Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- “Did you sleep well last night, angel?”.

A quiet, affirmative murmur followed in response to Shanks' caring question. - “Did you eat well?”.

An amused laugh from the Red-Haired Emperor rang out on the other side of the receiver. - “Yes, dear, I got it. You know very well that Lucky cooks with great panache, much less would let any of us go without breakfast” - the Redhead reassured with glee. - “It's so lovely how worried you are about me”.

There was a quiet snort that made Shanks laugh again.

Hearing this sound, Mihawk felt a longing sting in his heart.

- “To allay your fears, darling, I swear with my hand on my heart that for the sake of my spine, I sleep in a bed and not in a hammock, I take regular showers so I don't catch fleas, I eat vegetables and I don't get drunk to the point of unconsciousness, as Beck can confidently attest” - the Emperor confessed, followed by a laughing burble in the background, suggesting that his first mate was sitting somewhere nearby. – “Although I regret to admit that it is hard for me to keep this last one because I mourn so much my longing for you”.

Mihawk swallowed painfully. – “Shanks –“.

- “It's especially hard for me at night. I can't fall asleep without you beside me. When I roll over onto my side and reach out to put my arm around your waist and pull you close, I'm met with a cool sheet and then I just lie there staring at the ceiling until morning because I'm too frustrated to fall asleep again” - the Redhead continued, sounding less cheerful now than he had a moment ago.

- “Everywhere I go, I feel like something is missing, Mi. There is no certain presence by my side which makes me feel incomplete, and I'm not talking about the absence of my arm”.

It had been a month since Shanks had left him to embark on a mission to the other end of the wide and untamed Grand Line. A month before setting off on the aforementioned journey, disturbing news had reached Redhead and his crew that Blackbeard's men had invaded one of the islands that belonged to the Red-Haired Emperor's territory, committing a bloody massacre on the people living there, forcing the local men into slave labor, raping their women and selling their children in cages somewhere in an illegal human trafficking market.

The island in question was famous for its vast deposits of oil and all manner of gemstones, hence it was a tempting target for a pirate as disgustingly greedy and avaricious as Blackbeard.

Not to mention that this nasty and ruthless Emperor would do absolutely anything to upset and outmaneuver his current opponent, who is none other than the rival to his cruel policies, the Red-Haired Emperor of the Seas.

Moved by the news of the suffering of his allies and convinced of how badly he had failed them as the superior of the local lands, Red-Haired didn't think about it for long and ordered his crew to assemble aboard the Red Force as soon as possible to set out to relieve the local people and, in the process, kick Blackbeard's ass hard enough to teach him not to touch things belonging to Red-Haired Shanks with his thick, dirty paws.

Mihawk, for his part, offered to go with them, being more than willing to quarter Blackbeard's ship along with his greasy, nasty body on board, however, this offer was tenderly rejected by Shanks with an apologetic look and a soft kiss.

- “This is not a fight I want to drag you into too early, angel” - the Emperor whispered then close to the warlord's lips, his tanned hand resting tenderly against his lover's cheek. – “Teach is a disgusting and merciless bastard who never plays fair. If that scoundrel found out how much I care about you, he would do absolutely anything to separate us and to get you. That man would not be afraid to inform the World Government of your attachment to me, and then you would be attacked from both sides and would never have peace again, so please, darling, stay here on Kuraigana and wait for me” - asked the Redhead, placing a kiss on the top of Mihawk's head. – “I swear, I'll sort it out and get back to you sooner than you think”.

It was obvious that Shanks wanted Blackbeard dead as soon as possible, this bovine deserved nothing better, and the ruthless death-bearing services offered by the warlord were most effective, and the entire Grand Line knew this very well, but even so, the Emperor put the Mihawk's welfare and peace of mind above everything else, no matter how tempting the offer to use his beloved bird's skills was.

Besides, having a swordsman in the ranks of the Marines worked incredibly to the advantage of the Red-Hair Pirates, hence it would have been a fool's errand to reveal their best cards to the enemy when Shanks could have handled Blackbeard on his own without much hindrance.

Hence, at the affectionate urging of his beloved red-haired man, Mihawk eventually listened to him and remained alone on Kuraigana, and from then the only communication between him and Shanks remained phone calls through den den Mushi, as had been the case last evening when the red-haired man had called him.

- “I'm really sorry, angel, that I can't be there for you right now” - Shanks spoke up tenderly, and his voice on the other side of the receiver took on a tender tone again. – “I promise I intend to sufficiently express to Teach my displeasure at the fact that he perfidiously dared to force me to leave my heart in a cold castle, which should instead now be in my arms”.

Hearing the sincerity in the other's confession, the swordsman took a deep, shuddering breath.

- “The weather is not in our favor, hence this whole voyage is being prolonged more than necessary” - the Emperor continued, and from his tone, one could infer a similar pain that the warlord was feeling at the moment. – “In addition, any day now we will be entering extremely dangerous waters, hence from now on we may have trouble being reunited safely by snails...”.

Mihawk felt his heart break with grief and longing this time.

Shanks' absence next to him was hurting him enough, but did fate have to be so cruel as to further deprive him of the ultimate opportunity to at least hear the other's voice?

- “Mi? Are you all right? Are you still there?” - asked Shanks with obvious worry after a long silence on the line.

Not wanting to worry his beloved, who now had too many problems on his mind anyway, the swordsman only hummed quietly, letting the Redhead know that he understood and that the other didn't need to worry about it.

- “You know, my darling, that I love you very much, don't you?”.

Of course, Mihawk knew that, because he bestowed the same feeling on Shanks.

- “Try to close your eyes for me and fall asleep, and you'll see that I'll be with you again before you wake up”.

Only, his dreams had long since turned into nightmares and hurt more than the realization that Shanks was far away, but at least he was all right.

- “Hawky?”.

So here comes that moment when we are forced to say goodbye?

- “Hawkeyes?”.

Mihawk sighed heavily and loudly enough for the Sengoku sitting across from him to be fully aware of how much it was weighing on him that he dared to interrupt his composure.

Seven Warlords of the Sea have been summoned to one of the official headquarters belonging to the Marines somewhere in the northern waters of the Grand Line for a very urgent and necessary meeting, organized by the Admirals at the behest of their elders, mainly to inspect them, criticize them for excessive passivity and rascality (you hire pirates and repeat offenders and then lament that they are rascally and breaking the law?) and impose on them a succession of assignments, almost all of which are boring, or require them to travel far and thus put in a lot of effort (and are still boring).

In short, everyone is wasting their time here. They are not even allowed to take a nap, which sufficiently reinforces Mihawk's conviction not to show up here. He himself only appeared here in the hope that it would help distract his thoughts from the painful longing for Shanks.

Oh yes, Mihawk missed Shanks. The greatest swordsman was well aware of how he felt and did not deny it. After so many years of separation, there was no room here to deny his feelings or pretend to himself that the Redhead's absence next to him had no effect on him. Of course, Mihawk would probably never in his life admit out loud that he missed him. However, expressing feelings is not the same as recognizing them and accepting them in his head. And while the swordsman still has difficulty with the former, the latter comes surprisingly naturally to him, just like his love for the Red-Haired Emperor of the Seas.

And yesterday's conversation with his beloved had unfortunately not soothed his pain, on the contrary, he felt it had caused him even more stress, although Shanks had tried to be as gentle as he could (which was tenderly appreciated by the warlord). After all, it wasn't the Redhead's fault that their contact could become difficult, at worst impossible (but Mihawk didn't want to consider that for the moment) and if they were to blame anyone for all this, the only culprit here was Blackbeard and his sick ambition to get under Shanks' skin.

That fact alone was enough for the swordsman to find this scumbag and skin him, slice him into bite-size pieces, and feed him to the marine fauna. But Shanks had promised to take care of it himself, and who was Mihawk not to trust the only person who was his equal in everything? Everyone might have been against them, but they would always trust each other.

If there was anyone strong enough to establish peace on the seas, it would only be Red-Haired Shanks.

And Redhead may have come home without an arm or a leg, but he would certainly never stop fighting until he returned to the love of his life alive. He would never allow himself to leave Mihawk completely alone in this world.

Hence, the warlord's only option was to stay on this part of the Grand Line and promise to look after the interests of the Red-Hair Pirates in their absence, and to wait alone and patiently for his beloved to return to him and their home.

Even if it hurt more than the nastiest wound inflicted by the edge of a poisoned blade.

- “...Then could you take care of it?” - asked Sengoku in a gruff, yet clearly uncertain voice. The man was more than tired of issuing reprimands and commands to unruly and arrogant warlords, but the admiral definitely did not want to offend the most dangerous individual of their whole messed-up bunch, especially now that the golden, hawkish eyes were piercing him to death.

As assumed, Mihawk was expected (again) to perform a trivially simple task (again): find a particular island, infiltrate the island, track down the victim, capture or kill the victim (mostly kill, since the swordsman didn't have the time, much less the interest, to play the delivery man), notify command (they must have lost their minds if they think he's going to do that) and collect the reward (however pathetic it might be, although the heads of some pirate celebrities were indeed worth beheading) and of course, the rest of his mates can't get on with it because they're very busy spreading corruption, buying slaves, sitting in jail, being useless, or all of the above at once. Whatever.

In addition, the place the admiral wants to send him to is an island far to the south of here, which thus means that he and Shanks will actually be even further apart.

It sounds like the worst possible scenario, however, after thinking about it for a while, maybe accepting this assignment wouldn't be such a bad idea? True, the lovers would be far away from each other, but the Redhead is out of his reach in any case, thus the journey would (perhaps) present some sort of challenge to occupy the swordsman's mind and distract his thoughts from longing for his beloved, if only for a while. Besides, Yoru has been unhappily ranting for quite some time, demanding adrenaline and bloodshed, which Mihawk would have been happy to provide.

With another heavy and emotionless sigh, the swordsman tore his gaze away from the admiral's face, deciding that this was a sufficient answer on his part and that this ended their conversation. As long as two sentences and two sighs could be considered a conversation.

- “...Well, in that case, I'll take that as a confirmation” - replied a bit confused Sengoku, then began scribbling something on a piece of paper.

Take it as whatever you want, thought Mihawk, rolling his golden eyes.

- “I never thought it was at all possible, but today you're even more whimsical than usual” - said Hancock sitting next to him, her gaze focused on her nails, which she was nonchalantly filing with a pink file. – “I'm not even sure you were awake when I told you about the new silks I received from some other fool infatuated with me who thinks it will make me look at him” - she added, clearly pleased with the effect she received on her nails.

She looked at her fingers for a moment longer, then slammed her fist on the table and turned towards the swordsman with a disgruntled grimace, and if he himself didn't know better, one might have thought she was very offended at him. – “For that, I thought, indeed I am sure, that both you and I appear here solely for hot gossip!” - growled the woman, accusingly pointing her finger at the other warlord. – “And so far I haven't received any from you yet! Moreover, even in the matter of fashion, I have received nothing from you except an affirmative burble, where you know very well that only you and I have any idea of appearance here, unlike the rest of these animals that someone has mistakenly seated at the table with us” - she conflagrated, measuring the other men present with her eyes in clear disgust. Her gaze clearly stopped on Doflamingo, who was sitting with his legs crossed on the goddamn table top in his feathery pink coat, flamboyant and even more pink trousers, and shiny loafers, sipping with relish the strawberry milk from the carton he had been given at the beginning of the meeting to occupy his face with something and shut it up.

Hearing Hancock's accusation, Kuma and Jinbe, who sat closest to the two of them, looked at each other, then bowed their heads in obvious embarrassment.

- “I look great!” - protested an angry Moria, also banging his fist on the table in response. Hearing this, Doflamingo spat milk out of his mouth as he began to laugh hysterically.

- “Are you serious? I thought you and that feathered pink prick on the table was competing, among other things, for the title of holder of the worst look of this decade” - said Crocodile, measuring the aforementioned two with his gaze from above the newspaper he was flicking through.

Doflamingo momentarily stopped laughing.

- “What the fuck is your problem with my appearance?” - growled the blonde, measuring his lover with his eyes. – “Did you see those trousers? Do you know how much they cost? I don't, but I know they accentuate my assets perfectly!” - said Doflamingo, then knelt down comically and lifted his coat to show everyone his ass in its full glory.

- “Smooth and shapeless” - stated the other gangster, laughing in a low voice. – “Just like your brain”.

The blond shrugged his shoulders, then grabbed his crotch with complete deliberation. – “I'm making up for it with something else-“.

- “Enough!” - spoke Sengoku, silencing the discussion. – “Please, stop already, I beg you…”.

Hancock and Mihawk looked at each other with a blank but understandable expression.

- “That's what I was talking about” - the woman sighed, then turned her attention again to the cosmetics and other beauty products she had previously laid out on the table in front of her.

That the two of them ganged up on each other against the rest was not at all as surprising as it might have seemed upon further reflection. Boa was right in everything she said - they both liked to look good, wear gold, drink fine wine, and were both so bored with their everyday lives that they enjoyed gossiping amongst themselves about the adventures of other unfortunates, especially certain pirates under the command of an energetic, rubbery boy in a straw hat and, unlike the rest of the warlord system, they shared a certain fondness for these young and aspiring pirates. Of course, this sympathy applied only to the Strawhats; the rest of the community received the kind of (not always) constructive criticism they felt they completely deserved.

Many even considered the two of them to be siblings, because of how well they presented themselves, the way they looked down on everyone with nonchalant superiority, and how they used their superior set of genes acquired with birth to charm people around and wrap them around their finger, because even the deadly look of the swordsman's hawk eyes and the arrogant character and loud mouth of the pirate woman could in no way deny the fact that they were both enticingly beautiful.

Hancock was highly amused by the gossip and once joked that she would have loved to turn him into her Amazon sister if the swordsman had not politely refused her in time.

The two of them didn't try very hard to deny these rumors either, because, well, Mihawk didn't care at all what the public thought of him, and Hancock loved to be on the tongues of others and enjoyed the fact that she was constantly being talked about, especially since being the supposed sister of Hawkeyes further emphasized her mysteriousness and deadliness, people were curious and fearful of her actual power, and she, in her own way, took advantage of this with a smile whenever pathetic and mindless pirates, especially men, tried to get under her skin, in their hopelessness unsure of what an unearthly beautiful being related to a certain murderous and merciless hawk could be capable of.

Oh, and did she ever stop herself from teaching them this lesson?

Also, Hancock self-consciously called herself the Empress because of her beauty, and Mihawk, well, he was sleeping with one of the Emperors, so in a way, it was another thing where you could see some similarity.

Not that anyone needed to know that.

- “So? What's wrong, little brother, that you're feeling so edgy?” - Hancock asked, ignoring the noise of the other men gathered around them, now not taking her eyes off the nail filing on her other hand, and a genuine note of concern could be detected in the tone of her voice. – “I'm all ears”.

- “It's nothing” - Mihawk replied shortly, rolling his eyes with another sigh. – “I'm just... bored. That's all”.

As indicated earlier, our swordsman was aware of how much he missed Shanks, but he would never admit it out loud in his life. At least for the time being. And not in front of Boa. And even less so in front of the rest of the warlords and the fucking Marine Admiral.

- “Ah, you don't realize how completely I understand you” - Hancock said, glancing at him with her eyes for a second, which betrayed that she didn't quite believe the swordsman's assurances. – “I've been getting the feeling lately that there's absolutely nothing interesting happening on the Grand Line. Have people stopped chasing desires yet? Have people stopped getting into ill-considered romances? Are people no longer getting lavish divorces? It's scary to think where this world is going, I think I'd sooner die of boredom...”.

Hearing this, Mihawk couldn't help but chuckle quietly. – “In a way, isn't your power that you could help reverse this new, unwanted state of affairs?”.

Hancock looked at him, smiling mischievously. – “Are you really suggesting I start messing around between people in such a way that we'll have something to laugh about later at the next meeting?” - she said.

- “I'm not suggesting anything”.

- “You literally live for chaos, and everywhere you go, it's just to mess around, that's your nature” - the woman pointed her finger at him, not hiding her amusement. – “And you're lucky that I share that behavior. I have to think about it honestly” - she added cheerfully, refocusing on her fingernails.

- “You two won't think about anything, let alone honestly” - Sengoku scolded them, looking at the two of them with clear disbelief, which was met with brutal silence and a blank stare from the two warlords, suggesting they held the admiral's reservations in deep regard.

- “In the meantime, someone should think about their manners, as it's not elegant to eavesdrop on someone's conversation like that” - Hancock said nonchalantly.

- “Definitely” - nodded Mihawk, crossing his legs.

Sengoku lowered his pen onto the stack of papers in front of him, then hid his face in his hands.

The admiral's mental breakdown was one of the things on their to-do list during their meetings, so at this point, the supposed siblings mentally high-fived each other.

With a quiet sigh, the swordsman involuntarily lowered his gaze to the table where Boa had scattered her accessories, and his hawkish eyes stopped on a certain object that had caught his attention.

- “Could I borrow something from you?” - he asked after a moment.

- “Go ahead, help yourself” - the woman said shortly, not taking her eyes off her nails.

Boa Hancock only used products from well-known brands and absurdly expensive ones, because the woman, like Mihawk, would not satisfy herself with just the bare minimum.

Her gaze darted away from her nails for a moment and wandered following the swordsman's hand to see what had caught the other warlord's attention, then gasped aloud as he reached for the absurdly neon, glittery, and pink nail polish, so much in play with his gothic and somber appeal that the woman was momentarily frightened that her sight was failing her.

She watched in disbelief as hawkish eyes gazed into the tiny bottle with both disgust and incredibly clear affection until she couldn't stand it any longer and, after a moment, burst out laughing loudly.

- “Oh boy, what's going on? Are you planning some kind of radical makeover, or have you finally decided that you don't want to scare others with your harbinger of death disguise anymore and add a little more color to your appearance?” - Hancock asked frankly, calming her breathing with a hand on her chest. – “You'd look adorable in pink, not that you don't look good now, but seriously, where did you get that idea?”.

Kuma and Jinbe, who, as mentioned earlier, were sitting closest to the aforementioned two, were now looking at the grim-faced swordsman with affectionate smiles.

Mihawk ignored them all, both when he reached for the compromising item and when he tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat, all the while thinking of a certain ghost princess with an annoyingly squeaky laugh and big black eyes who, some time ago, along with a certain stubborn but persuasive green-haired boy, had ended up in his care for two years. It had been a while since the two children (teenagers, or rather young adults, but they would always be children to him) had left the walls of his castle to join their, well, real families, but that hasn't stopped the swordsman from taking an interest in their welfare, hence his weekly browsing of the newspapers for news of the Strawhats, as well as attending those cursed warlord meetings to find out something about them first-hand, as well as subtly asking Moria how Perona was doing.

The pink-haired girl loved all things pink and shiny, as well as all things expensive and costly, and she was even more fond of getting her makeup done and her nails painted (as Mihawk found out for himself, as he quickly became the first victim, and later a regular customer, of her manicure treatments when she stayed with him), hence the swordsman thought such a gift would appeal to her, especially as Hancock knew what was good when it came to nail care.

Besides, he was well aware that Moria, however good a father he might be, would not think of getting this for her, as he had no clue, and Perona herself simply did not have the money to afford high-end luxuries. Unless she would just steal it because she was a pirate after all.

The swordsman had no intention of explaining his action because, as mentioned earlier, he didn't care at all what others thought of him, and thus didn't want to draw the attention of others with his interest in Roronoa and Perona, for the sake of simply protecting their identities and not dragging them out in front of the bracket when it was neither necessary nor advisable, especially if one of the fools present at the meeting wanted to use this information against him and do the kids unnecessary harm. As if these two hadn't already been through enough traumatic events in their lives.

At least I won't greet her empty-handed, in case I ever meet her.

The warlord thought, then noticed that Boa was still staring at him with obvious confusion.

- “Don't look at me like that. Don't you think pink would go great with Yoru's handle?” - joked the swordsman flatly, though he clearly rolled his eyes.

Hancock snorted loudly. – “I think you might be right” - she said amused, then tossed another two polishes in black and burgundy towards the other warlord. – “Take some more of these, though, in case you suddenly find that the pink on your nails has started to make you nauseous”.

It was quite late when the greatest swordsman in the world crossed the doorstep of his castle again, located on an island as gloomy as its adorable owner. Sengoku eventually didn't last long, and after some brief pleasantries, and with the greatest politeness the admiral could muster at that moment, he kicked them all out the door, allowing the warlord to return to his island much sooner than he was used to somewhere in the middle of the night.

After closing the huge and heavy front door behind him, Mihawk was met with an absolutely deafening and terrifying nothingness now surrounding every part of the interior of his equally terrifying home. After clapping his hands twice, the row of candles beneath the stone walls momentarily ignited suddenly with a magical glow of greenish fire, summoned at the special request of the castle's owner.

This trick, much to the swordsman's confusion, enchanted all his guests (i.e. the two wayward teenagers, Shanks, Uta, and the crew of the Red-Hair Pirates, as no one else but them, and Mihawk himself, had ever crossed the threshold of this house alive), which the warlord couldn't quite grasp, as he didn't think it was anything spectacular (besides, the same candles are on his little boat, so why is everyone suddenly so surprised by them?).

The brief mention of visitors to this castle brought back a memory in the swordsman's mind of when he had brought Shanks here for the first time. They were both about the age of Roronoa and Perona at the time, and the castle was a complete ruin - it was cold and damp inside, the windows were missing glass, and there were all sorts of objects strewn about the floor, including - human bones? - the ceiling looked as if it was about to collapse, and the staircase leading upstairs was completely ruined. Mihawk mentioned taking over the property that had originally belonged to his parents before the disaster struck and the island was razed to the ground, and the Redhead pledged to not only drive him to Kuraigana, but to accompany him all the way to the castle to make sure the swordsman would be safe (as if Mihawk ever needed protection? ) and, in the process, provide the other with some sort of support, as this was, after all, the place where the whole string of misfortunes in the swordsman's life (who, admittedly, didn't need the support, but appreciated the gesture very much nonetheless) began.

To admit that the castle was then a complete ruin would be an understatement. The interior itself was so intimidating that even the devil himself would not want to spend another minute within those walls, fearing for his own mental health.

Mihawk stepped quietly inside the main hall, his golden, curious eyes carefully scanning every part of the room around him. – “Honestly, I was expecting something worse than this” - he stated after a moment with a shrug of his shoulders, then turned behind him to look at the red-haired young man who had walked in right behind him. – “I just need to remember which wing the bedroom was in and I'll be fine”.

- “Mi, my dearest angel...” - Shanks sighed quietly, and a tender smile appeared on his face as he slowly approached the other swordsman. The Redhead rested his strong, tanned hands on Mihawk's shoulders, then leaned slightly towards him, and momentarily his face contorted in complete horror. – “I think I would lose my mind if I ever let you sleep in a place like this!” - he shrieked, then started walking around, dramatically waving his hands left and right, pointing to every part of the castle in need of immediate restoration.

- “This fucking ceiling is about to collapse, not to mention the walls, which I'm afraid to even lean against because they're about to collapse down along with the ceiling! There's no glass in the windows, no wonder there's such a bloody draught! And you want me to leave you here? To catch a cold, or worse, pneumonia? Over my fucking dead body! Speaking of corpses, it smells musty in here and I wouldn't be surprised if there are piles of skeletons lying under the floorboards who have created their own burial place there! ‘There's no way I'd risk some dead person still picking at your soul and dragging it away” - dramatized the Redhead, not hiding his displeasure at the state of the huge castle.

Mihawk rolled his eyes. – “Calm down, Red. It's not that bad, otherwise this castle wouldn't have survived so many years in one piece. Besides, this place belonged to my father, so I don't think any wraith would want to haunt here except him. My father was the Count and Lord of these lands”.

- “Count? You mean to say your father was Count Dracula?” - joked Shanks, but when he noticed Mihawk's impassive stare, his face suddenly turned pale. – “Your father was the Count Dracula?!”.

Mihawk rolled his eyes again, then started looking around his surroundings again.

- “So it's true? You know, this guy drank human blood, didn't like garlic and all that?” - continued the Redhead, now clearly interested.

- “They were just fairy tales” - replied the swordsman, sighing heavily. – “Fairy tales that later got the Marines interested in him, but they were still just fairy tales. My father was never fond of human blood, he thought it was too oily for his taste, but I beg you not to ask me how I know that” - Mihawk said, then looked meaningfully at Shanks, making it clear to him not to speak. – “Besides, yes, he really didn't like garlic, he was allergic to it” - he added, then turned away to engage in further exploration of the castle.

Shanks looked at him in complete shock for a moment, then his face twisted in deep thought until finally the young man shrugged his shoulders and moved behind his little vampire with a relaxed smile.

- “You know, Uta and I recently read such a fairy tale” - the Redhead began, wanting to fill the creepy atmosphere of the castle with pleasant conversation. – “The main character was a vampire, Count Dracula, who built a huge hotel especially for his daughter, where she could feel safe and could play carefree” - he continued, until he finally walked up to Mihawk, put his arms around his waist tightly and pulled him close to draw the attention of his ridiculously large golden irises, and the swordsman definitely did not jump up as a result of the gesture, and would certainly have denied it if asked. – “And at one point in the story Dracula's daughter falls in love with a red-haired loudmouth idiot, would you believe it?”.

- “I don't know what you're talking about...” - muttered Mihawk, clearly confused by how close Shanks was to him now, and how this tale had anything to do with... them?

But Shanks only giggled in response, then slowly released the swordsman from his embrace, mumbling something under his breath about ‘his Zing’ ...or something like that.

And Mihawk, at the time, did not yet know how much he enjoyed having Shanks' hands on his waist, when those strong, thick fingers subtly and with great tenderness embraced his hips and held the swordsman in place, how much he enjoyed the sight of his frank and broad smile, the sight of the unkempt stubble of a few days on the handsome face of a feisty pirate of twenty, the sight of the coarse copper hair on the sun-drenched chest of a young man who had spent his whole life on the open sea, sticking out from under his white linen shirt...

- “Yes, that's already been decided” - the Redhead spoke up, crossing his arms and looking at Mihawk with a meaningful gaze. – “You will not sleep here, angel” - he decided, and before the swordsman had time to protest, the pirate spoke up again. – “Not until the boys and I have repaired this hellhole”.

- “Don't call it like that-”.

- “Until then, you're sleeping on the Red Force in my quarters” - he finished, and without waiting, and thus allowing no further discussion, the Redhead eagerly grabbed Mihawk's hand and began leading them back to the exit. – “And don't worry about Uta, she'll be really thrilled that you're a vampire and that you're going to stay with us for a while longer!”.

- “...just her?” - asked the swordsman quietly, not knowing why, but he couldn't help himself, somewhat surprised by Shanks' excitement and deliberately ignoring the silly joke that had fallen out of the other's thoughtless mouth. After all, he wasn't really a vampire and he hoped the Redhead knew it.

Shanks turned to look at him for a moment, and an affectionate yet roguish smile appeared on the pirate's lips. – “Well, I think you do too, as it seems to me that you haven't replenished your blood for a long time, and I'm more than happy to volunteer for your personal blood bag”.

- “You'll also be my personal punching bag if you don't quit this nonsense” - threatened Mihawk, though the corners of his lips lifted, betraying his amusement.

And so they both left the creepy castle, which didn't seem so creepy anymore as they made their way towards the Red Force, holding hands and joking around, laughing to the point of tears while the moon cast a bright glow on them, pointing the way to their destination.

Mihawk didn't even notice when his hands went to his shoulders to embrace himself in the form of providing some comfort, and a tiny and affectionate smile appeared on his lips as, along with the memories, his hawkish eyes involuntarily looked around the main hall of the castle, now fully refurbished and serviceable thanks to the work Shanks and the rest of the men of the Redhead Pirate crew had done in the past.

Who would have thought that one of the strongest and most feared pirate crews on the entire Grand Line would do absolutely anything for you for a few bottles of vodka (unless they didn't do it purely for the free booze, but also to please and impress their captain's future sweetheart, but probably none of the people involved would admit what the truth was)?

But whatever the real reason was, the swordsman had to admit that they had done a really great job.

However, a few steps forward towards the stairs were enough for the warlord's relatively good mood to once again sink and die down.

Inside the dark and dingy corridors, the familiar beaming and joyful laughter could not be heard, nor the low and enchanting voice belonging to the Red-Haired Emperor, the pirate, the only man to whom Mihawk had given his heart, whose presence Mihawk longed for every day and every night, and with each passing moment he felt growing anguish as if his soul had been ripped out of him, leaving him with a painful emptiness, punishing himself and begging him to look for his half, which, in spite of himself, he had let go.

There were no peals of laughter or bawdy jokes from the eternally half-intoxicated pirates, tough and fearless men, ready to follow their temperamental red-haired captain to hell and back, and even to the home of the eternally awkward and sulking warlord, who, despite quiet complaints under his breath, would treat them with the best alcohol he had in store, feed them to their heart's content with the freshest ingredients he had grown and harvested in his own garden and let them rest within the walls of this castle until they were ready to leave their hiding place again and face the next adventures and dangers that awaited them on the wide and untamed waters of the Grand Line. Before doing so, however, the swordsman will ensure that he has packed them as much food and medicine for the journey as he deems appropriate, and the Redhead will affectionately tease him and call him a mother goose until they both stand on the shore of the island to say goodbye and share one last soft and lingering kiss, promising precaution and their imminent return to each other. The endless parties of the Red-Hair Pirates were tiresome, yes, but their presence also meant the presence of Shanks himself, and that was enough for Mihawk to tolerate the hustle and bustle of the castle with the arrival of the Emperor's crew and their siege of this place.

Now, there had also been no loud bickering or arguing or teasing for quite some time belonging to the two children, teenagers, both as immature as they were too experienced for their age, who had tormented him for the past two years, constantly needing his attention and care, perpetually hungry, boisterous and eager for trouble, addicted to sugar and sake, teddy bears and frills on the one hand, getting lost and avoiding showers on the other, and yet their both expected but sudden departure made the castle as unimaginably dingy and gloomy as ever, the thick stone walls became overwhelming, and it took Mihawk months to stop cooking too much food, enough to feed an army or two growing children, or to stop walking around with a laundry basket under his arm to collect dirty clothes from rooms no one had inhabited for a long time.

At one point, he even caught himself notoriously cleaning the empty rooms after the teenagers, getting rid of dust and cobwebs, as if in the hope that the little monsters in their path would run into Kuma again and he would send them to his island again. And well, if that were to happen, the greatest swordsman would make sure the kids' rooms would be waiting for them, clean, warm, and neat.

For although the warlord had never in his life believed in fairy tales or fed himself foolish and groundless hope, and although he knew that the two of them would never in their lives have returned to this dreary place of their own volition, somehow the belief that they might have at least thought for a moment about their time here with even a tiny grain of sympathy meant that drowning here in loneliness did not gnaw at his conscience as much as perhaps it should have. Still, the swordsman thought, he really was trying to do his best to make sure that their stay here wasn't such a terrible torture for them.

And Mihawk himself, well, he was used to loneliness.

Ever since he was four years old and his parents lost their lives at the hands of the Marines, he miraculously escaped with his life after the attack on the island and, as an orphan, ended up in a nunnery under the care of nuns, loneliness had been a constant part of his daily life, the only part he could survive without clenching his teeth and howling in pain.

His hawkish eyes, though he cherished them for their practicality, led to him being dubbed the devil as soon as he stepped through the Order's gates. The rumors that swirled around his parents didn't help either in getting people to see him as anything other than a monster born of vampires, and the blemish on his eyes was supposed to be proof enough of the fact that his blood was filthy. Needless to say, his preoccupation with all sorts of blades and death did not help him escape punishment, including carnal punishment.

The world would be a better place if you disappeared from here.

He was once told by a nun who, once again this month, was condemned to wash his wounds because he had once again looked at someone the wrong way as was appropriate in his case, or simply appeared at the hands of the Mother Superior who downright detested his presence here.

When he was finally kicked out of the orphanage and a bounty poster was sent after his head, nothing had actually changed in Mihawk's situation, except that he no longer had a roof over his head and was facing - this time officially - execution.

So yes, loneliness was very familiar to him and he never felt bad about it.

And so that was it until he decided to approach the boy, pitifully sitting on the steps and resigned to the point where his whole life was in ruins, with a sword strapped to his hip, lonely as he was, and ask him awkwardly if he would like to duel him.

And it was the first time, since the death of his parents, that someone was genuinely happy to see him.

It was the first time the monster was welcome.

You can imagine the astonishment the young swordsman felt when they did not duel that day, he was not told to surrender or die and go to hell, but settled down by the side of a red-haired young man, not much younger than him, with a smile so bright and joyful, as if all the tragedy that had befallen him earlier that day had not happened, and the sudden appearance of the hawk-eyed devil in his life brought him such joy, as if he were a gift Shanks had been waiting for many, many months.

Mihawk remembered that he had then called him a fool, that he was glad to see him.

And Shanks then laughed, this asshole just laughed and kept looking at him as if he was blessed by his presence, worse, he started calling him his angel (him, the hitherto devil!) and started making plans as if he was sure Mihawk would follow him anywhere.

And the worst part was that he was absolutely right.

The Red-Haired Shanks was clearly just that.

Where everyone saw a devil, he saw an angel.

Where everyone wished you dead, he saw your future together and would fight those who wished you dead.

Where everyone believed and feared you were a vampire, he rejoiced in that and loved it as if it was your next advantage, even if you were not a vampire in any way.

And from then on Mihawk was no longer alone for the first time in his life.

Well, it was hard to enjoy solitude when you were allowed to taste the delicacy of the company of people who didn't hate your presence next to them.

Don't get him wrong - he still valued peace and rest from the world, but the swordsman realized at some point that he valued peace and rest from the world a little more when Shanks was around.

Now Mihawk was within the walls of his castle in an absolutely deafening silence that blatantly reminded him that he was enjoying peace and rest from the world in this very place simply because this world hates him and he had been forced by it in part to do so.

With a growing grimace on his face, the warlord made his way to the upstairs bathroom to freshen up after a day of traveling across the seas, and he swore he could smell the conference room of the Marine headquarters on his clothes, and anything associated with them made his blood boil, so he wanted to rid his body of the smell as soon as possible, lest he lose any remnants of his sanity and go hunting for the mariners like in the good old days.

The journey to the bathroom itself took little time, getting out of his clothes took even less, and after a while the swordsman found himself in the shower, where a thick stream of warm water momentarily softened the black strands of his hair and heavy drops settled on his long eyelashes as he leaned his forehead against the wall of the shower cubicle with a miserable sigh.

Something was gnawing at him. Something was killing him, he didn't even know why he felt so damn bad and that fact was killing him even more.

Was Redhead's absence really bothering him that much? After all, the man hadn't left and abandoned him forever. He didn't need to worry about fighting Blackbeard, Shanks was one of the strongest and most powerful men in the world, the strongest and most amazing man Mihawk had ever met in his life, and since the warlord was sure that he himself would have defeated Blackbeard without much difficulty, all the more so would the Red-Haired Emperor. So the impending battle between the two Emperors of the Seas was not the reason for his irritation. Their last separation had lasted a decade. And the warlord did not go crazy during that time, they both lived their lives and survived this ordeal. It had only been a month since Shanks and his crew had left, so it was quite a short period of time compared to their last separation, so enduring a little longer shouldn't be much of a problem, right?

The swordsman tilted his head back slightly, then rested his forehead against the wall in front of him again, using a little too much force and ending with a painful groan as he felt the pain caused by the unintentional impact begin to spread through his head.

How pathetic...

He reprimanded himself in his mind, sighing heavily and closing his eyes.

His hand involuntarily went to his face to comb through his drenched black curls, while trying to massage the throbbing pain in his temple.

This situation brought back to his mind memories of the last time the Red-Hair Pirates had been on his island for a visit, and Shanks had decided to follow him to the shower because he was a nasty pervert, but also a lovely lover who couldn't pull away and sit still without his beloved for more than five minutes. Of course, being as impulsive as ever, the one-armed man almost ran after the swordsman into the tiny shower cubicle, resulting in him obviously slipping and hitting his head on the wall.

- “Don't laugh at me!” - threatened Shanks, holding his head with a clear grimace. – “I did it on purpose”.

Mihawk rolled his eyes affectionately, swallowing a painful giggle in his throat. Of course, this red-haired idiot would be the one to make a stoic swordsman like him giggle.

- “I already know you have a thick skull. You don't have to prove it to me”.

