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Mihawk had figured out his life long before he even properly became an adult. Earning a high rank of “A” in fencing and a title of the world’s greatest swordsman by the age of 19, opening his own yacht firm and club by 21, having his first-born son by the age of 26.
After that, things just became a mundane routine.
Everything went sour between him and his ex around the time their daughter was born. They were in a stable enough financial position to support an unplanned pregnancy, but they clearly had different views on how to parent.
They ended up picking fights over the smallest of things and reasons to the point of no return, where they could no longer stand each other. So the only option was divorce.
They went separate ways with Mihawk keeping full custody of their kids. His ex didn’t even show up once after signing the papers, completely disappearing from their children's lives. Mihawk figured it was for the best. From what he heard, she met another man and moved across the country, never to be seen again.
Since then, it was just him and his kids. And he was more than content with that.
Dracule Mihawk was a busy man.
Business to attend to, errands to run, church on Sundays.
His time was limited and his schedule was always tight, with no time for friends, let alone romance or dating. Perhaps an occasional one-night fling, but nothing of importance.
Mihawk had held himself upright: perfect posture, custom tailored suit, well pressed and polished, and yet, no matter how much gel, never managed to control the curls of his hair.
He spend most of his days grinding down at his yacht company: you sell, you buy, you attend a few very expensive show-cases.
They called him “Hawkeyes”, for the way he had a natural talent for spotting the best boats and business opportunities. He had to admit, he took a lot of pride in that nickname, which had become more akin to a title now.
It had spread outside of just his work circle, spilling into fencing as well. A few opponents here and there would call him Hawk-eyes, until it stuck to him completely, even more than his own name.
Mihawk had turned 43 recently, and looking back, he had always thought of his life as a flatly laid out one. Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing exciting, except for the training sessions and occasional outings with his kids.
And it was difficult as it is, to run a business and be a single father of two. Not to mention, teenagers! But they really were his biggest pride and joy.
Mihawk really tried his best for his kids. At times, “his best” just wasn’t enough.
But he kept trying and that’s what mattered the most, he supposed.
His youngest daughter Perona was quite a handful. Seventeen and going through a goth phase: vintage style of clothes, pink hair, pink clothes and ghost accessories. Mihawk just chose not to question too much and support however he could.
She had too much energy for her own good and always went overboard with dramatics (Mihawk was sure, he was just the same at her age). Hot headed, just like any other teenager, and with a sharp sense of humor, always having a witty come-back or an insult ready on the tip of her tongue. He had personally witnessed Perona put a few people into a depressive state with only a few jokes. A true talent, nonetheless.
Zoro, his oldest son, on the other hand, was more grounded. Stern and serious, he usually seemed very distant, which Mihawk wrote off to him being nineteen, and wishing to become more independent. But Zoro had a kind heart, perhaps too much, helping others at the expense of himself.
Brightly colored hair, like his sisters, and yet, there was more from Mihawk in him, that he accounted for. They had a shared interest in fencing and sword fighting, practicing together whenever Mihawk managed to find time.
They both were busy people: Mihawk with work, Zoro, either training, or spending his entire time with his rock band.
Mihawk missed the moment when the band with a weird name “straw hats” came to exist, however it was the only thing Zoro was willing to talk about. He was always so passionate and enthusiastic, that without even trying, Mihawk had learned all the members and everything about them by heart.
It was Zoro’s friend Luffy’s idea that spiraled into reality. “Best band in the world”.
The rest was history.
They had gained traction very quickly, becoming popular among the youngsters, with Zoro becoming somewhat a celebrity himself. Sometimes people would stop and ask him for photos and Mihawk couldn’t help but feel so much pride.
“We’re playing in a competition next Sunday. Would you like to come see?” Zoro asked him during dinner.
It has been a while since they found time to talk beyond exchanging pleasantries, forget spending time together. It has been eating Mihawk for a while now, and the opportunity seemed to present itself perfectly.
It was settled then. Whatever he had planned on Sunday was now cleared.
“I would,” Mihawk nodded, looking up from his plate, “What time?”
Zoro immediately cheered up.
“Around 4 pm, I’ll get you and Perona an invite.”
***
Right after Sunday service had ended, he had picked up Perona from home, getting lunch on their way and then going straight to the venue.
They had arrived early, when the bands and the organizers were still setting up. The competition wasn’t to start in another hour or two.
It was set at a night-club, at least that's what the signs at the entrance and the interior suggested. It was more spacious than it looked from the outside: big stage, lights, massive bar. With the chairs set up at the front, and tall tables in the back, seemingly first come-first serve, since there was no specified sitting plan on the invites.
