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Koshiro is very good at mundane tasks.
Folding the laundry, sweeping the floors, washing the dishes, no matter what task it is, he does it with a gentle smile while humming some indecipherable tune. Sometimes he’ll put his hair up higher than usual, revealing the back of his neck. Sometimes, if he puts off dusting for too long, he puts on his scrappy old apron, something he's probably owned for over half of his life.
Mihawk knows all this because he watches. He even helps, most of the time.
Cleaning baskets of vegetables from his garden, scrubbing the counters, polishing their swords, he doesn't mind it. Like two vital pieces in a clock, they help the house keep ticking.
Then at the end of the day they sit, sometimes in their own spots, sometimes sandwiched together on the loveseat, sometimes with drinks, always with a book or two between them.
All of this to say: Mihawk wants to spend the rest of his life with this man. He is perturbed by this. He wants to propose.
Proposals are an extravagant thing, if not expensive. Mihawk has never worried about money in the past. He's a pirate, after all, albeit a one-man-crew. He's never had to pay for a thing in his life–admittedly, he'd be homeless if not for all the abandoned islands along the grand line, immediately followed by Crocodile convincing him to team up, and then his defeat by one Roronoa Zoro, which lead him conveniently into Koshiro’s arms.
It all comes back to Koshiro, doesn't it?
Mihawk has always been repulsed by big romantic gestures. Shanks was a romantic man, and it drove them apart. Crocodile was secretly a romantic man, and it drove him apart. And yet whenever Mihawk looks at Koshiro…
“Do I have something on my face?” Koshiro asks with a sheepish grin, his tone slightly nervous as he wipes at his mouth.
“Yes,” Mihawk lies, swiping a thumb over a stain that doesn't exist, before intently busying himself with chopping onions.
Mihawk wants it to be romantic.
Ideally, he would propose somewhere quiet, after an elaborate meal. Perhaps he could rent a private table somewhere nice, although that brings up the issue of money again. Maybe he could prepare dinner himself–he wasn't an awful chef, after all–and they could have a picnic somewhere. Although Mihawk is already in more than enough contact with dirt during the day while he's gardening.
He pictures himself with a glass of wine, smiling charmingly and offering a rose to his beloved. Koshiro would laugh at him, because Mihawk would never do something like that naturally.
Looking at his own reflection in the window, he practices smiling. It's lopsided and weird. His canines are oddly pronounced. It looks like a grimace. He scrunches up his nose and stops practicing.
He could do it at an event that's important to them. He’s read articles of people proposing at coronations, graduations, celebrations, executions. Though, that would put a lot of attention on them. Would Koshiro be bothered by the societal pressure to say yes?
Would Koshiro say yes?
“Ah, did you bring the mushrooms in earlier?” Koshiro asks as he turns the stove on.
“Mm,” Mihawk hums, nodding towards the bag in the middle of the counter.
It needs to be something relevant. Something significant. He has a vague idea of what he wants the ring to look like. It would be gold, a warm color against Koshiro’s tan skin, something to reflect off of his deep brown eyes while not standing out too boldly, just enough to tell people he's Mihawk’s.
That's something to consider. What would his own ring look like? Perhaps something silver. He needs more silver accessories. As much as he appreciates the look of gold paired with his eyes and sword, silver highlights his cooler tones. It gives him a more intimidating look, more gothic. Koshiro would pick the jewel.
Would Koshiro even wear a ring? Would he say yes?
“Could you hand me the ladle?” Koshiro stretches his hand out without looking.
“Sure,” Mihawk passes him the utensil, watching Koshiro’s glasses fog up as he leans over the boiling water in the pot before him.
He needs to think about outfits. He's skimmed some of Koshiro’s romance novels–the ones Koshiro keeps pretending are simply about ghosts and ghouls, but are really just cheap romantic dramas, Perona got him hooked on them–and outfits are crucial. Wear that tight red dress certainly wouldn't work in a relationship like theirs, but surely he could come up with an equivalent.
Koshiro looks lovely in blue. A dark, navy blue. He also looks nice in a deep black. Mihawk could most likely convince him to wear something frilly for a single night, especially if they matched somehow. Or, Koshiro could wear that expensive montsuki he never touches. Or he could wear something of Mihawk’s, which, hm. He shouldn't think about that too deeply at the moment.
Maybe he could do it in his garden. Koshiro did spend a significant amount of time out there, reading on the bench swing while Mihawk tended to his crop. He could hide the ring in a book, perhaps, too.
Would Koshiro even find it that way? Would he know it was for him? Would he say yes?
“Hawkey,” Koshiro says, and Mihawk, ever at his beck and call, turns immediately to meet the ladle being lifted towards him. “Does it taste alright?”
Sipping the soup, he doesn't need to think about it. “Obviously.”
Koshiro has a bandaid over his thumb. He cut it earlier, absentmindedly peeling a carrot too quickly. His hair is tied higher than usual, his ratty apron is on, he has a dorky headband holding his stray hairs out of his face. He looks satisfied with himself, turning off the stove and grabbing two bowls. He leans over to turn off a timer, and his eyes are beautiful from this angle, a deep devouring brown without a hint of a highlight, focused and dark.
After preparing their servings, he takes off his headband and apron, and ties his hair lower, and leaves to set the table.
Mihawk wipes his hands, runs one through his hair unconsciously. He plans tomorrow morning’s breakfast at the back of his mind, running through all the ingredients they have in the house.
He eventually sits across from Koshiro. He takes one spoonful of soup, and he wants to keep cooking and cleaning and doing mundane things with Koshiro forever.
“I think it came out better this time,” Koshiro comments brightly, brushing a stray hair behind his ear.
“Let's get married,” Mihawk responds.