- “Lucky for you, darling, a skull isn't the only thing I have that's thick” - replied the redheaded fool, and a silly, satisfied grin appeared on his silly face.

The warlord rolled his eyes. Again. – “Could you last at least a moment without throwing your filthy jokes straight at my face?”.

- “Asking me to do that when you're standing here in front of me completely naked and blushing? I absolutely cannot do that!” - denied Shanks with clear confidence, smiling even wider as his red irises shamelessly scanned the pale flesh exposed before them. – “Besides, it wasn't a joke, it was a fact and you're best aware of that”.

Mihawk rolled his eyes again, hopping from foot to foot with a small grimace on his lips, prompting a wave of laughter from the self-satisfied Emperor.

- “Be quiet already, and let me see if you've hurt yourself” - he scolded the other with clear displeasure, with a hand gesture ordering the red-haired man to bend down, which he did without complaint, falling to his knees in front of his sulking sweetheart.

- “And say even a word about the fact that you are kneeling here and your face will meet the wall again” - threatened the warlord in all seriousness, silencing the Emperor with a death glare when he had already opened his mouth, which he quickly closed a moment later, refraining from spewing another stupid joke out of his filthy mouth.

Pale fingers gently captured the red head of the adorable idiot, through the red strands of hair carefully and with the utmost tenderness scanning with a feather-light touch an area of skin, now slightly uneven, that had suffered a slip injury.

- “You've acquired a small bump” - said the swordsman, then turned away with a sigh to reach for the bottle of shampoo the pirate used most often. – “You're just like a baby”.

- “You know I'll always be your baby, baby” - replied Shanks affectionately, then his face momentarily lit up in joy when he noticed that his beloved was about to wash his hair.

The Red-Haired Emperor confessed one day that he loved the feel of Mihawk's fingers running through his hair, and that washing his head with one hand was frustrating, hence the swordsman has since committed to doing it for him every time they met.

Shanks sighed contentedly as the warlord's long fingers began to massage his scalp, deliberately avoiding the swollen area where the bruise was forming and instead following behind to start gently scratching his skin at the base of his neck with his nails, knowing that the Redhead loved it, causing the pirate to start purring like a contented overgrown cat.

The Emperor at one point put his arm around the warlord's waist, hugging his face to the other's naked belly, and began to place gentle kisses on his skin with complete affection, grateful for the care and concern he was being granted. His facial stubble scratched the swordsman's sensitive skin, causing him to flinch every time Shanks rubbed his cheek against his tummy, more and more, until the hitherto pale flesh blushed from the stinging teasing, which was both unnerving and immensely pleasurable, something the pirate was apparently well aware of, despite Mihawk not saying a word about it.

The warlord finally used a tiny amount of force to pull the overgrown man away from his body so that he could rinse the foam from his hair with water, and when he had done so, he combed the red mane back with his hands, now holding and admiring the handsome face of the rude pirate in all its glory. The red irises visibly darkened as they gazed into the golden, hawkish eyes of the swordsman with utter adoration and devotion.

Shanks rose from his knees, in no way breaking their eye contact, and all the water ran delightfully down his naked body, where the droplets raced with each other down from his broad shoulders across his overgrown, coppery-hair-covered torso, along his muscular and equally hairy belly, merging back into the Redhead's bushy happy trail, finally reaching along the long, straight path to the thick pubic hair at the base of the chunky and painfully hard penis, now heaving, blushing and bouncing with each deep and heavy breath caught by the Emperor.

Seeing the man's absurd state of excitement, Mihawk swallowed loudly, staring at the other in total disbelief.

- “You can't be serious” - the swordsman replied, placing his hands on the pirate's hairy torso and trying to push him away as he began to get closer. – “We absolutely do not do this in the shower-“.

- “We absolutely do this in the shower” - assured Shanks, leaving no room for further discussion as he pinned the warlord to the opposite wall and was about to lift him when he reached his hand up to the back of his pale thigh.

- “I'm too heavy for you to manage to take me with one hand” - the swordsman argued further, knowing full well that he would achieve nothing with this.

- “You'll have to believe me that the only heavy thing in here at the moment are my overloaded balls, angel, and besides” - replied the Redhead with evident satisfaction as he actually lifted the other and pressed his back against the damp wall, his voice lowered a whole octave as their noses almost came into contact with each other. – “I already told you I could still take you, even with my hand tied behind my back I would do it”.

- “It's still a lame pun-“ - Mihawk didn't manage to finish, moaning painfully as Shanks silenced him, kissing his lips with utter voraciousness and desperation.

And of course, he actually did it. Asshole.

The warlord sighed and opened his eyes again, hawkish eyes scanned the empty bathroom in boredom, and the only sound filling the deafening silence was the sound of water hitting his body and the floor below.

Swallowing the bitterness in his throat, he continued to shower, thoughtfully washing his hair and body until the skin on his fingertips began to wrinkle, finally stepping out of the shower, momentarily getting goosebumps as a result of contact with the cooler air.

After taking an incredibly long time to apply the body lotion and wrap himself in a towel, the swordsman walked over to the sink and stood in front of the mirror to comb out the wet and unruly black curls that always curled after contact with water, and when he had finished he reached for one of the two available toothbrushes, praying to God with great fervor and hope that his cursed beloved stinking red-haired idiot had a spare toothbrush on board of his ship and that, heaven forbid, he wasn't killing germs with mouthwash alone.

Which was still better than killing germs with booze, which he certainly drank every day.

Brushing his teeth, the golden hawk's eyes gazed in weariness at his reflection in the mirror, until at one point the warlord's gaze stopped on a faded scar located in the bend of his neck, just above his collarbone.

Pale, skinny fingers involuntarily traveled to the almost invisible stitch mark made ineptly by a distraught Shanks, just after Gryphon tore through the hawk's defenses and hit Mihawk, lacerating the thin and delicate skin near his throat, leaving them both in great shock as they watched in silence as a narrow trickle of blood flew down, staining the young Hunter's clothes a dark red.

Mihawk clearly remembered how horrified and furious with himself Shanks was at the time, and how long he apologized to the other and begged the other to forgive him, while the victim himself was utterly delighted by the circumstance.

That day was not only the first time anyone had managed to slip through and break through his defenses despite his hawkish gaze, but it was also the first time anyone had actually been able to reach for him. The Red-Haired Shanks had proved what a strong, clever, and stubborn fighter he was, and the open wound on the neck of the hitherto untouchable young terror among the Marine was irrefutable proof of that.

Shanks likes to remind him teasingly of how adorable the swordsman looked at the time, who, despite the bloody cut, then laughed and jumped up to the Redhead with childlike joy to hug him, as happy as ever to have finally found someone who is his equal (Mihawk, of course, does not remember such a situation, and would not admit it) and begged Shanks to always duel with him from now on, preferably as often as possible.

The Redhead was not happy with his action, but neither could he stay angry for long as he looked at the happy face of the usually sullen and sad swordsman and stopped trying to reason with the other as he clumsily tried to sew up a painful wound on the previously flawless pale skin.

Later, their good humor could not be broken either by a reprimand from Benn Beckman, who ordered them to be more careful or by the anger of Hongo, who resented Shanks for trying to suture the wound himself, not knowing how to do it, instead of calling his doctor, so that now a visible scar would surely remain on the swordsman's collarbone.

A scar that Mihawk had come to love from the very beginning, a scar inflicted on him by his dearest rival, his first friend, his first and greatest love, the only person close to the swordsman's heart.

The same scar that, less than a week later, had found its way onto Shanks by courtesy of Yoru, in exactly the same place on the Redhead's body, which had been sewn up later by Mihawk's more precise and delicate fingers and which meant that they now matched in every way.

And although the warlord treated his scar as if it were his greatest gift, the Emperor still seemed moved by the event, despite the time that had passed since then, and left a tender kiss in the bend of Mihawk's neck, just above his scar, every time they met, as if silently apologizing for ever daring to mutilate the beautiful body standing before him in his arms.

Tenderly tracing with his fingertips the distinct unevenness on his skin, the swordsman didn't realize when his thoughts once again began to return to the memories of when they were both aboard the Red Force, the sun slowly beginning to emerge from the horizon and warm rays making their way through the tiny window into the interior of the cabin belonging to the red-haired captain, while they were busy with their morning toilet, getting ready to leave and start another day full of surprises. Well, that is to say, Mihawk miraculously managed to disentangle himself from the bedsheets and get out from under the tight and heavy arm belonging to a certain red-haired fool so that he could start getting ready, while the said fool spread himself lazily on the bed like a frog on a stone in the rain and smiled nastily as he watched his beloved pottering around his bedroom, looking for clean clothes.

Mihawk was about to start styling his hair when from the corner of his eye he noticed that the captain of the ship they were on, the Emperor of the Seas by the way, and his affectionate and goofy lover, was still lying on the bed watching him, pretending to be asleep as soon as the hawk eyes glanced at him.

With a sigh, the warlord walked over to their shared bed to lift his barefoot off the ground and press it against the Redhead's lazy body, and with a small amount of pressure, trying to force the other to move.

- “I know you're awake, and you know you can't lie here indefinitely, so stop dragging this out and get up eventually” - he began in a voice still rough from sleep, trying to drag the unruly brat in the form of a grown man out of bed. – “Eventually one of your people will come in here and start knocking on the door, calling you to come down to the morning meeting, which should start in less than fifteen minutes”.

- “And I don't want to be judged and teased later for being the reason for your laziness” - he added quickly, then went to the dresser to look for clean clothes for the red-haired sloth.

Getting up on his feet shortly after he found what he was looking for, he left the clothes on the chair, then approached the bed again when he saw that Shanks had not moved even an inch.

Mihawk sighed heavily. – “You have two choices: either you listen to me politely and eventually get up-”.

- “I choose the second option” - replied the Redhead quickly, hiding a nasty smile in his pillow.

- “or I will use a physical form of violence-”.

- “After thinking about it for a while, I think the first option sounds extremely tempting” - Shanks said, rising lazily from the mattress and yawning dramatically as he moved his arm, causing his muscles to tense up and the stiffness in his back to subside with a loud crunch in his bones. – “It's still so very generous of you, angel, to let me choose after all”.

The warlord rolled his eyes affectionately, then reached out to comb his fingers through strands of red hair unruly from the night and pull them back, before leaning in to place a soft kiss on the top of the Redhead's head. – “You deserve it, and especially the second option, but know my mercy too. Now get up and go get ready”.

However, before the swordsman had time to straighten up again, a thick arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him onto the bed with enough force that he landed and settled on the Emperor's lap before he could register that he had been forced to do so at all (and the swordsman blamed the early hour of the day for this state of affairs, rather than the likelihood that he enjoyed Shanks taking what he wanted and testing his luck at forcing Mihawk to obey him).

However, before the warlord had time to sigh once more and reconsider the option of using a form of physical violence, the Emperor squeezed his arm around his waist and then hugged him tightly, burying his face in the bend of his pale neck.

- “Good morning” - Shanks muttered, and Mihawk felt warm lips place a soft kiss on his collarbone, just above the scar Shanks had left on him almost over a decade ago. Instantly, that single gesture turned into a succession of tender and feather-light kisses, and the swordsman put his hands around the back of his red head, stroking and caressing his hair with extreme tenderness, until finally one of his hands traveled lower, stopping on his shoulder where the scar had been, left by Yoru in the bend of the Emperor's own neck. Pale fingers traced the mark on the tanned skin, and Mihawk himself would have placed his kiss there if the redhead had not, at that moment, made it possible for him to do so by his own actions, so all that was left for him now was to massage that particular spot with his hand, along with leaving kisses along the Redhead's temple, and where the warlord could simply reach now.

- “You leave kisses on that scar every time before we get out of bed in the morning, and then every night before we go to sleep” - began Mihawk calmly, deciding to ask a question he was rather sure he already knew the answer to. – “You probably thought I didn't notice it, but I did. The wound healed a long time ago, so why?”.

Leaving one last kiss on the swordsman's neck, Shanks finally pulled away from the blushingly kissed skin, then leaned back enough to gaze with a smile into the most beautiful gold he had ever seen and appropriated in his entire pirate career, all locked inside the irises of the most beautiful being on this earth currently sitting on his lap.

- “Seeing the beautiful smile on your face that day, as you finally met someone worthy of fighting Yoru, made me realize how much I love your smile” - Shanks said, then moved closer to place a soft kiss on the corner of Mihawk's mouth before moving along the other's jaw, as if he couldn't get enough of kissing and caressing that pale skin and everything about it. – “Later, however, I looked at the sword in my hand, where the tip of the blade was tinged red, the same color as the one on the glaring wound just above your collarbone, from which blood had begun to ooze and flow downwards...” - he continued as his lips found their way to the swordsman's neck again. – “Then it dawned on me how close I had come to hitting not your collarbone but your carotid artery, the one decision I had automatically dismissed in my mind as I tried on the attack that would have made you fall from my hand, and my arms would have been the only thing that would have held you as you gave your last breath in front of me” - he continued to say, and then pressed his lips to the spot where he could feel the pulse and circulating blood just beneath the thin layer of skin, relatively so easy to pierce if Mihawk ever allowed it.

- “And where in the eyes of an ordinary person I would have seen fear, grief, or perhaps death itself, you would have laughed and given me the most beautiful smile I had ever seen, you would have happily entrusted your fate into my hands, and no matter what decision I would have made at the time, you would never have looked at me any differently, because you were damn sure you were going to get out of it anyway, because you wouldn't die until you played along until you proved to me that you'd do it better.’ - He giggled, moving his kisses down his neck until they rested again on the scar left by Gryphon's blade. – “That's when I felt like a weight had fallen off me, you know, my love? I think in that moment I realized that I felt the same as you at the time - I had met someone like me who was not afraid. Someone who would encourage me to play with fate, to try and jump into the abyss so that I would see that even falling from heights wouldn't ultimately hurt as much as I feared, that in the end, everything would be okay because I was strong enough to cope. Someone lonely, completely like me, someone who is my mirror image, yet is everything that is missing in me and completes me in every way. Someone who would allow me to be sad after the death of a man who was like a father to me, who would allow me to feel grief as a result of all my friends leaving me, and at the same time would stand by me and hold my hand when I'm drowning, and allow me to attack him and even fatally hurt him so that I would understand that death is inevitable but doesn't have to be final, even more so when that someone is a man in whom the same fire burns, and unlike other people, he won't stop fighting until I do, but when I do, he'll kick my ass hard enough to make me hurry up and start fighting again” - he said, leaving a truly final kiss this time (only until tonight) on the scar above the swordsman's collarbone, and a sincere and truest smile appeared on his lips, a smile completely different from the rest of the false smiles he throws at everyone around him, a true smile, the most tender one, reserved for only one person, because he was the only one who could raise it and he was the only one who deserved it.

- “And after all this time I realized that I love the whole of you, not just your beautiful smile” - concluded the Redhead, then snuggled into the warlord's neck and held his body with the certainty of a pirate who never intended to give up his most precious treasure to the world or anyone else, not even death. – “Kissing this mark is not only an apology for hurting you, angel, but also a reminder of how especially important you are to me. I have engraved my sign on you, for which I apologize, but I am also grateful to have been able to do so”.

Mihawk listened intently to every word that was spoken by Shanks into his skin and felt each word being carved into the place where the Red-Haired Emperor's lips stopped and touched him, so gently and yet enough to make the feeling of the kiss still last, despite the warm lips already being somewhere else entirely. The moment Shanks pulled away from his neck, the swordsman took advantage to kiss the scar above the Redhead's collarbone, hoping that the pirate would understand the mutuality of the affection shown to him, for although the warlord was not as good at using sweet words as his lover, his love for the other was just as passionate and immense, which, fortunately for him, Shanks was well aware of. No one loved and would love him as much as his beloved, faithful, and devoted little hawk.

Mihawk only awoke from being overwhelmed by all these emotions when Shanks began to rub against him, and his stubble of several days began to pinch and prick the delicate skin of his neck.

It was only now, too, that the swordsman realized that he was no longer sitting on the Emperor's lap, but was pinned and pressed against the mattress beneath them, while Shanks continued to rub against him and continued to shower his neck and cleavage with kisses, along with spreading the stinging sensation caused by his sickly rough stubble. Pale fingers quickly found their way to his russet hair-covered chest, trying awkwardly to push away the man who was constantly harassing him and clearly wasn't going to stop.

Panic only set in when the hard tent in the Redhead's ridiculous trousers began to rub against him between his legs, and the pirate pressed his weight against him for good.

- “Shanks-”.

- “Take it easy, angel, we still have fifteen minutes left” - reassured the Redhead, as if fifteen minutes meant an infinite amount of time. – “In that time I will manage to come inside you at least twice and still lick you clean at the very end”.

The warlord gasped painfully as Shanks pressed their crotches together in one fluid motion of his hips, at which he lowered himself just enough to look straight into the golden eyes before him, their noses almost touching.

The Red-Haired Emperor smiled mockingly as he licked his lips lustfully. – “The next sound I hear will accompany me throughout this fucking meeting and the rest of the morning-”.

- “Boss, you lazy piece of shit, get your goddamn ass over here and go straight to the navigation booth, or I'll drag you there myself by that damn red grass on your head” - Benn Beckman's rough voice rang out in their bedroom as the aforementioned man opened the door without knocking and stepped inside, approaching the couple, completely undeterred by how compromised a position he found them in here. It was as if the man had completely expected to find them in exactly this position, or even worse. Fucking asshole. – “Good morning, Hawkeyes” - the man added after a moment.

- “What the hell are you doing here, Beck?” - Shanks visibly stiffened, and his earlier smile turned into a nasty grimace as he now looked at his first mate with obvious annoyance. – “You all have one fucking rule: don't come into my cabin, especially when Hawky is accompanying us, one rule, and you had to break it any way, you bloody asshole! Couldn't you have waited fifteen minutes? I would have been there in time!”.

- “Why are you so nervous, boss? Did I disturb you in something? My role as your first mate is to make sure you get to the meeting all right” - Beckman said, completely failing to hide the amusement in his voice, then after a moment his voice became rough again. – “Besides, you don't have any fucking fifteen minutes, you damned bastard! It was said at the last meeting that you'd turn up ten minutes early at the next meeting as punishment for all those previous late arrivals”.

- “And who the hell decided this punishment? I'm the damn Captain here and I have the right to be late on my own ship!” - replied Shanks, now clearly furious. – “Besides, it still gives me five minutes before the meeting starts, so what the hell are you doing here so early?”.

- “So you preferred me to come in here when you would have been deeply involved in something else, rather than now, while you still have your clothes on?” - asked Beckman sarcastically, trying to comprehend the Redhead's objectionable reasoning. – “That wouldn't be a problem, I'd just drag you off Hawkeyes and lead you straight to the meeting, where you'd greet the guys with your wet and ruddy yuck on top, which is unlikely to be a problem for a hedonist like you”.

- “I'd prefer if you knocked next time” - hushed the Emperor as he wiped his face with his hand to calm himself down. – “Just give me my fucking five minutes so I can take a quick shower and I'll be there”.

- “You have three minutes and no more” - Beckman replied, then saluted the pair and left the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Mihawk was so fascinated by this quick and absurd exchange that he wasn't sure whether he should feel offended, confused, or amused at this point. In the end, however, he concluded that all he felt was an impending migraine, so he wasn't going to give it any thought at all. Still, inside he was glad that no one blamed him for the Redhead's absentmindedness and that all the blame fell deservedly on Shanks.

After a moment, the warlord felt the stinging but soft and apologetic pressure of Shanks' lips on his cheek, bringing his attention back to the red-haired man above him.

- “I'm sorry about... all this” - muttered the Emperor awkwardly, his pleading gaze once again shining with irritation as he glanced towards the door. – “I'm really going to have to start putting some boundaries on them, sometimes these idiots really push it too far...” - he said, then his red gaze refocused on the Mihawk lying beneath him, making him smile derisively again and lower himself, pressing their bodies together so he could whisper in the swordsman's ear. – “As for you, angel, I request that you go to bed early tonight, as I intend to return to the bedroom just before sundown and reclaim for myself our full fifteen minutes this evening” - he muttered this, after which his lips once again found their way to the scar at his collarbone (now for the really, really last time) and he rose from where they lay, grimacing as the tent in his trousers made it difficult for him to move freely.

- “I've got two minutes to quell the uprising, so I'd better hurry, otherwise Beck is going to get really pissed and hang me by my balls on the flagpole” - continued the Redhead as he reached for the clothes the warlord had prepared for him earlier. – “With you in the shower, it would take me three seconds at most to get there, but I also think I'd definitely never get out of the shower at all then, so for our mutual safety stay here and enjoy the morning, love” - he said goodbye one last time as he leaned over and kissed Mihawk on the forehead before moving towards the exit and almost running out of the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Being alone now in the captain's spacious cabin, lying on the smooth and silken sheets still smelling of Shanks' scent and staring involuntarily at the ceiling, still feeling the prickly and pinching sensation of the Redhead's stubble on his skin, the swordsman could not suppress an amused smile as his pale fingers came to rest on the scar, a mark left by the man who had stolen the remnants of his sense, the last scraps of his dignity and his whole heart.

Only the feel of the cool air on his still naked and exposed skin roused the warlord from his thoughts, and his pale fingertips absentmindedly touched the scar above his collarbone one last time before quickly finishing brushing his teeth and exiting the bathroom, ignoring the goosebumps and trotting swiftly along the dingy and cold corridors towards the bedroom so that he could get dressed and at least for a moment occupy his mind with something completely different from a certain annoyingly attractive Red-Haired Emperor of the Seas who was not with him, although the warlord wished with all his heart that it were otherwise.

After another ten minutes or so, the greatest swordsman headed for the living room located in the other wing of the castle in his informal, casual attire, holding a bottle of wine in his hands along with a glass, hoping that his favorite treat would somehow make him feel better and that the rest of the evening would not be so hopeless after all.

However, as soon as he sat down in his favorite armchair, he poured himself a generous glass of ruby liquor and listened to the complete and deafening silence filling every corner of both the living room and the entire castle, while his eyes scanned the walls, finding absolutely nothing to catch his attention, Mihawk found that he felt even worse than he had less than twenty minutes ago.

Trying to swallow the bitterness caused by - well, by what this time? Boredom? Or loneliness? Longing for the Redhead? In either case, he found it embarrassing - the warlord began pacing around the room, contemplating his own helplessness.

Until now, sitting for days in the darkness of his castle had not bothered him that much. Of course, he was a curious man, and his nature even urged him to venture out where he would find something exciting.

However, as time passed, he realized more and more that he would always be met with disappointment wherever he went. Everyone seemed to be looking for One Piece, which he didn't care about at all, everyone was battling for the title of pirate king, which he cared even less about, and all those who challenged him by suggesting he didn't deserve his title were turning out to be even more pathetic than all the previous ones put together.

The only interesting case was the young Roronoa, but the boy was nevertheless still too inexperienced and reckless to face him at the moment, although he certainly didn't lack courage, it would still be a long time before the young swordsman mastered the Haki technique enough to cause Mihawk even a little trepidation.

His captain - a boy in a straw hat belonging to Shanks - also seemed to be an interesting case, and proved it more than once if only by causing trouble for some warlords, much to the amusement of the swordsman, but still - it was nice to find out what kind of mayhem Monkey D. Luffy had wrought this time, but the boy, apart from causing a sensation, was not a swordsman, so by the same token he had nothing to offer Mihawk except to amuse him from time to time.

So yes, at this point the world has absolutely nothing to offer him. The greatest swordsman could at any time sail to any island, be on any ship, or visit any base and make an absolutely bloody massacre there, and no one would be able to stop him. No worthy opponent. Virtually no consequences. There was no prison from which Mihawk could not manage to escape. The Marines were well aware that their contract with the swordsman meant absolutely nothing to him, except that he could live in peace on his island, weeding his garden and sleeping from morning to night. If the swordsman decided to break his contract, the mariners would again have a problem with him, not the other way around.

A swordsman could lift a finger and the world would bend for him and it was all bloody boring.

And this is where Shanks comes in.

The one, absolutely insane and always unpredictable Red-Haired Shanks.

A man who would always find a way to surprise him. A man who showed the swordsman's so far black and white world in a completely different color - red, the most beautiful color Mihawk had ever met - the color of wine, the color of blood, the color of Shanks himself.

The only man who could and did have a real impact on the swordsman's life. A man who could both push him into action and stop him if he wanted to. It was enough for him to just try.

A man who stopped wars and declared them when he thought it was right.

A man who loved as strongly as he fought.

The only man Mihawk feared he would never be able to defeat. Because just looking into the Redhead's eyes made Mihawk feel defeated.

Because no matter how hopeless the swordsman's life seemed to be, Shanks made Mihawk see some hope in his life. The Redhead made it worth waiting for another day, for another week, a whole decade. The swordsman would wait indefinitely, despite all the pain, boredom, and longing, to see Shanks again.

So when Shanks confessed that he loved Mihawk and had feelings for him that were as burning and consuming as the swordsman's feelings for him, the warlord, for the first time in his life, sincerely wished that he could live long, as long as he would be the object of the Red-Haired Emperor's love.

Being so deeply in love for the first time was frankly an exciting event in the swordsman's life, and being Shanks' lover, his other half, his love, was an interesting occupation, as it was so different from the warlord's previous daily routine that he craved knowledge of the feeling of being adored, of being loved by such an amazing man as Shanks was.

It was also exciting, in a way, to take care of two unruly and ungrateful brats for two years, putting Mihawk in the role of caretaker and mentor for the first time in his life, and to be honest, it was something he had never done before and that fact alone made it exciting, far more so than all the predictable fights and duels he had fought over the past years.

Therefore, now that he was again forced to relive his previous life, without Shanks and the two teenagers, in the darkness and silence of his gloomy castle, completely isolated and left alone, it all made him now bored, and simply in the world unhappy.

Leaving the heart-wrenching room, Mihawk settled himself on the balcony, ignoring the evening chill in the air and sitting now on the stone balustrade, while the romantically cloudless sky showed before his golden eyes the moon in all its glory, which with its bright glow illuminated the pale and painfully sad face of a lover suffering from longing for his beloved.

In moments of exceptional sadness, such as now, when Shanks' absence was particularly heartbreaking, the swordsman would go out onto the balcony and gaze at the moon, wondering how much they had in common, as they were both forced to chase and miss their sun, without which they could never shine as beautifully and brightly as they did tonight.

He was snapped out of his deep contemplation by the sound of... the sound of... crunching? Hawkish eyes automatically and with almost animal-like reflexes focused on the source of the mysterious sound, rudely interrupting his time to contemplate his own misfortune, only to notice a humandrill in front of him, sitting in the corner of the balcony (how did he even get here?), and more strangely, dressed... in a pink tutu? (this was surely Perona's fault) and eating a turnip. From his garden. Not only did these two teenagers teach these creatures to break into someone's house, but they also taught them to steal and take things without asking.

- “What did I tell you about going into the garden and stealing my crops?” - asked Mihawk offhandedly, wondering partly to himself that he was trying to talk to an ape-like creature at all.

Humandrill glanced up at him, his baboon eyes free of deeper thoughts, watching the owner of the estate with an almost childlike curiosity, as if the mere presence of Mihawk was extremely interesting to him, then stretched his baboon-like, huge hands towards him, as if he wanted to hand the swordsman a half-eaten turnip.

The warlord snorted and rolled his eyes.

- “Treat yourself” - he sighed, once again turning his gaze towards the moon, while the huge creature in the corner of his balcony began munching the stolen snack again. – “But if I catch you again, I'll eviscerate you and your entire family” - added the swordsman, and from behind him, he heard a quiet murmur, as if the animal understood what he had just said.

Mihawk sighed again, then groaned and hid his face in his hands.

This is what a month of longing for Shanks does to him. Out of loneliness, he starts fraternizing with the baboons.

Although they still seem to be better company than the warlords, who sometimes behave worse than animals in the wild.

The swordsman decided to get up after a while, considering that he actually deserved dinner too. With a slow step, he turned towards the exit, measuring the baboon with his eyes one last time. – “Get out of here and get back to your own, and don't give me any more trouble, or I'll make good on my threat”.

Humandrill put the rest of the turnip in his maw, then stood up and jumped over the railing, still wearing that ridiculous pink tutu, making an unintelligible goodbye sound.

The warlord, meanwhile, watched the baboon disappear into the darkness, then headed back to the castle himself, closing the door behind him in case the creatures became bold enough to come in after him and live as well.

To everyone's great surprise, or maybe not, perhaps it was quite logical in its own way, the greatest swordsman in the world really loved to cook, and the kitchen was his favorite room, right after his garden, whose welfare he sometimes cared for more than his own. After all, it was impossible for the aforementioned swordsman not to feel affection for a place full of professional knives, right?

Knives, and well-cooked food, of course.

The past two years have required highly skilled culinary skills to be able to get two mean and mouthy brats to eat their vegetables, and the amount of cocoa drinks, green tea, bagels, and rice balls he has made has been beyond human comprehension.

Speaking of cocoa, he will have to remember to look in later and water the cocoa saplings he planted in the garden, especially for one of the aforementioned brats, the one with pink hair and wearing a ridiculous amount of frills and bows, loving cocoa in contrast to the other brat who absolutely hated chocolate.

How he managed to please both of them at the same time, he himself still doesn't know.

Truly, Kuma could be a sadist, especially when he decided that sending two polar opposites here was a great idea. Unless the man expected that if the two of them didn't kill each other, eventually Mihawk wouldn't be able to stand the constant bickering and would do it for them.

And now look at him, all the time thinking and worrying about the two freeloaders, who would have forgotten about him long ago if it wasn't for the fact that the pink-haired girl was still wearing the outfits they had sewn together (plus the warlord was forced to listen to Moria's constant resentment and complaints, accusing him of spoiling the girl to the point where she became even more unbearable), and the green-haired boy, well, his life goal was to take Mihawk's life and title, so the swordsman assumes that was enough for the younger one to still remember him.

Sighing at the mention of the two little troublemakers, the swordsman began sifting through the contents of his fridge, his gaze momentarily stopping on the absurd amount of fresh kimchi he had managed to prepare and casked in airtight containers earlier this week.

This sight brought to mind another memory that returned to his mind every time he cooked with the Red-Haired Emperor and his crew in mind. It was no particular secret that Shanks was actually a fairly simple man and it didn't take much effort to please this guy's palate, hence it was no surprise that such a simple dish as kimchi fried rice was one of the top dishes on the Redhead's list of favorite meals. And what's even funnier is that Mihawk was never so insecure about his cooking skills as he was when he decided to try to recreate the Emperor's favorite dish for the first time to surprise him.

The warlord, unfortunately, did not expect his entire crew to attend their dinner together, along with Shanks, all too curious as to whether the always-best-at-everything swordsman had risen to the challenge and prepared a better dish than the one the pirates had enjoyed on one of the islands located in East Blue, thus unwittingly causing their captain's golden-eyed sweetheart even more stress.

- “Forgive me, angel, for all this mess” - Shanks said as he kissed Mihawk on the cheek, then waved his hand towards the rest of the men comprising his crew, who were now seated comfortably in the castle's dining room in exceptionally good moods and laughing merrily as they began joking and enjoying themselves in anticipation of supper. – “All it took was for one of them to overhear that you were preparing a fancy dinner and the gossip quickly spread across the deck in an instant, and then they all refused to let go until I took them with me. You know very well how bloody stubborn they can be”.

Yes, Mihawk was well aware of this, especially as he watched a bunch of ill-mannered men attempting to open a bottle of wine together with a pocket knife, without waiting for the swordsman to bring them a corkscrew and manage to set the table properly. Some of them looked towards him from time to time and cheerfully nodded their heads or waved their hands, as if all these affectionate gestures were to make the tension in the warlord's arms automatically leave his body and fly out of the window.

Completely defeated and resigned to his fate, the swordsman sighed, then put a pale hand around the other's hairy and prickly cheek before placing a gentle kiss on the red-haired pirate's chapped lips. – “Go and join them. I'll go take the rice off the stove and come back to you in a moment” - he encouraged with calmness, although his heart was beating anxiously in his chest.

- “Aha, so it's rice?” - giggled Shanks, and his tanned hand reached towards the warlord to embrace him caringly at the waist and pull him close, while his thick and rough fingers played with the knot from the apron tied tightly on Mihawk's back. – “I'm already looking forward to tasting your next exquisite dish”.

- “Unfortunately, I have to disappoint you, as it is neither exquisite nor special...”.

- “That's nonsense, angel, everything created by these fingers is nothing less than perfection and divine craftsmanship in itself” - the Redhead denied, then let go of Mihawk to reach for his hand this time and then drew it to his lips to begin placing soft kisses on the swordsman's fingers, smiling mischievously in the process.

The warlord, hearing this absurdity, rolled his eyes, but snorted nonetheless, unable to quite hide how a few of these simple words from the Redhead made him feel a little more confident than a moment ago.

Mihawk turned his head away, trying to fight back the blush that was trying to cover his cheeks at the moment, and as he raised his gaze, his eyes were once again met by the sight of the Red-Hair Pirates, who were now sitting at the table in absolute silence, staring at the two of them, each trying awkwardly to stop themselves from giggling.

Furious at the fact that he was now surely blushing like an undressed virgin, the swordsman pulled his fingers away from the Red-Haired Emperor's mouth, then ordered him to politely sit down and wait, at which the man burst into loud laughter, then complied with the request with a flirtatious wink, joining his equally laughing crew.

A foolish bunch of foolish fools led by an even more foolish fool.

Cursing silently under his breath, Mihawk returned to the kitchen, leaving the aforementioned fools to fend for themselves while he busied himself finishing the dish and preparing the plates, and the more time it took him, the doubts from before dinner began returned to his mind with double force.

The always-confident swordsman felt overwhelmed and insecure for the first time since he had realized through Shanks that he was capable of love, which made him nervous, made even more nervous by the fact that he was really upset about something as trivial as preparing a simple meal.

A simple meal consisting mainly of rice and fermented cabbage. Nothing that Mihawk couldn't handle.

A simple dish.

Shanks' favorite dish, the screwing up of which would leave bitterness on his tongue for the rest of the evening. Plus a humiliating defeat in front of the entire crew. Still, it wasn't something the swordsman couldn't handle.

But when he tried the dish, suddenly the rice seemed far too salty in his opinion, and the fresh kimchi, which he had made himself from scratch by growing cabbage in his garden over the past weeks, now seemed insufficiently sweet, and the spicy paste now seemed not spicy enough.

Mihawk would swear that just a moment ago everything seemed perfect, so why does he now feel that what he has prepared cannot even be considered optimal?

This must be some kind of mockery.

At one point, he heard the door creak open, and when he turned around, he spotted Yasopp and Lucky Roux coming inside, their good humor quickly turned to horror as they looked at the murderous expression on the warlord's face, clutching the wooden spoon in his hand with such force that it really was a miracle it hadn't yet shattered in his pale fist.

- “What is it?”.

- “W-well... we thought we'd help you with the plates...” - began Lucky uncertainly, smiling nervously.

- “Y-yes, you know, it'll be quicker and everything... wait, is that kimchi fried rice?!” - exclaimed Yasopp in disbelief as he stared at the plates that had been prepared, and was momentarily joined by Lucky, at which point they both exchanged a satisfied look between them.

- “I'll be damned, isn't this the boss's favorite dish? We'd better bring it to the table as soon as possible, I'm sure he'll be very pleased-” - Yasopp giggled, then reached out his hands to grab the first plate, but before he could do so, a wooden spoon crossed his path with such speed that the sniper was sure he'd have ended up fingerless if he hadn't pulled his hands back in time.

- “I'll carry the Redhead a plate, you can take the rest of them” - said the swordsman, muttering a silent thanks in their direction for their help, then with a great and visible grimace on his face he reached for the plate, the first one he had prepared especially for the captain of this noisy crew, and moved towards the door, bitter like a defeated opponent coming off the battlefield.

- “Mhmm, that really smells appetizing!” - complimented Lucky behind his back, and his drool dripped as he dreamily took a few plates at a time, accustomed to it by virtue of the fact that he was the cook on Redhead's ship and did it pretty much every day.

- “Do you think the Captain will start crying with happiness as soon as the plate is placed in front of him, or will he be so shocked that it's only when his taste buds connect with his brain that they then give him the signal that it's time to do it?” - Yasopp asked him, giggling as he took the remaining batch with him.