Mihawk moved to take a seat, when Perona grabbed his arm.
“I’m hungry,” she whined.
“We just ate?” he raised his eyebrow.
“And I’m still hungry?”
Mihawk sighed, reaching for money in his pocket, “Go check if they have something at the bar. I’ll be at the tables.”
She squeaked a “thank you” and was gone immediately.
Mihawk settled at a table, looking around, concerned with the lack of better things to do.
The guests haven’t yet arrived, except for the few who came to support their friends and family. Most of them were lost behind the stage anyway, so the venue was almost empty.
He turned back to Perona, who was chatting with the bartender. Mihawk just rolled his eyes, continuing to look around the place.
The Straw Hats were setting up their equipment on stage. Mihawk paused, carefully observing all of them. He had heard all kinds of stories, but never had a chance to actually meet them.
He tried to piece the mental imagery with reality.
Luffy behind the massive drum set, Nami next to him, checking the microphone. He had known both of them. Same with Usopp, who seemed to be missing backstage, probably looking for his harmonica.
The dark-haired girl, if Mihawk wasn’t mistaken, her name was Robin, was behind the synthesizer, chatting with a tall guy with an Afro and an electric guitar. Brook.
The youngest band member they had was Chopper, who played a xylophone and a triangle. He was carefully positioning everything on a small table.
Franky, their tech guy, and also nowhere to be seen.
But there was Zoro and his blonde boyfriend. Arguing about where to put their bass guitars.
Mihawk had heard a handful of things about Sanji. Mostly from Perona, Zoro didn’t really talk to him about this kind of stuff. Not sure if it was embarrassing for him or if he just chose to keep his relationship private, but Mihawk respected his decision anyway.
“They’re bickering again!” Perona appeared out of nowhere, pointing her finger at Zoro and Sanji, “How predictable.”
She rolled her eyes and Mihawk looked down at a table, noticing a plate of chips with a few chicken wings.
“You said you were hungry,” he changed the subject.
“And that’s food..?” Perona bit back.
“It isn’t.”
“Then I’m not sharing!” she folded her arms, aggressively munching a few chips.
Mihawk dismissed it, not wanting to fight.
“You’re not going to say anything?” she looked at him, expecting a reaction.
It was usual business.
He chose to ignore.
“Hey!” Perona frowned.
Before this could escalate further, they were interrupted:
“You two seem early!” a tall red-haired man smiled at them, crashing at their table, “Who are you here for?”
Mihawk narrowed his eyes, looking at the man carefully.
Lazy half unbuttoned shirt, loose beat up pants. A big black coat over his broad shoulders. Mihawk had to admit, there was something attractive in his scruffy appearance.
He was very well built, tall and quite muscular. Three scars over his left eye.
Something undeniably attractive about him.
“I’m Akagami no Shanks,” he introduced himself, and Mihawk instantly went for a handshake, only now realizing that the man was missing his left arm.
“Dracule Mihawk,” he chose to say nothing, reaching out another hand to shake, “This is my daughter, Perona.”
“Ah! Nice to meet you!” Shanks smiled, “I have a daughter around your age actually! Maybe a few years older.”
“Are you here for her?” Perona asked curiously.
“No, although she is musical,” Shanks laughed, “No, I’m actually here for a friend. Knew him since he was a kid! Proud to see how far Luffy had come!”
“So you’re here for the Straw Hats as well!” Perona leaned forward excitedly.
“Appears so,” the red hair smiled widely, “You must be Zoro’s father?”
Mihawk nodded, deciding to keep quiet for now.
Shanks seemingly didn’t like that plan, since his gaze was focused on Mihawk unwavering.
“I heard a lot about you, Hawkeyes,” Shanks narrowed his red eyes, “Only good things, of course,” he smirked.
Mihawk stared back, trying to understand in what social circles they might have run together. Work? Hardly possible, considering the man's appearance. Church? Doubtfully, he would’ve recognized. That only left…
“You are a fencer?” he figured.
Impressive.
He looked down at his unbuttoned shirt, examining the muscles disappearing under the white fabric. Considering his physic, Mihawk probably should’ve guessed at the start.
“Was,” corrected Shanks, nodding to his missing arm, “I still train occasionally. Perhaps you’d like to spare?” he grinned.
Oh that bastard!
“It would hardly be fair.” Mihawk propped his head on one hand, returning the cocky smile, “Besides, if you’d heard of me, you’d known better than to offer a fight?”
Shanks laughed.
