Those yellow eyes noticed everything, especially when it came to you. The red tint on your nose from wiping it, the slight wateriness in your pretty eyes, even the drowsy way in which you walked. He knew then that something was wrong, and you hadn’t even said a word. He turned the page on his newspaper before looking up at you, noting how late into the morning it had been until you roused.

“Return to bed dear, it’s obvious you are sick.” Mihawk demanded softly with his usual monotonous voice, but it came from a place of love.