- “He cries with happiness every time he sees Hawkeyes, he literally cried twice when we sailed here, so I think in his case both scenarios are possible” - laughed the cook, and then they both began giggling and joking, while the warlord was unable to share their enthusiasm, too bitter with himself and the likelihood of Shanks' imminent disappointment.

The aforementioned red-haired man beamed as soon as they came into sight, and the rest of the other men at the table began to laugh at what a pathetically obvious loser their captain was.

- “Wait a minute, that smell... does that smell mean what I think it means? Holy shit, Hawky, is it really-” - Shanks howled and stared in disbelief at the love of his life, then gasped, his jaw dropped almost all the way to the ground as a plate of fresh, aromatic, and absolutely appetizing-looking fried rice was placed in front of him, and the Emperor could tell by the smell alone that the dish was seasoned exactly the way he liked it.

The red-haired pirate looked at the plate, then at Mihawk, being in absolute shock and not knowing what he could say, no words seemed either sufficient or adequate to describe how he felt. It was really hard to get the Red-Haired Emperor to shut up, and yet the warlord somehow always knew how to make the perpetually chatty and confident pirate stammer.

- “Darling...” - sighed the Captain, while the rest of his crew looked at their own plates in similar shock, also quickly realizing why the greatest swordsman seemed so flustered today. The captain's favorite dish, made by the hands of his chosen one and served lovingly, was enough incriminating evidence. – “This looks amazing-”.

- “And that's where it ends” - muttered Mihawk quietly and anxiously, with evident bitterness. Through all the confusion, he couldn't really be sure if the dish had actually come out really as bad as he thought it would, but the mere fact that he was uncertain about it was enough for him as proof that he had failed.

The Redhead deserved only what was best. There should be no room for doubt on this issue.

- “I don't believe it” - said Shanks, reaching for a spoon, noticing after a moment that the swordsman had not tried to sit down with them; moreover, he had not even brought a plate for himself. – “What's the matter? Won't you eat with us?” - he asked with obvious concern in his voice.

The warlord merely shook his head, and the grimace on his lips widened as he stared at Shanks' plate with utter disdain, which was both amusing and adorable. – “Please, just try it, and let's get it over with”.

As for the kimchi fried rice, even more so prepared by Mihawk himself, Shanks didn't need any extra encouragement before a generously laden spoon landed in his mouth.

After that, things happened really fast.

The food found its way into the mouth of the Redhead, who chewed lightly on the first bite before his eyes widened in shock and glowed red, and a small flash of his Haki spread in a thin wave through the air, startling everyone around him, even the swordsman himself, before the Emperor's spoon hit the table with a clatter and he rose from his chair, almost knocking it backward, and walked away from the table, turning his back to everyone.

Mihawk watched it all completely confused, feeling his stomach clench from the anxiety he had begun to feel as he watched Shanks' back moving away without a word. Hawk's eyes scanned the shocked faces of the other revelers, who were focused solely on the plates in front of them, completely ignoring the Captain's behavior, despite Haki's missile and subsequent departure.

How badly did he screw up the job? It may not have been perfect, but it was at least edible when the swordsman tried it. So why such a reaction from everyone? The warlord didn't understand any of this.

Embarrassed enough by the awkward silence, and especially by the Emperor's literal outburst, Mihawk was already about to apologize and leave, except that he couldn't. He couldn't, because after only a moment had passed, the Red-Haired Shanks materialized right in front of him, his tanned, thick arm reaching out to stop the swordsman as he stared at him... with tears in his eyes? God, how absurdly bad was this dish by the Redhead's standards that it made him cry? And what are the housewives on East Blue doing that their fried rice is good enough to make Mihawk's attempt at it fare so poorly next to them?

The swordsman was about to apologize and reached out his hands towards the Emperor's stubble-covered face to wipe away the tears threatening to fall down Shanks' cheeks when the Emperor seized his hands before he could reach them and in an instant began to place soft kisses on pale fingers, hands and basically everywhere the Redhead could reach with his mouth.

- “God, you're just perfect...” - whispered Shanks into the pale skin on the warlord's hands like a prayer. – “What have I done to deserve such a blessing? How did the most beautiful and magnificent of angels come to love a wretch like me? I can taste the most delicious gift, though I am not worthy to breathe the same air as the loveliest and most sincere being that ever walked this earth...”.

His absurd confessions were getting out of hand very quickly, and fortunately for the warlord's mental health, he was unable to hear it all when a huge applause filled the room and a wave of praise and cheers hit Mihawk right in the face when he finally realized that it was all just nothing more than a clumsy attempt at drama on the part of the usually very straightforward Red-Hair Pirates.

A foolish bunch of foolish fools led by an even more foolish fool.

But Mihawk couldn't hold back a smile, especially when Shanks began showering his entire face with kisses, teasing him (as always) with prickly stubble, tickling his neck as he rubbed against him, and when the swordsman asked, just to be sure, if the dish he had prepared really tasted good to him, the Redhead caught his lips in a hot and passionate kiss, and the warlord was able to feel on Shanks' tongue that his fears about the dish were unfounded. The composition of all the flavors was simply perfect.

- “This is the most delicious thing I've ever had in my mouth, I swear” - Shanks said, somewhere between catching his breath and devouring Mihawk's mouth. – “Of course, right after every bit of your skin, every touch of your lips, every drop of your sweat and tears, every drop of your delicious fluids that you generously hydrate me with, every sweet hole found on your body-”.

- “Alright, fine, that's enough, you two. Stop it already, because the food is really great, but we're slowly losing our appetite witnessing... this” - Beckman spoke up from his seat, as always saving the rest of the crew from dying of embarrassment every time their infatuated couple lost themselves in each other again.

Shanks giggled, then left the swollen lips of the swordsman to press his own against his ear instead as he began to whisper, his hand moving towards the warlord's lower back.

- “Thank you for the kimchi fried rice with my lover's sentiments added. Next time, however, I'll ask for kimchi fried rice with my fiancée's affection” - the Redhead murmured, his lips brushing his chosen one's ear. – “But I think you are still missing a certain ingredient, but no worries, as I intend to deliver it to you personally”.

Mihawk stared dully at the inside of his fridge, not taking his eyes off the containers of fermented cabbage, at this point almost taunting him that he would not be able to use them. Not at this point.

Not now when Shanks wasn't there.

Closing the fridge and swallowing the painful bitterness that even burned in his throat and made it difficult for him to take a proper breath, the swordsman left the kitchen, concluding that he had no appetite.

Try to close your eyes for me and fall asleep, and you'll see that I'll be with you again before you wake up

Walking along the dark and dingy corridors of the gloomy castle, Mihawk decided to do what he always did when he was at a point in his life where he felt utterly hopeless. He trusted Shanks.

Chapter Text

- "You damned, monstrous, disgusting devil" - said the Mother Superior and her harsh and contemptuous voice resounded in the hollow walls of the gloomy corridor as she dragged the pale, emaciated child straight into the chapel, oblivious to how her clenched fist in anger caused the skin on his thin arm to turn blue from the pressure, and the child itself almost broke its legs, when it desperately tried to keep up with its caretaker.

The door to the aforementioned chamber opened, and the child was forced into a cool and darkened room, where there was nothing special except a neat row of benches and a huge golden cross, which hung on the wall and stood out with its ornamentation and uniqueness from all the rest of this at first glance very modest and austere surroundings.

- "Undress, now!" – a stern and angry female voice sounded, while the toddler tried to get up from the ground on trembling hands, whether it was from fear or exhaustion, it was not certain.

In the convent and the orphanage run by nuns, it was forbidden to argue with the Mother Superior. If this woman has decided that you deserve to be punished – then you deserve to be punished. What if you really haven't done anything? Well, the argument for punishment can always be your unclear background. Or those damned, disgusting bird's eyes you have.

The only choice you have now is to close your mouth and obey. Like an animal in a cage, abandoned and unwanted by anyone, who is trying to learn by force that it will never taste freedom. Because freedom is the right of people, not hybrid mix-ups.

It doesn't take long to take off a shirt that is too large from the small, bony shoulders, and the cool air around immediately makes the child shiver from the cold.

- "Turn your back to me, facing the cross!" – the next command and the toddler hurriedly fulfills it. The sound of footsteps approaching from behind reaches his senses, and his mind alerts him to the impending danger, though this does not allow him to react in any way, when suddenly a thick and rough leather belt slides down his back with great force, causing him terrible pain.

Now the small church hall is filled only with the sounds of blows and a series of intermittent screams, which the toddler ineptly tries to hold.

After ten even and strong blows (because every nun seems to be strangely obsessed with decades of the rosary), the soiled belt breaks away from his back, and the wrinkled hand reaches for his jet-black hair to lift the child's head and forces him to look at the cross hanging in front of him.

His golden, wet, and swollen with tears eyes open and stare at the great divine symbol, saturated with gold and wealth, so much mocking him at this moment, and at the same time being the only silent witness to his deep humiliation.

The boy feels warm blood slowly oozing from the fresh wounds on his back. He desperately tries to catch his breath, though it seems incredibly difficult when his throat is as rough and painful as ever.

- "Apologize to God and beg him for mercy" – the Mother Superior insolently orders, and the hurt child feels that something is breaking inside him.

What mercy? If this is what mercy looks like, then I beg You, Lord, never show it to me again.

If this is what mercy is, then he wants to remain the cursed monster that he is.

If he ever escapes from here and meets someone who would show him mercy, he swears by God himself that he will unleash a real hell on earth.

How could this boy know what mercy would mean to him? His parents are dead, he was exiled against his will and locked up here, among other children who hate him, among nuns who despite him, among the Marines that do not lift a finger and it is because of them that he came here, and on top of that, he has been disfigured by devilish eyes that make everyone mock him and always will be.

With tired eyes, he stares at the gilded cross in front of him, at the gold similar to the one enchanted in his irises, and the toddler begins to think that the only mercy he can count on from God is the one he would have to carve out for himself.

This golden cross, this time completely covered with dark and thick blood, clouds his last thoughts before the Mother Superior reaches up to her belt and begins to pray another decade of the Rosary on his wounded back.

This time the pain is almost unbearable.

Aggressive belt blows and agony continues until his mind becomes so dull that he no longer feels any pain. Before he knows what is going on around him, his beloved Yoru inexplicably materializes in front of him, and he stretches out his arms in desperation and reaches for the blade as black as night and presses its golden hilt against him, holding the sword close as if it were the only thing that could keep him alive now.

His beloved blade cursed as much as he was, has never betrayed him, and he never wants to trust people again.

And with this conviction, he would most likely have persisted until death finally reached him, if it had not been for the voice of a certain young man, who at some point began to cross his own path through his mind clouded with pain.

And it wasn't just the voice of a young man. It was Shanks, still an ambitious and aspiring pirate at the time, and a young swordsman would have recognized his voice anywhere. With trembling eyelids, he decided to slowly open his eyes, and he immediately greeted a wide smile on the face of a feisty young man with hair red as blood and wine.

It was his favorite color.

This is not how he remembered their first meeting. He was sure that he was the one who reached out to the abandoned and heartbroken boy with the straw hat and asked if he wanted to duel with him because at that moment it was the only interaction he could maintain and tolerate with other people.

But the smile on the red-haired rogue's face was exactly the same as it had been that day — a wide, sincere, warm smile toward a monster that didn't deserve it.

- "Why are you sitting here so alone, angel? Did anyone finally manage to beat you?" – Shanks joked, to which Mihawk looked at him with mock resentment, which only made the other snort with laughter. – "Oh, come on, don't sulk at me, you're too pretty for that. Will you accompany me tonight?" - the Redhair asked after a moment, then reached out to the confused swordsman.

It was his left hand. It makes sense, after all, Shanks was left-handed.

Still, Mihawk felt a tremendous uneasiness wash through his bones, but he slowly calmed down as he tentatively reached for the offered hand, so warm in contrast to his perpetually cool skin, and let the man pull him towards him from where he was sitting. After all, he couldn't feel uneasy when the man in front of him smiled at him so warmly and sincerely, everything else just didn't seem to matter at all.

As they began to walk, Shanks' warm hand came to rest on his lower back, and Mihawk almost jumped out of his skin, expecting excruciating pain from the wounds on his back, but... somehow, nothing like that happened.

In fact, it was only now that the swordsman realized that he was no longer a child, even though he had the impression that just a moment ago he was kneeling on the cold floor and collecting whips from the Mother Superior, who hated him to the core. On the other hand, he didn't get a chance to think deeply about what was going on here as the same warm hand brushed his cheek, making his golden eyes focus on the man in front of him again.

Only this time he did not see a young, ambitious, and feisty pirate in front of him.

In front of him stood an adult Shanks. Taller and much wider than a swordsman, with red hair messy slicked back, with a stubble of a few days that he always abused Mihawk's sensitive and reddened pale skin with, a sloppily unbuttoned cotton shirt exposing a tanned chest covered in even more red hair, with Gryphon attached to a red belt around his hips, with silly, brightly colored floral pants,  with stupid sandals on his hairy legs, with that stupid but charming smile on his lips that as always made Mihawk agree to anything the Emperor asked of him, and without his left arm, with the stump hidden behind the fabric of his shirt and a heavy cloak resting on his shoulders.

And yet, Red-haired Shanks never looked better in Mihawk's eyes than he did right now. The swordsman could almost feel his helpless heart trying desperately to burst out of his chest at the sight of his wayward but beloved idiot. He looked just like the real one, like his Shanks, as if he was actually here with him.

The warlord could not believe it.

- "Shanks?"

- "It's me~" - the Red-Haired Emperor chuckled, staring into his golden eyes with undisguised joy and love. Unable to restrain himself any longer, the captain of the Red-Hair Pirates put his arms around his waist and pulled him closer, while the latter threw his arms around his neck so that he could hide his face in there, and now they stood hugging each other so tightly and closely that there was no more free space between them.

Somewhere in the distance, the couple in love could hear the whistles and cheers from the crew of the Red-Hair Pirates, who were probably watching them now and making fun of them, but that didn't matter to them, not now when they were here together, safe in each other's arms.

- "I missed you so damn much, Mi. You know I could not leave this world in peace until I saw You again".

Everything that's going on here doesn't make any sense at all, but Mihawk just can't care about it now, not when his longing heart is finally where it should be — in the arms of a man without whose presence he couldn't last a minute longer.

If it was just a dream, it was fine, really. Just being able to see Shanks, even for a moment, was like the greatest mercy a swordsman had ever experienced in his life.

Unfortunately, apparently, God has decided again that Mihawk does not deserve mercy.

The first thing that alarmed the swordsman's mind was the fact that it had become strangely quiet around them. On the one hand, he thought that maybe the Shanks’ crew had just left them alone so they could enjoy each other in privacy, but on the other hand, Mihawk knew them better. This gang would never just leave them alone until Shanks had even started undressing him. It is only then that they realize that they have to leave, because their captain becomes extremely possessive, whenever the love of his life is at stake, and the sight of a naked warlord is apparently reserved only for his eyes.

Leaving a tender kiss on the red-haired Emperor's stinging cheek, the swordsman tilted his head back a little to glance in the direction where he expected to see the half-drunk men of the Red-Hair crew, smiling irritatingly at them, but the sight he was seeing was definitely not what he would have ever expected.

The captain's right-hand man, Benn Beckman, the sniper Yasopp, chef Lucky Roux, Limejuice near them, Hongo, all the rest of these men... They were all lying flat on the ground, completely motionless.

The hawks' eyes quickly spotted blood oozing from under their bodies.

These men... They all looked like... as if they...

The view was so out of place, it was so... Impossible... but Mihawk knows like no one else what a pile of dead, lifeless human bodies looks like...

After all, he was the author of more than one such pile himself.

Frozen to the bone by this absurd sight, the warlord did not even notice when the weight of the Emperor he held in his arms became stubborn as if the Redhair was trying to rest all his weight on the swordsman.

- "Shanks, something is wrong here. Your crew..." - Mihawk tried to alarm but was quickly interrupted as he moved one hand from Shanks' neck to his back and was met with the touch of the warm liquid on his fingers.

No.

Absolutely not.

The swordsman didn't have to look at his hand to know, but he did.

And just as he had subconsciously expected, his entire hand was covered in blood.

Blood... which can belong...

No...

Not again...

- "Red?!" – Mihawk tried to call as he smoothly threw Shanks' weight off him, then let them both slump to the ground so that the Redhair wouldn't accidentally hit his head on the floor. – "Shanks!".

He did not receive a reply. The Red-haired Emperor now lay motionless, as did the rest of his crew a few paces away, a thin stream of blood oozing from his mouth, and his eyelids remaining motionless as the last light of life left his eyes. There was no smile on his face anymore.

But laughter could be heard.

A laugh that, unfortunately, did not belong to the motionless man.

In the fog, somewhere in the distance, Marshall D. Teach celebrated his victory over Red-Haired Shanks. Mihawk could not see him clearly, as his vision was too blurry.

Blackbeard didn't have much time before Mihawk's hand caught up with him.

Let him enjoy this moment while he still can, even though he does not deserve it.

Now, however, hawkish eyes are focused on the fallen Emperor, and bitter tears flow down his pale cheeks.

He doesn't even know what he can say to his beloved right now. He doesn't know if Shanks will hear him.

He tries unsuccessfully to shake the Redhair's body, calls his name, and begs him to wake up. Shanks doesn't react, he doesn't listen.

There was no pulse on his neck, his chest didn't rise, his heart didn't beat loudly, and his ever-hot blood stood still, cooling everything that was hot before.

More tears fall on the unconscious body, and Mihawk begins to drown in them, he can't help but sob.

The swordsman did not cry when he lost his parents, when he was beaten and humiliated in the orphanage, or later when he was despised and treated like a monster. He was devoid of feelings, he did not possess them.

And well, wasn't that a beautiful lie? Just like apparently everything in his life.

Everything except his love for Shanks, the man who taught him to feel, to feel so hard and acute that now the swordsman is falling apart at the seams, from a loss he can't cope with.

Shanks' pain over the loss of his left arm was like a stake in his heart, it took him a long time to process that the Redhair would survive, that one sacrifice would not bring a man like him to his knees. Mihawk was afraid to love someone who would easily abandon him.

Shanks knew this, and yet...

And yet, despite what happened... Mihawk wouldn't deny the feelings he has for this man. He only wanted Shanks back...

He did not want the accursed mercy. He did not want sympathy. He wanted Shanks back.

He begins to hate his own powerlessness when he is not even able to hug the Redhead properly. Shanks is cold, and he lacks strength.

To pull himself together, without a second thought, he dug the nails of his right hand into his left wrist, piercing the cuticle until blood began to flow, wanting the physical pain to make him cut off from everything, as usual.

Well, this time it didn't cut him off from his feelings, but it effectively cut him off from sleep.

The current World’s Greatest Swordsman woke up with a silent scream, sitting on his bed in panic, wincing slightly as his body reacted faster than his still nightmare-clouded mind. A few deep breaths made him calm enough to sharpen his vision, which allowed him to look around and let the surroundings of his bedroom make him feel more comfortable.

In search of comfort, his eyes automatically went to the other side of the bed, where he used to meet the sight of Shanks drooling and snoring loudly, except that there was no trace of the Redhair.

…right. Shanks left on business, it is logical that he is not here.

It's really pathetic that he still hasn't gotten used to it.

Sighing heavily, the swordsman turned toward the nightstand, where his hat now rests, which has been here every night since Shanks sailed to help his allies. And kick Blackbeard's ass, in particular. Why a hat? Well, in its lining on the inside, Mihawk has hidden the red-haired bandit's Vivre card, which he checks almost fifty times a day, which by the way is another pathetic thing on the list of pathetic things he's been doing lately.

However, just as he was about to reach out to the hat, he felt that the wrist pain was not just an element of his mind during the nightmare, but a fact, especially when he looked at his hands and noticed that his fingernails were covered in blood and the skin on his wrist looked like he had been bitten by one of those feral baboons.

Sighing in irritation and lamenting in his mind the probable condition of his silk sheets, the swordsman slipped out of bed on trembling legs, trying with all his might to ignore the dizziness caused by the sudden awakening, as well as hunger, since the day before he had basically eaten nothing from... well, for a long time.

Looking at his wounded skin and incredulous that he had really hurt himself in his sleep, he made his way to the bathroom next to his bedroom. He quickly found himself in front of the sink, ready to take care of his problem as soon as possible, if not for his own cursed reflection in the mirror, which made him stagger backward on his own legs for a moment.

To admit that he looked like a real mess would be a particular understatement.

His usually perfectly styled hair was in total disarray, his shirt was creased as if he had just struggled with someone, his eyes were swollen and red, as if he had conjunctivitis, and his cheeks were completely wet with fresh tears. In addition, it was only now that he registered how sore his throat was... by God, was he really screaming in his sleep?

After a while, the warlord began to thank God that the two children had already moved out of his castle. How would he explain it to them if they saw him in such a state, or worse, heard his terrified screams?

Unable to look at himself any longer, Mihawk began to curse himself (and Shanks) in his mind, first washing his face with cold water, and then taking care of his wrist, washing his nail wounds, ending with a fresh dressing consisting mainly of bandages and plasters.

After making sure that his job was done properly, the swordsman returned to the bedroom to sit on the bed again and grab his hat, getting to the Redhair's Vivre card. The nerve knot that accompanies him every time he glances at a card, and which has only worsened tonight as a result of the nightmare, has loosened when the Vivre card in his hands has not changed at all since the last time he held it. It looked brand new, Mihawk tried hard to keep it that way, and its only lack was a tiny burn in one of the corners that appeared when Shanks lost his left arm, saving Luffy from the Sea King.

The swordsman traced the outline of the card with a gentle touch, and then, when he had enjoyed the news that Shanks was alive and apparently all right, he placed a tender kiss on the surface and tucked the object back inside the hat.

Taking a shuddering breath, Mihawk began to wonder what to do with himself. He was too agitated to go back to sleep (and especially didn't want to go back to that dream), but he was also too tired to do anything useful. He should check the sheets to see if he had accidentally stained them with blood, but he felt that he lacked the strength to do it now.

Instead, he pulled up his legs and moved across the bed to rest on the part that belonged to Shanks. For hygienic reasons, Mihawk had to change the sheets constantly, so he was no longer able to console himself with the smell of the man's skin left on the pillows since the Emperor had not been here for a long time to leave it behind.

He really wants to call Shanks.

But he knows he can't. He does not want to disturb him, and besides, there is a threat that they will be detected. For the safety of the mission, they should both remain vigilant.

So the swordsman forced himself to stay in bed, pulling the covers up to his neck. As he lay there, staring mindlessly at the wall, his cheek pressed against the Redhair's pillow, the warlord began to remember how pleasant it was to doze curled up, his head not on the pillow, but on Shanks' chest, enjoying the warmth and feeling of the coarse and curly copper hair covering the strong flesh under his fingers.

Shanks would kiss his forehead at one point, then reach out and comb through his night-black hair, gently scratching the scalp with his blunt fingernails, making the swordsman purr with pleasure and giving the Redhair the opportunity to make fun of him and call him his little stubborn kitten.

These moments are so sweet that Mihawk would want to vomit at the very thought, but at the same time, he misses them so much that he would do anything to have Shanks here to take care of him. To whisper tender words to him. To call him his angel and other stupid nicknames that nevertheless make the swordsman feel special in the eyes of another man.

After a few moments of cuddling and tender caresses, Shanks would lean in to join their lips together, sharing the air and everything that words could never express. After a long and passionate exchange of feelings, the Redhair's tongue would ask for access, pressing against the swordsman's lips, and the swordsman, of course, unable to deny the other anything, would let him in, letting the man taste him and moaning softly as the Emperor greedily took everything he desired. Then Shanks, spurred on by the taste but eternally insatiable, would rise from his seat so he could press Mihawk against the mattress below, while Mihawk would open his legs and throw his arms around the Redhead's neck to accommodate him, to allow him to be as close to him as possible...

… but not this time. Not when Shanks can't be here and has to go about his chores, and neither can Mihawk.

And the painful throbbing in the injured wrist becomes a tragic reminder of what threatens both of them in the time ahead.

The mission commissioned by Admiral Sengoku, as expected, turned out to be a complete disappointment.

Mihawk was not surprised. In the end, everywhere he went, he met only with disappointment and boredom.

Really, it took the swordsman more time to get to this cursed island than it took him to track down and eliminate the target, which turned out to be some pirate who apparently just did something rude enough to make the Marines take an interest in him (wow, this mission really couldn't have been more boring). The guy ruled the entire island, he had about forty small pirate ships, a small army of a few hundred men (Mihawk didn't remember exactly how many there were, he honestly didn't give a shit, he didn't want to count) and he was the user of a Devil Fruit that allowed him to turn his entire body into supposedly black steel, making him indestructible – to the swordsman's chagrin, one swipe of Yoru was enough, to cut this idiot in half (at least the shock on the faces of his men was funny). As if any of these pathetic things were going to stop the warlord from doing anything.

All in all, it was a complete waste of time (like all missions given to him by the Marines), and the journey itself did not make his thoughts wander any way from Shanks and his crew. Disappointingly, Mihawk really deluded himself that giving up and signing up for a stupid job would make him feel better.

Now he was somewhere in the middle of the Grand Line, balancing on his little coffin-shaped boat, alternately dozing and sighing, silently cursing his boring life.

In addition, he ran out of wine to at least get drunk with.

So now our poor, bored, and unhappy swordsman sat cross-legged on a throne in the middle of the boat, mindlessly staring ahead as he played with his fingers with one of the gold earrings near his ear, which were a gift from Shanks (interestingly, it's funny how much Mihawk refused to get piercings, only to get earrings from Redhair at one of their romantic dinners, and that same evening let Hongo pierce his ears with a sterile needle,  to be able to proudly wear the jewelry that Shanks had chosen especially for him and making the Emperor smile like an idiot in love every time he looked at him).

After a moment, however, he reached for the brim of his hat to lower it when the midday sun began to annoy and irritate his sensitive eyes too much. The perfect time for another nap, he thought as his eyelids drooped down. Luckily, he'd applied a special sunscreen to his skin an hour earlier, so he didn't have to worry about sunburn (he's learned enough painful lessons from the past, thank you).

It wasn't surprising at all that his pale, completely colorless skin was literally burning in the sun, and remembering this fact unintentionally brought back memories in his mind of (you never guessed it) Shanks and his crew, of course.

At that time, they were somewhere on a tropical island, where the only permanent natives of the local beaches were seagulls and pelicans, and entering the jungle threatened death as a result of contact with poisonous plants or the bite of poisonous reptiles.

The men, led by Red-haired Shanks, decided to use the sun-warmed ocean to play in the water, making some stupid bets on the basis of who could last longer underwater or who would last longer with a crab attached to a nipple or other, more or less blood-supplied part of the body. Just silly games for eternal children trapped in the bodies of adult idiots.

Mihawk, on the other hand, hid in the shade of one of the palm trees, sipping a sweet drink that Lucky Roux had prepared for him and enjoying the warm air and a moment of peace, far from the constant chase after real fight and marines.

The state of blissful rest and relaxation would have lasted much longer if it hadn't been for a certain red-haired threat, approaching him with long strides, with a nasty wide and contented smile on his lips, which the swordsman hated so sincerely (he loved it and would do anything to make Shanks always smile like that).

While the Redhair was still far enough away to notice, the warlord allowed himself to take his eyes off the devilish smile for a moment, so that he could wander and admire the broad shoulders, tanned, strong, and muscular torso covered in copper hair, stretching all the way to the loosely hung pants on his hips, which now dripped water and emphasized the Emperor's leg muscles and the outline of his cock, since this barbarian deliberately refuses to wear underwear, arguing that this way he can get to what is best for his beloved hawk more quickly (he almost lost his other arm at the table after that when he jumped out with this line during one dinner with the crew).

"This is just unforgivable" - the Redhair said when he reached his destination, the infernal smile not leaving his face, and even widened when Mihawk graciously gave him attention, raising a perfect eyebrow high. - "That you, darling, are lying there completely dry while I'm here".

- "Stop throwing these disgusting lines at me, and maybe you'll finally make some progress in this regard" - the swordsman snorted, crossing his legs.

- "But you love them!".

- "I hate them".

- "Ah, even a capricious and demanding bird like you" - Shanks began, laughing as he brazenly grabbed the warlord's wrist to pull him up. - "Needs some sun and entertainment!".

- "Try to get me out into the sun and I'll make you die" - Mihawk said deadly seriously, but he still let the red-haired idiot pull him to stand right next to him in the full sun. Jokes about the pallor of a swordsman's skin weren't just jokes, especially when the sun's rays collided with the milk-white surface, making the warlord shine as brightly as an LED bulb. This was quickly found out by Shanks, who immediately let go of his beloved's wrist to fall on the sand, moaning due to the sudden blindness.

- "Ahh! My poor eyes! I think I have glaucoma, or my nerves have burned out! I'm dying!".

- "I told you" - the swordsman grunted, now slightly ashamed, with a slight blush on his cheeks, kicking the red moron in the shin to force him to calm down.

Shanks rises from the ground, laughing loudly and exaggeratedly, groping his hand off the sand, then grabs Mihawk by the waist and begins to drag them both towards the sea, where the rest of the Redhair’s crew was now staying. - "Now I think it's almost my duty, darling, to give you some sunshine" - he said with a smile, before placing a tender and apologetic kiss on the swordsman's temple.

- "Let me at least go back for the hat...".

- "No, I won't let you escape! Besides, the boys are already waiting for us, I can't let them down, I'm their captain, you know?" – Shanks disagreed with a laugh. It wasn't like Mihawk wanted to run away — well, maybe he wanted to wait partially, testing the Redhair's patience to tease him a bit — but the sun was shining really bright, and Mihawk's sensitive eyes were quickly getting nervous about the excess light around him, and a small shadow might help. But as always, the swordsman allowed himself to be persuaded to do whatever the man asked him to do.

When the couple reached the rest of the men waiting for them on the shore, Mihawk was met with the same spectacle as just a few moments ago – all of them covered their eyes, either crouching and burying their faces in the sand, or fleeing towards the sea, groaning as a result of the sudden, supposed blindness caused by Mihawk, or rather his deathly pale paleness.

Shanks' half-friendly, half-warning cough rang out in the surroundings, and the smile on his face became noticeably serious. Beckman, receiving a quiet signal, called everyone to order, hitting one of the men on the back of the head as a sign that they too would take a hit in this way if they did not calm down.

Lucky Roux chuckled at the sight as he handed out another round of refreshing drinks to everyone, and Yasopp was already opening his mouth to crack another bad joke if it weren't for Beckman's hand reaching him next.

Mihawk really couldn't say what caused him to let himself be dragged into a game with these men (perhaps it was the drink's fault, or the affectionate gestures and kisses from Shanks, or maybe both), and then one game turned into another, and the couple had to be quickly separated into different teams because together they had too much of an advantage over the others,  which caused great dissatisfaction on the part of the Redhead (he could not be in the same team with his beloved hawk) and great satisfaction on the part of the swordsman (he could stab the face of the annoyingly pleased Emperor into the mule many times). And although playing in the water did not have much to do with swordsmanship, and although it may not have been so surprising, although he did not show it, the warlord had to admit internally that he really had fun.

And so the day passed, and everything seemed to be perfectly fine until at some point Shanks came up to him and asked him gently if he was okay.

And well... In fact, when the swordsman thought about it, he felt strangely tired and weak, which did not happen to him often.

- "You look like you have a fever" - the Emperor said with a slight surprise when he took a good look at his beloved. After a moment, he reached out to put his hand to the warlord's flushed forehead, only for the warlord to jump away from him as if burned, hissing visibly in pain.

Shanks and Beckman looked at each other for a moment, then the latter extinguished his cigarette and turned around, giving the order. – "Hongo! Get your ass moving here!".

After a while, the guy who was summoned, after jokingly showing Beckman the middle finger, approached his captain. – "What do you need, boss?" - his gaze followed Shanks, now focused on the sad state of the strongest swordsman, and the doctor immediately became serious.

- "Oh shit, that looks like a sunburn" - he said, approaching Mihawk to study his reddened skin. – "Don't you feel weak?" – he asked after a while.

- "I'm fine".

- "Mihawk" - Shanks said, looking at the other.

The swordsman rolled his eyes. – „… and maybe I'm not, really."

The doctor nodded. - "Try to hide somewhere in the shade, he absolutely cannot stay in the sun any longer. I'll go get something to help and I'll be back to you right away".

The Emperor thanked him, then nodded to ask Mihawk to agree to return with him back to the beach. Mihawk obeyed, not that he had a choice.

After a while, he was allowed to sit down on one of the deckchairs, suitably hidden in the shade under the palm trees, and only now did the swordsman realize how dizzy he was.

- "Oh dear, what's wrong?" - asked confused Lucky Roux, who was preparing drinks nearby, attracted by the commotion.

- "Sunburn" - Shanks explained briefly, and then ordered some of the boys to bring a bucket of cold water and some of the softest towels they had.

After that, everything happened quite quickly. Hongo came back with seaweed ointment and something else, and Mihawk was thankful that only his upper body had been burned. The swordsman, however, had to swallow the crew's playful nickname of him "shrimpy" until Shanks lost his patience and ordered all the men to leave them alone.

But before that happened, he felt like an experimental subject, when literally everyone came running to see what had happened.

And Mihawk really wanted to get angry, he knew he had every right to do so, especially since it was Shanks who had pulled him out into the sun against his will, hadn't let him take his hat with him, which would have made sure the effects of the burn wouldn't have been so severe and extensive, and it was his crew who had been dragging him all day on the beach in the open sun,  which is why he is suffering so much now. And to think that they still have the audacity to joke about him, calling him shrimpy.

However, in the end, the warlord simply could not be mad at them. He was bitter, it is true, everything hurt him, he felt dizzy, and he did not like to feel so vulnerable and weak, dependent on the help of others. At first, he just wanted to punish everyone with silence, turn away from them, and sleep through everything that had happened. But then Shanks came along and didn't leave his side until evening, constantly asking him how he was and what he needed. The ointment that Hongo had prepared for him began to work and at least the burning of his skin turned into a slight tingling. Beckman brought him a newspaper and a book so that the swordsman could occupy his mind with something other than pain. Yasopp told him funny situations that happened to Shanks during their last adventures when Mihawk was away. Lucky Roux brought him drinks to keep him hydrated, joining Yasopp each time, as the cook couldn't pass up an opportunity to make fun of the captain, as well as Limejuice, who remembered an embarrassing story that made Shanks blush like a beet and told him to shut his mouth. Building Snake had made a fire in the evening so they could warm up by when it got colder, and Bonk Punch and Monster were calling everyone to take their seats to enjoy drinks and company together.

Despite all the misfortune that fate sends him every now and then, Shanks and his noisy gang made Mihawk think back to that day more than once, thus making him... perhaps the swordsman longed for their presence and firmly believed that they were all right now, at the other end of the Grand Line.

Returning to the present, the warlord, still lost in thoughts and wistful memories, at first did not register a voice coming from nearby, calling his name.

- "Oooiii! Hawkeeeyes!".

Mihawk intends to ignore this, expecting the idiot calling him to come to his senses and leave.

- "OOOIII! HAWK-GUY! HEEEY!".

It takes more than a few shouts to earn the attention of the World's Greatest Swordsman, and Mihawk expected everyone on these seas to be well aware of that.

- "HEEEEEEEEEY!".

Mihawk was and will be a stoic swordsman above everything else. Only when the shadow of the huge ship obscured the sun over his much smaller means of transport did the warlord sigh heavily, then he forced himself to look up and look at the daredevils who dared to disturb his peace.

The candy and comical-looking lion at the front of the ship reminded him of something. Perhaps he had seen the ship before, perhaps he had read about it in the newspapers...

A jolly roger waving merrily in the wind, depicting a skull with a straw hat,  also told him something...

And the swordsman did not have to think long about who this ship belonged to when his eyes rested on a real straw hat.

A straw hat, originally belonging to the one and only irreplaceable Red-Haired Shanks. If Mihawk's heart beat faster at the sight, he didn't show it.

The straw hat now sat not on the red, but on the black hair of a loud, rubbery, and extremely brave boy, who himself sat on the very edge, smiling broadly at him, while some other boy, the one with the long nose, held him tightly at the waist, probably to ensure that the other would not fall overboard over the seas.

Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the young and aspiring Strawhat Pirates.