“I’m not scared. I’ve seen worse”
“Hopefully, you’re not half the man you used to be.”
“Oh, I could still take you,” he smiled, “With one arm tied behind my back!”
Shanks erupted in laughter.
Mihawk huffed, raising an eyebrow.
The joke was vulgar and unfunny, and yet, he suddenly felt his cheeks flush.
“What happened to it?” Perona asked, pointing at Shanks missing limb, with a complete disregard of any personal boundaries.
Before Mihawk could interfere, the red hair was already jumping into an answer:
“A shark got it,” he smiled widely and Perona’s eyes went wide.
“You were attacked by a shark?!” she exclaimed, closing her arms over her mouth.
“I…I was saving someone from drowning…” he explained, “That’s actually how I met Luffy.”
Mihawk was stunned for a second.
He jumped in to save someone’s life, losing such a crucial piece of himself in return. An arm. If he ever had a future in fencing before, it was all gone the moment he stepped into that water. He had to understand that, had to know, and still…
Mihawk took another good look at Shanks.
Shaggy clothes, messy red hair. He smelled of cheap alcohol and looked like he just had a hangover. And yet, it was only now that Mihawk saw him.
A good man with a kind heart.
And he respected that.
“And the scar…?” Mihawk asked.
“No,” Shanks chuckled, “That was something else.”
“Wild youth?”
“Pretty much,” he said, “My father was a sailor. I used to go everywhere with him, got in all sorts of trouble,” he sneaked his hand, stealing one of Perona’s chips, “But that’s a story for another day, have to keep some cards up my sleeve.”
Mihawk wanted to promptly say that there wouldn’t not be “another day”, however was interrupted:
“Shanks!” Luffy came running to the table, excitement all over his face and a bright smile, “You came!”
“Of course,” he replied, waving his hand.
Mihawk followed his gaze, noticing how his eyes landed on the straw hat on Luffy’s hat, his smile immediately becoming softer.
“And Uta?”
Shanks huffed, hiding his eyes:
“Her usual self. Always busy with something. Not talking to me for one reason or another,”
He did not elaborate any further, and yet, Luffy understood immediately. His smile was wide all the same, but the change in his eyes was undeniable. His gaze saddened, losing focus for just a second and turning back to the same cheery one after.
“I have to get back, the band is waiting,” he said, “The competition will start soon. We’re performing third.”
The red head nodded, patting Luffy’s shoulder and then moving his hand to rest on the straw hat.
“I will see you after. Good luck.”
Perona also smiled, chiming in:
“Good luck, Luffy! Tell Zoro it doesn’t hurt to smile sometimes, ‘cos his stone face isn’t getting him anywhere!”
Mihawk also joined, nodding, “Good luck to all of you.”
People had started to gather, filling the audience. Half of the chairs in front of the stage were already taken and the venue seemed to be filling up within minutes.
“Would you like a drink?” Shanks asked, tilting his head to the side like a cat. His gaze intense on Mihawk.
“We should get going before all seats are taken,” he replied coldly.
“I'm paying. Anything you want, Hawkeyes!”
Mihawk pressed his lips together, considering.
Shanks had this strange-comforting aura about him which made it hard to walk away. Mihawk couldn’t even pinpoint what it was. He seemed warm. Familiar. A friend he never got to have and gave up on trying, but desperately needed.
He was not the one for meaningless conversations, they always got annoying too quickly. But despite Shanks trying to seem like a simple man, Mihawk knew better than to trust the facade.
Akagami no Shanks suddenly was a puzzle he wanted to crack.
“Fine,” Mihawk said, with a loud ‘tsk’ falling from his lips, “Would you get the seats for the two of us?” he turned to Perona.
“Fine,” she replied in the exact same tone as he did.
Shanks chuckled, already striding towards the bar.
How impatient, Mihawk rolled his eyes.
Red hair leaned over the counter, not bothering to sit down on the high chair, calling the bartender, “One beer and ….” he turned to Mihawk.
“Whisky”
Shanks raised his eyebrows, lips quirking into a sly smile, “What the man said,” he gestured to the bartender, who was immediately off to another customer. The place was really starting to fill up.
“You’re different from what I thought you’d be, Hawkeyes.”
“How so?”
Mihawk turned around, pressing his back to the table, so now he was facing the still empty stage.
“Completely,” Shanks smirked, “Never thought a man like you would be eyeing me down.”
Mihawk huffed, pressing his lips together.
“I was not eyeing you down,” he replied simply.
“So you say,” the red hair leaned closer, still grinning like a cat who got a canary.
