Mihawk stands on the deck of the Black Sword, the wind whipping through his coat as he gazes out at the horizon. The sun is setting, casting a golden hue across the ocean, and he feels a pang of melancholy deep within him. The time has come for him to leave, to set out on a journey towards his ultimate goal.
Yet, the thought of leaving behind the chaos of Buggy's crew stirs an unfamiliar heaviness in his chest. He tries to focus on the road ahead, on the trials he will face and the enemies he will encounter. His goal is clear: to become the greatest swordsman, a title that demands sacrifice and unwavering dedication, but as he stares out at the endless expanse of water, his mind drifts back to the time he has spent with Buggy.
Buggy's departure from his life was a surprise. His last gift he offered Mihawk, the fool is too kind for his own good, giving him a ship curated in his peculiar style.
The mast resembles a large crucifix and an assortment of candles burning with an eerie green flame. Buggy said Yoru was his inspiration. The boat was sleek and dark, resembling a coffin. It was a grand gesture, one that Mihawk had barely had time to process. It's not the ship that lingered most in Mihawk's thoughts, but rather the hat he now wears.
The hat, a distinctive piece of headwear that Buggy had gifted him, was more than just an accessory; it was a symbol of their bond.
Mihawk runs his fingers over the brim of the hat hiding his eyes, feeling the weight of its presence and the warmth of Buggy's intentions. The hat was a constant reminder of his personal promise to be worthy of Buggy's affection.
He remembers the day Buggy had presented the hat to him. It had been an extravagant affair, with Buggy making a grand show of presenting it amidst a flurry of theatrics.
Despite the clown's antics, Mihawk had felt a surge of appreciation. The hat was crafted with meticulous care, its design reflecting Buggy's flamboyant personality but also his thoughtful nature.
The clown claimed it was a mere treasure he found, but Mihawk had caught him meticulously stitching what he wears now. Thinking Mihawk wasn't paying attention.
The fool he is, He always pays attention to him.
The clown's presence was chaotic, unpredictable, and at times, infuriating, but beneath the facade of flamboyance, Mihawk had discovered a source of unexpected warmth and companionship.
It was something he hadn't anticipated, a connection that had slowly woven itself into the fabric of his existence. He recalls the way Buggy had once fussed over Luffy, the way he'd tried to hide his concern for Ace, and the way he'd shown a strange yet endearing form of fatherly affection.
Buggy's quirks, his outlandish behavior, and his insatiable appetite for adventure had all become a part of Mihawk's reality, a reality that he now realizes he will miss more than he ever expected.
The hat, now a part of Mihawk's daily attire, is comforting. It was as if Buggy's presence was woven into every thread, a constant reminder of the bond they shared.
Mihawk often catches himself adjusting the hat, a small gesture that connects him to memories of laughter, camaraderie, and the unconventional affection that during the months away.
Buggy has shown him how to appreciate the colors of the world. Mihawk stands up, the hat securely perched on his head, he feels a deep sense of loss.
The ocean stretches out before him, a vast and uncharted expanse, and he knows that this journey will be different without Buggy's chaotic influence.His thoughts turn to the moments they shared, Buggy's exuberant laughter, his playful antics, and his unwavering support. Buggy always has shown a surprisingly perceptive understanding of Mihawk's unspoken thoughts, offering comfort and companionship in his own unique way.
Mihawk gazes at the setting sun, he realizes that Buggy's impact on him runs deeper than he had acknowledged. The ache he feels, not hearing the clown's loud voice is unsettling and a new emotion he's not accustomed to.
He adjusts the hat once more, letting its familiar weight soothe the ache in his ribs.
The journey ahead is fraught with challenges, but Mihawk is determined to honor the bond they shared. The hat is not just a gift; it is a reminder of the support and affection that had once been a part of his life, with a final glance at the fading sunlight, Mihawk turns away from the edge of the deck.
The journey ahead is uncertain, but with the hat as a symbol of Buggy's influence,
Mihawk feels a renewed sense of purpose. He steps confidently into the future, ready to face the challenges that lie ahead, carrying with him the memory of the clown who had unexpectedly become a significant part of his life.
The city's nightlife was in full swing, the streets alive with the clamor of revelers and the glow of lanterns. Mihawk, having returned from months of travel, sought solace in a dimly lit bar tucked away from the main thoroughfare.