A small reindeer hung next to the rubber boy's legs, and his eyes sparkled like neon lights as he looked down with utterly childlike fascination, partially hiding behind his friends.

It wasn't long before another member of the crew appeared right next to Luffy – a green-haired swordsman, a boy whom the older swordsman had met over the past years. It was nice to see him safe and sound after such a long time, which is a good sign because it means that this boy is not wasting Mihawk's time and is actually exercising to get stronger and eventually surpass him.

The greatest swordsman might have felt a tiny feeling of nostalgia to see how the two boys, the captain, and his swordsman, had grown up since their little skirmish at Baratie's door, but as always, he didn't show it.

- "Monkey D. Luffy" - he greeted, nodding slightly. – „… and Roronoa Zoro. Have you finally come to decapitate me?" - he asked with feigned hope. Mihawk knew that this boy wasn't ready to challenge him again, but it was funny and touching to see Zoro frown, a tiny drop of sweat betraying his nervousness. Which was unnecessary, because the legendary swordsman already had great hopes for him and had no interest in ruining the dreams of the other halfway to his goal.

Summoned by the voice of his former mentor, Zoro snorted and gave him a devilish smile, but just as he was about to respond, a fist and a shoe pulled him away from it, digging straight into his skull.

- "Don't you dare!" – the girl with orange hair shouted, her eyes burning with irritation.

- "Forget it, Mosshead!"- shouted an equally irritated blond man with curly eyebrows, his leg burning. Literally.

Roronoa grabbed his head with a groan, rubbing the bruise, then drew his swords and threw himself at the blond, shouting something about stupid cooks and curly eyebrows.

- "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, HAWKEYES?" - asked Luffy, shouting when he stopped laughing at the behavior of his crew members.

- "I can hear you, so there's no need to scream like that, you know?" - sighed Mihawk, wincing as the kid's loud voice pierced through his head. - "Unfortunately, I have a job, unlike pirates" - he replied after a while. – "What about you?" – he asked after a while, deciding that it would be polite to ask for the same.

- "Tra-guy wanted me to swim east, so I decided to swim the other way because I thought it would be funnier!" - chuckled Luffy, almost falling into the sea if it weren't for the long-nosed boy holding him tight.

The greatest swordsman had no idea who this "Tra-guy" was, but he silently wished him a lot of patience and understanding for his ally, as he assumed.

So completely carefree and always amused.

They are both so similar in this respect.

- "Luffy, think before you speak! You're talking to a Warlord who can arrest us, or do something worse to us if you don't stop annoying him with your talk, and I'm not going to let you get us into more trouble again!" – the girl with orange hair scolded him discreetly, pulling on his rubber ear.

- "Shi shi shi, talking is not a crime among warlords, is it, Jinbe?" – laughed the boy in the straw hat, turning towards the probable owner of the name.

… Jinbe?

As if on cue, a second warlord emerged from behind the rubber kid, making awkward eye contact with the swordsman below.

- "Hello, Mihawk".

When Fishman joined the Straw Hats, he had no idea, but he wasn't going to judge him for it. He himself was not "innocent", and Jinbe could have sensed something, so they nodded in solidarity in silent agreement that they had never met here.

- "Besides, it's the perfect time to thank Hawkeyes for being a good nanny to Zoro when we weren't there for him, shi shi shi" - Luffy chuckled, which distracted Zoro from bantering with the cook when he heard what his captain had just said.

- "I don't need a nanny, you rubber!" – the young swordsman scolded him, finding himself at his side again, blushing furiously at the same time. – "You need one sooner!".

- "Perona-chan was so nice and told us everything, don't you remember already?" – pointed out a mysterious, tall guy, looking like a skeleton – no, Mihawk was sure it was a skeleton – and Zoro looked at the guy with a murderous look, making him jump up. – "Oh! I'd be afraid for my life right now if it weren't for the fact that I'm already dead Yohohoho!" - the bony pirate chuckled loudly, making the rest of the crew either roll their eyes or giggle with him.

- "There's no need to be so ashamed, swordsman-san" - giggled the black-haired woman sitting next to her, holding a book in her hands. - "We are all glad that someone took care of you, and you did not die miserably of hunger in complete solitude and feed hungry scavengers with your corpse".

Both the long-nosed boy and the baby reindeer winced at this confession, while Luffy began to laugh loudly again.

- "Dude, not being dead is SUPER-".

- "I hate you all" - groaned a defeated Zoro, then turned to Mihawk again, completely embarrassed. – "You trained me, you didn't babysit me...".

- "Please, don't embarrass me any more than you're already doing, Roronoa" - sighed Mihawk, causing another burst of laughter from the Strawhat Pirates crew.

- "Ah, speaking of babysitting, could you tell me what you were adding to the onigiri that Zoro liked so much? I'd like to recreate them, but all that moss head could tell me was that they were black inside" - asked the blond man with curly eyebrows, leaning over the railing towards the older swordsman.

This question surprised Mihawk a bit, not only because of its suddenness but also because of the fact that apparently... his cooking was really enjoyed by those ungrateful brats. Well, at least one of them.

- „… dark chocolate and soy sauce".

- "Chocolate? This is ...strange, I was sure this green fungus hated chocolate?".

- "I'm aware of it, but the Ghost Princess loves it, so I had to improvise" - the warlord confessed, and the grimace on his face widened as he remembered the torment he had to endure trying to fit the menu into two conflicted tastes.

- „…In fact, it doesn't sound bad at all, I'd even say it's a good idea. I've got to try it out, thank you" - the blond said, nodding at him, now completely inspired.

Jinbe laughed out loud. - "Kuma did a great job of sending the kids into your care, am I right, Hawkeyes?".

- "One more word and I'll open a canned fish factory" - sighed the irritated swordsman, but Fishman was not offended by this, on the contrary, it made him laugh even more.

- "Hawkeyes is just like Shanks said, shi shi shi" - Luffy chuckled, and this sentence made Mihawk look at the boy with a raised eyebrow, intrigued. – "Just like cherries. Tart after the first chew, but becomes sweet when you don't stop chewing".

A long silence filled the surroundings as everyone looked at the rubber boy, completely confused. Everyone except the black-haired woman sitting on the deck, who closed the book and giggled as she joined her captain.

Mihawk, on the other hand, hesitated between impassively pretending to have misheard and reprimanding the boy not to believe everything that leaves the drunken mouths of deranged lunatics like Red-Haired Shanks. Speaking of the Redhair, the swordsman will make sure to bluntly knock the idea of saying such things out of the other's head to someone who has the same foul mouth as he does and who is to surpass them both in the future. Even if that someone is a snotty brat like Luffy.

Zoro laughs, pleased that he is not the object of the joke now, which is further emphasized by the visible grimace on his mentor's face. Nevertheless, when Hawkeyes raises his hand to adjust his hat, something special catches the eye of the younger swordsman.

- "What happened to your hand?" - asks Zoro, pointing at his bandaged wrist.

Ah, great. And now, explain it without humiliating yourself completely.

- "Humandrill in pink clothes bit me" - he said, unable to think of anything better. – "And I blame the two of you for that".

Zoro looked at him, not entirely convinced of these assurances, but seeing the faint blush on the eternally pale face of the grim warlord, he decided that it would be better not to press and leave it.

Wait, what... Humandrill in pink clothes?

- "Did she really dress this baboon?" – admitted the green-haired boy in disbelief.

- "Apparently".

Zoro was too stunned to answer. Perhaps until now, he underestimated Perona's ability and her motivation to turn everything ugly into cute and sweet.

He shuddered at the thought that he could end up in a pink tutu instead of the baboon.

With a few more or less bold questions from the rest of the crew, interspersed with Luffy's loud laughter and Zoro and Sanji's banter, the gang of kids finally decided to leave our poor Greatest Swordsman alone.

- "See you later, Hawkeyes! Tell Shanks I said hello!" - the rubber brat shouted, happily waving with the straw hat in his hand.

How did this gang know about his connection to the Red-Hair Pirates? Mihawk looked at Zoro with a suspicious look, like a parent who caught his child doing something forbidden, to which the latter blushed furiously and turned away with clear guilt written on his face.

He and Perona apparently must have witnessed... something. Oh well, it's not him who was traumatized now, so it's not his problem.

- "Um, I'm sorry, but could you please say the same to my father? Yasopp, I mean..." – the long-nosed boy added after a while, hiding behind Luffy with a squeal as the hawks' eyes focused on him.

Yasopp has a son? Well... It's unexpected, I have to admit it.

Mihawk regretfully thought that he knew these men very well. He did not expect that something like this could escape his attention. But to be honest, Shanks was always the most important to him, everything else lost its importance in the eyes of the swordsman.

- "I'm not a delivery boy, you know?" – sighed the warlord with feigned irritation, although he was clearly tired of talking to pirates. He has already exceeded the limit of socialization for one day.

- "Fair winds and following seas, Mihawk! See you at the next warlord meeting!".

The swordsman nodded to Jinbe, hoping that now he could leave and finally take a nap. Preferably as soon as possible. After Jinbe's words, however, there was a wave of greetings.

- "Goodbye!".

- "Thank you for taking care of our Zoro! Yohohoho!".

- "Huh?!".

- "Come on, Zoro, you should say something too!".

- "That's what good manners require, not that you know anything about it, Mosshead!".

- "Zoro! Zoro!".

- "Do you need help, swordsman-san?".

- "I know what good manners are, unlike you, perverted cook!" – Zoro pushed the blond man away and then looked Mihawk in the eye with the certainty of a true swordsman. - "Don't die yet, dad-".

And so all the confidence that Zoro possessed left his body and drowned in the sea below, when he bit his tongue, slowly understanding what he had just said, blushing even more furiously than before, deciding to run away as quickly as possible and hide in the Crow's Nest, yelling at everyone to shut up. This man was apparently lost in his own thoughts as much as he was lost in a simple corridor with one possible exit.

So the brat just said something like that and left, leaving Mihawk alone with all this mess to clean up after him now. A very mature demeanor, Roronoa Zoro, the future greatest swordsman in the world.

Trying to ignore the warmth in his stomach that had arisen as a result of Zoro's confession, the current Greatest Swordsman sighed heavily, vowing to think twice next time before taking any child under his wing.

Except that he has never been so happy that he did it as he is now.

It's been a month since Shanks' last call. A month since Mihawk had last been able to at least hear this man's voice and the days of uncertainty and anticipation dragged on inexorably. So the darkest scenario that the Redhead was able to predict came true – since then they could no longer safely connect through snails.

It was obvious, and yet Mihawk was waiting. He sat in his small coffin-shaped boat and silently looked at his small, portable snail means of communication, waiting for a signal coming from the Red Force.

Days and nights began to merge together, the hole in the swordsman's heart began to fester, and there was no trace of Shanks and the crew of the Red-Hair Pirates.

Embittered and frankly depressed, the warlord decided to stop at one of the prosperous islands, but so secretive and inconspicuous that it allowed him to calmly replenish his supplies, without making a big fuss about himself and without attracting unnecessary and undesirable attention. The journey back to Kuraigana would take him a good few more days, and his meager supply of wine and food had long since run out, so he assumed that stopping was the last resort, although he really, really didn't want to see people. Being in a crowd full of strange faces began to make him feel anxious again.

However, before he went shopping, he should have cursed first and gotten rid of all those longing thoughts in his head that made him act completely irrational.

And so, instead of looking for staple foods and bottles of wine for himself, the warlord has so far ended up with a bottle of expensive sake that he was sure would taste good to Shanks, a bag of coffee beans of better quality, bearing in mind that the Red-Hair Pirates notoriously start their day with a cup of black tar, which they dare to call coffee (and which would sooner devastate their intestines than stimulate their sleep-numbing and hangover brains),  a new chef's knife, great for slicing meat for Lucky Roux, a packet of good tobacco for Beckman, just simple nothing for Yasopp (Mihawk felt strange solidarity with the abandoned long-nosed boy he had recently learned about), and a new mercury thermometer for Hongo, because Lucky accidentally swallowed one during his last cold (no one knows and didn't ask Lucky what eventually happened later to the thermometer inside him).

Only after the fact, cursing his own incomprehensibility, did the swordsman slowly return to his boat, to leave the unnecessary burden he had imposed on himself, and set out again for what he needed, but as he turned along one of the winding streets, a horde of high-pitched groans reached his ears. A very annoying horde of high and melancholic complaints. Complaints that Mihawk would recognize anywhere, given that he had to listen to them for two years, over and over again, and for no reason at all because their source didn't need any to get started.

Perona.

The aforementioned pink hurricane of frills and bows sat on one of the rocks, under the shade of a large old tree, holding her hat in her hands, and great drops of tears flew from her large black eyes down her cheeks.

Mihawk really didn't know what was happening to him and why fate decided to keep leaving (his) annoying children in his way. It should have been in Moria's interest, not his, to worry about why this girl was wandering around the island, crying and alone, because from what the swordsman could deduce, the zombie crew led by Moria was nowhere to be found.

Cursing his useless co-worker, the warlord slowly approached the resentful girl, who almost jumped out of her own body (literally) when she realized that something terrifying had come around the corner and pierced her with his terrifying gaze.

- "Ah! I've asked you many times to say hello first before you start scaring other people with your murderous gaze, as if you wanted to kill someone!" – Perona accused him, waving her finger in front of his face, as if she wanted to reprimand him, besides, rewarding him with a huge grimace on her face, as if she was trying to imitate him. - "You don't look cute when you do that, you know?".

- "I'm so sorry about that" - Mihawk lied, rolling his eyes because he wasn't. At all. – "What are you doing here?" – he asked after a while.

- "Shopping! But Moria-sama and Cindry-chan did not want to accompany me, so I went out alone!" - said the girl, turning with her hands raised upwards so that the ruffles of her dress followed her movement, while the little ghosts repeated the same after her.

- "Then you shouldn't be here" - the swordsman remarked, crossing his arms.

- "I can do what I want!" – Perona denied, also crossing her arms. – "Just like you. And unlike that green stink who takes all the orders, except showering" - she grumbled, wincing at the thought of Zoro and probably his post-workout smell. – "Speaking of smelly men, is your perverted boyfriend with no taste for fashion also here?" – she asked after a while, looking around for the Red-haired Emperor.

- "He had things to do" – confessed the warlord, and his bitterness about this fact must have been visible because a not at all sympathetic smile appeared on Perona's face.

- "Oh, so that brute left you all alone here? You poor thing" - she giggled with her characteristic, loud and irritating "horo horo horo", but immediately stopped when she realized that the always gloomy and resistant to her taunts swordsman really wasn't feeling well this time. – "Oh... Well, at least we can talk without the need to babysit these two like we always do!" - she said after a moment, her ghosts swirling around them.

Mihawk swallowed the urge to tell her that she also really needed a babysitter, but he decided that it wasn't worth it to start an argument with Perona right now, because this girl, as always, would either start crying or screaming or both, and the swordsman was afraid he wouldn't have enough nerves for both.

At that moment, the warlord also realized why he was here in the first place. "Why were you crying earlier?" - he asked, his eyes quickly scanning her, looking for any signs of hurt.

Perona blinked when she remembered after a moment what her lamentation was about, which was rudely interrupted. – "Oh, right. MY HAT!" - she shouted after a moment, resuming her crying, and Mihawk quickly began to regret asking. – "I was on my way back from the store with beautiful ball gowns and then I felt something rubbing against the top of my head!" – the girl explained, slowly blushing with anger. - "Then I realized that I must have risen too high and my hat caught on the branch of that ugly, stupid tree! But it was too late, and my beautiful hat now has a hole in it, and it's not cute at all anymore..." - she finished speaking, sitting down again on the rock under the tree, and continued her melancholic cry as before.

Seeing this, the swordsman really couldn't do anything but sigh loudly and stop the urge to roll his eyes so hard that he would probably hurt himself. He slowly sat down next to the excessively resentful girl and gestured for her to hand him the damaged object.

- "Honestly, I really expected you to get anything out of my sewing lessons" - he sighed again, resigned, searching his pockets for the needle and black thread he knew he always carried with him just in case.

The hole in the hat was not deep, it could be sewn up.

- "I did it! I really know a lot!" – Perona defended herself, her cheeks blushing. - "I was just tired of walking around the island all day, my fingers hurt from touching a lot of clothes and different fabrics, and my hands are tired from carrying Kumacy and an umbrella all the time!" - she argued, pointing to the individual items she carried everywhere with her for no reason. - "Also, I've been practicing a stitch recently, but I've pricked myself with a needle many times, and now my fingers hurt! If I prick myself again, I will die!".

So it's just easier to complain instead of doing it yourself.

Seriously, this child will probably never change in this respect.

- "Besides, why do you carry a needle and thread with you?" - asked Perona as she watched with fascination as Mihawk worked to fix her favorite hat.

- "I'm a swordsman, and I'm very fascinated by sharp objects" - the warlord explained briefly, not taking his hands off his work. - "Hence, there is always a risk that something will tear up and require sewing".

After all, clothes are not indestructible and can fall apart. Neither did the skin and body parts, but Perona didn't have to think about it now.

The pink-haired princess nodded, and her gaze shifted to a bag filled with the things the swordsman had been carrying around on his way to his boat. – "Oh! So you were shopping too!" - she clapped her hands and flew quickly to see what he had bought.

Her eyes and hands explored everything inside the bag until something clicked in her mind and her face took on an expression of utter disappointment.

- "You're pathetic".

- "And you're ungrateful" - Mihawk replied, and then handed her the repaired hat, which the girl accepted with undisguised joy.

- "Thank you, Dad" - she chirped, as if what she said was completely natural.

And again, that stupid feeling of warmth in the stomach. Mihawk was beginning to think honestly about making an appointment with a doctor.

Think what these two children are doing with him.

- "Don't call me that" - the swordsman says quietly, putting the needle back in his pocket. - "Moria already resents me for spoiling you, and after that, he will certainly not leave me alone".

- "Okay, then you're going to be my mom" - Perona said giggling.

- "It's even worse".

- "You might be right" - the girl admitted, seriously thinking about it. - "Then Shanks will be jealous".

- "Why?".

- "This brute will want to take the father's title from Moria-sama to match with the mother, of course" - she said, rolling her eyes. – "And I've already lost him once and I don't want to be abandoned again, because some stinking Emperor is jealous!".

Only some stinking Emperor... Mihawk is both fascinated by her boldness and worried by her lack of self-preservation, but he can't help but snort dryly, as it really genuinely amused him.

This made him feel better, which unfortunately quickly subsided when Perona started whining again, then dragged him back to the city, and made him buy her everything she needed for the trip back to Thriller Bark (and there was a lot of it for a trip that was supposed to last a day at most), and finally she started crying, complaining even more that she was hungry, so on top of that, the swordsman was forced to buy her dinner so that she would finally do something other than talking and whining (which she did even while eating).

Seriously, the warlord should have billed Moria for the damage to his wallet and sanity, but the subsequent smile and joy on the face of the Ghost Princess, now fed and comforted by pretty things, somehow made up for all the toil he had to endure today.

They stood on the shore where Perona's small boat was moored to take her back to her house, and Mihawk made sure that the brat had everything she needed to not get lost on the seas (something he could never trust when it came to Zoro).

Fortunately, Perona seemed to be more confident in her leadership skills, which she emphasized many times somewhere between whining and complaining, yelling about it in his ear (he swore that one more moment in her company and he would lose not only the last of his sanity but also his hearing).

- "I already have everything, you don't have to be so protective, you know?" – the girl grumbled, rolling her eyes. "It's that green, smelly gorilla that you should be more worried about".

- "He's with his crew now and he's doing well" - Mihawk said, now searching for something in the inside pocket of his coat.

- "Have you met him?" – asked Perona, surprised. – "So he didn't get lost and wasn’t eaten by sharks on the way, poisoning all the seas in the area with his germs?".

The warlord nodded, then reached out to her when he finally found what he was looking for. - "Take this and free me from it, I'm tired of carrying it everywhere with me".

Perona sighed loudly, in disbelief, when she found in her hands a unique nail polish in the color Pink Pop Princess with real silver particles from the limited edition of the latest Les Marines Hermès collection, one copy of which costs a fortune.

 - "Where... Where the hell did you get that?!" - the girl shouted, her eyes literally starting to shine. - "This product became unavailable within the first two seconds of its official launch!".

- "Thank Boa Hancock for being extra generous at the last meeting" - the swordsman rolled his eyes, seeing nothing exciting about that little bottle of paint inside, but he was glad that Perona apparently appreciated the gift.

However, he did not expect that the aforementioned girl would throw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. – "But you remembered all our manicure sessions together, that's why you got it for me, am I right?" – confessed Perona, and from the tone of her voice it was safe to conclude that she was crying.

- „…maybe" - Mihawk admitted, not quite sure what he could say to her. He was not used to such gestures, and the only person he trusted enough to allow to touch him was no one but Shanks. Fortunately for him, Perona let him go after a while so that she could turn with joy with the ghosts accompanying her.

- "But now you must let me be invited into your castle so that I can paint your nails as well!" - the Ghost Princess demanded, pointing her finger at his hands, but the wide smile on her face faded a bit as she looked at them closely.

- "What happened to your left wrist?" - she asked after a moment, now confused and genuinely worried, as she clearly saw the bandage blatantly protruding from under the sleeve of his coat. - "I realize how close it is from being goth to becoming emo, but...".

Ignoring her mindless chatter, the swordsman remembered the last argument he had used when Zoro had asked him the same thing, and it made his patience crumble.

- "You dressed a baboon in a pink tutu".

- "Yes, I did it" - Perona admitted, resting her hands on her hips, utterly proud of herself.

Seeing her attitude, Mihawk decided that there was no point in scolding her for it because this conversation would get them nowhere anyway.

- "Don't sulk at me, he looked so much more adorable when I left the castle!" – argued Perona, wanting to explain herself somehow. – "And I think you would look adorable in pink as well. And I'm sure Shanks would agree with me by looking at how often he tries to make you blush!"

Mihawk froze in place after hearing this bold confession from her mouth.

- "He's a bloody pervert! And he stinks, sometimes even worse than Zoro! Seriously, how can someone as elegant and fashionable as you have such bad taste when it comes to guys?" - sighed Perona, completely undeterred by her own tactlessness. Maybe Mihawk had let her feel too comfortable around him.

Perona, however, continued to chatter. - "But well, apparently he has to make up for it with something else, looking at how loud you screamed every night when that brute visited us. Not to mention the bloody nail marks on his back as he paraded shirtless through the halls of the castle like the barbarian he is, just to empty half of the fridge before Zoro woke up and emptied the other half. They literally looked like two smelly raccoons, fighting over a cookie in a garbage can! But returning to your nails, I think you should try Blood Burgundy, what do you think? That would match the color of the lining of your coat and hat...".

The lead singer of the band Our Nautical Bromance once sang about teenagers that scare the living shit out of him, and Mihawk was finally beginning to understand why.

After saying goodbye to Perona, who waved her hand at him many more times and whined loudly until finally, her small boat disappeared over the horizon, Mihawk was once again left alone on the shore of the beach, but still without any wine supplies, with a depleted wallet and only a bag of gifts for the Red-Hair Pirates. The swordsman had never stayed in one place for too long to avoid arousing suspicion and drawing unnecessary attention to himself, and he had been on this island for too many hours for his liking. Though he was inwardly glad to see the Ghost Princess and her foul-mouthed face again, seeing that, just like the green-haired boy, the girl was also doing well.

The warlord walked between various shops and stands, looking for any place where he could get a bottle of wine of better quality. Is it really true that no one runs a winery in this Godless place? Is every store really trying to offer him only slop mixed with water and colored with red juice, insultingly calling it wine and thinking that Mihawk will settle for anything? In his mind, the swordsman quickly began to regret that Red Force was far away, where Shanks always kept a bottle of his favorite treat made from the classic Cabernet Sauvignon variety or another vine, especially for his chosen one with a sophisticated taste.

The world's greatest swordsman had arrived at a bar on the outskirts of the economic zone, hoping that the bartender here would be less brute and ignorant of something as obvious as alcohol. However, before he crossed the threshold of the said place, his senses immediately alerted him to be more vigilant. There is a person inside – no, two people, two pirates to be exact... two pirates that the swordsman knew he should pay more attention to than he usually does.

Using his innate talent for silently moving in the shadows, like a predator hunting its prey, Mihawk found himself inside, completely unnoticed getting close enough to the bar to sit in the corner and listen to the conversation of two sleazy men sitting at the bar, spilling expensive whiskey among themselves. The hawkish eyes immediately fixed their gaze on the tattoo that appeared on the arm of each of the men. The image of their tattoo was... eccentric, he would say. It depicted a skull or rather skulls, but the image itself seemed incomplete. As if unfinished. It resembled the Jolly Roger of the pirate crew, but drawn sloppily, without details, in a hurry. Or perhaps it was a deliberate ploy to mark the men in case they betrayed the captain, but still leave a mark on them recognizable enough for the crew that their appearance in the ranks would not arouse suspicion among the insiders, while they would remain anonymous to outsiders.

Fortunately for him, or perhaps not, Mihawk was able to add two and two, and such pathetic pirate tricks did not impress him or make him surprised by such a simple puzzle.

Nevertheless, he had an unpleasant feeling when he realized what kind of crew these two men belonged to.

Blackbeard’ Pirates.

So they were men of one of the four Emperors of the Seas, an enemy with whom none other than Shanks intended to go to war. What is all the more puzzling is whether these two should not be where their captain is now?

The two looked around, looking for anyone watching them, and then returned to the conversation they had stopped earlier.

- "Just two more weeks of sailing, then we will see the boss, we will make a fortune and finally mean something on these seas!" - one of the men was excited, stopping to take a big sip of whiskey from his glass.

… only two weeks of sailing to meet Blackbeard? If the Emperor is supposedly on one of Shanks's islands, it would take much longer than two weeks to get there from where they are now, no matter how fast and reliable their ship is. Is it possible that Blackbeard is not going to meet the Redhair at all?

- "Brother, we're going to be filthy rich!" - the other replied, smiling devilishly into his glass. - "With no other job would you earn as much as with the Emperor himself, and at the expense of another!"

At the expense of the other? They probably mean Shanks, since Blackbeard has been in open conflict with him for a long time.

- "A talent for spying and cheating always pays off, I told you! You can't survive any other way in this world" - said the first, finishing his drink and then pouring another. - "Either you sink someone's ship, or they sink yours".

- "And very soon it will be Red Force that will sink to the bottom, while the great Marschall D. Teach will go up! And we together with him, right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, like brothers!" – cried the other, cheered up by his dreams and alcohol in his body.

Side by side with Blackbeard? What a funny and woefully implausible concept. Just like the supposed collapse of the Red Force, Mihawk could bet his beloved sword on it.

- "Shut up, you fool! Someone else will hear us..." – the first one silenced him, then nervously looked around to check if anyone was watching them. Seeing no one, he returned to his drink. - "That red fucker can have his spies everywhere, just like Teach".

- "That red fucker is far from here, sailing to the rescue of his poor, weak friends" - the other chuckled. – "He can't do anything to us!".

- "But he can do something to our brother, who is currently spying on his board" - the first reminded him.

A spy aboard the Red Force? Shanks had to gather additional men along the way before he went to war with Blackbeard, and one of them was apparently a traitor. Well, that doesn't look good. Judging by the confidence of these men, their brother was apparently still alive, deceiving the Redhair under his breath.

- "Just a little more until Red Force reaches the dead canyon, the only available road to the island, and then the only thing that awaits the Redhair there is death!" - replied the other, still chuckling. - "I'm starting to envy our brother that he'll witness the utter terror on the face of the great Red-Haired Emperor. I would love to witness something like this myself...".

- "Remember that our sniper must first take out Benn Beckman to make this whole plan work" - the first one admonished him again. - "Only then will our men deal with the completely confused Emperor".

- "Blowing off the head of his first mate, and by one of his own men, will literally throw him out of his sandals!" - said the other, unable to stop laughing. - "He won't even have time to think of using Haki against his people, and then Blackbeard's Pirates will step in and put an end to his rule once and for all!".

They both raised their glasses and made a silent toast.- "To the imminent death of Red-Haired Shanks, the Emperor of the Seas!".

The atmosphere in the bar didn't change, the customers came in and out drunk, and the swordsman in the corner thanked himself for all those years of self-control, otherwise in a matter of seconds the whole bar would be covered in dark red blood, and not a drop of that blood would belong to him.

Suddenly, the whole world around him was irrelevant, and he felt as if everything he saw was covered by a red curtain as his hawkish eyes did not budge once, drilling a huge and piercing hole in the bodies of the men who sat right within reach of Yoru's blade.

Suddenly, the men stood up, brushing the dust and dirt from their clothes, and then left the bar, half intoxicated with alcohol, completely unaware that this would be the last walk in their lives.

Helping their fate, the men turned into a narrow alley to avoid the busy streets, too loud for an alcohol-induced headache.

- "Damn, I could have taken one bottle of booze with me" – muttered the first man to the second. - "My throat is scratching. It's a thirst, and I need to choke on liquid".

- "Let me help you with this" - said a low and fluent voice behind them, and as the first of the men turned to look at who was following them, his gaze met with golden, animalistic eyes piercing straight through his skull with a clear desire to murder.

The man in question barely opened his mouth before a sharp knife with a gold-rimmed cross-handle pierced his throat, causing him to slump to the ground, crying and gasping, trying to gasp for air as he mercilessly choked on his own blood. Tormented, he began to die in a crimson puddle, unable to utter a word as the knife protruding from his throat slowly took his life.

The other man, the less cautious and more talkative of the two of them, collapsed to the ground in terror, crawling backward on the ground toward a nearby wall, trying to escape the sight of the warlord who had killed his brother in a matter of seconds, and now the golden, murderous gaze is on him.

- "Ah, fuck! No, please, I beg you, leave me alone, let me go! I swear I don't know anything, I really don't know anything!" - the man began to cry, starting to squeal and panic as Mihawk began to approach him. - "I'm not an enemy of the Marines, I'm just a little scoundrel, I'm not even a real pirate! Please, I beg you, I'm not a pirate, I swear!".

- "Why is Blackbeard here instead of at war with Redhair?" - asked the warlord, grabbing the other man by the shirt to lift him off the ground to his eye level and nail his body hard to the wall.

- "Because the Captain didn't want to fight Red-Haired Shanks!" - the man said, completely terrified. - "He wanted to lure Red Force into a trap set for them in a dead canyon, that's all! He didn't want to expose himself to Supreme King Haki and the war with the Redhair".

- "So he's just a bloody coward, resorting to cheap and pathetic tricks, because that's all he can do apparently" - says the Warlord, not knowing whether this information calms him down or annoys him more.

- "I guess you might be right then! Please, let me go, I don't know anything else, I swear-".

"Who is the traitor on the Redhair's ship?" - Mihawk interrupted, tightening his grip on the other's neck.

- "It's our brother, his name is Cito, loud and energetic, Shanks immediately liked him when he arrived on the island and declared that he needed men fit to fight" - the guy confessed, trying to catch his breath. - "He's a sniper, he can shoot from a very long distance without being detected. He was the most talented of the three of us".

"I don't doubt it" - the swordsman admitted, certain that the traitor who managed to make his way aboard the Emperor must have more brain cells than his pathetic brothers, who betrayed the plans of a pirate like Blackbeard in any bar. - "I understand that he is responsible for shooting down Beckman?".

- "It's true, please, stop asking me, I really don't know anything else-".

- "So who's going to wait for Red Force in that dead canyon you're talking about?" - asked Mihawk, again not letting the man whine.

- "Everything is controlled by Blackbeard’s Titanic Captains, three of them, in charge of the first three ships, will be waiting for the Red-hair Pirates in this canyon. According to estimates, in less than fifteen days it should be over" - the man said again, not stopping crying pitifully. - "I beg you, don't involve the Marines in this, if something goes wrong, me and my brother will be finished!".

- "Calm down. To be executed by Blackbeard, you would have to be released from here first" - the Warlord said, and the other man's gaze involuntarily wandered to his companion, who was now lying dead in a pool of his own blood with Kogatana still stuck in his throat.

The man began to cry again, begging the warlord for mercy. – "No! I beg you! We were only supposed to deliver the news that the Redhair was approaching his destination! I don't want to die in agony!".

- "That’s alright because I'm in a hurry as well" - Mihawk sighed, then with a straight face he lifted Yoru off his back and let the man die, cutting off his head from his body.

Without agony, as he asked.

The warlord quickly disposed of the bodies to prevent Blackbeard's men from finding the corpses later, as they would be looking for them within two weeks, believing that the two had betrayed them and escaped.

Then, without waiting long, with his heart beating in his throat, the swordsman quickly set off towards the post unit located on the island. Not counting on being able to reach Red Force through the snails, the warlord decided to use a seagull that would be able to reach Shanks much faster than he would from here.

With this in mind, Mihawk found a blank piece of paper and nervously began to write the letter, listing, in brief, all the most important information he had learned while interrogating this pathetic man, not having time to think too much about the long sentences and words he would surely use if it was another one of their romantic letters to each other that they had exchanged over the years,  and not a literal warning of an impending threat.

After all, Beckman's life was at stake, and the safety of Shanks and the rest of the crew, and Mihawk would not forgive himself if he knew everything and did absolutely nothing to warn these men. The swordsman had to protect them.

He couldn't lose Shanks. Not again.

Ending the letter, signing it with a small "Mi" at the end (so the Red-Hairs would know who it was from, as opposed to outsiders, in case the message was somehow intercepted) and after leaving a small kiss on the surface, he folded the paper and put it in an envelope, addressing it to the Red-Haired Emperor.

With the addressed letter, now tied firmly to the leg of the medium-sized seagull, and after handing over the last savings he had left from his purchases with Perona, he persuaded the bird to deliver the letter to the Emperor as soon as possible, guaranteeing him complete anonymity. He didn't need additional problems with the Marines for his private correspondence with Red-Haired Shanks.

Mihawk now stood alone, watching the News Coo soar high into the sky, carrying a warning that failure to deliver on time could cost the lives of those he cared about, the swordsman decided not to waste any more time and hurried to the Hitsugibune, taking a course to the other side of the Grand Line.

Shanks asked him to stay and wait for him at home, but Mihawk could not stay. Not when he knew what Blackbeard's plans were. Plans Shanks didn't know about.

The swordsman could not sit idle, never again. Let Shanks curse him and get angry at him, it didn't matter, the most important thing was that Mihawk could see him again, hear his voice, hug him, and make sure that the other one was okay.

Fourteen nights seem not enough to travel thousands of miles before a planned catastrophe, but who would the Greatest Swordsman in the world be if not a person who is not afraid to take up the challenge and face it? At most, he will have to strain himself a little.

Dreaming of the Redhair, pretending that he wasn't worried and that fear wasn't eating him from the inside, Mihawk pulled out Shanks' Vivre card, holding it gently, and set the course towards Red Force.

Chapter Text

Seven days before the planned Battle, Red Force, New World, seas unknown.

It was a crisp and peaceful dawn. Well, calm as much as a large group of several dozen valiant, brave, and loud men allowed, roused from sleep to prepare the ship they inhabited together for another exciting day full of adventures, surprises, and dangers, which were abundant in the seas as those. Somewhere inside this huge ship, there was the sound of opening a heavy wooden door that belonged to the largest cabin in this place. After a while, the sound of sandals hitting the wood of the deck floor was heard in the distance, effectively cutting through the conversations and jokes flying through the air, making each of the men, especially the youngest and newly recruited, turn their heads respectfully, waiting for the Captain’s arrival.

It wasn't a moment before the tall and powerful figure of the Emperor appeared aboard the ship, lazy footsteps echoing around, his red hair and long black cloak moving behind him, colliding with the morning sea breeze. The men present on the deck took turns breaking away from work to greet the Captain, and at the same time the owner of this ship, and not only, because everyone had already understood that their further fate would depend on the will of this man.

The Red-Haired Shanks was far from an ordinary, average man. One of the four Emperors of the Seas, the most powerful and fearsome people in the New World, as merciless as they are greedy, ready to shed their blood for every piece of land and the smallest island they might possess. The Master of Haki, a student of Gol' D. Roger himself, a convincing commander and a capable swordsman, despite the loss of his dominant left arm. The mere sound of his name was enough to send a shudder down the spine of an average man, and women sighed and blushed, wishing in their souls to be entangled in a tragic romance that lasted one night and to become one of the lovers of the handsome Emperor with red hair. But what made Shanks stand out so blatantly from the rest of the dictators who enjoyed the same title as him? Well, anyone who has ever exchanged a word with this man in his life immediately noticed that his heart burned with fire as hot and intense as the red on his hair. His hand and skin were warm, his eyes were gentle, and the smile on his face never seemed to disappear and attract everyone, making it impossible for you to refuse him if this man asked you for a favor.

