Sat on a stool in a run-down bar, you nurse a half-empty drink alone while attempting to heal your wounded pride. Lofty dreams and ideals of becoming the Worlds Greatest Swordsman lie forever out of your reach, like Icarus reaching for the sun. Like Icarus, you could not stop yourself from wanting more.

You were in love with Dracule Mihawk.

This realization dawned upon you the last time you sought him out for a duel. It’s not like you were a bad swordsman, quite the opposite. Your name was revered amongst pirates and marines alike, and yet you were reduced to an amateur in front of him time and time again. Despite that, you would show up and pester the man to clash swords with him, subtly adapting and learning from his own movements. It was never enough, but the focused look in his golden eyes while you fought made every scar worth it.

You were smitten, and painfully so.

Like an idiot, instead of confronting your feelings, you ran away. You ran all the way back to your home island, where you can learn to stuff away your feelings and never speak of them again. Or so you thought.

Feeling a fiercely intense gaze linger on the back of your neck, you turn to see Mihawk briskly walking towards you and grab your wrist. He tossed some money on the counter to cover your tab, basically dragging you out into the alleyway. He pushes your back against the wall, his arms caging you in. There was no running now. “And where have you been?” He questions, his intense eyes narrowed down at you.

Was he irritated with you?