for perona's birthday, a WIP in my cross guild continuity that can be read on ao3. this is more mihawk x perona feat. mentions of a self-insert in second person involved with crocodile.
Perona settled back into her body with a wince. Using her Devil Fruit to scout for Cross Guild's flagship tired her more than it ever had in the Florian Triangle, where her reconnaissance covered one ship at a time instead of a wide radius. On the Hitsugibune, Mihawk was already aware of half the things she reported back to him, so she obsessed over his stiff recommendation that Crocodile accept her into their ranks. Did he appreciate her or not? Why would he lie if he didn't, or why wouldn't he tell her if he did?
Crocodile had command of the Big Top Blaster on this foray into what was becoming their territory, which meant the large bed Perona shared with you or Alvida was cold. Your knit blankets were scattered between the women's berthing deck, Crocodile's suite, and any tent on Karai Barai you happened to sleep in, and Perona dragged one in a cheerful pattern over her shoulders with a shiver. If Crocodile weren't here, she would've floated back below deck to find you bundled at her side, your natural warmth bleeding into her like sunlight.
Tempting as it was to barge in—you'd never turn her away—Perona peeked on her first journey with the pair of you and was so perturbed by the sight of Crocodile in repose, who nonetheless blinked one eye open to stare down her hollow, that she accepted her loss with a bit more grace than she would've managed two years prior.
"Ghost girl."
Mihawk's voice was muffled behind the timber of the door, and Perona would have startled if her ghost didn't pass him where he read the World Economical Journal in the galley kitchen.
"What, Hawk-Eyes?"
The women's quarters locked from the inside. She wouldn't have to see his stupid face if she didn't want to, and she'd already reported all clear to the night's watchmen.
"Open up."
"I'm in bed."
"Do you want this cocoa or not?"
Perona almost fell onto the deck in her haste, and was glad she hadn't changed because no one deserved to see her in her newest set of loungewear besides you. Nevermind Mihawk could, at times, show immense appreciation, less so for her choice of garment than for what lay beneath, but you had taste and took far more care with her precious clothing than he did.
She cracked the door open and sniffed rich, melted chocolate before she saw the mug he held, and she snatched it and took a generous sip trying not to think of the last time their hands touched.
"This is almost nice of you." It was thicker and slightly more bitter than the cocoa she made at Kuraigana, which wasn't a bad thing.
"The navigator packed it," Mihawk said.
Perona didn't deflate at that, the admission that it wasn't his generosity, at least not wholly. You were close to her in age, but thoughtful in a similar, quiet manner to this man she'd spent two years with. Neither of you were flashy at all, in the words of the emperor you all ostensibly followed, and Perona was both tempered and shamed by it, how even now she felt like a child.
"Why are you up?"
Mihawk only stared at her, his golden eyes arresting as ever. She was certain he'd turn on his heel without answering, the rude bastard, but instead he said, "Can't sleep."
He could very well mean won't. When Perona sighted him at the docks of Karai Bari weeks ago from the sloop she stole from Hachinosu, she thought he looked drawn and tired—not that it was her place to fuss over him, like she'd been charged with his student. But there was a difference between the exertion Roronoa Zoro barely managed to push him to toward the end, which made Mihawk smile in his creepy way, and this.
"You miss your king-sized bed," Perona said, jutting her lip out in mock pity.
"Yes, that's it."
It was the noise, the foot traffic, the ship far bigger the Hitsugibune and the crew much less predictable than the Humandrills. Perona sat in on Zoro's training with enough frequency to notice the way Mihawk spoke about Observation Haki made her think he'd honed it from a young age. Possibly too young, like she had no memory of a time without her ghosts. But if Zoro sought sake for pleasure, Perona wondered if Mihawk dulled his senses willingly, though only in the controlled isolation of his own domain.
Perona let a hollow form in the palm of her hand, and it wore a silly, guileless expression as it swirled from its mistress to dance around Mihawk's head. She'd shrieked the first time Mihawk expelled one with pure haki, not even bothering with the kogatana sheathed in his necklace, and he'd grown to tolerate and occasionally speak to them. This one looped across his shoulders like a cat, and he closed his eyes, visibly debating the unspoken offer. No one dared approach the officers' quarters, so a ghostly sentinel would go unwitnessed. Even if Mihawk couldn't give in to exhaustion, he'd have company.
"What else?" Perona said, nursing her hot cocoa. "Would a lullaby help?"
"Has anyone ever taken you up on that offer?"
(You sincerely asked, curious about music from the West Blue.)
"Zoro needs no help sleeping," she said. "Maybe that's how he'll beat you."
Of course his lips quirked at that. "Good night, Perona."