“‘Judging’ is more the word I would use.”
“Ah, whatever you wanna call it then.”
Hawkeyes sighed, pinching his nose bridge. This was a mistake.
Slight annoyance was getting to him, and despite that, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave. It was making it even more frustrating.
Suddenly a drink was shoved into his hand, followed by a loud “cheers” a second later.
“To the new generation,” Shanks toased.
“To the new generation,” Mihawk echoed back.
He took a sip, enjoying the way the whiskey burnt his throat. Clearly an expensive one. He took the glass by the rim, nurturing it a bit before taking another taste.
“This is good alcohol,” he said simply.
“Glad you liked it. Might buy you a bottle the next time we meet.”
“Don’t bother. I doubt there will be a next time.”
“Come on, Hawkeyes, I’m inviting!”
Mihawk said nothing, only taking another sip of his drink.
“I’d like to know you better,” Shanks tried again.
“There’s nothing to know about me.”
“What’s your favorite color?” Red hair pressed.
“I don’t have one. It’s unnecessary.”
Such details were useless, serving no purpose in his life. Why bother with having a favorite color, favorite food, favorite song, if at the end of the day, it was all meaningless?
Having a favorite wine was just enough.
“Mine is red,” Shanks answered simply.
Mihawk huffed, “I could tell.”
Akagami simply laughed, finishing his beer in one go, signaling to the bartender for another one.
“The invitation still stands.”
“I don’t go on dates,” Mihawk rolled his tongue with a loud ‘tsk’.
“Ah, so it’s a date,” Shanks grinned.
“It isn’t.”
“A match then?”
He turned, meeting with the red-eyes gaze instantly.
There was no way out of this, wasn’t there?
“I’d like to see you try.”
The room suddenly light up, bringing all the attention to the stage. The audience erupted in applause, as a young hostess came forward, giving the introductions.
The competition was starting.
The first band pulled up on stage.
A guy with green bangs over his face in a big blue scarf, wearing a guitar across his shoulder. Man with a bleached white buzzcut behind the drums.
And their leader, a guy with brightly colored blue hair, makeup and a clown nose.
The applause and shouts grew louder.
Shanks eyes instantly light up:
“That’s Buggy!” he said cheerfully.
“You know each other?”
Mihawk narrowed his eyes, observing the man. He was wearing all colorful clothes, big heels, definitely trying to overcompensate for his height. His eyes scanned the audience frenzy.
“Yea,” Shanks answered, “Old friends.”
Hawkeyes pressed his lips together, humming. He didn’t know what to do further with this information and what to say next.
“He’s good guy. Maybe you’d like him.”
Shanks saved them both from an awkward silence.
“Interesting,” Mihawk replied only.
“Has great music as well!”
Hawkeye listened closer. Rock vibes mixed with some emotional lyrics. The way the crowd was singing with him, Mihawk could tell, he definitely moved some hearts.
By the time a solo pulled around, Mihawk only stood impressed by guitar skills.
Red was right after all.
The band bowed, waving goodbye to the fans, disappearing behind the red curtains.
“Didn’t know he still plays that song,” Shanks hummed smiling, “It’s quite an old one.”
“Why don’t you go find him backstage? Say hello?” Mihawk turned to face him.
Red chuckled.
“Trynna get rid of me, Hawkeyes? Perhaps I should then.”
“No!” Mihawk said. Himself unsure why exactly, “I haven’t thanked you yet.”
That was a simply laughable response, but he couldn’t come up with any other coherent reasons of why Shanks shouldn’t go yet.
It was your suggestion to begin with! Something inside himself yelled angrily.
He coughed, “You know, I also used to play a guitar.” he confessed.
“Why did you stop?” Shanks asked simply.
“Decided to focus on more important stuff.”
“I guess it worked out for you.”
Mihawk looked down at his calloused sword hands.
“I guess it did,” he said, spotting Perona’s pink hair in the crowd, smiling to himself.
“Don’t make your daughter wait for too long. I’m sure she’ll get upset,” Shanks shrugged, noticing.
He was right… he should really get going.
Something inside didn’t want to.
Mihawk swallowed down the rest of his drink, placing the glass on the table with a loud thug.
“You know….” Let’s go on that date. Let’s have that match. I’d like your number, “Thank you for the drink.”
This was only right.
It’s been too long since Dracula Mihawk had friends. Forget lovers. It’s simply too late for him now.
“It was nice meeting you, Hawkeyes.”
He felt Shanks’ gaze burning a hole in his back as he was leaving.