in the air between you. He must be able to feel the way your pulse spikes, his own breath catching.
It’s an out. All you have to do is say no and he’ll leave it be.
You can think of nothing worse.
It is not out of service or duty you speak, but the well of affection that finally overflows the walls that have been built around it with all the grace of a seabeast.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
The word hangs at the end, searching. With how close he is it takes you a moment to realize what he’s asking, clawing past the final line in the sand you swore to never cross.
“Yes, Mihawk.”
Before you even finish speaking, his name little more than a whisper, his lips are on yours.
It’s not aggressive, yet no less commanding than his normal bravado. Mihawk does not hesitate or bother with gentle exploration, nor would you expect it to be. It’s confident and assured, like a sailor stepping onto a ship.
He takes the lead- something you’re grateful for given your inexperience in the matter apart from some of your younger years, before work got in the way of having any meaningful relationship- his hand never leaving your face as he tilts your head for a better angle, the other finding its place instead on your hip and drawing you closer.
When he finally lets up, pulling away just enough so that your lips are barely touching, his nose skimming your cheek, you’re both panting. A first you’ve seen from him despite the many practice fights and feats you’ve seen him perform.
“Say it again.” He whispers.
“Mihawk.”
His name is spoken breathlessly, almost inaudible, yet it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact it only seems to ignite something further in him, spinning and guiding you back towards that bed until your legs hit the edge of the mattress.
You tumble back, Mihawk following as he leans over, knees tucked on either side of yours. One hand remains on your waist while the other braces above you.
The dampness of your clothes sinks into the sheets and you squirm, the feeling uncomfortably jarring in comparison to the rest of the situation but unwilling to break the moment. But, as always, it seems Mihawk knows what you’re thinking without a word spoken.
“Do not worry.” He says against your neck, breaking away for just a moment to allow you both to breathe. Something that was becoming decreasingly important.
“They won’t be a problem for long.”
Sturdy fingers grasp at the fabric, threatening to tear it away with the strength of its grip, but instead skillfully move to undo the first button. He carefully watches for any sign of hesitation, the smallest flinch of sound, but reveals none. In fact you arch even further into his touch, your own hands traveling to his shirt, chest already exposed and inviting you to explore.
How many times had you imagined this? No less than a dozen, tempted each time you wear him sparing or even just relaxing, that cursed shirt of his giving ample view of the muscle that lay beneath.
His jaw tightens a fraction as you pull the fabric, body trembling. Not from fear, but anticipation, carefully held back with a practiced discipline. But as your own shirt falls away and his hand brushes the sensitive skin of your torso his name leaves you in a gasp, and whatever restraint he’d shown was broken as he once again descends upon you.