It was a place where he could drink in peace, away from the scrutiny of others and the weight of his solitude.
Mihawk pushes open the bar's heavy wooden door, and a wave of warmth and the scent of aged whiskey greets him. The interior was a cozy, cluttered space with low tables and flickering candlelight.
Mihawk scanned the room, noting the mix of locals and adventurers who filled the space with laughter and conversation. He made his way to an empty table in a quiet corner, Buggy's hat perched atop his head.
The night wore on, and Mihawk lost himself in the slow rhythm of his drink, his thoughts drifting back to Buggy.
Letting the liquor drown out the clown's absence had brought a gaping wound in his life, and the longer he was away, the more Mihawk's feelings for him grew.
As he sipped his drink, a sudden, loud burst of laughter from the entrance drew his attention. He looked up to see a red-haired man striding into the bar with a sense of swagger and confidence.
His vibrant hair and laid-back demeanor marked him immediately as someone of interest. Mihawk's eyes narrowed slightly as the man made his way to the bar, his presence commanding the room's attention.
The man's laughter was infectious, and Mihawk couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity. The red-haired man ordered a drink, his voice carrying over the din of the bar. Mihawk observed him from his table, sensing that this man was more than just a casual drinker.
It wasn't long before their eyes met.
The red-haired man's gaze was sharp, and he seemed to be sizing Mihawk up. As if drawn by an unseen force, the man made his way over to Mihawk's table.
"Mind if I join you?" the red-haired man asked, his tone friendly but with an undercurrent of challenge.
Mihawk gestured to the empty chair with a nod. "Be my guest."
The man took a seat, his eyes never leaving Mihawk's. "I'm Shanks," he said, extending a hand. "And you're Mihawk, the swordsman who's been making waves."
Mihawk took Shanks' hand and shook it firmly. "Indeed. It's a pleasure."
Shanks settled into his seat, his demeanor relaxed yet intense. "I've heard a lot about you."
"But what really caught my attention was your connection to Buggy."
At the mention of Buggy, Mihawk's gaze sharpened. "Buggy is… someone I hold in high regard."
Shanks' eyes glinted with a mixture of curiosity and something else, jealousy, perhaps. "Is that so? You know, Buggy and I go way back."
Wait, red hair?
"We've had our share of adventures together."
Mihawk studied Shanks, sensing an underlying tension in his words. "And what exactly does that mean for us?"
Shanks leaned forward slightly, his expression growing more serious. "It means I'm protective of Buggy."
"I'm always interested in those who are close to him."
Mihawk's pulse quickened at Shanks' implication. "I see." Their conversation flowed smoothly, punctuated by pauses where both men seemed lost in thought. Mihawk felt a growing sense of unease mixed with intrigue.
Shanks was charming and confident, yet there was a palpable undercurrent of tension between them.As the night wore on, the conversation veered toward their respective journeys and battles.
Shanks' stories were filled with bravado and humor, while Mihawk's responses were measured and reserved.
Yet beneath the surface of their casual talk, a deeper connection seemed to form. Shanks' gaze occasionally lingered on Mihawk, and Mihawk could sense an unspoken challenge in the air.
The more they talked, the more Mihawk became aware of the magnetic pull between them, a pull that seemed to revolve around their shared affection for Buggy.
"I have to ask," Shanks said suddenly, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "Have you ever thought about what it means to be important to someone like Buggy?"
Mihawk's expression grew thoughtful. "I have."
Does this fool think he's stupid, only a dumbass would not be able to, " Buggy is… unique," he allows.
"His presence is something that's hard to put into words." Shanks nods, his eyes reflecting a mixture of wistfulness and determination. "He has a way of making people feel valued."
"-experienced it firsthand." He hiccups.
The conversation took a turn into more personal territory, and the tension between them became more palpable. Mihawk found himself drawn to Shanks in a way he hadn't expected. The man's charisma and intensity were compelling, and Mihawk couldn't deny the undercurrent of attraction that simmered beneath their interactions.
As the night wore on and the drinks continued to flow, the atmosphere in the bar grew more raucous. Mihawk and Shanks, both significantly inebriated, found their conversation becoming more heated.
