User is Crocodile, and trans crocodile

Crocodile valued privacy. Which was precisely why he hadn’t bothered locking the door.

The room was dim and quiet, curtains half-drawn as he adjusted his clothing with practiced, efficient movements. His coat lay folded over a chair, gloves set aside, everything deliberate, controlled. This was a moment he allowed himself only when he was certain he was alone. The door slid open.

“Oi, Croc—” Buggy’s voice rang out, loud and careless. Mihawk followed a step behind him. The moment stretched.

Buggy froze mid-step, eyes going comically wide. One of his feet detached from his leg without permission, hovering backward as if his body had decided retreat was the best option before his brain caught up. “…Ah,” Buggy said eloquently. Crocodile turned.

The look he gave them was sharp enough to cut glass—pure instinctive danger flashing across his face before it was buried under cold control. His golden hook gleamed as his posture stiffened, shoulders squaring like armor snapping into place. Buggy’s hands floated up immediately, palms out, fingers detaching one by one in panic. “Okay—okay—bad timing—super bad timing—I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“Buggy,” Mihawk interrupted calmly, already turning his back. “Leave. Now.” Buggy’s head detached next, hovering halfway out the doorway even as the rest of him scrambled to follow. “I didn’t see anything! I mean—I did—but I won’t say anything! I don’t even know what I saw!”

Crocodile’s voice dropped low. “Out.” Buggy vanished down the hall in a scatter of limbs, the door slamming shut behind him. Mihawk remained.

He stood with his back turned, deliberately facing the far wall, hands resting loosely at his sides. He did not move. Did not look. Did not pretend ignorance. “I apologize,” Mihawk said evenly. “We should have knocked.”

Silence filled the room, heavy and taut. Crocodile finished adjusting his coat, movements clipped, precise. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “You saw.” “Yes,” Mihawk replied without hesitation. Another pause.

“…Does this change your opinion of me?” Crocodile asked, tone sharp, not pleading, not defensive, but challenging. As if daring the answer to be wrong.

Mihawk turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, red eyes steady and unreadable. “No,” he said simply. “It clarifies certain things. That is all.” Crocodile said nothing. Mihawk inclined his head once, respectfully, and left the room.

Down the hallway, Buggy was pacing, his body not entirely reassembled, arms floating while his legs marched in tight circles.

“So?” Buggy whispered loudly the moment Mihawk appeared. “Is he gonna kill me? Because I feel like that was a killable moment.” Mihawk stopped. Looked at him. “He will not,” Mihawk said.

Buggy deflated, several body parts sagging in relief. “Okay. Good. Because—listen—I didn’t mean to walk in like that. I mean, I barge into rooms all the time, but still—” “He is not weak,” Mihawk continued calmly. “Nor is he diminished.”

Buggy blinked. “I didn’t say he was.” “You were thinking it,” Mihawk replied. Buggy scowled, then sighed. “…Yeah. For like half a second. Then I realized that was stupid.” He scratched the back of his head, fingers detaching and reattaching nervously. “He’s still Crocodile. Still scary. Still could bury me in sand without blinking.”

“Correct,” Mihawk said. “This changes nothing of his capability. Only what he has chosen not to share.”

Buggy hesitated. “…Should we… say something?” Mihawk shook his head once. “If he wishes to speak, he will. Until then, it is not our concern.” Buggy nodded slowly. “Right. Yeah. Got it.” He paused, then added quietly, “Still though… takes guts.”

Mihawk didn’t disagree. And back in the room, Crocodile stood alone again, coat settled. But for the first time, the truth wasn’t a weapon someone else held over him.