But this morning, as well as the morning before, the Red-Haired Emperor did not exude the intense warmth he was wont to do, and his face took on a more gloomy expression. In a few moments, the Red-Hair Pirates’ Captain would be joking and laughing out loud again, being the playful and light-hearted man he was, but at this time, when the sun lazily began to rise from below the horizon to herald the imminent arrival of a new day, melancholic humor seemed to hang over Shanks, adding to the man's expression of seriousness and making it clear to everyone around him, to not mess with him at this moment.

And Shanks himself, well, had good enough reasons to feel bad. At least in his opinion, it was so.

The sound of his sandals bounced off the wooden floor, the morning sea breeze blew the red strands of his hair, and the first rays of the sun hit his eyes as soon as he stepped on the deck, making him wince slightly. His crew, his beloved and good boys, greeted him cheerfully from all sides, but the Captain ignored most of them, walking smoothly towards the wooden table, where his trusted first mate was already sitting, reading the morning newspaper while smoking a cigarette. Yasopp sat right next to him, complaining about something with a clearly disgruntled face, his other, most devoted ally.

- "Good morning, boss" - Beckman greeted him, taking a drag on his cigarette as he watched the Captain approaching them.

- "Morning" - Shanks replied lightly, deliberately not intending to lie by adding a "good" (none of his mornings had been good for a long time and he (hadn't) come to terms with it), who pushed one of the wooden chairs aside and threw himself on it with all his weight. – "Do any of you know what time it is?" – he asked casually.

- "It's about five o'clock" - replied the sniper sitting next to him, taking a sip of his coffee and then chuckling. - "I don't think I'll ever get used to you being here so early in the morning, boss".

- "Welcome to the club" – instead of being offended, the Emperor agreed with the other and snorted with laughter, then raised his hand to wipe his face, trying to chase away the last remnants of drowsiness. The irritating sensation on his skin made him realize that he hadn't shaved for a long time. He sighed heavily, then turned his head towards the sea, scratching his beard, watching the calm waves, undisturbed by anything, so gentle, so dangerous in their depths, but at the same time so interesting and beautiful, while the morning sun like a painter dyes the color of the water a shining gold...

There were many reasons why Shanks hadn't missed the sunrise in a long time. The sight before him was one of those reasons, not because the Emperor missed the sea so much, though he loved it, but rather because he longed for someone whom the calm waves of the sea reminded him of at this time of day.

The cool, comforting calm of the morning was now one of the very few things that had been able to keep the Red-Haired Captain's spirits up since the snails used to communicate had proved to be completely useless. The tragic inability to reach Mihawk made Shanks subconsciously look for traces of his greatest love in the smallest things, craving the feeling of his beloved's presence like a thirsty for water in the middle of a sun-warmed desert. The man was aware that he had asked the swordsman to stay at home, as the warlord's peace and well-being were the Emperor's priority and he put it above everything else, but damn, cut off his other arm if he ever says he isn't struggling about it now.

Where Shanks was a hot summer day and a successful, romantic evening, Mihawk was a quiet, passionate night and a calm morning, allowing you to breathe after a day full of fun and give hope for another sunny day. Such was the law of nature that one could not exist without the other, such was the course of things that one had to follow the other. Getting Mihawk out of Shanks' life was like hard and tedious work on the deck when the sun was at its zenith and the day never ended, or like being a heavily overworked machine whose overheated engine was on the verge of catching fire.

The golden glow of the morning sun reflecting on the waves of the sea far away, so similar and yet so far removed from the most beautiful gold enclosed in the irises of the love of his life, reminded Shanks of one of the most splendid evenings when they sat both on the deck of the ship, hidden from prying eyes and the noise of conversation, and the Emperor enjoyed the feeling of the evening sea breeze on his skin, the feeling of warmth from the whiskey he was sipping and the feeling of a warlord cuddled up to his side. The alcohol and body heat chased away the evening chill, and the smell of sea salt and Mihawk's perfume soothed all his worries and concerns.

After a long conversation, interspersed with jokes, tender banter, and a few sweet kisses, they cuddled, enjoying the silence and each other's company, needing nothing more from life to be fully happy. Shanks fiddled with the now almost empty glass, turning the rest of the whiskey over while his eyes were focused on the wide sea in front of him, where the setting sun cast a glow on the surface of the water and the light reflected off the waves, closing at the bottom of the glass in his hand. Both the glass and the liquid in it shimmered in the sun, as did the golden irises, so enigmatic in their brilliance, hiding in their depths all the gold of all the seas. Only the beauty of Mihawk could make Shanks' eyes drift away from the direction towards the New World. Because the New World would be nothing in Shanks' eyes, only a sunny day if Mihawk wasn't there, and Shanks will long for the beauty of the night.

Enchanted by the emotions that were slowly leaking from his loving heart, he raised the glass to his lips to finish the rest of the bitter liquor in one gulp, then put it somewhere nearby, his now free fingers quickly finding their proper place as he took the warlord's dainty hand in his. The Emperor then leaned in to place a tender kiss on the beauty mark just below the swordsman's left eye, one of the many favorite places of his lips on the body of the other, which made the golden eyes focus and look at him questioningly. Shanks would have drowned a long time ago if his love never stopped looking at him at all.

- "What brilliant have you come up with this time?" - asked the warlord sarcastically, though his fingers squeezed the Redhead's hand lightly, responding to the tender touch from the other, while his other hand rose to remove one of the stray strands of red hair from the pirate's handsome face, waiting patiently to see what so wise would leave the lips of his not-so-wise lover again.

- "Just thank you for being the moon to my sun" - the Emperor confessed sincerely, grinning broadly and foolishly, enjoying the show as he watched the other's eyes widen slightly at hearing this bold confession, then his face took on the image of true contemplation, as if the swordsman was really thinking about it.

- "What's wrong? Have I done a disgrace to the honor of the love of my life, because apparently the moon is not big enough for a star like you?" - the pirate asked, clearly amused.

Mihawk was silent for a few more seconds, then sighed softly, and his eyes met Shanks again. - "You know, when you leave with your crew, every time it gets dark, I think about every time you've compared me to the moon, and while I believe you're right, the thought doesn't fill me with genuine optimism. Because if you are the sun, I don't want to be the moon. The moon is too far away from you. I would rather envelop you with the bluest sky."

The swordsman would have been unimaginably ashamed of what he had just said, if it weren't for the utter shock on the Red-Haired Emperor's face, which made him look almost comical as if the rest of his wits had just left him. Shanks opened and closed his mouth as if trying to speak, waving his head to get rid of the growing blush, which had the opposite effect, at least as his face turned red like his hair until he finally moaned pitifully in submission. – "You... fuck, I'm going to forbid you to read all these old-fashioned romances for your own safety and my own restraint".

The warlord wanted to continue playing and remind the other that he started it and was to blame himself, but he bit his tongue when he noticed that his lover was practically on the verge of falling apart.

Mihawk sighed heavily, then rolled his eyes. - „…Besides, yes, the moon is much smaller than the sun, which is humiliating, by the way".

After that, the only thing the pirate remembered from that evening was that he burst out laughing, being sure that the whole ship had heard him, pretending not to see the tender look that the other person was giving him, so unaware of the fact that he was the whole world to Shanks and the only one he needed in his life.

Another gust of cool morning sea breeze on the face woke the Emperor from the cloud of sweet memories with his beloved, which, however, did not make his eyes stop staring at the calm water below. His wise little hawk, as usual, was never wrong. They are too far away from each other.

How much I would give to you to be here so that I could hold your hand again...

Now the Red-Hair Pirates’ Captain was sitting here above the great open sea, leaning against a wooden chair, his hand involuntarily clenched on the fabric of his pants as he despaired inwardly that he had dismissed and left Mihawk behind, and now he missed him.

He wouldn't want me to think that way...

There was no choice but to pull himself together. If not for himself, then for the warlord and their imminent return to each other. That was another reason why Shanks came here so early. Later, after his morning coffee and breakfast, he will have to be the captain of his crew, protect those who believe in him, think about the strategy of the coming war to save the suffering people waiting for his help, and take care of everything that is expected of him. But now, when the sun is just beginning to wake up the world, and the sea is calm, doesn't call everyone to fight? Now he could listen to himself, he could think about himself in peace, he could think about Mi and how he was doing when he was alone again, considering that Shanks was here and the children had long since left the gloomy castle. At this thought, the Emperor felt the bitterness he had been accumulating for a long time so that he could finally unload it on Teach when he got his hand(s) on him. But not wanting to dirty his mind with the second Emperor at this time of day that is reserved exclusively for him and his beloved hawk, he thought of their future together, for which Shanks had already made some plans, and had even taken a few steps towards it...

But his thoughts were interrupted by a hand belonging to Yasopp, who waved it in front of his face to get the captain's attention.

- "Wake up, boss!" – the sniper shouted, giggling with amusement. - "We called out to you, but you didn't hear us" - he explained after a moment, when he noticed a slight annoyance on the Emperor's face, who looked at him questioningly.

- "Lucky came with coffee" - Beckman explained, not taking his eyes off the newspaper in front of him.

- "Yes, and apparently I arrived in time" – chuckled the cook, who was standing next to the captain, and then placed a cup of black hot drink in front of him. - "Just a moment more and we would lose contact with him forever".

- "Ah, thank you. Sorry, Lucky" - the red-haired man apologized, raising the cup to his lips as he turned his head to look out to sea again. The absurd bitterness on his tongue made him barely manage to stop his gag reflex. This scenario repeated itself every morning.  - "What a bitter bitch, can't we start adding milk to it?".

- "It tastes even worse with milk" - Yasopp admitted, taking a sip from his cup. - "This shit robs your taste buds and twists your intestines inside out, but it's better to get any energy boost than none at all".

Really, they're on one of the most luxurious and largest pirate ships the Grand Line has ever seen, and they don't even have a good coffee? Is it really so difficult to buy coffee that doesn't taste like soil and silt mixed with concrete? And why the hell do they buy the same coffee every time anyway when they know that the taste barely gets down their throats? Now, Shanks isn't even surprised when he remembers why Mihawk once stole a sip of coffee from his mug and then didn't speak to him for half a day. Anyone would be traumatized by such an experience.

- "Speaking of intestines, what could I serve you today? Maybe there's something you fancy, boss?" asked Lucky amicably as he joined them at the table, sitting down in one of the empty chairs. There was still plenty of time before everyone gathered for breakfast, so the cook could enjoy the conversation with his buddies with peace of mind.

I fancy Hawkeyes but Shanks couldn't say that. Well, he didn't have to, because his reliable mates did it for him.

- "Oh, we all know what he fancies by now" - Yasopp snorted, hiding his treacherous smile behind his coffee mug. On hearing this, Beckman laughed, tearing his eyes away from the newspaper to look at the Emperor with undisguised amusement.

Shanks couldn't deny it. He was an adventurous man, his place was at sea, and most of his thoughts were occupied with the imminent fight with Teach and finally finding One Piece. But it was obvious to everyone around him who knew him better how much this man missed the warlord. It's like cutting one soul in half and hoping that both parts will exist without constant struggle to become whole again. Even if your mind tells you to push forward toward a great goal, your heart will always lead you on the right path to your other half. What Shanks and Mihawk had in common was not trivial, it was never accidental, and there was no way to ignore it. It was a love so obvious, so clear and deep, that all the cold and coolness of this world would not be able to extinguish this burning feeling, depriving the world of color would not harm the bloody red indestructible thread of fate that binds their hearts together and weaves their life paths into an inseparable braid. It was evident, then, that the Emperor longed for the presence of his love, and that it was not only because of their mutually painful spiritual bond that he was now suffering. It was obvious that he lacked physical contact. He also missed sex. This trip took a damn long time. The old bounty poster with a photo of the face of the love of his life and his not-so-delicate hand brought him temporary release from the growing physical need, but on his tongue, in his soul, and in his body, he still felt hunger and insufficiency. After all, nothing could replace the feeling of holding a warm body in your arm(s), the contact of tanned, rough skin with skin pale as milk and smooth as velvet, two hearts beating together in a common rhythm, quiet confessions and whispers, louder sighs and screams of pleasure, the feeling of being buried deep in a tight, warm and soft interior, and nails drawing a picture of love on your back... Every time they made love was something special, a pleasure that could not be replaced in any other way. The mere thought of Mihawk's skin made Shanks swallow loudly. The very thought of holding his hand again made the Emperor's hand itch and sweat.

So it was obvious that Shanks couldn't deny it. Because it was fucking obvious. He may have been one of the most powerful men in the world, but at the end of the day, he was also just a man in love. But the captain knew his mates very well, even better than himself, and he wasn't surprised by their nosy jokes, they wouldn't be themselves if they didn't take advantage of his current situation to make fun of him and tease him.

But even if he understood it, it didn't mean that he was going to forget it and let them go. He will let them laugh while they still can. As soon as Mihawk's beautiful shoe crosses the threshold of this ship in the near future, Shanks will make sure that his crew will not sleep a wink that night, and what is more, he will put on such a show that even ten years of therapy will not erase it. Seas, take care of the warlord's throat, though the vocal cords may not be the only thing that will break there.

Lucky Roux clumsily tried to pretend to be worried. – "Oh, I'm so sorry, boss, I meant breakfast, and for this dish you're thinking of, we're missing a pretty key ingredient, you know?".

- "You'll have to be less picky and leave Hawkeyes' ass for dessert until we end the war and get back to the castle" - Beckman stated, looking at the captain with amusement, who simply gave him a dry look.

- "First of all, you're all dicks, and second, you know very well that I'm going to eat whatever you serve, Lucky, so why are you asking me these stupid questions?" - sighed Shanks, leaning back and stretching completely in his chair, one hand thrown over the backrest. - "It would also be nice if you guys weren't so eager to talk about Hawkeyes' ass in my presence".

- "Right, because one more word and not only these damn chairs will be hard here" – admitted Yasopp, while Beckman almost spat a cigarette out of his mouth.

- "One more word and you'll be sipping this fucking coffee through a straw" – the Redhair retorted, although he couldn't stop chuckling. Fucking idiots, but they were his idiots, and the Emperor couldn't have dreamed of better mates, in the end, he would have given his life for them. But he also wouldn't allow Mihawk to be insulted, even though he knew that neither of the men meant anything bad. Plus, all the talk about food (and Mihawk) made him hungry and homesick even more. Seas, how much he would give to be able to taste again the homemade food prepared with love by those slender, pale hands that he wanted to hold and kiss until the end of his life? He still remembered as if it had been yesterday when Hawky had made his favorite dish for the first time, standing in his apron, frustrated with himself and unsure if Shanks would like what he had done for him. As if the Red-Haired Emperor could do anything other than completely adore everything that comes from the Warlord. In his entire life, he has never eaten anything better than this. That day remained and remains one of his most beautiful memories, as well as the promise he made then...

- "I'd like to eat kimchi fried rice..." – he said suddenly as he moved away from the backrest to put his elbow on the counter, resting his face on his hand with a frustrated sigh.

- "I'm very sorry, boss, but the supply of kimchi is already gone, and I've already used the cabbage for another dish, so I can't make fresh either..." – said the cook sadly, scratching his belly.

- "So what are you serving?" – the Redhair asked, changing the tone of his voice slightly because he did not want to disappoint his cook.

- "When I was going to your place with coffee, the boys stopped me and asked for a sweet breakfast, apparently they had enough of the constant eggs and bacon, so I thought about pancakes" - Lucky replied with a smile. Oh, everyone on the ship loved his pancakes. In this play, the cook of the Red-Hair Pirates was second to none.

- "Then add a few cherries to my portion, please" - the Emperor demanded, a sincere smile showed on his face as his gaze drifted back to the calm sea.

- "You got it, boss!" - the cook assured, happy that the captain looked a little more pleased now.

Shanks looked at the beautiful view before him for a moment, then moved to lean back against the backrest of his chair. - "Pass me the newspaper, Beck" - he asked with lightness in his voice.

Beckman muttered affirmatively, still with a cigarette in his mouth, then folded the newspaper and got up from his chair to hand it to the captain. When his hands were free, he pulled the fag out of his mouth with one of them so that he could speak and briefly describe what was in the newspaper, knowing that the Emperor did not like to worry about trivial matters. - "Aside from the constant confirmation that one of our islands has been attacked by Teach, most of the news focuses on increasing the number of Marine vessels on the other side of the Grand Line".

- "Are they fleeing the coming war with us?" – Yasopp asked mockingly.

- "No, apparently there's a rash of new pirate crews, more and more brats are pushing their way to the Grand Line, so they're sending their troops there to scare them away, their old trick" - Beckman explained, continuing. - "Practically every Emperor has increased the number of his men, and they have written about us" - he paused, taking a breath of smoke. - "But we are preparing for war, so they did not look any further. The rest of the articles are bullshit as always, thefts and sunken ships, the bounties practically stay in place" - he sighed heavily. - "A rich pirate was also murdered".

- "A Devil Fruit User?" - asked Lucky, while Shanks sat quietly and listened.

- "Yes, he was said to be able to turn his entire body into black steel, which made him almost untouchable. Funnily enough, when he was found, he was lying cut in half" - he continued, shaking off tobacco with his finger. - "It happened to everyone. There are no witnesses, this whole small island was drenched in blood".

Yasopp whistled. - "Fuck, who did this guy upset?".

- "Apparently only the Marines, because they were there immediately after the whole incident" – Beckman took a drag on his cigarette. – "Although I would never have expected such precise work from them. Especially since it all lasted ridiculously short".

- "Or maybe this guy was just pathetic" - the sniper snorted.

- "His bounty was not small, he also had a lot of people with whom he cooperated, so he could not have been such a scumbag" – denied the first mate, thus emphasizing that in fact what happened there must not have belonged to a rather modest package of marines’ achievements in recent years.

A short silence fell between the four men, and then it was finally decided to abandon the topic. Whoever it was, he or she better did not threaten them.

- "There was also the warlords’ meeting some time ago. They were all called in..." – Beckman began slowly, but quickly stared at the floor, blowing smoke out of his mouth. – "But there is no mention of him. We don't know anything".

Shanks stopped in the middle of a newspaper whose pages he had been mindlessly turning for something worthy of his attention, and the resigned assurance from his first mate made the captain's eyes linger on some random article as his face took on a blank expression, almost as if the paper itself had insulted him, and he began to wonder what was the point of arguing with a worthless piece of used printing paper anyway.

It wasn't that the Emperor was surprised by the lack of any news about the most secretive (and the most attractive, in his humble opinion) of the warlords. However the latter, mainly because of his great boredom, tended to be interested in the world and was more than willing to listen to gossip, still avoiding photographers and reporters at all costs. Deeply wounded, which was a consequence of his difficult and painful past, the swordsman refused to do anything that blatantly violated his privacy and disturbed his peace and quiet (the only exception was Shanks and his crew, and the man still wondered how he managed to do it, but he did not complain – he could not be happier than he is now), hence, the warlord rarely allowed "those stupid leeches" to catch him. What must have been damn difficult to do, the Emperor had to admit it, while being such a rare and elusive specimen of sophistication and ideal as Mihawk. If Shanks had been a cameraman, he would probably have let himself be sliced for one chance to capture this beautiful bird in flight.

This does not change the fact that the captain tasted bitter disappointment when he nodded and made a small sound, thanking his first mate for the information. Though it was rare and extremely difficult to get any information about the warlord, just a tiny mention of his little hawk, even capturing him in the background in a photograph, in the reflection of a mirror, or even seeing the hem of his hat with a long white feather at his side, one such thing would make Shanks jump for joy and grin like an idiot for the next month, so he would know that the other was fine, that nothing had happened and nothing had changed since the Emperor had left him, and it would be a physical reminder that he was out there somewhere, waiting for the Redhair to return.

Seas, once their separation lasted much longer than it does now, but Shanks had clearly matured enough to know that he couldn't live now without the presence of the love of his life by his side. Missing the heart on the left side hurts more than missing the left arm.

Remembering this made Shanks close the newspaper and toss it on the table in one motion, and his hand went to his trousers pocket so that his fingers could come into contact with the velvet box with a ring inside that he had carried with him everywhere since he bought it, which was admonishing him that he was a man with a purpose far greater than anything else and that Teach is the last wall he needs to break through to get there. – "Well, it's not a big deal. Soon I and Mi will take over all the front pages of newspapers anyway".

Before anyone decides to call Shanks a hypocrite, that his priority is to take care of Mihawk's peace and therefore he did not want to drag the other into a public, loud war, only to plan an even louder and media-grabbing wedding behind the swordsman's back, which is, after all, a total contradiction of the former, let him finish what he meant all this time. Shanks was more than capable of stopping Teach on his own, so revealing his connection to the warlord would be unnecessarily premature, since as soon as he was done with this whole war and saved his allies, he and Mihawk would be able to get married, and the marines and the whole world would be so shocked by this event that no one would even have time to react and to stop them. They'll find out when it's all over anyway, and he and the warlord can enjoy the wedding they dream of and deserve. This is supposed to be the most beautiful day of their lives, after all, without the participation of the World Government and other problems. After marriage, the whole world can chase after them, who cares? They will be married, it will be official, and then no Emperor or Admiral will be able to undo it. And then, with the swordsman at his side, the consequences of their choice didn't really matter in Shanks' eyes anymore. They will be fine. Together.

The captain's bold comment in the blink of an eye has made that the momentary silence between the men was replaced by incredulous and amused snorts.

- "This is said by a guy who got sick a month ago and asked us every five minutes if Hawkeyes will adore this ring, as if we knew him better than you do" - Beckman snorted as he remembered the pathetic look of the nervous captain, to which Shanks smacked his lips in exasperation. - "Not that I don't enjoy the development of your character immensely, boss. Good job".

- "If you ever asked me, I would never tell you that our indomitable boss would want to do something mundane like a proposal" - Yasopp laughed, patting the Emperor on the back.

- "Thank you, guys, as always, you are so nice to support me in everything I do" - Shanks said with obvious sarcasm in his voice.

However, this did not change the fact that the captain really owed them a lot, especially recently. On one occasion, when they stopped at a magnificent and beautiful island to rest and replenish their supplies while wandering among the shops and observing what the people of this unique country had to offer, Shanks' eye was caught by a small but beautiful ruby, magnificently polished, and the light coming from the street flickered and dazzled in him, reminding him of the flash of his own Haki, for which he is widely known.

His gang, consisting of Beckman, Yasopp, Hongo, and Limejuice (since Lucky Roux and the rest of the crew, including the young recruits they had taken in, had set out with the cook to find supplies, despite many complaints to remain at the captain's side) stopped right behind him, slightly surprised by the sudden reaction (or rather lack thereof) on the part of the Emperor.

- "Oh, that's quite an art" - whistled Beckman as he stood next to the captain to see what was so interesting behind the thick layer of glass. - "I've never seen such a neatly worked stone".

- "Did you say stone? I was sure there were bottles of good vodka in there when the boss stopped so suddenly, as if he was about to go through this glass to get inside" - Yasopp muttered in confusion as he stood on the other side of the captain, his eyes widening as he also noticed the ruby. - "Holy shit, it's really pretty".

- "What? When and why the hell did they start selling rocks at a liquor store?" - asked Limejuice, surprised, as he stared at the three men, who were staring at the window.

- "Since it's not a liquor store, you dumbass, and never has been" - said Hongo, who was reading the store's advertisement, located at the very entrance. – "This is a store with custom jewelry services. The blacksmiths here will forge everything for you, you choose the stones, steel, and other accessories, and they take care of the rest. The services are recommended to lovers in particular, who expect jewelry personalized especially for their chosen one and future life companion..." – here the doctor slowed down and stopped reading, then looked at the rest of the men with frowns.

Beckman stepped away from the captain to see if there were any suspicious witnesses around. Yasopp started humming under his breath, then did the same as the first mate, assessing with the sniper's eyes whether anyone was looking at them. At Beckman's signal, Hongo and Limejuice nodded to each other.

- "You absolutely should do it, boss" - the doctor began in a firm voice, trying to be as confident as he could.

- "Perhaps this is the best idea you've come up with so far" - Limejuice confirmed, imitating Hongo on the other side of the captain.

- "Is that so?" - asked Shanks, his eyes still fixed on the beautiful stone behind the glass in front of him.

- "Do you still love Hawkeyes?" – Beckman asked directly, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket to light it.

- "Absolutely I do".

- "Good. So don't think long and do your job" - Yasopp assured him, looking around the area. – "We will make sure that no one will disturb you. No one will notice that you were here and what you were doing here".

Shanks' eyebrows furrowed as if he hesitated. - "The stone is beautiful, but would he like to wear red?".

- "Half of his outfit is red, you idiot, don't ask stupid questions" - Beckman said in exasperation, but he coughed quickly as he tried to compose himself. - "I may not know Hawkeyes as well as you do, but I know that this birdie likes to spill blood, likes to drink wine, and likes you, and every one of those things is red, Boss, so I'm more than sure he'll like it".

- "It's normal for lovers to carry a part of each other with them" - Yasopp added, with a slight smile on his lips. - "Wouldn't you like Hawkeyes to wear your color, boss? The color of the outfit is something else, it can be misleading, but a ring? That would be an indisputable expression of your deep feelings for him to everyone around you".

- "Just imagine Hawkeyes with a ring on his finger with a red stone, and everyone knows" - Hongo said, hitting the nail on the head.

Shanks could feel the possessiveness inside him begin to rage, and the irrepressible desire to make everyone know who the hawk belonged to made him grit his teeth, his hand clenching tightly on Gryphon's hilt to control himself. He could have imagined it, maybe even better than he should have. It was so good. It was perfect. Imagine Mihawk's slender pale fingers tightening on Yoru's hilt, and with that movement, the stone on his finger glitters with a sparkling red toward his opponent, making it clear to him who is constantly watching over the welfare of the greatest swordsman in the world, and who should be feared if the eternal grimace on the swordsman's face were to increase even a little.

Nevertheless, there was one last point, which the Emperor was a little afraid of. – „… If I propose and give him a ring, my intentions and what I want will be more than obvious, right? Won't he think that I want to keep him and, in a sense, take away his freedom? I don't want to be the next one to deprive him of that, right after the Marines".

Beckman pinched the bridge of his nose at hearing this nonsense. Sorry, but for someone who had witnessed these two dancing around each other for many years, it was just plain nonsense. - "I would like to remind you that just a few moments ago, your hawk nearly boarded with us to help get rid of Teach, agreeing to expose you two and what you have in common to the Marines, to Teach, and to the world, knowing full well what consequences he will have to face. If that wasn't enough for you to ask you to keep him, then I really don't know which of us here is more wrong" - the first mate said, taking a drag on his cigarette. - "Besides, with or without the ring, you wouldn't take away his freedom, you fool. You have an ego overgrowth over your brain if you think Hawkeyes would allow himself to be imprisoned against his will. If he wanted to, he would have left a long time ago. But he didn't, and you should be sure why by now".

The other three men muttered and nodded, agreeing with what their first mate had said.

After a while, a huge and wicked smile spread across the face of the Red-Haired Emperor, who quickly threw the hood over his head to hide the red of his hair and the three scars on his face, then said a quick "I'm counting on you, boys!" and entered the store.

Hongo sighed heavily as if he had just finished operating on a patient after a ten-hour surgery. - "You've got a big head, though, Beck".

- "The captain has a bigger one because it was just a moment before I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him there by force" - Beckman denied, blowing the smoke out of his mouth, to which the rest of the men responded with laughter.

All the formalities and the conversation with the seller in the store did not last long. The man did not question the anonymity of the buyer or the origin of the money that Shanks generously put on the counter. He watched with disgusting satisfaction as the trader's eyes widened at the sight of the amount of gold that someone was able to throw away, all the more so as the Emperor decided to pay in advance, along with a small (disgustingly large) allowance for the trouble and speed of the service. Even the rulers of these lands did not pay so much.

- "Just to make it clear between us" - Shanks said with sudden seriousness, staring into the eyes of the other man, who held his gaze on himself, apparently he was one of those who were not afraid of a challenge. Good. – "I pay you and count on quality, do you understand me? It's supposed to be the most perfect, unique, and beautiful thing that ever left your store".

A tall and wide man, with a physique similar to the Emperor himself, straightened up proudly, then reached out to shake Shanks's hand. – "You got it. I’ll be damned if you leave this place dissatisfied. I'll do your order myself, if you're in a hurry, you can stay here, I'm already getting down to it" - he assured him, then rolled up his sleeves, while he shouted to someone in the back room to bring him the keys to open the exhibition to get the ruby out of there.

He didn't know how it was possible, but up close, this stone was even more captivating. It shone brightly, the burning red shimmered in the light of the place, and the sparkle was so great that it could outshine the stars, and only Mihawk's golden eyes could shine brighter, but love as much and warmly as all of Shanks's love enclosed inside this tiny ring.

The ruby was encased in gold, and the jewelry itself seemed unimaginably delicate, but the blacksmith assured him that the gold would not break, even if his chosen one had to nail the coffin with his fists, which amused him tremendously when he imagined it.

Completely satisfied with the work, he chose a small velvet box, and after shaking hands with the merchant, thanking him for a well-done job, Shanks left the shop in front of which his mates were waiting, and after the disgustingly visible satisfaction on the Emperor's face, they quickly rose from their seats and quickly surrounded him to show them what he had achieved.

After taking the lovely box out of his trousers pocket and showing the boys the contents inside, the sight of their surprised faces was almost comical, especially Beckman's face, whose cigarette fell out of his mouth straight to the ground as he opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.

- "Damn, boss, if you ever proposed to me with that, I'd marry you right away" - Limejuice muttered, to which the rest of the men around started to laugh.

Later, they agreed that only Shanks's most trusted people would know about the whole thing for the time being so that the rest of the crew would not get too nosy and think only about the upcoming war. When Lucky Roux saw for the first time the ring Shanks had bought for Mihawk, the poor cook nearly fainted.

- "Are you serious, boss?!".

- "I'm serious, indeed" -  the Emperor assured, smiling broadly.

During the journey across the seas, the Redhead and his crew managed to get to Sabaody for a while to see Rayleigh, say hello to the old man and perhaps learn something about Teach and take advice from a more experienced pirate. After exchanging information, completely unfazed by his lack of any restraints, Shanks shared his plans for his future with the warlord with the older swordsman, to which he almost had a heart attack, and his eyes lit up with emotion as he looked at the small box that the Emperor took out of his pocket and placed in front of him.

- "You... you've always been surprising and unbearable, you know?" - said Rayleigh, irritated, wiping a tear with his finger that threatened to run down his face. Hearing the old man's confession, Shanks burst out laughing, to which the old man only nodded. – "Damn, when did you mature so quickly, huh? Just a moment ago, you were nothing more than an annoying, snotty brat".

Seeing that the old man became speechless so suddenly, Shanks decided to ask. – „… and?”.

- "And you still are" - Rayleigh assured him, to which the other man visibly grimaced. - "But you are also a captain, an Emperor even, and soon you will be a husband, and with that will come another new chapter in your life. You have become a man, and I feel like I missed it...".

- "Oh, Ray, you old bastard, stop worrying so much in your old age, damn it, or you'll kick the bucket before I get down on my knee and propose to him" - said the younger one, placing a warm hand on the other's shoulder.

- "Don't call me an old bastard, you brat!" - Rayleigh scolded him, pushing his hand away, but there was no bitterness in the old man's voice, only pure joy. - "When all this Teach shit is over, I want you both to come here so I can congratulate you properly. I have many acquaintances, as you know very well, I will arrange your wedding without any problem, just say a word that you two are ready and you got it".

- "That's what I wanted to hear" - Shanks said, then rose from his seat to lean down and embrace the old man in a warm hug. - "Thank you for everything, Dad".

Ever since he bought the ring, Shanks had carried this little velvet box with him almost everywhere, keeping it safely in his trousers pocket. It was his secret, he didn't pull it out unnecessarily and brag about it, not wanting his boys to have another opportunity to joke about him. The small weight in his pocket became as familiar to him as the weight of Gryphon attached to his hip. With the knowledge of what was inside, every time Shanks put his hand in his pocket and his fingers brushed the velvet of the ring box, the Emperor imagined and thought about how much he wished he could feel the touch of Mihawk's skin under his fingers again, how much he longed to hold his hand in his. The knowledge of the gift he was carrying with him gave him a kind of comfort in moments when meetings devoted to war planning were prolonged, and anxiety among his comrades grew as he felt the enormous weight of responsibility on his shoulders and felt guilty for the suffering of all those people who were now struggling with the harsh dictatorship of Blackbeard and his lousy crew. Then the captain remembered that if the only person who was his equal in everything trusted him to be able to handle it, then it was so. If Mihawk himself decided that after all these years the pirate was still worthy of him, then who was Shanks to question it? Not trusting himself was tantamount to not believing in Mihawk, and this was blasphemous in Shanks' vocabulary. And so, even though his beloved little hawk was miles away, he still managed to make the Emperor feel better again.

- "At your service!" – Lucky chuckled loudly, knocking Shanks out of his thoughts. Seas, what they have been talking about so far... ah, his imminent proposal, that's true. The captain couldn't stop smiling at the thought of this event. - "By the way, we need to make sure we're well prepared for your plans, boss..." - the cook muttered loudly, probably already planning the menu in his head, when suddenly a young, well-built, twenty-year-old boy appeared right behind him, whom Shanks had recruited to his crew not so long ago. A loud brat who was everywhere, but the captain liked him for his diligence and sense of humor. For now, the brat remains in Lucky's care, helping him in the kitchen, although Shanks was accosted more than once by the kid, who often even craved his attention and asked him about various things as if he was extremely fascinated by him. Well, exactly like right now.

- "What plans?" – asked Cito, sticking his head out from behind the cook's broad body, not caring that he approached them so rudely, not even caring that he had just interrupted their conversation.

- "Oh, Cito! How many times have I told you to say hello first and show respect to the elders, especially in the presence of the captain!" – Lucky scolded him, grabbing the boy's ear to tousle him, causing him to hiss. – "Besides, why aren't you in the kitchen? That's where your workplace is, and you'll be able to talk to the captain later when you're done".

- "Come on, Lucky! The boy didn't do anything wrong" - Shanks reassured his friend, laughing as he watched them. It was funny to see this interaction, even Beckman laughed quietly under his breath. - "And to answer your question" - the captain continued, while the boy was already looking at him. – "We are planning to have breakfast, am I right?".

Cito looked at Shanks for a moment longer, as if he was waiting for the other to say something more until he finally realized that the captain obviously did not intend to return to the previous conversation, then he quietly cursed under his breath, then smiled and nodded politely. - "I've heard from the other guys that Mr. Lucky is going to show off today, I can't wait to learn something again!".

- "If you can't wait for it so much, then run to the kitchen, we have less than an hour before a whole squad of starving men come here" – the cook admonished, but before he could pull the boy with him, the boy quickly passed him and stood right in front of the captain. The kid had good reflexes, Shanks had to admit it.

- "Before I leave, Captain, could I ask you later to spend some time with me and train me to be a stronger swordsman?" - asked Cito, bowing slightly. – "I would like to be as useful as possible when we get there. This is the perfect opportunity for me, since you, captain, are one of the strongest people in this world".

- "Ah, you're a swordsman too, aren't you?" - asked Shanks, amused by the young man's attitude. He leaned back against his chair, resting his arm on Gryphon. - "And what exactly would you like to learn from me, huh?".

- "I've already improved my footwork, I can move back and forth faster, but I still have trouble getting my wrist attack to go as smoothly as you do Captain" - the boy confessed, as quickly as if he'd been suppressing this phrase for a long time.

Shanks frowned involuntarily. - "You fight with a sword, don't you?" - asked the Emperor, and the question was so obvious that everyone looked at him confused, including the boy. - "You must have been watching my movements so intensely that you didn't notice that I was using a saber. With a sword, a double-edged blade like yours, your footwork covers the entire area, and you attack with your whole body, that's the basics. As a swordsman, you probably understand where the essential differences between a saber and a sword lie, don't you?".

Everyone now looked at Cito, who was standing as if stunned into the ground, his face slowly turning green. – "I'm sorry, I know that, of course, I just... I'm self-taught, I've never had a teacher and...".

