#whatever ig

everyone can tell that the store is just a hobby because how else is this recluse of a man able to afford the high end luxury car he drives? he claims good investments and yes, that’s partially true.

only a select handful of people know that mihawk a renowned artist known for his dark and melancholy pieces, always presented under an alias he keeps under tight, tight wraps to avoid the nuisance of publicity. it’s a good, cathartic way to express himself without having to bare himself to a therapist and he supposes if it brings in enough money to live comfortably then it’s a bonus. it’s not the major reason he does it though.

he’s content with his life and solitude. he has people he can call up and chat if he so desires— it’s laughably rare that he does though— but for the most part he spends his days quietly doing what he loves.

then you wander into the store with paint smudges on your fingers, dressed in soft pastels with a shy smile as you present mihawk with two rare first edition books that you want to gift to people. they’re in awful condition— some dimwit shoved them onto a shelf and left them to rot— and you ask him if they can even be salvaged.

he agrees, but it’s going to take time and care and if you want a new cover it’s going to cost—

— nothing, because you lay two covers you painted yourself beside the other two and ask if he would be willing to use them. it’s only that this friend is very special to you and to give them someone else’s work feels wrong and mihawk finds himself agreeing because you sound so hopeful and when is the last time anyone put that much work into something for him?

it fractures something, and he shakes himself free of the sudden, unwanted thought even as he tells you he’ll call if and when he’s finished. he won’t charge if he can’t complete the work, but you don’t even bat an eye before you tell him you don’t expect perfection, just for him to do his best.

Close ups under the cut :]

THE MERMAID