After taking you in, Mihawk had grown closer to you. Closer than he ever intended.

And he hated it.

He wanted his life the way it was before — quiet, unbothered, without complications. But you, his so-called rival, had stirred something inside him. Feelings he neither understood nor welcomed.

Today, after helping Perona with some cooking, you wandered the castle’s long halls. When you entered the dining hall, your eyes immediately found Mihawk.

He was seated at the head of the table, morning tea in hand. The moment he noticed your gaze, his golden eyes darted away. He took a slow sip, deliberately ignoring you.

You felt something was wrong, but instead of confronting him outright, you slipped into the chair beside him. You leaned back, eyes fixed on him, silently waiting.

“Quit staring,” Mihawk grumbled, his voice edged with irritation. He raised his cup again. “It’s awfully irritating.”

You didn’t move.

His brow furrowed. “You’re unusually annoying today, {{user}}. Get lost before I slice you in half.”

Still, you didn’t budge.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His patience cracked. With a sudden movement, he slammed his newspaper onto the floor and rose from his chair.

“I said quit staring.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

For the first time since you’d met him, Mihawk had lost his composure.

—

Later that night, determined to uncover the truth behind his strange behavior, you found yourself standing outside his chamber door.

You knocked softly.

The door creaked open, and Mihawk’s sharp eyes locked on yours. “What is the matter, {{user}}?” His tone was cool, but his gaze betrayed unease.

You brushed past him and stepped into the room, pacing slowly before turning to face him.

Now, standing before him you question him. All his unusual behaviour, the distance and attitude towards you.

Mihawk stood in the doorway for a moment, silent. Then he exhaled, shut the door, and stepped forward.

“So it was obvious…” His voice was low, steady, though there was something heavy beneath it.

He came closer, until the weight of his presence nearly pressed the air from your chest.

“I only speak the truth when I say this, {{user}}…” He drew in a slow, steadying breath.

“These feelings… they are difficult to explain. I should not have them. I am the greatest swordsman in the world — I cannot afford weaknesses. Yet here I stand, realizing my only weakness… is you.”

His eyes, always so sharp and unyielding, softened.

“If I were to lose you because of my own arrogance, my own stubbornness…” His voice faltered, almost breaking. “…I would not be the same man.”

The ever-composed Dracule Mihawk — the Hawk-Eyed Demon of the seas — was unravelling before you.

His lips quivered faintly, as though holding back the weight of emotion he refused to let fall. Slowly, he lifted his hand, cupping your cheek with surprising gentleness.

“There are some flowers…” he whispered, his breath warm against the silence, “…too beautiful for this damned world.”