Seeing the utter despair on the boy's face, Shanks felt bad at his sudden comment, so he got up from his chair and walked over to the other, then reached out to pat him on the back tenderly to calm him down. - "I’m truly sorry Cito, I did not mean to make fun of you in any way. It's great that you learned to fight on your own, for that you deserve great respect, you know?" – said the Emperor, giving the other a wide and sincere smile. - "You have to forgive me for being overly clever on this subject, I have several personal reasons that have made me now involuntarily very sensitive to issues related to swordsmanship" - he chuckled, remembering each time he had learned a painful lesson, first from Roger and Rayleigh, and later from Mihawk, with the latter being remembered with exceptional tenderness and sentiment.

- "Will you tell me about it? I'd love to know the personal reasons you're talking about" - the boy asked, but before Shanks could stop dreaming of his old duels with the warlord and return to earth to answer the request, his cook's hand grabbed Cito, and he threw the younger one over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and began to walk towards the kitchen.

- "Enough of the captain's torment first thing in the morning! Work awaits, Cito! Don't you want pancakes?" - said Lucky Roux, while the poor boy struggled, explaining that he could walk on his own. Before they disappeared, however, Cito stared, not at Shanks, whom he was so fascinated with, but at Beckman, judging him from top to bottom, which none of the men had noticed.

The Emperor raised his hand, brushing the strands of red hair back carelessly, then turned his head so that he could look at the sea again. Unfortunately, the silent dawn began to give way to the loud and restless bustle of the morning, and thus the calm waves, along with the approaching tide, began to sway, and there was no trace of the beautiful, idyllic scenery except memories in the captain's mind.

So it was time to take care of his duties and postpone dreams of his love until the next sunrise.

- "I wish you a beautiful day and take care of yourself, my dearest Mi, wherever you are now. I love you" - he whispered the goodbye to the sea, so softly that only he could hear it, and then slowly turned back to his companions.

- "Gather the rest of the crew, guys. There is still a lot of time until breakfast, we will have time to discuss a few issues about the battle".

The morning passed quickly. Breakfast was a pleasant break from a meeting full of unpleasant conversations, albeit a short one, because with a wink of an eye, the captain of the Red-Hair Pirates was back in the control room, surrounded by his men with all sorts of ideas about how they should make their first move when they came face to face with Teach in just a week. The final decision is up to the Red-Haired Emperor anyway, but contrary to appearances, Shanks could be a wise and sensible commander, which is why he was always willing to listen to what other men had to say before making his final judgment.

Recently, the days in Shanks' life were similar, so the Redhair, like the rest of the men on his ship, managed to develop a kind of routine, usually interrupted by the need to stop on some island to replenish supplies, or the presence of another pirate ship, which had to be effectively scared away. After breakfast, he and Beckman enlisted everyone into the control room to discuss tactics, to work out the details that had to be dealt with reluctantly, to listen to everyone's needs, and to plan everything in such a way that their only problem would be Teach, waiting for them on an island that had never belonged to him. There were days when the anxiety was so high that everyone sat at the table until late at night, accompanied by a bottle of rum or a glass of bitter vodka, buried among maps, old notes, and other papers. The days at the Red Force were therefore busy, much more than anyone could have expected.

But when there were days when it was decided to go to bed early, Shanks used the silence of the night (if it could ever be quiet on the ship) to think about private matters. It was rare for the Emperor to be able to sleep more than just a few hours, and it was usually when his exhausted body finally demanded a nap from him, or he overdid it with alcohol out of bitterness. Most often it was the case that simply... he just couldn't fall asleep in his own bed of his own free will. His body was like an oven, he didn't need clothes and it was always too hot for him, and yet his bed seemed so damn cold now, with no other body lying next to him, that it began to annoy him the very first night after leaving the Kuraigana Island. He, who had hitherto been able to sleep on the hardwood that covered the deck, or on the rough and rocking hammock without the slightest problem, could now lie in the middle of the large bed, the largest and most comfortable piece of furniture on the ship, and yet he could not sleep a wink because his hawk was not with him. Since their relationship had become official, they had started sharing a bed for obvious reasons, and Shanks had gotten used to putting his arm around the other, all he had to do was reach out and he knew he would be met with the touch of cool skin or a silk shirt, and he listened to the discontented, sleepy complaining as he grabbed the thin waist and pulled the other towards him, pressing their bodies together as it should be.

The whole difficult situation was another reason why the Captain looked so damn dissatisfied every morning. Waking up in an empty bed, without the sound of walking in his cabin, without the sight of the still sleepy warlord trying to get ready while his lazy red-haired lover pretended to be asleep, with no clean clothes prepared for him in the bedside chair, without the sight of Gryphon and Yoru leaning against each other, and without the feeling of cold fingers and painful kicks to get him out of bed, the lack of all this made Shanks mad at the very beginning of the day.

Oh, if only the Emperor could, even for just a day, see his love again, pull Mihawk into his lap and hold him close, kiss the beauty mark under his left eye, leave a kiss on his soft lips, and then on the scar just above his collarbone, which he had personally left centuries ago, and which, every time his lips traced its outline, reminded him,  how important the swordsman is to him. Not to let the other escape his embrace, to deliberately prolong their moments together in the morning, without prying eyes or audience, just the two of them, so perpetually dependent on one another, entwining their bodies in soft sheets, feeding on the sounds of pleasure as they lazily rub against each other, and if the Redhead was lucky, maybe he would have had a chance to have breakfast and treat his hunger much sooner than anyone else on this ship.

Now all he could do was enjoy the peaceful dawn when the sea glittered beautifully in gold, and he could only watch and dream helplessly until the sun rose for good and the world needed him again.

After that, he had to be the best captain, the man his crew could count on, and the commander everyone deserved.

When they were not busy planning the battle, Shanks got through the day along with Beckman, and their time was mostly spent smoking cigarettes, sipping some whiskey, and reminiscing about old times. Cito did not leave them a step away, the young boy often accompanied them, listening to the stories, asking new questions now and then, and often begging for permission to do some things for them, as trivial as bringing another bottle of amber, bitter, but delicious poison, as well as those that were basically more serious, such as accompanying them in sorting the mail.

Both the two older men and the resolute younger one quickly established a good rapport, and the rest of the crew began to treat the new recruit as a member of the family. It was hard not to like him, and his ever-good humor and laughter, almost as loud as Shanks' himself, made the Red-haired Emperor with a nostalgic smile on his face start thinking about another loud boy, more precisely the rubber boy from the Foosha Island, who would soon become a real legend, and he could bet his other arm on it (he had to be careful with that since he was more than convinced that Mihawk would certainly not be pleased to hear this).

Despite the atmosphere of the coming war lingering in the air above them, which had been suffocating and thickening them all since they set foot on the Red Force, today went well and smoothly for them. Relaxing, even.

However, as it happens in life, there’s a reason why sailors are afraid of the calm before the storm, and in their case, unfortunately, it was no different.

Late in the afternoon, they were back in the control room, but this time just the four of them, and the atmosphere between the men was as heavy as never before. The door to the room was locked, and the use of Observation Haki made sure that no one was hanging around and hearing their unpleasant conversation. Lucky Roux sat awkwardly in one of the chairs, Yasopp was standing with his back against the door, his arms crossed and his face visibly dismayed. Shanks sat hunched over in his chair, his torso bent forward so he could rest his elbow on his knee as he wondered intensely what the hell had happened. Beckman, on the other hand, walked around the room, clutching a cigarette in one hand so tightly that he practically broke it, and in the other hand he held the letter Marco had just sent, which led to the fact that they were now here, not understanding any of it.

Marco and his crew agreed to be one of Shanks' allies in the war against Teach, and since the conversation through the snails could easily be intercepted, the two commanders decided to correspond privately using seagulls specially hired for this mission, thus deciding to exchange messages over the heads of their mutual enemies in order to maintain the highest possible incognito status.

However, in the latest letter, which Beckman was now clutching angrily in his hand, Marco accused Shanks of being unprofessional and disorganized, because he had not received any specific message from the other for over a month regarding the plan, except for just one piece of paper, on which the text had been half-crossed out and smudged in such a way that it was impossible to read it. A former Whitebeard’s crew pirate threatened Redhead that if he didn't take the matter seriously, he and his men would back down from their plan. Other allies of the Emperor faced a similar situation since they also remained without any response from the Red-Hair Pirates.

Yasopp, who was the first to notice the approaching seagull and was the first to receive the message, called the three of them to the control room, taking care that no one from the rest of the crew was alerted by their strange behavior. These were too serious accusations, and it was more than certain that these words would cause one great outrage on the ship, so the best solution was to think the whole matter over in the most trusted company.

- "I can't fucking understand any of this" - growled Beckman, the most annoyed of the four. - "I personally made sure that each letter was properly addressed, there had never been a problem with it before. I don't know if it's them trying to make us into finite idiots, or if they just started chickening out before meeting Teach, which is why they're now fretting bullshit to put the responsibility on you ".

- "Well, I wouldn't be surprised they chickened out, but damn, I would never have expected that from Marco of all people" - Yasopp stated, scratching his head absentmindedly. - "I checked our seagull, it had no injuries, so our messages were not intercepted".

- "Everything was explained in a simple way, it is impossible that they misunderstood us. We didn't build complicated sentences, not that any of us could do it" - Lucky Roux sighed, staring at the floor. – "What will happen now, will they leave us without support? They're just going to leave, while so many people are still suffering and waiting for help?".

- "Well, damn them all" - Beckman said, crumpling the paper into a ball and putting it in his pocket. - "When it is all over and fate makes us meet, which will come sooner or later, I will personally beat their stupid faces".

- " We will need to think about support for Hongo, reckoning that there will be a significant number of people in need of medical assistance" - Shanks began slowly and carefully, who had been sitting quietly so far, with a heavy sigh. - "And I'll have to think about the answer, but for that, I need to refresh my mind. Come on, Beck, I know you need to smoke" - the captain said, patting his first mate on the back, who only cursed under his breath and then obediently followed the other man.

It was late afternoon, and the sun was tinting the world red and gold when the two pirates were on deck, leaning against the railing, watching the wide sky and the people near them at work. The sea breeze ruffled their hair, and the smell of salt and the sea in the air, always the best soothing of a sailor, this time was not able to make the anxiety consuming from the inside leave their bodies.

- "If it was just a joke on Marco's part and the others, it was a very bad joke, even for my taste" - Shanks said, resting his roughened-by stubble face on his hand as he listened to his first mate struggling with a lighter, trying to burn the cigarette he was holding in his mouth out of nervousness.

- "Cut that crap, Shanks" - Beckman sighed when he managed to light up and take in a lungful of smoke. – "It was supposed to be a quick thing, now we're going to have to fuck with it, who knows how long it will take us. In the end, we were left alone".

The Emperor fixed his eyes on the sky, listening to the righteous complaints of his first mate. Maybe if Shanks had been more serious and firm as he was expected to be, maybe they wouldn't have gotten to the point where they are now.

Give the man a finger and he will take your whole hand,  thought the Emperor, for he knew that if he said it out loud, Beckman would probably throw him overboard.

It seemed like their only tactic at the moment was to use Conqueror Haki, which was such an obvious move on their part that they didn't really have anything to surprise Teach with. All the battle planning that has taken so long will go to waste if Marco and the others keep their threat and do not stand up against the second Emperor.

Shanks' lingering composure was now just a step away from breaking. If he allows his anger to get the better of him, then not only will his enemy be in danger, but all who have been here under his protection as well. Using Haki has always been associated with danger, and it took Shanks himself years to learn how to control his power without hurting those he cared about. Too much Haki could tear the ship apart, or worse, take the lives of everyone around. After all, he was one of the most powerful men in the world for a reason.

- "Keep your heads up, guys! We'll be fine!" – Yasopp's voice resounded from behind them as the man found them, finally approaching and resting his arms around their necks to bind them together in a brotherly embrace. - "This isn't the first time we've been deep in the ass, but we've always managed to get back to the top, am I right?".

- "Though it may not be so easy this time, you know?" - sighed Lucky Roux, who leaned against the railing next to Shanks. - "We wasted time, and now we have to plan everything anew, where the war will come in the next few nights".

Immersed in their own minds and uncertainties, the four men found themselves once again in an uncomfortable silence. Well, three, because Yasopp stared up as if the sails were more interesting to a sniper at this point than that they were going to have a bloody war and they had no plan. – "A seagull".

- "What?" – Beckman growled.

- "Not what, you idiot, but a seagull" - Yasopp snorted, then motioned for the others to look up. – "A white seagull. It has been circling over our ship for a minute".

Indeed, a white-plumage bird hovered overheads, circling through the air, apparently looking for a suitable spot where it could land safely and rest. This sight, however, did not bring any joy to the men below.

- "More damn good news has arrived" - Beckman muttered sarcastically, waving his hand as if trying to ignore the winged postman. - "One more letter like the last one, and I'll start shooting those annoying ducks".

- "Come on, Beck, it's not worth your nerves" - Shanks sighed heavily with resignation, then moved away from the railing and brushed the strands of his red hair back with his hand, only to wave it a few times in the air in the next second, as if beckoning the animal to approach them.

In any case, the Emperor's gesture worked, because after a while the seagull lowered its flight, and finally landed on the metal railing right in front of them. The bird itself was medium-sized, and its white feathers shimmered in the colors of the late day.

- "I could be wrong, guys, but there's no way this bird belongs to us" - Lucky Roux began hesitantly as he looked at the feathered delivery guy. - "And I would dare to say that he does not come from this part of the world".

- "On one of his legs is marked his origin" - Yasopp confirmed when he approached the animal to get a good look at it. - "And you're right, Lucky, this guy is from the other end of the Grand Line".

- "So what brought you to us, beautiful, beaky friend?" - said Shanks, laughing as his hand tenderly stroked the seagull's head.

As if on cue, the bird let out a sound, then turned around in such a way that the Emperor could see a small package next to its short leg, in which there was probably a message for him.

- "Oh, what do you have there? Could it be a gift from my secret admirer?" - the captain joked because at that moment it was honestly the only thing he could do. Jokes about everything and not taking things seriously helped him swallow a wave of bitterness as he prepared for the next bad news that would ruin his already ruined day.

Who the hell was stupid enough to write to him from across the sea when everyone knew he was about to face war?

After pulling out what turned out to be a small letter, the Emperor couldn't help but snort.

This someone did not even have enough courage and respect for him to sign their name.

And so Shanks thought until he turned the envelope in his hand.

Until he noticed his own name written in elegant handwriting.

A handwriting that he would recognize anywhere, even by one single letter. Because it was engraved in his mind as strongly as the ink on every piece of paper hidden inside the box on the dresser in his bedroom.

Quickly retracting his earlier thoughtless words and feeling faint, as if he had been shot, he leaned heavily against the railing behind him, while his trembling hand nervously began to open the envelope to get to the letter.

- "Boss, what's wrong with you? Are you okay?" - asked Yasopp worriedly, even Beckman stopped smoking and complaining to look at the captain with obvious trepidation, while the captain ignored them all, focusing only on the paper in his hand.

The Red-Haired Emperor, even while facing his own death, would not feel the panic he feels now.

What was in the letter must have been hellishly important, because Mihawk would not have tried to contact him at this point without a valid reason.

Seas, if something terrible happened in his absence, Shanks will never forgive himself.

Almost tearing open the envelope, he finally managed to pull out a small piece of paper, which he took out with much more delicacy and reverence and then spread the paper out with his fingers to reveal a concise message written in black ink, the slightly irregular shape of the letters suggesting that the author of the message was in a hurry as he wrote it. After discovering another fact that was crushing Shanks' heart, the Emperor finally began to read.

Red

At the outset, forgive my lack of politeness and greeting, but believe me, you lack time, and I lack both this and more paper, so I have to write what I want to say as succinctly as I can. I don't know when this letter will reach you, or if it will at all, I can only hope that it is not too late.

A traitor is rampant among your crew on Red Force. I recommend that you give special attention to the young man among those whom you have taken under your roof. Apparently, they call him Cito. I don't know what he was up to tell you, but he is a professional sniper, his skills are supposedly higher than average. I don't know anything about his skills related to Haki and Devil Fruit, so I leave these details to you.

It shouldn't surprise you if I say that this man works for Blackbeard, he should have an inaccurately made tattoo of the flag on his arm, at least that's what his brothers had. You don't have to worry about them, I have taken care of them with due diligence. Sadly, I didn't have enough time to let them enjoy it any longer.

Moving on to the merits of this letter, I am writing this to warn you. Whatever plan you have chosen that this man knows about, abandon it. His target is Beckman, he was sent here to blow his head off as soon as your ship crosses the 'dead canyon', whatever it is, I hope you know what I'm talking about. This is supposed to confuse you enough so that the first three Titanic Captains who set a trap for you there can surprise you again and give you an extra headache. I deliberately don't want to write that something will happen to you, forgive me, but at this point, it won't go through my pen.

Oh, and by the way, Blackbeard is not there, as far as I know, he didn't plan to face you from the very beginning. Knowing this, I got a headache myself, so I hope you can come up with something to humiliate this pathetic man even more. I would be grateful.

Don't question the origin of all the information I've gotten for now, all I'm asking is that you trust me now. I'll explain everything to you once I get you.

And please, take more care of yourself this time. All of you.

I will not forgive you for another lost limb. You will sleep on the couch until you die. And I'm not kidding.

Yours forever,

Mi

As Shanks read the letter, his eyes and mind registering every sentence, word by word, the Emperor's face remained completely illegible, in the best sense of the word. So much emotion swirled and danced in his body that the greatest expert in the field would not have guessed whether the captain was more surprised, frightened, amused, in love, or neither, or all of them at once.

- "You were wrong, Beck. We were not left alone" - the Redhead said after a moment, his fingers stroking the thin paper between them. – "We never were".

- "Boss?" - asked Beckman hesitantly, trying as always to be the useful first mate, but also the friend his captain deserves.

Shanks just nodded, trying to be clumsily serious as a nasty smile tried to creep onto his face, so all he decided to do was to remain silent and simply hand the letter over to Beckman, who accepted the piece of paper with slight confusion and began to read what was written on it.

His seriousness was not helped by the ever-changing expression on his first mate's face, which went from nervousness to heavy swallowing and fear, until he finally finished reading with a low, amused snort, and then looked up to look at Shanks in utter disbelief. The same reaction befell Yasopp and Lucky Roux, who literally climbed on Beckman's back to read the letter with him.

- " You weren't kidding when you called him your angel, were you?" - said Beckman, wiping his face with his hand and returning the letter to the captain with his other hand.  - "Damn, now I'm going to owe Hawkeyes a lifelong supply of wine, I can start saying goodbye to my pension".

- "How is it that he always shows up at the right time?" - muttered Yasopp, grabbing his head. - "Not that I'm complaining, on the contrary, let him keep doing it, but it's just insane!".

- "After the boss's close encounter with the Sea King, I think our hawk must have developed some kind of premonition about when the boss is going to do something ultra-stupid or is in crisis" - Lucky Roux chuckled, looking at a satisfied Shanks, who was grinning from one ear to the other.

- "Put the jokes aside for now, boys, remember that Mihawk took a big risk to warn us" - Shanks reminded them as he put the letter in his pocket with obvious delicacy and affection. His words, however, had the opposite effect.

- "He mentioned all of us to take care of ourselves" - Yasopp sighed with emotion, wiping a non-existent tear under his eye.

- "He really loves us" - sighed Lucky, pawing at his heart.

- "That's great, so I'm not the only one paying for the wine we owe him" - Beckman commented, while the other two pirates fell silent as they began to realize how much debt they now had.

Yes, the love for Mihawk was tart and sweet. Just like cherries. His cold attitude and hostile look are simply the first barriers you have to face. You feel the astringency on your tongue, but whoever gives up halfway does not deserve a sweet dessert waiting at the end of it. If you stay despite the first obstacle, break the ice, and end up in the care of a swordsman, then you might as well say that you have been blessed by God Himself and realize that you have just met the most caring person you have ever seen.

And the letter in Shanks' pocket is the truest proof of this thesis.

The Emperor was not a doctor, much less a psychologist, but perhaps the fact that the Warlord had wandered alone all his life, unable to count on anyone's help, made him so damn worried about the people who accepted him, despite his attempts not to show it at all. Perhaps this was his way of thanking them. Perhaps that's why Shanks' loss of his left arm and thus almost his own life years ago has hurt the other so deeply.

Okay, hide your tissues, there's no time for that right now.

- "So what's the plan, boss?" – Beckman asked, pulling another cigarette out of his pocket. - "Our birdie is never wrong, is he?".

- "That's true" - the Emperor confirmed, nodding his head. - "But that doesn't mean I'm going to show the brat this letter, we'll have to look for other irrefutable proof" - he said, then nodded to Yasopp. - "You'll search his bed when he's not around" - the Redhead ordered, then looked at the cook. - "And you're going to keep him busy and make sure he stays in the kitchen until Beck lets you know to bring him to me". There was still a chance that Cito had no idea about Mihawk, and the Emperor wasn't lying when he said that the welfare of another was the most precious thing to him.

Both the sniper and the cook nodded in unison while Beckman clenched his fist with his hand, making the air fill with the sound of his cracking knuckles. – "Where is this little shit now?".

- "He's helping Hongo with the documentation" - sighed Lucky Roux, revealing that now the slippery traitor must have had knowledge of their physical condition. - "I'm going to get him and I'm going to get him out of there as soon as possible. Then I will keep an eye on him and wait for the order” - the cook saluted, and then moved towards the hospital wing.

- "I'll wait until they go to the kitchen, and then I'll go to the sleeping quarters, I will come straight away if I find something interesting " - Yasopp clapped his hands, smiling derisively as he walked away. - "Finally, something is happening on this ship, I was already starting to die from this monotony of constant meetings".

- "What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" - asked Beckman, ready for orders.

- "Go get the blank sheets of paper and envelopes, it's the perfect time to explain our new plan to Marco and the others, now that we know who had their dirty fingers in our correspondence. Then call all the boys on the deck" - the Emperor ordered.

- "A new plan?".

Shanks grinned, almost devilishly. - "Yes, let me introduce it to you, my friend".

The Red-Haired Emperor stood leaning against the ship's railing, gazing thoughtfully at the rough waves in the sea below. A strong sea breeze ruffled the red strands of his hair, which were almost blending into the blood-red sky above the horizon. They have just finished sending letters to Marco and the rest of the Red-Hair Pirates' allies, confident that they will understand their current situation and that it will motivate them all even more to humiliate the cowardly pig that is Teach and teach him a lesson that will reverberate through all the seas of this world.

- "All ready, boss" - Hongo saluted as he came closer.

- "Good" - the captain nodded, still not taking his eyes off the stormy sea. It took another moment before the Emperor spoke again, turning to Building Snake, who was standing next to him with his arms crossed. - "How many days will it take us to get to the Dead Canyon, Snake?".

The navigator looked at his captain, then straightened up. - "Except for today, and assuming that the weather doesn't surprise us, the wind will still be on our side, and the water flow will be constant, it will take us up to six days, boss".

Shanks muttered, nodding as if he was thinking about it.

- "Okay, then get us there in three" - the Emperor ordered, causing the navigator to look at him in shock as if the Redhair had grown a second head. Ignoring his subordinate's condition, Shanks rested his hand on the other's shoulder, squeezing it lightly and smiling brightly. – "You can do it. I'm counting on you".

Building Snake looked at him for a moment more, then coughed, his expression becoming serious. – "I got it. You'll be there in three days, boss".

Hongo looked at them, shocked by this sudden, absurd exchange. – "Three days, are you serious? Why do you have this sudden need to hurry, boss?" - he asked, laughing as he slipped his hands into his pants pockets.

- "Teach wanted to surprise us, so we will be the first to surprise him, being there earlier than he planned" - the Emperor replied, scratching his unshaven facial hair. - "And since he has just lost the last snitch who will tell him about it, it will be a double kick in his ass. We'll be able to laugh as we see how quickly his great and excellent captains can wake up and take up arms".

- "Is this your only reason, or is there a chance that Hawkeyes is on his way to us?" - asked Beckman, feigning complete selflessness, hiding an obvious smile behind his hands as he tried to light a cigarette. - "Do you care so much about ending this war before he comes here?".

- "Oh, I just know he's coming here" - Shanks nodded, laughing loudly while his hand reached into his trouser pocket to touch the velvet box, the presence of which began to burn his thigh, wanting to finally be handed over to the right person. - "He's worried, after all, he doesn't know if his letter has reached us, besides he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to tell me directly how irresponsible and annoying I am, let's be honest. I, on the other hand, really want to give him this wedding, in a big, decorated church, lots of flowers around, a closed party, with no entry and a permanent ban for the Marines and the rest of the idiots sitting in the government, and nothing will stop me from these plans, not even my own lovely, angry, future spouse".

- "Well, that's brave words, considering how feral Hawkeyes can be when it comes to you" - the first mate said, looking at the captain appreciatively. - "Do you love him to death?".

The smile on Shanks's face did not fade once as he turned and stared intently at the sea. - "Speak of him over my grave and watch how he brings me back to life".

The sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden floor of the deck echoed around them, and the eyes of all the men gathered, except Shanks, turned to Yasopp, who walked towards the captain with great satisfaction painted on his face, carrying a mysterious suitcase with a metal cover on his back.

- "Captain" - said the sniper solemnly, as he stood in front of the Emperor, who finally looked away from the sea and turned slowly to look at the other man standing in front of him. Yasopp's smile grew bigger in an instant. - "I think I found what you were looking for".

The sniper took the suitcase from his back and placed it on the floor in front of Shanks' boots, while the rest of the men came closer and stood around, wanting to see and find out what was inside.

The latches let go with a little difficulty, and finally, Yasopp opened the metal trunk, revealing its contents to everyone. - "I found it under his mattress, boss. That bastard didn't even try to hide it better".

In the suitcase, on a soft pillow, there was a disassembled small arm, with a bullet-loaded carbine lying next to it, the set was almost ready, it was enough to screw on the gold-plated barrel and the weapon was suitable for immediate use.

- "It's an excellent weapon, great for firing a quick shot" - Yasopp said, in an almost expert voice, after all, he was a master of this craft like no other on this ship. - "It's perfectly small to be hidden, for example, under a shirt, and this special part here" - he pointed to a small element inside the whole mechanism, which was hardly visible to everyone anyway. - "It helps to knock out a projectile, such a small piece of shit, but enough great to make the drag force equal to zero at the right inclination and good winds".

- "So you're saying that a bullet fired from this weapon will go through the skull?" - asked Shanks, frowning.

- " Will it go through? It will split it like a nut " - the sniper said, closing the suitcase back up.

To his right, the captain noticed his first mate drop his hand with the cigarette, a cloud of smoke escaping from his mouth along with a heavy sigh as his other hand landed on the top of his head and touched his hair slicked back as if he had just realized what would have happened if they hadn't been warned sooner. The whole movement was almost natural, but for everyone at that moment, his behavior was incredibly clear.

- "Oh, Beck, what would we do without you?" – Hongo howled in despair, resting his head on the shoulder of an older man with fake crying. - "With whom would I share the burden of having any brain cells on this ship devoid of reason and common sense?".

- "Yes, Beck, don't you dare leave us alone with Shanks, we'll die of our own filth and stupidity!" – Limejuice joined, falling to the ground to cuddle the first mate's leg, although his crying was no fake.

- "You two are unbearable..." - muttered Shanks with a heavy sigh, though he had to admit that even he felt a lump in his throat when he imagined his crew without the infamous Benn Beckman to his right. Seas, when all this is over, they will probably put up an altar for Mihawk for literally saving their lives. Actually, when Shanks honestly thought about it, it wasn’t such a stupid idea...

- "Whatever stupid thing you're thinking about now, stop it" - Beckman scolded him, and then the man turned to the two idiots, pushing them away from him with some force, because they stuck to him like a bubblegum to the sole of a shoe. - "And you two pull yourselves together, we now have bigger things to worry about, like the little shit who kept a firearm like that in the room where we all slept sweetly, while he could get up at any time and feed us lead".

This caused everyone to really get a grip in the blink of an eye. The first mate sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. - "Is that enough to accuse him?" - he asked, turning again to the captain next to him.

- "That is more than enough" - the Emperor confirmed slightly, shrugging his shoulders. - "Even if we hadn't found that suitcase, Beck, our main talent is to get random people into trouble, remember?".

The suitcase was stowed away, and Shanks nodded to Beckman, who had left on his way to the kitchen.

It wasn't a moment before Beckman returned to the deck, followed by Cito, who was on his heels, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sight that awaited him.

The young man in front of him had a bunch of crazy men, criminals, one with a more psychopathic smile on his face than the other, the extremely scary-looking Shanks, and in the middle of them all was standing a single chair. One small, wooden chair with a backrest. Specially prepared for him.

At the sight of this, the devil would shit himself out of fear.

Cito jumped, taking a step back, but was stopped by Lucky Roux, who stood right behind him, depriving him of the only possible way out.

- "Cito, my boy!" - called out the Emperor with joy, and then stretched out his hand to point to a wooden chair in the middle. – "We have all been looking for you. Go ahead, join us, don't keep us waiting~!”.

The young man turned almost green in the face, ready to flee if it weren't for Lucky's strong hands, which grabbed him, lifting his whole body into the air and forcibly planting him in a chair in front of the Emperor and his crew, gathered around. – "Here we go, it wasn't that hard, see? But now you have to fend for yourself because you're already a big boy, right? Good advice? Listen to the captain!" - the cook chuckled with a smile that only widened on his face as he slowly walked away to join the rest of the men standing to the side.

- "Chill your beans, Cito, you have no reason to be afraid" - Shanks said, his laid-back and friendly voice echoing as he slowly approached the jittery boy in the chair. - "Really, you have nothing to be afraid of. The Emperor's word!" - he shouted, placing his hand on his chest, before bursting into loud laughter, followed by a chorus of similar laughter from his crew. It took him a moment to calm down again.

- "No, but really, I'm serious, you have nothing to be afraid of, you know, unless you did something naughty, then by all means, you should be afraid, even very, actually" - the Redhead continued, his melodious and light tone of voice didn't match the aura he was creating after all. A very intimidating, bloody aura like his hair. - "Have you done anything naughty then, Cito?".

The young man swallowed loudly as the Emperor's eyes pierced his skull. The boy was unable to utter a word, and all he could focus on were the three scars on the captain’s eye that disfigured the face of the powerful pirate. Everyone knows who inflicted these scars on him.

- "You don't say anything, and you are constantly shaking. Should I take that as your answer?" - the captain asked, his voice sounding as if he was getting bored.

- „… I didn't do anything" - the younger man began and paused when Shanks' face suddenly appeared a centimeter from his own.

- "Are you sure about that?" – asked the Emperor, and his voice no longer sounded as light and funny as it had a moment ago. – "Be careful what you say. I tolerate lying, but I hate nothing more in the world than a damn bad joke. Even when I'm drunk, right, boys?".

- "Aye, Captain!" – a chorus of male voices rang out behind him.

- "I didn't fucking do anything!" - yelled Cito, banging his fists on the armrests of the chair.

Shanks smiled gently. - "I believe you, Cito" - the pirate said, while the boy looked at him in surprise. - "After all, only a complete idiot would try to cheat me on my own ship, where nothing has the right to hide from me, am I right?" - added the Redhead and the back of his hand was on the right arm of the younger one, on which, according to the letter, there should be a tattoo that, if done badly, should not heal well and cause pain. And as if by magic, a painful hiss escaped Cito's lips. Even if it wasn't it, you could always use the Observation Haki to check it out.

 But what for? You could always tease each other a little, as this little shit had done to him for the past months.

- "Tell me, Cito, are you still learning swordsmanship?" - asked Shanks as he let go of the other and straightened up, his arm lazily resting on the hilt of the Gryphon attached to his hip.

- "Yes, I do" - the younger man growled reluctantly.

- "And are you absolutely sure you've never had a weapon in your hands that shoots and makes a phew-phew sound when you press the right button?" - the Emperor continued in a tone as if he were addressing a small child, while the rest of his crew burst into laughter again.

- "I... I don't understand...".

- "What? What does a pistol look like?".

- "Stop making an idiot out of me, I know what a pistol looks like!" – growled Cito, clearly offended.

- "Jackpot! So you'll know what it is when I show you this" - the pirate snapped his fingers playfully, then headed to the back to get and take with him the suitcase with metal cover.

- "You motherfucker, did you rummage through my things?!" - the man yelled, anger erupting in his eyes. – "Give it back!".

- "Motherfucker? Damn, and just a moment ago I was a mentor to you, one of the strongest people in this world..." – said Shanks, pretending as if the younger one's words broke his heart. Immediately afterward, the Emperor straightened up, and such an expression appeared on his face that would have been censored in the public press. - "Besides, don't forget that everything 'yours' on my ship is mine, whether you like it or not".

Cito squealed in fear, and Shanks sighed heavily. He needed to calm down, this conversation wasn't worth it for him to lose his temper anyway.

At least for now.

- "Why did you hide that weapon from me, Cito?" – the captain asked gently.

- "None of your fucking business".

- "Well, since it's none of my business, and everything here belongs to me, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't get rid of this weapon. It looks expensive, maybe I'll be reimbursed for at least some of what I spent on keeping you here..." - Shanks said, while he watched the young man's face twist in terror out of the corner of his eye.

- "Blackbeard gave you this weapon?" - asked the Emperor, hitting the nail on the head.

- "Ugh- what does he have to do with it?".

- "That's what I'm trying to find out, so why don't you tell me?".

- "It's not my weapon and I've never put my fingers on it" - Cito defended himself, using an extremely pathetic lie.

- "Just like on my correspondence?" – Shanks asked, and the young man's body stiffened under his gaze. - "Besides, that argument doesn't make sense, you know, since you called me a motherfucker so charmingly as soon as I took out that suitcase".

Cito winced, and his cheeks flushed.

- "But don't panic. As I said, I can tolerate a lie" - the Emperor continued, putting the suitcase aside, then turning his back on the young man to look at the sea shrouded in sun and red. - "I'm not as cruel as the other Emperors or captains, you know? Contrary to appearances, I am not amused by senseless bloodshed. That's why, Cito, I'm now able to forgive you for many things. I would forgive you for deceiving me, I would forgive you for threatening me and my crew, I would forgive you for selling information about me and my plans to Blackbeard, I would forgive you for this weapon, I don't care much about it, damn, I would even forgive you if you stood up and spat in my face..." – said the captain, while Cito listened to him in disbelief, fidgeting in his chair.

- "... but you, Cito, just did something much worse" - Shanks said, and his low voice suddenly reached an eerie seriousness, while the flash of his red Haki unleashed for a split second, only to blind everyone around and prove that this time the Emperor was really mad.

- "H-huh?".

- "You have committed the worst crime that I will not forgive anyone" - growled the Redhead, and his voice was so harsh that Cito jumped, almost falling over with the chair he was sitting on.

- "W-What have I done?" – the young man cried.

At this point, it was impossible to determine if the sky suddenly darkened, or if it was the whole aura of Red-Haired Shanks that was so terrifying that he gave the impression that the world was about to end.

- " You dared to worry someone I did not want to worry under any circumstances" - the Emperor confessed, still looking out over the stormy sea, feeling the presence of the letter that was hidden in his pocket. - "You might as well have taken your ridiculous pistol and shot me straight in the heart. After interfering with my letters, I can always write and send a new one, after ruining my plans, I can always come up with a new one, none of these things are a reason to take your life. But you have done unimaginable harm that I cannot undo. You and your brothers have failed, but I will have to find my angel wounded, look into those beautiful eyes, and come up with a way to apologize and say how sorry I am...".

- "Me and... My brothers? Big Brother Des?" - interrupted Cito, utterly devastated and terrified when he realized that he wasn't the only one who had been captured. – "And brother Pa? What have you done to them?!".

- "Angel eyes took care of them".

- "Took care?! And who are those fucking angel eyes?!".

- "My whole world" - the Emperor confessed, sighing dreamily while his crew began to laugh at him.

Cito snorted. - "One person couldn't knock my brothers down, you must be kidding me" - the young man said, not believing anything the captain said. – "So that's what you mean? You will avenge your… a what? lover?".

- "Yes" - the Redhead nodded shortly as if it were obvious.

And now that Cito had honestly thought about it, for a man like Shanks, that was indeed a good enough reason to take revenge.