The unspoken competition between them intensified, fueled by alcohol and their shared passion for Buggy.
"Why does it always come back to him?" Mihawk said, his voice slurring slightly as he leaned closer to Shanks.
"Because he's everything," Shanks replied, his tone equally charged.
"He's… special." Shanks breathes, like buggy is a god he worships, eyes red as his hair.
"Special?" Mihawk echoed, he's heard too many people use that to insult Buggy, his eyes narrow. "What does that mean to you?"
Shanks' gaze locked with Mihawk's, the intensity of their emotions raw and unfiltered. "It means he's the only one who matters."
Mihawk's response was sharp, possessive jealousy boiling over. "And what makes you so sure you have the right to claim that?"
Shanks' expression hardened, and before Mihawk could react, Shanks' hand slammed down on the table. "Don't think for a second that you can just waltz in and-" The situation escalated quickly after that.
The bar's patrons watched with a mix of curiosity and amusement as Mihawk and Shanks stood, their tempers flaring. Words turned into shoves, and soon the two men were locked in a drunken brawl.
Fists flew and chairs toppled as the two combatants clashed. Mihawk's swordsmanship, though subdued by his inebriation, was evident in the precision of his strikes, while Shanks' sheer strength and tenacity made him a formidable opponent.
The brawl was chaotic, their movements fueled by a potent mix of alcohol and unresolved emotions.
In the midst of their fight, Mihawk and Shanks exchanged blows with a fervor that was both aggressive and strangely intimate.
The bar was filled with the sounds of their struggle, and the other patrons watched with a mix of awe and concern.
Despite the violence of their clash, there was an undeniable current of desire and frustration underlying their actions.
Finally, the combination of exhaustion and excessive drinking took its toll.
Mihawk and Shanks, both battered and bruised, collapsed onto the floor, their bodies sprawled out in a tangle of limbs. The bar's patrons began to clean up the mess, and the noise of the brawl faded into a quieter murmur.
As Mihawk lay there, his vision blurred and his body aching, he found himself staring at Shanks, who was similarly sprawled on the floor.
Shanks groaned beside him, his voice a low murmur. "You know, this wasn't how I expected tonight to go."
Mihawk managed a faint, pained smile. "No, I suppose not."
Mihawk settles into his perch on a high tree branch, a book open in his hands. The dense foliage provides ample cover, and he attempts to immerse himself in the pages.
Sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor where two children engage in intense sword practice. The boy struggles with his katas, stumbling and falling with each attempt. His frustration is palpable as he dusts himself off and tries again. The girl, Kuina, stands with a mixture of patience and authority, correcting him with sharp precision.
Mihawk's keen eyes track their movements, noting the boy's sheer determination despite his evident lack of skill.
Mihawk curses under his breath, irritated by the distraction.
The influence of Buggy, with his persistent encouragement to look after those with potential, has unwittingly implanted a rare sense of parental concern within him. Mihawk watches, the boy's resolve becomes increasingly evident.
Despite his repeated failures, he rises each time with renewed determination, brushing off dirt and injuries to continue. This resilience, though not yet matched by skill, draws Mihawk's interest.
He finds himself considering the possibility of mentoring the boy, guiding and refining his raw potential.
The image of Buggy's proud smile flashes through Mihawk's mind, a stark reminder of the clown's impact.
Despite his usually detached demeanor, Mihawk's growing interest in the boy's progress is undeniable. He contemplates whether to take the boy under his wing, to nurture his latent abilities.
The training session concludes, and Mihawk's attention shifts to the arrival of a man who appears to be their father. Mihawk's eyes narrow as he observes the man's dismissive and neglectful attitude towards the girl. The father's indifference to her efforts and his lack of encouragement or support sharply contrast with the girl's evident dedication.
Buggy would let the kids use the pathetic excuse for a father as a pinata, maybe he can have these two tears use it for training. He lets a savage smile grow at the thought, and a squirrel next to him freezes and falls to the ground, dead.
A/n:
So how do you like?
Mihawk wanted his own chapter.
Shanks meets his rival, for swords or love…buggy will slam their skulls together for fighting over him like a toy, after freaking out that they like him that much.
Zoro entered the chat! And Kuina. Will she still live…