 And now indeed Cito really began to fear for his own life. It wasn't supposed to look like this. This was not the end Marshall D. Teach had promised him!

- "Mr. Shanks, I'm sorry... I beg you, don't kill me..." – he began to beg, and the atmosphere around them was filled with his ugly sobs. - "I'll say anything you want, I'm just begging you to let me out of here, I don't want to be here anymore".

- "I'd like to check something first" - the Emperor interrupted him.

Check? What will it be, a test? Cito thought.

- "What can you tell me about the Warlords?".

This question surprised Cito. But this question also calmed him down in a way. This question was trivially simple. After all, everyone knew the obvious attitude of the Emperors toward the Warlords.

- "I know that they are bitches of the World Government without self-respect" – the young man confessed as if it were obvious. - "None of them can match a powerful Emperor like you" - he added, trying to appease the red-haired man in front of him as much as possible. It will increase the Redhead's ego, and he will let him go. It was so simple, Teach was exactly the same.

- "None of them?".

- "Exactly, none of them!" - Cito nodded, almost excited, when he suddenly remembered something and a small light bulb lit up in his mind. – "And especially your pathetic former rival! This threat to humanity will never match a strong man like you! A primitive coward and a fraud, they should hang him, so that his title will finally belong to someone who actually deserves it-".

The young man didn't finish when suddenly every man in the Red-Hair Pirates crew reached for his weapon, and the sound of swords and unlocked firearms filled the air. All this made the boy afraid again.

- "That's enough" - Shanks said, raising his hand and then turning slowly to look again at the boy in front of him. The young man's brave words were enough to prove to him that he had no idea about anything.

- "W-will you let me go now?" - asked Cito as he waited for a long moment and the Emperor said nothing more.

- "Did I ever say that I was going to let you go?" - asked Shanks, slowly and lightly approaching the young man. Really, how naive could this boy really be? - "You owe me a lot, Cito. Far too much for me to just let you out of here. You're going to tell me all about Blackbeard first before I make you clean the entire deck with your own tongue, okay? Let's call it an honest exchange of information between two independent pirates, shall we?" - said Shanks in a light and cheerful tone, placing a warm hand on the tense and trembling shoulder of the young man, who swallowed loudly when he realized that he was very wrong and that the Red-Haired Emperor was not as frivolous and petty as he thought.

After that, the only thing he remembered was the constantly darkening sky and the loud laughter of the Red-Hair Pirates crew, which would resound in his ears for the rest of his life.

Three days later, the day of the battle with Blackbeard's crew, Red Force, New World, Dead Canyon.

It was the early hours of the morning when Red Force crossed the Dead Canyon.

But before that happened, and dawn was just flashing on the horizon, signaling to the sailors that it would soon be there to banish the dark, chilly night, Red-Haired Shanks, the mighty Emperor of the Seas, stood on the deck, elbow on the railing, staring out at the calm sea below, dreaming of better times, of times when he had the love of his life right next to him, almost at his fingertips, of the times when he could touch him and taste his soft lips whenever he felt like it, and his throat didn't burn with the incessant desire of the other person, but also of the times to come, the times that are still ahead of both of them, when they will be reunited and fall into each other's arms.

Muttering a last, silent I love you, I'll find you soon, angel towards the calm waves, his gaze turned to greet the thick fog and darkness that emanated the place as soon as Red Force crossed its threshold.

Well, the moment has come to put Shanks' plan into action.

The Emperor put his hand in his pocket, then stepped out into the middle of the deck of the ship, and from there he began to walk slowly towards the bow of the ship. As he walked, at a slow pace, his silhouette looking completely relaxed and calm, the only sound that broke through the sepulchral silence was the sound of sandals hitting the wooden floor.

Suddenly, in the thicket of fog, Benn Beckman stood on the starboard side, right next to the railing, who, as if unaware of anything, pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, exhaling smoke that mixed with the fog which engulfed everything around him.

There was no trace of Blackbeard's captains, at least at first glance. Everyone who was able to use the Observation Haki was aware that both opposing teams were already aware of each other's presence in this place. Shanks might have surprised them by coming here much earlier, but knowing that Van Augur was one of those, whose ass would have to be kicked was more than certain that they already knew that the Red-Haired Emperor had just stepped into their trap.

But will this ultimately be their trap? The seas will see.

And as if on cue, Augur himself, hidden in the fog, was spotted by the Emperor's Haki. The other two captains of Blackbeard were loitering somewhere nearby, their presence could be traced. Shanks himself never intended to hide and seek from his enemy, cause if he did, he would not walk around his ship as lightly and selflessly as if he himself was inviting you to face him in battle like right now. Forgive him, but Red-Haired Shanks could do more than hide and dump all the work on others, as was the case with Marshall D. Teach.

Beckman took over the attitude of his captain, and just stood and smoked in peace, not caring about anything. The fog between them thickened the deeper they went into the long corridor of the canyon, from which there was only one exit, waiting for them at the end.

And so it was time for the next part of the plan.

From the thick fog behind Beckman, the silhouette of Cito emerged. The young man stood and stared at the back of the first mate's head, knowing full well that his every move was watched by Blackbeard's crew, hiding on the rocks hidden in the fog. Finally, the boy cocked his firearm and raised his hand, aiming the barrel straight at the first mate of the Red-Hair Pirates.

And still, nothing actually happened.

The young man stood motionless, his pistol pointed straight at Beckman's head, and sweat pooled and dripped down his forehead in great drops.

And then something finally happened.

Something, that Shanks was waiting for in order to move on to the next stage of his plan.

Augur became clearer in the thick fog, revealing himself, presumably to force Cito to pull the trigger and perform an attack.

And well, it was certainly not the kind of trigger pull and attack that Augur expected when he appeared, as in a split second the bullet went straight between his eyes, piercing through the skull and knocking him out on the spot.

- "The first one down, boss" - muttered Yasopp, who had been sitting hidden in the fog all the time, just behind Cito's silhouette, patiently waiting for Blackbeard's sniper to lean out enough to knock him down with a single shot. - "What an idiocy, having Advanced Observation Haki and focusing your attention only on a shabby, scared little shit".

- "And what else did you expect from Blackbeard's pirates?" – Beckman said dismissively, reaching for his weapon. - "They can only follow orders, without it they are like lost children in the fog".

- "As a sniper, I'll tell you that you hit the nail on the head with this one" - the other chuckled. - "And what's next, boss?" – Yasopp asked, reloading his weapon.

Screams rang out all around them, and a sudden alarm caused by the death of one of the captains was enough for a group of feral Blackbeard pirates to take up arms and rush into battle aboard the Red Force.

Shanks smiled, calmly observing the growing panic around him. His hand found its place on the Gryphon's hilt.

- "Take up arms, boys! It's rude to greet your guests empty-handed!".

While the war outside continued, and the air was soaked with smoke and gunpowder from the cannons that shook the entire ship as the shots were fired, Cito was forcibly dragged by Hongo into one of the sanitary rooms, where he was supposed to sit and don’t piss them off anymore until the battle was soon over by Shanks and the rest of the boys.

- "The captain said that you will be safe with us, but you are also supposed to be useful" – the doctor growled, pushing the younger man away with force to make the other land on one of the benches in the room. - "You will help me with stitching and bandaging the wounds if any of our men have been wounded, you got it?".

- " No, but have you got IT?" – asked Cito, then kicked the poor doctor straight in the groin with all his might, then slid off the bench he was sitting on and ran to the exit.

Ignoring Hongo's screams and curses, Cito ran through the corridors of Red Force, knowing now, after all his time here, where the crew kept the lifeboats that could be used to leave the ship quickly and safely.

He just had to get out of there as soon as possible. He had had enough of the Emperors and their sick, fucked up plans once and for all! His life wasn't worth the money and fame Blackbeard had promised him, and he didn't think that after all the losses the Emperor would suffer after the war with the Redhair, he would be generous enough to actually pay him for everything he'd been through here.

Fuck all the Emperors and their fucking money and fame.

Shooting down men with the precision of the sniper he was, and mortally wounding anyone who dared approach him, Cito finally reached the lifeboats, freeing one of them, and finally, after a swift rappel into the water, in a thicket of fog and black cannon dust, he managed to get away from the two enemy pirate crews unnoticed and escape from Dead Canyon.

Now everyone could kiss his ass!

Meanwhile, Hongo appeared on the deck of the Red Force, with trembling legs and visible pain painted on his face, wincing as he headed straight towards Shanks, who was just finishing decapitating Captain Shiryu with Gryphon. The Red-Haired Emperor rarely undertook such brutal acts, but this whole Shiryu motherfucker was crazy enough that Shanks thought that if he didn't decapitate the other, he would get up anyway to kill them all, despite the body loaded with Haki.

- "Captain..." – Hongo called weakly when he finally reached his boss.

- "What's wrong, Hongo?" asked Shanks, observing the other's attitude with obvious surprise. – "Your dick is stuck to your thigh from the heat of the battle? Dude, I know that pain, the worst possible feeling, you dance, and still this stinky bastard just doesn't want to peel off...".

- "That's not it, damn it!" - the doctor yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He wanted to remind the captain that some normal people wear underwear here, but he knew it was a road to nowhere, so he should better get straight to what he wanted to say. - "This little shit just fucked off from here! He took one of our lifeboats and ran away. I tried to chase him, but that fucker kicked me in the nuts with such force that for a moment I thought I was seeing the Kingdom of Heaven".

- "Uh, that must have hurt" - Shanks said sympathetically, wiping the blood from Gryphon on his pants.

- "And that's it? Won't you do anything about it?" - the surprised doctor asked.

- "Hongo, you are the doctor, you should know how to help yourself...".

- "I'm talking about this guy!".

- "And what would you like me to do, chase him?" - asked the Emperor, not very interested in the idea. - "I have more important things on my mind right now, for example, this war, which is still ongoing. If this guy thinks that having two enemies in the form of Emperors is something he can handle on his own, then who am I to tell him that is not the case?" - said Shanks simply, before leaving to join Beckman and Lucky Roux as they fought an enraged Burgess.

Hongo stood for a moment, thinking about what the captain had just said, finally finding that there was actually some truth in it.

The day after the start of the Battle in Dead Canyon, New World, unknown seas.

After successfully bypassing Marco's crew and the other pirate ships who, in alliance with the Red-Hair Pirates, had joined the ranks of those who conserve themselves in the fog of Dead Canyon, Cito finally found himself on the open waters, less than two nautical miles from a place where he sincerely hoped all these pirates will kill each other.

The waters were calm, and the sea currents gently swayed his lifeboat, pulling him away from the bloody battle not far away and transporting him safely to a more distant place.

The only thing that caused the young man a little fear was the thick fog that now hung over the entire sea around him, and Cito was unable to see anything in front of him or behind him.

With no solution to his problem, the young man lay back comfortably in his little lifeboat, deciding to take a nap and wait for the sea to deliver his boat to any land where he could hide.

But he hadn't expected his little boat to collide with something so quickly, and still so close to the Canyon, young Cito was sure that what he had hit couldn't be the mainland, because nothing else had the right to exist here.

Offended by the sudden collision, the young man rose from his seat with a visible grimace on his face. The fog was pretty damn thick, so he'd probably have to strain and get up to see what the hell just hit his boat. But as soon as he opened his eyes slightly, the first thing he saw was a piercing, greenish light, coming from... a candle?

Staring at the small flame, which, completely undaunted by the sea winds, was not going to go out, he was almost hypnotized by its glow, until a mysterious, low, and smooth voice broke through the silence that reigned around him.

- "Who are you?".

Cito jumped up in terror and stepped away, landing on his back, surprised that he had just come across someone on the great open sea in the middle of nowhere, and in thick fog at that. To top it off, this someone's voice sounded more like an order than a question, which only irritated the young man more.

- "My name is Cito and that's the last thing you'll hear from me, so you better fuck off! I've killed enough pirates lately, I'll have no problem taking another one!" - he growled, hoping that the other one, whom he couldn't see through the fog, would eventually let go and detach from him.

The last thing he could expect was a black blade driven into his boat, right in front of his face, so close that he was able to see his own reflection in the beautifully polished surface of the huge sword.

Cito cried out in horror as he felt the water slowly pool in his small ship, and he raised his head to see a pair of horribly golden, animalistic eyes above him, nailing him to the bottom of the slowly sinking boat.

- "Repeat your name, brat".

The last thing Cito decided to do at the last minute was to reach for his firearm and fire a shot.

Two days after the end of the Battle of Dead Canyon, Red Force, New World.

The pale dawn, illuminating the sky so far shrouded in darkness, together with the sea breeze slowly, without haste, woke up the world to life. The men on board the Red Force moved just as slowly and unhurriedly, still recovering from all the events that had taken place recently. However, the first rays of the sun, warmed their skin and strengthened their souls, because after difficult months and an even more exhausting struggle they could welcome another sunny day into their lives, all this made them realize that they remained steadfast and won.

News Coo, within the first hours of the end of the bloody slaughter in Dead Canyon, spread the news in all the seas about the great victory of Red-Haired Shanks, the Emperor of the Sea, and at the same time, the great defeat of Marshall D. Teach, who did not even show up for the war he dared to unleash. Not only that, the Red-Hair Pirates decapitated all three Titanic Captains, sending the aforementioned "trophies" back to Blackbeard's ship, not only as a warning and a real threat of what would happen to Teach himself if he tried to get in the Redhead's way again but also as a form of ridicule of his supposedly invincible and powerful fleet, which, as it turned out, was not so "invincible" after all. The Red-Hair Pirates ravaged all the ships left behind by Blackbeard's crew, gathering their food, weapons, medicine, and maps, as well as gold, really huge amounts of gold, as well as precious stones and other riches. Shanks and his allies then visited the island originally under his protection, freeing the people from the tyranny imposed by Teach and his gang. One of the pirate crews, an ally of the Red-Hair crew, promised to stay nearby and look after the Emperor's interests in case a similar attack returned in the future. After a whole day of helping those in need, looting enemy ships, implementing new policies, and resupplying Red Force, the crew was finally ready to officially celebrate their greatest success over Teach so far and the fact that they proved to the world that they remain one of the most powerful pirate crews to be warded against.

Despite the early hours, there was a cheerful and friendly atmosphere on the deck of the ship. Every now and then the sound of crates being moved across the floor could be heard, men walking around, laughing and joking with buckets and cloths in their hands, cleaning the floor of the ship and scrubbing so hard that one could see their own reflection in the polished freshly varnished wooden parquet. The minor glitches that the ship had earned during the battle had already been fixed, and Red Force itself shone with freshness and cleanliness like never before.

The captain and his first mate left the control room, where they discussed the most important plans for the coming weeks and set the direction of their next course, and volleys of greetings and warm words greeted them as soon as they set foot on the deck.

Shanks took a deep breath, enjoying the first feeling of the fresh sea air in his lungs. The sound of his sandals reflected off the wooden floor, the morning sea breeze blew the red strands of his hair, and the first rays of the sun hit his eyes as soon as he stepped on the deck, but this time it didn't make him wince - on the contrary, he greeted the morning as if it were his old, dearest friend.

Summoned by the conversation next to him, the Emperor turned and walked towards his crewmates, already joined by Beckman, who was lighting a cigarette and watching with pity as Yasopp clumsily tried to wipe off the coffee, which he supposedly "didn't spill, and besides, it's all Lucky's fault, because his belly is so big that he can't see where he's going,  and also, leave him alone".

- "You better scrub it thoroughly before the boss sees it" – muttered the first mate supportively, which finally had the opposite effect.

- "You're exaggerating! Since when has boss ever cared so much about making the floors on his ship shine like porcelain?" - complained Yasopp loudly, scrubbing the wood with more force.

- "Beck is right. I won't lay Mihawk on every inch of this ship unless the floor is absolutely perfectly clean" - Shanks said in a voice as if what he had said was obvious, completely ignoring the fact that the faces of his colleagues were slowly frowning in disgust and with a certain amount of jealousy.

- "Then maybe warn Lucky not to wash the dishes, since you're going to eat from the floor anyway-" - the sniper began, but quickly fell silent when Beckman's fist met the top of his head.

- "Shut your mouth and you'd better be nice to the boss, otherwise he won't warn us that he's going to eat, and believe me, you wouldn't want to accidentally come in in the middle of his dinner" - the older man threatened him, knowing very well not to play with fire. Especially the red one in the form of their unpredictable captain.

- "Come on, now" - Yasopp muttered, rubbing his hand over the growing bump on his head. - "Our captain has more restraint than we think, am I right, boss?".

Shanks just smiled brightly at them, not commenting on it.

- "A-am I right, boss?" – the sniper asked again, now a little less confidently.

- "Uhh..." - muttered Lucky Roux softly, speaking for the first time since the captain and his first mate had joined them here. The cook looked incredibly surprised and slightly worried.

- "See? This is what you're going to look like if you don't stop pissing me off" - Shanks laughed, gesturing to the cook standing next to them.

- "Boss..." – Lucky continued as if he wanted to tell them something, but he was shocked enough to run out of words. – "Guys...".

- "Go to the kitchen and get me a cup of coffee, okay, Lucky? This tar tastes like shit, but I already drink it every day that it has become a habit. That and admiring the sea-" said the Emperor, pausing suddenly when he realized that there was a presence behind him, so familiar to him that he did not recognize it at first as something new, but so fresh that it did not match with any of the men on this ship.

Shanks straightened up, then turned abruptly, and where he used to admire the calm waves, undisturbed by anything, so gentle, so dangerous in their depths, but at the same time so interesting and beautiful, while the morning sun like a painter dyes the color of the water a shining gold... there stood Mihawk, overshadowing it all and making it no longer matter in the Emperor's eyes, except for that one and only, desirable presence he had missed for so long, and without which he was sure he could not survive another day.

Separated from one another for so long, the lovers were unable to do anything but look into each other's eyes, which slowly began to shine visibly from the tears they had not shed so far.

Shanks couldn't, just couldn't focus on anything else, even breathing didn't seem so important at that moment, not when he was looking at this beautiful, bright, and enigmatic gold, encased in the most unique irises this world had ever seen, a pale face, with one tiny beauty mark under his left eye, and black as obsidian and late night hair, some of whose strands came out from under the hat because of the breeze to find their place on the beautiful face of the love of his life. His love, the sweetest and truest one, which stood a few steps away from him, was safe and sound. The most beautiful, the perfect one.

The captain of the Red-Hair Pirates was ready to move forward and embrace his beloved, take the other in his arm(s), and never leave him alone again, if his dear little hawk hadn't breathed so heavily, tracing his faint eyes between Shanks and Beckman, who stood beside him in the same shock as the rest of the crew.

After that, the only thing Shanks sees is Mihawk, who tries to take a step towards him, when suddenly his tired body refuses to obey him any longer and he falls down.

Chapter Text

… One more time. Two more breaths and...

The World's Greatest Swordsman and fearsome Warlord of the Sea gritted his teeth as he used both hands to lift the huge sword into the air before slashing in mid-air, which caused the Haki wave to propel the Hitsugibune forward with great force, and the small coffin-shaped ship once again picked up tremendous speed, dueling against the increasing resistance of water and wind.

… I have to move. Faster...

Golden, hawkish eyes were fixed on the horizon in front of them, and his focus on the target was not interrupted despite fatigue or a blow of air in his face as he tried with all his might to rush forward, crossing dangerous seas that were not at all the cause of his growing worry.

I'm running out of time.

It had been six nights since he had left that damned bar, six long nights since he had learned that the Red-hair Pirates were in grave danger, and since he had sent a letter of warning, not being able to expect with certainty that the message had reached their Captain.

He swallowed painfully.

Shanks

Six damn long and exhausting nights since the swordsman jumped on his small ship and headed in the direction indicated by the Vivre card, which had not changed so far, but that did not make him feel any better. The fact that the Redhair was not physically injured did not mean that he could not suffer, especially if the worst happened, that the lives of his men, led by Benn Beckman, were threatened, or worse, lost. The Emperor could not survive such a loss. Not alone. And not again.

The warlord still remembered the condition of the young man with hair red as fire, shortly after the execution of the Pirate King, the famous Gol' D. Roger, when the entire crew had abandoned him and he quickly began to fall into alcoholism, despite his young age, unable to cope with all the sadness he was not used to. The Pirate King's crew was his family, his whole world, which he lost in the blink of an eye.

Mihawk spent most of his life watching this young man rise from his knees to find his place in the world he thought he had lost to start his own crew, which he promised to treat and protect like family, unlike the previous one who couldn't do the same for him. The Red-Haired Shanks loved people, and now he was surrounded by friends who respected him and would not abandon him, ready to follow their Captain even to hell itself. No one did the Emperor value as much as his current crew, and the loss of his family again would destroy him, that was certain. And Blackbeard apparently knew this well.

And what kind of lover would Mihawk be if he wasn't with Shanks now? The swordsman was absent when the pirate lost his left arm, nearly dying in a clash with the Sea King. Just a moment, one impulsive decision, would have been enough for them to never see each other again.

Shanks had pulled him out of his loneliness and given him more than a monster like him deserved, so how could the swordsman not be with the other now?

He would never forgive himself for that.

He has already let Shanks down once, he is not going to make the same mistake again.

Overwhelmed by his own grief, hopelessness, and fear for the other, the warlord used Yoru again to speed up his small boat, trying with all his might to ignore the tremors in his muscles, which were growing in more pain with each passing day, and the general weakness that was slowly starting to catch up with him.

Six nights passed, and this was the seventh day since he had left the mainland. Ever since he learned of these terrible news about the Red-Hair Pirates, Mihawk has hardly slept. He had only fourteen nights to reach Dead Canyon and cover a distance that would normally take him at least two months to reach his destination, so yes, the swordsman couldn't afford to waste an hour now. At least the nights were really cold, so the constant movement allowed him to warm up at least a little. Not that he would be able to take a nap anyway, because the stress that was eating him from the inside would not allow him to do it anyway. He'll get some sleep when he gets to the Red Force and make sure that all the idiots who inhabit it are alive and well.

He was the Greatest Swordsman in the world, a few nights without sleep would not kill him.

There is nothing in the world that a huge dose of adrenaline in the veins could not overcome. Well, unless it was an empty stomach.

On the one hand, Mihawk wanted to hit himself for being distracted and persuaded by Perona to roam the city with her instead of replenishing his damn supplies, but on the other hand, the swordsman appreciated the few moments he had spent again with that pink, loud and mean cloud of frills and bows. If anyone was to blame for starving now, it was himself, because he could have done it instead of wasting his time buying mindless gifts(?) for the Red-Hair Pirates, who may never get them anyway if his pathetic ass is late. At least the painful pressure in his stomach kept him awake, so Mihawk used this fact to his advantage. Besides, physical pain has always been the greatest motivation for him.

The only nuisance was that he might have lost touch with reality at times and wanted to faint a little too, but it was nothing he couldn't handle on his own. As mentioned, he was the Greatest Swordsman in the world and he did not train hard all his life to let himself be overcome by the weaknesses of his own body. He was prepared for such situations. He had been managing on his own all his life and did not need help to take care of himself. Of course, he wouldn't approve of such behavior if it was someone else, but he knew himself best and knew what he was capable of. Especially when it came to Shanks' welfare.

As long as he was able to hold Yoru in his hands and the Observation Haki in his head, he would be fine. The rest didn't matter. There were no physical or mental barriers that could stop him from doing his will.

For hours, nothing had been able to take his eyes off the direction in which Shanks’ Vivre card held in his slender fingers was leading him. At least that was until his watchful Haki alerted him that there were two other ships near his location. It was basically a small pirate ship with a crew of about ten men and a tiny boat with only one person on it, who had risen from their seat as a loud male voice echoed through the air.

- "Mary!" - shouted one of the men, probably the captain, waving his hand at the lone woman, whose face immediately lit up, and tears of joy began to glisten and sparkle in her eyes.

It didn't take a moment for the tiny boat to reach the ship, and the next second, the separated lovers fell into each other's arms.

- "My dearest Mary, I missed you so much" – the man said, and you could read from the tone of his voice that he was crying and did not hide it in any way. – "Is your aunt okay?".

- "She's fine, my dear, indeed" - Mary replied, giggling as the man placed small kisses on her ruddy face, his thick fingers wiping away the tears that ran down her cheeks. - "Oh, Simon, I was so sad without you!".

- "Don't cry, honey, I'm here" - Simon replied as he hugged Mary to his broad chest and his arms hid her from the rest of the world. - "I'll never let you feel alone again".

"Try to close your eyes for me and fall asleep, and you will see that I will be with you again before you wake up"

It was only Shanks' low voice ringing in his head that woke Mihawk up from the momentary numbness he had fallen victim to as he watched and listened to the confessions of the two people in love. It also made him realize how long it had been since he had heard the voice of the other, and since then their last conversation through the snails echoed in his mind, driving the dagger's blade deeper and deeper into his heart and twisting it to cause him even more pain.

Maybe I haven't woken up yet, otherwise why aren't you still here with me?

A few more trembling breaths helped him calm down and understand where he was and what he was doing here. The Vivre card vibrated under his fingertips, pointing him in the direction he should go.

And should do it quickly. He had no time to lose.

The swordsman growled, cursing his damn irrationality. Who cared about his stupid longing when the lives of Shanks and the rest of the crew could end at any moment? Then he'll have a real reason to start missing them.

After the incident with the Sea King, he nearly lost Shanks and vowed to never let it happen again. He failed, because he lost him again, this time possibly forever.

Mihawk gritted his teeth, then lifted the Yoru again and slammed into the air, making the Hitsugibune pick up speed and he was only looking straight ahead again, ignoring the wind beating his face, the weakness and pain in his muscles, the emptiness in his stomach, and the treacherous tear that dared to run away and run down his pale cheek.

Interestingly, the next six cold nights passed absurdly quickly. His stomach had contracted enough that he stopped feeling the pain caused by hunger, the scorching fire in his muscles became an everyday occurrence, and his pain threshold had to rise, so at some point his brain just started registering it as a neutral state, and his mind somewhere along the way threw out all unnecessary thoughts except:

1. Focusing on the Vivre card in his fingers and reaching the Red Force as soon as possible;
2. Keeping the Observation Haki and Yoru on standby.

The advantage of being the Greatest Swordsman in the world was definitely that most of those who stood in his way fled as soon as they spotted him, and those who were dumber than the former, well, are now lying somewhere at the bottom with their pathetic ships. Mihawk was finally in a hurry and did not have time to fight for long. One swipe of Yoru was enough to clear the way of idiots in most cases.

He may have suffered from increasing fatigue and weakness, but taking a life was a mechanical act in his case, he didn't need to be in great shape to defend himself, and fortunately for him, he managed to avoid those with whom fighting could pose a real threat to him.

He was a skilled sailor and an even more skilled warrior – if he had to, he would carve his own way into the Red Force.

On the thirteenth day of the journey, the warlord reached Dead Canyon. Thanks to his stubbornness, he managed to get there, having one more day and two nights to spare before the planned war. If he succeeds, he will manage to save the Red-Hair Pirates.

The fog surrounding the place was thick and suffocating, obscuring almost everything in sight except for the high rocky walls that formed the entrance to the interior of the Canyon. The space where he was now was quiet, but the swordsman could feel a presence approaching him. Some unfortunate, living soul left the supposed pirate tomb and rushed straight towards his position.

Strange, but it wasn't the strangest thing he'd encountered in recent days. In any case, the little boat and the coward on it will not make him deviate from his course. Even the inevitable collision of the mysterious guest with the Hitsugibune could not affect this, which, as expected, happened in the next few moments. Mihawk rolled his eyes, not going to get up from his seat. No one was worth interacting with him now, but still, maybe this lost man would have some information that could be useful to him.

- "Who are you?" – the swordsman demanded casually, because he had neither time nor inclination for unnecessary pleasantries. If this man had nothing interesting to say to him, it was better for him to get out of his way.

"My name is Cito and that's the last thing you'll hear from me, so you better fuck off! I've killed enough pirates  lately, I'll have no problem taking another one!"

After that, everything happened so quickly that Mihawk must have had difficulty recalling all the details of the meeting.

Before the red curtain clouded his vision for good, and Yoru's singing resounded in his head and prompted him to begin the dance of murder, the warlord quickly absorbed what was happening, what he was seeing, and what he had just learned.

First, the small boat, the bottom of which was pierced by his black blade in the next second, had a familiar look, and moreover, the wood had an even more familiar color. Mihawk would recognize the red lifeboat everywhere, which was definitely from the Red Force.

Second, it's this man's name. That damn name that had burned a bloody mark in his mind, a name written in red ink at the top of the list of names that await a close encounter with the mercy of Yoru’ blade. The sniper, one of the three brothers in Blackbeard's service, the traitor in Shanks' crew, responsible for the attempt on the life of the first mate of the Red-hair Pirates, Benn Beckman. The main reason why the warlord was in this place and hadn't slept a wink for the last twelve nights.

Third, and most importantly, what was this brat doing here? Why did he leave the scene of the crime before completing the task entrusted to him? The war is not to break out until the day after tomorrow... right?

Mihawk did not have time to think carefully about this issue when the barrel of the firearm was pointed at him.

Sigh

Pointing a firearm at someone with hawkish eyesight and a fully developed Observation Haki? Seriously?

Is it a requirement to be a complete idiot to join the ranks of Blackbeard's crew? Or does Blackbeard simply subconsciously choose people at a similar level of intellectual development as him?

Come back, no one with even one brain cell would join Blackbeard of their own free will. And to think that there are people who, moreover, believe that this humanoid form of a pig will provide any form of brotherhood? God, save us all.

The swordsman pulled Yoru out of the boat below, then with one short swing deflected the bullet fired at him, depriving the brat's hand, which fell down with a loud thud along with the firearm he was holding.

A truly pathetic end to a similarly pathetic man.

When Mihawk finished slicing up the traitor's body, including the boat the latter was fleeing on, the swordsman slowly slumped onto the Hitsugibune as his vision became blurry, his breathing heavy, and looking at his general condition, he felt terribly weak.

The brat's last words did not leave him alone.

He admitted that he had killed enough pirates recently. He was also outside the Red Force, escaping on one of the lifeboats belonging to the Red-Hair Pirates. Why did he run away so early? And who did he manage to kill?

And as if on cue, he heard the sound of cannon shots and the screams of men, combined with the noise of explosives and shipwrecking, all coming from the inside of the Dead Canyon.

Is it possible?

Could it be that the war has already begun?

Did the Red-Hair Pirates get here ahead of time after all? If this was the case...

Did Shanks receive his letter?

But if he had received his message, why was Cito still alive? How did this man manage to leave the Red Force safe and sound, despite the betrayal he committed?

As the war began and Cito still lived, took the lives of the pirates and left the Dead Canyon...

Did Mihawk fail?

Had his whole journey been meaningless for a long time?

What happened to Benn Beckman?

And, where is Shanks?

The Vivre card squirmed persistently in his hand, almost dragging him inside the pirate tomb.

You're late.

The Greatest Swordsman found himself on his knees, slowly succumbing to the absolute despair that began to consume him.

Did I fail? Have I failed you again?

Crossing the Dead Canyon turned out to be a persistent pain in the ass from the very beginning. The remains of ships and nameless human bodies blocked the only possible passage through this deadly tunnel, even for a small boat like the Hitsugibune. Mihawk had to work hard to clear his way, and the farther he went, the thicker the fog became, and the stench of decaying corpses and dust was almost suffocating. The Vivre card let him know that no matter how fast the swordsman tried to get through the place, Shanks seemed to be moving away from him at almost twice the speed. The Redhair was close, but still far enough for Mihawk to reach him. Not to mention how the newfound fear made the warlord's condition worse and worse, although he tried his best to ignore it. The corpses left in every part of this site were so mangled that it was hard to tell if any of these men were pirates of the Red-Haired Emperor's crew. Same with the half of the bodies that were just deep at the bottom of the water, which did not help to soothe the growing anxiety inside. In fact, the adrenaline in the swordsman's blood reached its peak at this point. The desire to reach Shanks was the only thing that kept his exhausted and tired body from falling.

In the end, it took the swordsman all day and night to get out of the pirates' tomb.

On the fourteenth day after the start of the journey, the Red Force finally appeared on the horizon. It was early dawn when the Hitsugibune reached its destination. The warlord almost jumped out of his boat, climbing on trembling legs and ignoring fatigue to get on board of the ship as quickly as possible.

It was quiet all around, he didn't hear anyone announcing his presence, no one seemed to expect his arrival. Maybe they were busy with something, or maybe something happened? Perhaps the ship had been deprived of its crew as a result of the battle, but the warlord prayed until the last moment that this would not be true.

Enraged, he could not remember when, he found himself on the edge of the side, with the view of the sea illuminated by the first rays of the sun behind him.

And there he saw them.

The Cook, Lucky Roux

The Sniper, Yasopp

… the first mate and captain's right-hand man,

Benn Beckman, with a cigarette in his mouth and as alive as possible

and with the three stood a man whose red hair was as warm and intense as his heart, whose laughter was loud and drowned out even the darkest thoughts, whose smile shone as brightly as the sun in the sky, and whose presence made time stop for the swordsman standing nearby alone, and suddenly everything else ceased to matter to him.

His first and only friend, his former and most surprising rival, the only person who was able to keep up with him, the person who taught him to feel, who, despite his difficulties, never considered him a monster, his first and only love, the apprentice of the Pirate King, the Captain of the most powerful pirate crew in the New World, the swordsman and master of Haki, the Red-Haired Emperor of the Seas...

Shanks, the only person, who he would have swam the entire Grand Line for, if only he had known that it could make the other happy.

Mihawk would have stretched his arms out to the other and thrown them around his neck if it weren't for the fact that he suffered so much from incessant waving with Yoru to speed up his boat and clear his way.

The only thing he was able to do was breathe heavily and fight his own weakness so as not to give up and break down where he stood.

And then the man in front of him turned to face him, his face in utter shock, his steel irises focused on him, drowning in his bright gold, and for the first time in so long, Mihawk felt as if all the fear that had been gnawing at him had finally left him, as if everything had finally turned out as it should be.

The sight of Shanks was better than any of the finest wine he drank and any of the greatest duels he fought.

Desire to reach this man out was stronger than his pride.

Unfortunately, this desire was apparently stronger than his body at the moment, because as soon as he decided to take a step towards Shanks, everything went black.

It was like your body told you "Okay, that's enough, you've reached your limit" and automatically your nervous system decided to shut down.

Apparently, making sure that the Captain and his first mate were alive made the fatigue hit him with all its might.

But Shanks was here, so he's going to be okay. The last thing Mihawk asked for before his soul left his useless body, however, was to fall forward on the wooden floor, not backwards, overboard and end up somewhere on the bottom of the sea with a broken neck. First of all, it would be very pathetic of him to end up like this. Second, he was going to hug the man he loved after he gave his body the rest it deserved.

"Oh shit, what happened here? Is he alive?"

"Seas, is it...? How did he get here?"

"Maybe he was poisoned? I can say that he is paler than usual"

"Who the hell dared to hurt Hawkeyes?"

"Not on our watch! We're going to get their goddamn ass!"

"Calm down, you morons! Let the doctor work"

"Sorry, Beck"

"No, why should we calm down now? Are you fucking blind or what?"

"Could it have been Blackbeard's doing? But how the hell could this dickhead know about his connection to us?"

"That fucking brat could have passed it on to him"

"He couldn't do it, after all, Boss checked him and interrogated him. This kid didn't know shit"

"This little bitch could lie again!"

"He should have been skinned at the first opportunity"

"You do not decide about it. Now, shut your fucking mouths!"

„… sorry, Beck"

"I can feel his pulse, apart from his wrist I don't see any serious injuries. At first glance, I would say that he fainted, but to be sure, I would recommend doing a few tests later, for now let's let him wake up. If it's a temporary loss of consciousness, it should only take a few moments"

"So at the end of the day, our hawk is just a human, huh?"

"Which does not change the fact that... it is strange that he is here, and in such a state"

"We expected to see him no sooner than a month, right? His letter came from the other end of the Grand Line, so how did he get here so quickly?"

Why the hell are they so loud again? Mihawk thought regretfully as he tried to fight the painful throbbing in his head that grew as the number of voices that reached his mind increased. He had no idea where he was or what was happening to him, but he was very cold and it was as if the world around him behind his closed eyelids was spinning, and he was attacked from every side by more or less coherent sentences spoken by men whom the swordsman could easily recognize as the crew of Red-Hair Pirates. Well, that was weird. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard them so close and clear. The warlord had no idea what was going on, all he knew was that his upper body was leaning against something solid and warm, while his lower body was lying limp on something much harder and colder. On the one hand, he knew that the place where he was resting was neither his bed on Kuraigana Island nor the deck of his small boat, which suggested that he should react and not let his guard down, but on the other hand, he had the impression that he had not felt like this for a long, long time... felt so safe as now, and this made him want to curl up and hide here, so as not to have to face the world alone again.

"Give him some time and don't try to pick him up, boss. I will prepare medicine in the meantime, it will make him feel better for a while"

His solid and warm backrest behind his body moved so that in a moment he could feel a hand moving along his shoulder, until finally he himself was buried in a kind of... embrace? Okay, that was even weirder. However, the light bulb in his mind glowed red only the moment he felt warm breath on his face, and a second later someone's lips touched his skin, leaving a kiss on his forehead.

"Come on, Mi... Babe, please..."

A half-serious, half-panicked low whisper reached his ears.

"Please wake up"

That voice...

Gradually, he began to feel a bitter chill emanating from the cool wood beneath him, and an ever-present spasm throbbing in every part of his body, but it was like a heart beating painfully fast in his chest, and its loud sound traveled through all his veins to finally cloud his mind with a mercilessly unpleasant noise. For a moment, he even prayed that the stupid muscle would stop, that it would stop pumping blood and let him rest in peace. That and the noises from outside were tearing his skull apart, he didn't know what was going on, but he was sure he was begging someone to stop it.

After a few more painful seconds, which in his corrupted head he felt as if they lasted forever, his previously clouded mind began to clear up and become translucent, overshadowing the persistent clamor that had given up in favor of being nothing more than an unpleasant noise in the back. All this caused his eyelids to flutter because of the confusion, giving a clear signal around him that the injured swordsman, to the omnipresent relief, began to slowly regain consciousness.

As he had expected, the world behind his eyelids was spinning, and this fact did not cease even as he slowly opened his eyes and his golden irises greeted the sad reality again. He needed time before the image in front of him became sharp, enough to be able to register what he was looking at without any problems. And what he saw, well, was both the last and the most wonderful thing he had ever expected.

- "Hawky?".

For a moment, the swordsman was almost sure that he was recalling their last conversation over the snails, and in front of him he would eventually find Admiral Sengoku or some other fool who would make him work, but he was wrong.

The hawks' eyes opened for good and sharpened enough for the warlord to meet the Red-Haired Emperor himself bent over him, and the expression on the other's face was at once a mixture of absolute seriousness and unimaginable fear.

That expression doesn't suit you at all...

Mihawk couldn't understand.

Where is the smile that you usually give me?

He couldn't think about it any longer when the Redhead moved suddenly, and so many emotions appeared on his face that the swordsman's still foggy mind had trouble grasping and registering them all. – "Mihawk!".

Hearing his own name spoken in this man's voice sent a shiver down his spine, and something in his mind seemed to click and slide into place, making him conscious for good. Or so he had hoped, but both the voice and its owner, whose face was just above him, seemed undeniably realistic.

- „… Red-" - he muttered softly, his own voice sounding strangely unnatural in his head. – „… Shanks?".

The golden irises scanned every bit of the image in front of them as if in a hurry, worried that it was a dream or that this would disappear forever in a moment, trying to understand if the pirate and scoundrel leaning over them was really one. Unconsciously, unable to contain himself, the swordsman reached out a trembling hand towards his lover's face, then pulled it away quickly, as if he had been burned as soon as he felt a sharp pang of rough stubble under his fingertips.

A familiar hand slid over his shoulder again, squeezing it lightly, and only now could Mihawk realize, since his senses were slowly beginning to return to him, that all this time the warm and solid support behind his back was nothing more than the arm of Shanks himself, and the Emperor held and protected his body in a kind of half-embrace. His foggy mind still couldn't quite register if it was all true, but the constant tingling sensation on his fingers from the Redhead's stubble involuntarily forced his stance to lean toward reality rather than dreaming.

The swordsman had no idea what was going on, he was so terribly confused, which was not often the case when it comes to him, but he quickly decided that whatever was happening to him now no longer mattered. Shanks was here, so everything will be fine. The last times in his life had been a real hell, he was heartily fed up with everything, another dose of fear and stress would certainly finish him off, and waking up in the arms of the Redhead really was something, the warlord couldn't ask for anything better than that. If this was just another of his hopeless dreams, then he could only ask to never wake up again. No work, no responsibilities, no wars and no piling mountain of remorse – only Shanks and his stupid face against the background of the rising sun. Good enough.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for him, his momentary calming of the painful heart palpitations in his chest did not last long when the man bent over him began to speak again.

- "Well, good morning, angel" - muttered the Emperor, his eyes looking tenderly and with complete concern at the person in his grasp, but in a split second his handsome face was once again covered with a shadow of seriousness and worry. – "Hey, hey! Don't you dare fall asleep! You have to tell me what happened!".

Mihawk's mind, clouded with fatigue, was barely able to register and process what the Redhead was chattering about senselessly, but after a long moment, he was able to focus enough to seriously think about it. First, he thought that he should have the right to ask the same question here, until he couldn't help but focus on the excruciating pain in his muscles, especially in his arms, and he soon remembered his relentless swinging with his sword for two weeks without a break to make his damn boat move faster, to get to the Redhead in time and warn him about the…

Filled with sudden panic, the warlord flinched and jumped back to sit down, which was unsurprising to be expected given his overall condition not the wisest decision he had ever made in his life. In a split second, his head was dizzy, the world around him blackened again, and the pain was so terrible that he wanted to vomit.

- "Please drink this" – the command clearly reached his ears, and the swordsman despite his poor condition was able to recognize Hongo's smooth voice in it, and since he had no reason to distrust the Red-Hair Pirates’ doctor and subconsciously knew that he was here to help him, he complied with the request without much resistance as soon as he felt a plastic cup filled with some murky water pressed into his hand. But he quickly regretted his faith in this man when his lips came into contact with what was probably the most disgusting liquid he had ever had to swallow, except perhaps the coffee served on this godless ship that was worse than this.

The warlord didn't even have time to express his displeasure and push the abomination as far away from him as possible when the cup of medicine was again forcibly brought close to his mouth by a warm hand wrapped tightly around his fingers.

- "You'll drink it to the last drop" - the caring tone in Shanks' voice encouraged him, but the firm pressure on his hand clearly indicated that he was leaving no room for Mihawk to discuss. The swordsman was in an uproar and he felt a great need to stand up to him, but in the end, he really didn't have the strength to argue with Shanks right now. His condition deteriorated dramatically and he felt weaker and weaker with every passing second.

So, after a moment of holding his breath and a long process of cursing in mind his condition and all the people around him, with the Redhead at the forefront, he managed to swallow the medicine, but he was unable to stop himself from flinching at the end, caused by the spreading taste of torture on his tongue.

- "These are electrolytes. He must be deeply exhausted and dehydrated, he should feel better in a moment" - Hongo explained, expertly organizing medical items into a metal box that he had dragged on board with him. - "But I still insist on examining him after we let him rest".

Shanks nodded, but his gaze was still focused on the crouched figure of the swordsman, who was gasping for breath with obvious pain, his eyes closed, and his trembling hands rubbing his temples, as if unsuccessfully trying to make any form of improvement in his well-being happen sooner. Without thinking about it any longer, the Emperor took one of his hands in his and pulled it away to cover it and rub the small circles with his thumb on top of it, only wishing to ensure his beloved with comfort and his presence close to him, knowing that this could make the other feel a little better. If only it weren't for the unpleasant state of his darling hawk, he would probably be jumping with joy and wagging his imaginary tail right now due to the fact that he could hold the other’s hand in his again, since he had wanted to do this for so long.

However, the warlord clearly needed his help and care now, not romantic gestures and flirting, and the Emperor pledged to give the other everything he needed. They'll have to leave the affections for later, when they're both in shape and when, well, they have a decidedly smaller audience.

And yes, it was true, of course, but Shanks leaned over anyway and pressed his lips gently to the swordsman's temple, because in his mind, the mere sight of Mihawk made him full of affection and he had to somehow vent his love for the other, otherwise he would suffocate. No, it wasn't hypocrisy, but a scientific fact, thank you very much.

This small, tender gesture made the warlord's eyelids flutter, enriching the charm of this world again with the most beautiful and unique golden irises, and the eyes themselves seemed to shine much brighter now, they were less dull and sad than they had been a moment ago. Apparently, the medicine from Hongo had some positive effect, the swordsman himself seemed at least a little calmer.

The Emperor finally let go of the warlord's hand, so that this time his fingers would rest on the chin of the other, then with a fluid movement he turned Mihawk's face towards him, and now the pirate could look contentedly at this shiny gold in all its exquisiteness and beauty.

- "There you are" - Shanks muttered tenderly, but also with a palpable concern in his voice. It could have been surprising to outsiders how exhausted and pale the warlord might have looked, and the Red-Haired Emperor would still hold him and admire him as if he possessed the most precious jewel of all. - "So how many nights have you stayed up to get this far and fall right into my arms, angel?" - the Redhead asked playfully, with a hint of genuine curiosity.

It was only Shanks' voice echoing in his foggy mind that woke Mihawk up from the momentary lethargy he had involuntarily fallen into when the disgusting substance passed through his throat. He still felt terrible, a mere water with vitamins dissolved in it would not put him back on his feet so easily, but he had to admit that compared to what he had been struggling with for the last few days, his condition could be considered at least bearable. Enough not to fall face down on the wooden floor, and enough to at least understand what the Redhead was asking him.

- „… Thi..." - he began slowly, for even his own voice seemed strangely alien to him.

- "Well, three nights is a lot, babe, but we'll manage to bring you back to life. Though it still amazes me how you got this far so quickly, because we thought you should still be-" - the Emperor contemplated aloud.

- „…thirteen, but I'd be here sooner if it weren't for that damned dead sewerage, or whatever you called it".

- "-far away from here- wait a minute, what did you just say, what do you mean by thirteen?!" - Shanks' tone of voice changed from almost carefree to absolutely serious in a split second, and a shadow of concern covered his face, making him look almost scary at that moment. An expression of similar shock and worry now adorned the faces of the rest of the men gathered around them.

The Greatest Swordsman was about to tell in a nutshell, with the greatest eloquence he could now claim, what hell he had to go through in recent times to finally get their irresponsible and irritating asses, had it not been for that razor-sharp tone in his lover's voice, which, to his inner shame, truly surprised him, when his mind, clouded by fatigue and medication, registered and perceived it on a similar level as pouring a bucket of cold water on his head or even hitting him in the face with a fist. The words basically died on the warlord's tongue as he looked in his confusion and saw a clearly displeased Shanks in front of him, and the other's gaze was even more clearly directed to... him? At the same time, the Redhead's warm and comforting touch disappeared, leaving him to his fate only to the Emperor's incredulous gaze, without a tanned and rough hand to cling to, which he had not even imagined he needed, and surprisingly this time it had absolutely nothing to do with a sword duel.

The sight of frustration in the red irises, which until now had looked at him with nothing other than love, lust, and total adoration, froze Mihawk so much that it took the poor swordsman a moment to understand what Shanks was furious about.

The warlord shrugged, unable to understand why the Redhead had now decided to downplay his own and the crew’s safety, and instead cling to the lack of... a few of Mihawk's naps as if it mattered at that moment. - "Don't focus on that now, Red, it doesn't matter" - he waved his hand, trying to make the Emperor listen to him. – "I came here to-".

- "Are you kidding?! Are you telling me that you have traveled so many miles in just a dozen nights?!" - the Captain interrupted, running his hand through his red hair, clearly angry now. - "These are the most dangerous waters in the entire New World, and you're going on such a journey without a crew, without supplies, without medicine, on your damn little boat, and on top of that, without any rest?! Damn it, Mihawk, you're not a child, you could have died here, with or without Yoru on your back!" - said Shanks, his voice echoing through the deck. – "How could I help you when I was trapped here? I'm responsible for the lives of every person on this ship, I'm literally graying from the excess of stress, I'm so tired of this war, and really, the last thing I needed right now is your Vivre card in flames, because you found the perfect moment to give me a heart attack!".

You’re overreacting was the first thing in the mind of the confused swordsman as he listened to this nonsense. Okay, he did wrong if it came to not replenishing his supplies and slightly overestimated his own health at the expense of getting here as soon as possible, but he wouldn't let that happen without a good reason. Fucking hell, he'd do it again, and even last longer if it could save Shanks. It was always the biggest disagreement, a trait that differentiated them both – while the Redhead would have saved the whole world by sacrificing every part of himself in return, Mihawk was more selfish – he would have no problem sacrificing this shithole world to save the most important person in his life. Sometimes the warlord sincerely hoped that Shanks was as selfish as he was. But despite this disagreement, his affection for the other never diminished. On the contrary, any argument only fueled the passion of their relationship – or whatever was in the air between them. Only the swordsman did not come here to argue. Really, trust me, the last thing his exhausted body and self-sabotaging brain needed was another argument with Shanks. He didn't come all the way, starving himself, not sleeping, and straining his muscles to upset the other.

On the contrary,

he only... just wanted to help.

- "Alright, maybe it's true that I haven't shown any particular interest in any form of heroism so far" - he replied slowly, though he couldn't help but roll his eyes. Then he continued, but with each subsequent word he had the impression that he could no longer hide the sincere nervousness in his voice as confidently as before. – „… but I couldn't help myself, which I would usually do when I found out you were in danger-".

- "What danger are you talking about, Mihawk?" – Shanks asked in a stern voice.

Due to his growing nervousness, instead of answering, the swordsman tore his eyes away from the Emperor to look around for his first mate, only to find the infamous Benn Beckman... standing practically behind Shanks (how come he hadn't noticed him before, the swordsman had no idea), safe and sound, with his head as unshot as possible. Moreover, the man seemed so surprised by Mihawk's presence here and his probably poor condition that the cigarette in his hand was completely forgotten.

Then there was a brief look around and the discovery of the other revelations – Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Hongo, Limejuice, Building Snake, Bonk Punch, Monster, and all the rest of the more or less familiar faces of the men from the Red-Hair Pirates crew – all safe, healthy, alive, just as surprised by his sudden presence, his bad condition and as much as not needing his intervention or help in anything.

And this is where the first and basically the only rational argument that Mihawk had to come here without an invitation falls.

At first, the swordsman was unable to understand any of this.

Was he just imagining the conversation between these two idiots in that shabby bar? But less than two days ago, he ran into their brother – the man responsible for Beckman's death. Only that Beckman is standing here now and there is no indication that anything is wrong with him.

Shanks is now kneeling in front of him, also safe and sound. No signs of pain, all his limbs are in place – except for his left arm, of course. No new wounds, no more scars left by Teach. The Redhair’s Vivre card, safely hidden in the lining of the warlord's hat and invariably intact, was proof of this.

All the rest of the men are also doing well.

The Red Force floated, definitely didn't touch the bottom of the sea, and even the floor was not sticky nor dirty, which was rare.

The war took place, since he made it through the Dead Canyon, seeing with his own eyes hundreds of corpses and decomposing bodies.

So there had to be one conclusion.

…

…

… Ugh.

Forget all the embarrassing things he's done lately because at that moment he's somehow reached the pinnacle of absurdity.

Although no, he actually hit rock bottom and somehow still managed to knock from below.

Defeated, Mihawk lowered his head, unable to look at Shanks' angry face.

No wonder the Emperor was furious with him.

Probably from the very beginning, Shanks sensed the plot hatched by Blackbeard, because, of course, he would have done it, he was an experienced pirate, damn it  – and if not from the beginning, he certainly quickly understood that he was being deceived, and since he always had a good heart – he finally forgave the young traitor and that's why he let him go.

Even if Mihawk's letter didn't reach him – it didn't matter, because the letter would still turn out to be unnecessary, the intervention was unnecessary as well. And if Shanks was already furious, Mihawk can only imagine how angry Redhead would be when he found out what the warlord did to the boy the latter forgave and set free.

The war and the trap set for them in the Dead Canyon was also not a threat – Shanks kept his promise, and he dealt with it. Everyone in his crew is alive and well. He probably talked to Cito and that's how he found out. Or he figured it out himself because he was a capable leader and a great warrior.

And Mihawk, for his part, not only failed to keep his promise, but also endangered himself and the crew of the Red-Hair Pirates, because what if someone had been following him all this time, and his tired mind was not able to use Haki precisely enough to detect it?

He was supposed to take care of himself and not interfere in Shanks' business, and now here he is – he has destroyed any trust they had built up since he accepted the position of a Warlord of the Sea, and the Redhead in retaliation initially declared that he no longer wanted to have anything to do with him.

Shanks must have had some reason to keep him at arm's length, and he didn't take that into account.

At this point, Mihawk wouldn't even be surprised if, after what happened, the other decided to break up with him.

And all this only because of what? Because he couldn't stand a few more weeks without Shanks around? Because suddenly loneliness began to irritate him to such an extent that he became insane? What the hell happened to him? When did he become another care-addicted moron? No one ever cared about him, and his relationship with Shanks didn't suddenly mean that he would be the whole world to the other. The Emperor had his life and his plans that did not include him, and he did not respect that.

That's why Mihawk hated feelings. He did not understand them, even now he was unable to understand why he acted so irrationally. Perona, Zoro, and even Boa noticed it. And all three of them would have done better in his situation than he did.

And as for the Red-Hair Pirates – well, if he thought they thought he was a weirdo, now at least he was sure that they did.

He was not only an unpleasant surprise here after days spent hard fighting and trying to end the war.

He was unwelcome.

Like if someone would think that he could help them with anything – as if Mihawk was created to be the hero in this story. He can't even be called a supporting character, at most he would be this one, specific antagonist, whose proper role will be questioned anyway, and he appears for no more than five to ten seconds every arc at random moments, unrelated to the main plot, because the author hasn't really decided what to do with him yet, not that it has any significance for the plot.

The swordsman could now clumsily try to defend himself – pulling out the old proven cards "no one will tell me what to do" and "no one can forbid me anything" was quick and easy, but honestly...

… he was honestly exhausted, and all this does not matter now anyway.

In all of this, he felt sorry for Shanks the most – no matter how angry the other was, he wouldn't kick him out of his ship in this state, although he could, and Mihawk wouldn't hold it against him. Though the desire to jump into the Hitsugibune and escape seemed right, he knew he couldn't make it through another day at the sea without rest.

So a humble request to rest, apologize, and leave was it.

Immersed in his own thoughts, which were already straining his sluggish and foggy mind, the exhausted warlord did not even notice a clear change in the behavior of the Red-Haired Emperor, who again looked at him only with tenderness and care more than before, but all his attempts to reach the confused hawk were inadvertently ignored as the swordsman rose from the ground, not daring to even touch the offered, tanned hand of the Redhead to probably help him up.

- "I sincerely apologize for this sudden intrusion, contrary to my actions, I had no intention of bothering you" - he apologized, putting half of his effort into not betraying the pain he felt with every move he put the other half of the effort he had left. He wasn't able to look at Shanks, he didn't want to and didn't intend to, he was fed up with disappointments in such a short time, and one more unpleasant red look in his direction could make him really break down. And he had had enough of humiliation, too.

- "Just let me rest anywhere and then I'll leave" - he added as he walked away, picking up Yoru and throwing her over his shoulder, forcing himself to put on his always reliable mask of indifference so as not to show anyone how bad it was with him, with his head proudly held up but not looking anyone in the eye, trying to keep any remnants of honor and pretending that nothing happened, he passed everyone and disappeared as quickly as he appeared.

His mind was still foggy as he raced ahead. In fact, it was his legs, though trembling, that somehow managed to get him to the only place where he would bother the crew of the Red-Hair Pirates in the slightest. Genuinely grateful for this turn of events, he took a breath he didn't even feel he had held until now, as the heavy wooden door to the Captain's bedroom closed behind him, illusorily cutting him off from the hostile world outside. Now he stood crooked, his back against the cool wood behind him, breathing heavily as if some weight inside was constantly making him lack oxygen.

He had a headache. His arms burned from the constant exertion, he could barely hold Yoru's hilt in his fingers. His left wrist was throbbing more than in the past weeks. He must have dug his nails deeper than he thought, he probably should have had stitches then, now the painful wound did not want to heal properly. Not that it mattered at all. Since he was already here, he could have asked Hongo for help, but then again, he quickly realized that he didn't care.

The golden eyes unconsciously looked around. Shanks' cabin hasn't changed much since the warlord last stayed here. Mihawk was even able to notice some of his belongings, left here and there, in the exact same place where he remembered leaving them as if Shanks was adamantly refusing to just get rid of them or move them anywhere else to bother him less. The whole ship belonged to him anyway, including this room.

The swordsman could, and perhaps even should, have gone to any other room, but he didn't want to. In the bow part of the ship, there was a cubicle where the crew, except the Senior officers, rested together, but even when he was deprived of strength, he could not imagine simply lying down in someone's bed, his stomach twisted in disgust at the very thought of it. Between the two evils, he would rather lie down in a storage room on hardwood, hidden somewhere between the crates. In addition, he also knew that he would not be able to rest in a room that anyone could enter, his Observation Haki, even if put to sleep, would lead him to even greater migraines. The hospital room was also out of the question, the doctor would ask him questions all the time, and he didn't want to answer any of them. Therefore, the warlord decided to abuse the Captain's hospitality again – if he was going to upset anyone with his presence, it was better if it was Shanks of all the people here, the other was already mad at him anyway.

His vision suddenly blurred.

The medicine prepared by Hongo only made him temporarily regain consciousness for a short time. It was unfortunately only a fatal triumph, and weakness caught up with him again as he slumped to the ground, his torso supported by the door behind him, against which he was still leaning. Yoru flew down with him as he was barely able to hold her in his hand. Instinctively, he decided to move, grab the hilt with both hands and lean the weapon against the wall next to him. He could feel like shit and be on the verge of losing touch with reality, but he'd sooner die than let his beloved sword just lie on the floor while he's still conscious enough to notice.

Now, after making sure that his black blade, for which he had devoted practically his entire life to perfecting it, stood proudly and upright, leaning against the wall, the swordsman pulled his knees up to him, cringing to hide his face in his arms.

He felt so damn sick.

Despite the obvious warmth in the room, he was terribly cold.

He should have moved and taken care of himself in order to get to bed as soon as possible, but because of this terrible dizziness, he had to sit up and calm down, because he felt that at the first attempt to get to his feet, he would faint again.

First of all, he had to wash himself. He couldn't remember if he'd ever in his life not bathed for fourteen fucking days in a row. Every inch of his body seemed disgusting to him. He could almost recognize the smell of salt, steel, smoke, blood, corpses, and death that accompanied him at every step and definitely soaked into his clothes, he was probably smelling like a walking dissecting room. If Perona saw him now, she would have a heart attack. He was probably more repulsive than Zoro, and that itself was a feat. Mihawk was always amazed at the green-haired boy's reluctance to shower, while he himself would have felt worse than bad if he hadn't peeled off the dirt after a day of training, catching pirates, or even sailing. Genuinely worried, he even tried to see if the younger swordsman had some kind of sense of smell disorder, but this theory fell apart every time the Spirit Princess sprayed herself with a disgustingly sweet perfume, to which Zoro reacted with more or less feigned nausea, or when the warlord cooked breakfast for them, and soon saw a ball of green hair out of the corner of his eye when the teenager, stimulated by the smell of food, came down early in the morning,  to enjoy tea for a few minutes without squealing Perona above his ear.

It wasn't so bad with Shanks, even though Perona claimed otherwise. The Red-Haired Emperor usually took care to maintain a minimum of hygiene, sometimes he happened to fall asleep reeking of booze, when after drinking hard all night he finally left into the arms of the stinking Morpheus, not caring about anything. His situation definitely improved when they officially started dating. The Redhead even made sure that the sheets in their bedroom on the Red Force were changed to fresh, and he himself used cologne and took a shower before he got into bed with Mihawk, for which the swordsman rewarded him with... well, he had his ways.

It was probably the worst possible time to think about it, but involuntarily his cheeks burned as he realized how long it had been since they had last made love. He didn't have as high libido as the perpetually insatiable and always ready for a quickie Redhead, but he would be lying if he said he didn't miss the other, the intimacy and the feeling of being held. It was one of the really few pleasant things in his life, especially when you know that the other person cares.

Emotionally, he missed the closeness to Shanks that he still remembered they once had.

Physically, he was cock starved and that was why he was now so annoying and feeling sorry for himself.

Instantly, Boa flashed in front of his eyes, casting a sisterly, judgmental look at him. It's actually strange because she herself claims that you should "fuck men", so she shouldn't blame him because he met her demand.

He felt like somewhere deep inside he wanted to snort in amusement when he thought about it, but to his own amazement, his body instinctively only forced him to... sniffle.

Confused, Mihawk lifted his face to look a little ahead and quickly noticed that he couldn't see anything. I mean, he saw... something, a picture that had previously been just the inside of Shanks's room, but now everything was completely blurred. Only the lifting of one hand, rubbing one of his cheeks with fingers trembling like jelly, and the distinct feeling of moisture under his fingertips allowed the swordsman to realize that he was crying.

If he felt like shit before, now he felt like double shit.

He forced himself to blink a few times to make his vision sharpen enough to notice the teardrops flying down and landing heavily, gathering below.

Somehow, the sight seemed fascinating to him.

Though the more fascinating sight must have been him, the World's Greatest Swordsman, the most feared Warlord, and the bloody Marine Hunter, sobbing pitifully on the floor of Red-Haired Shanks's bedroom because he had sailed thousands of nautical miles in the sweat of his brow because he expected to be greeted like Mary on Simon's ship, but instead he was greeted like a Warlord on the Emperor's property.

This time Mihawk managed to snort, but was it out of amusement? He wasn't sure, something certainly close to it. It was all a damn bad joke. The problem was that Shanks hated nothing in the world more than a damn bad joke.

Except for that damned nightmare, when he injured himself afterward, the last time a swordsman cried must have been when he took the last lash from the Mother Superior on the cold floor of the monastery hall (or, the first time he saw Shanks without an arm after meeting the Sea King, but then he was so shaken that he couldn't remember exactly,  whether he shed tears or not) and, Merciful God, it was probably the first time he wanted to return to those times because in some strange way, he decided that his back, cut to blood, did hurt less.

Damn it, why was he crying at all now? Like, nothing actually happened. Sure, he made fun of himself in front of the Red-Hair Pirates crew and Shanks, probably depriving himself of any respect in the eyes of all of them forever, but it was still, generally speaking, only one pirate crew, the rest of the world still see him as a monster and a threat to humanity, in that regard not much had changed in his life. Even if the Redheads decide to tease him by making public jokes about him, he will easily be able to deny them, and in the process destroy one or two pirate crews that unfortunately stand in his way. The World Government will continue to fear him, people will continue to flee from him, and Shanks and his crew will continue to see him as the Marine dog.

Only as a Marine dog.

Nothing in his life has changed.

Except that the Red-Haired Shanks will not want to be a part of it anymore.

Because Mihawk had let him down again.

He gave the Redhead his word – and screwed up.

He wanted to warn the crew of the danger – and screwed up.

He wanted to arrive soon enough to make it before the war broke out – and screwed up.

He wanted to prove to Shanks that he was trustworthy, that he treated the other as an equal, and that his intentions towards the Redhead were sincere.

And he screwed up.

Shanks, Beckman, and the rest of the crew live only because they are strong, steadfast, and talented in themselves.

And he appeared here, showing as if he believed otherwise.

And in the end, they are forced to help him, not the other way around.

And he will have to leave and be alone again.

The prospect of returning to this empty, cursed castle alone once again made his stomach clench into a knot, inflicting additional pain on him, though now he couldn't even register which part of his existence was bothering him the most.

And all this only because he wanted to see Shanks.

And you got what you deserved.

But Shanks apparently didn't want to see him in return. In part, Mihawk foolishly expected the Redhead to be hot on his heels, demanding an explanation until they had a quick argument in his room, but he would still make sure the warlord was safe and force the other's stubborn ass to rest.

The swordsman did not know how long it had been since he had been in this room, and how long he had been sitting on the ground, not having the strength to get up, but he was sure that if the Emperor had wanted to see him, he would have been here long ago. And if he was as angry as he looked, he could at least send someone from the crew on his behalf, like Beckman, to check that everything was okay.

He was such a fool. Shanks did the right thing – if the warlord was able to travel all this way alone, he would also be able to heal his wounds himself.

After all, he was not a part of the crew. It was fair. At least no one will have to witness his little, embarrassing, and pathetic performance.

He got what he deserved.

"Apologize to God and ask Him for mercy"

Mihawk sighed quietly, then buried his face in his hands out of helplessness. In the depths of his cloudy thoughts, he swore to himself that he would never miss a nap again. His head is a garbage can, and he no longer feels like himself. The shitty finale of his shitty adventure. In fact, it's kind of funny that the only person who can destroy the Greatest Swordsman in the World and bring him to such a state is himself. Did he prove enough at this point that he deserved his title?

Focused on fighting the horrors that were trying to crack his skull, overwhelmed by physical exhaustion and too much emotional damage to swallow at the moment, he did not hear either the sound of sandals coming from behind the wall or the sound of the door slowly opening right next to him.

Whoever has decided to write the current chapter in Shanks' already full of surprises and amazing twists silly life can be sure that in the coming days, they can expect his fist in their stupid face.

The fact that, well, this is not quite how he imagined reuniting with his angel after his long absence would be an understatement. At first, in a fit of euphoria and longing, he honestly thought he was hallucinating. Just imagine it – he had just ended with great success the war that had been keeping him awake at night for months, his beloved crew was safe and sound, they all managed to live to see another day that promised to be sunny and beautiful, looking at the morning golden rays reflecting off the water below and the refreshing sea breeze around. You could say that everything ended according to his plan, maybe the result was even better than he expected. And now all that was left for him was the best part of the menu, the dessert that Beckman had boldly mentioned over their morning coffee – to find their dear and lovely birdie, to apologize for the trouble they had caused, and finally to take the other in his arms and show him how much he was valued and how much he was missed.

Every day without Mihawk in Shanks' life was torture.

So when he turned and saw his angel behind him, in all his glory and in the glow of the rising sun, overshadowing everything that had occupied the Emperor's mind so far, Shanks at first really thought that it must be a dream. But even in his fondest dreams, those golden eyes could not shine so brightly, the beautiful facial features could not be as razor-sharp and gorgeous as a work of art from under the hand of the finest artist, and the presence of this being as soothing and comforting as it was in reality.

If his angel were to speak up now, Shanks would already be on his knees, always the most faithful and devoted admirer.

But when in a split second the sparkle in those pretty eyes fades and the warlord loses consciousness, about to fall, the Emperor doesn't think much as the horror engulfs him, he reflexively lunges forward and now realizes that it was indeed not a dream as he is able to embrace Mihawk, and his weight is palpable as he falls straight into the Redhead's arms.

And then everything followed one another like in some fucking kaleidoscope.

Shanks kneels, holding the swordsman's unconscious and limp body close, and somewhere behind him he hears a growing uproar, Beckman's voice, and a sudden order to call Hongo as soon as possible.

And the Emperor ignores everything that happens there as absolute rage and chilling fear begin to boil inside him when he notices how morbidly pale the warlord is. If they had so far made more or less humorous and nagging remarks about the pallor of the other, the situation looked so dramatic that at this point no one was laughing anymore, even the most composed crew members were clearly moved by what they saw. The captain tried in vain to wake the swordsman from his momentary, hopefully, lethargy, desperately calling the name of the other and rocking him. No one around dared to come closer and disturb him, not when their commander's eyes glowed a bright, dangerous red. Even Beckman, Yasopp, and Lucky Roux kept their distance while their not-so-frivolous and carefree anymore friend wondered who had the audacity to lay a hand on Mihawk in his lifetime.

Did Teach somehow find out about their relationship and attack the swordsman in retaliation for Shanks' victory in the war? If that was the case, then the Red-Haired Emperor would dismantle each island stone by stone until he found that damn pest and got rid of it, beating the shit out of his face so badly that even his dirty tricks couldn't save him from the Redhead's rage this time.

Was it the World Government? Their knights? That fucker Akainu?

Shanks growled as he gritted his teeth. Garp again?!

Whoever it was, they will regret it.

As he sorted through the list of his potential enemies in his head, somewhere in the background he heard their doctor complaining loudly, hurrying around and asking what the hell had happened again. It was only when Hongo reached them and stopped in shock when he saw who Shanks was holding in his arms, without further ado and without wasting any more time, he sat down to look at and help the injured swordsman.

Everyone around him was asking questions that no one here knew the answer to, except for Mihawk himself, who was still unconscious, and still out of touch for Shanks to reach him.

Even the Emperor was unable to say what might have happened.

Maybe they started to enjoy their victory too early.

While the doctor's dexterous hands probed the unpleasant condition of their poor hawk, the more he looked at it, the condition of the other became even more unpleasant. His skin was unhealthily white, his eyes were dark circles, and the general pallor on his face only emphasized it, the touch of his body was much colder than the Redhead remembered, and on top of that, there was his wrist, wrapped tightly in a bandage soaked in fresh blood, and the very fact that the untouchable swordsman was bleeding was enough reason for Shanks to start boiling rage again. Besides, the Captain could see just by looking at him that his lover had lost quite a lot of weight.

What has happened in recent months during his absence?  The Emperor had the impression that he must have missed something when he planned his trip. When they were still able to connect through the snails, the warlord seemed absent-minded and gloomy, but Shanks ultimately attributed it to the other's sheer boredom and perhaps a little sulk for not being allowed to join them.

After all, it was still his hawk, the love of his life, and the body he held was the same body that he, as the only living mortal, had the divine permission to caress and worship and kiss many times, but also had the duty to protect it, and looking at the sad state of his angel, Shanks understood that he had committed an almost unforgivable sin with such apparent ignorance.

Hongo's diagnosis that Mihawk had simply lost consciousness due to exhaustion did not soothe the anxiety that was constantly growing in Shanks' heart, who, despite expert confirmation that the other was fine, saw with his own eyes that he was not. Of all the people he had met in his life, the warlord was the last person the Emperor had ever expected to find in such a way.

And though the doctor's diagnosis did not calm him, it was nevertheless accurate, when, after a few mercilessly endless and unsettling moments, the swordsman's eyelids fluttered, and then finally, Seas, finally, Shanks' eyes greeted the most beautiful, precious gold, the most valuable in all of the New World and beyond.

And from that moment on, the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates balanced on the line between being a supportive and affectionate boyfriend, whom the swordsman, confused by pain, clearly needed, and a possessive to the bone and resentful Emperor, who was seething with anger at the sight of the ever-growing grimace on his birdie's face and wanted to hold accountable the one who made it happen.

The only thing he did not expect, however, was the news that it was his birdie that had brought itself to such a state.

And The thing about growing frustration is that once it appears inside you, as with any other human emotion, eventually you will have to vent it so that it can leave, otherwise it will scratch its own way out.

The warlord with the golden hawkish eyes had such a strong influence on him that very often he just couldn't control himself in front of him, whether we're talking about being professional when you have a strong need to kiss another, something dirtier and raunchy like grabbing his waist or ass or literally getting into his pants in front of everyone. The same was true of his emotional approach, after all, he had never laughed as loudly and truthfully as he had when Mihawk was around, nor had he ever become so furious when the well-being and safety of the other was at stake. In the days when they were still dueling, they could tear the entire island apart, by the way, in case someone forgot and needed a reminder. This is how strong the influence the Warlord had on the Emperor of the Sea.

And unfortunately for both of them, this time was no different, especially when Shanks found out that his little silly hawk had been torturing himself for the past two weeks, or maybe longer, putting himself in some really serious danger when the Emperor explicitly asked him not to do anything... unplanned behind his back. Always rational and stoic, the warlord chose the perfect moment to behave like a brat.

So much for keeping Mihawk out of trouble. First an intruder and traitor on board, then his crew in danger, a conflict with Marco and the rest of the allies, a war with Teach's dogs, and now his lover and his stupid self-destructive ideas as the cherry on top. Once, as a joke, he compared the other to a cherry, but he was sure that this was not what he meant at the time.

And then the Emperor exploded.

And normally he wouldn't decide to do something like that, but he and the swordsman had known each other for years, there had been arguments between them before, and their relationship had survived much worse things than that, so it was just easy to give up and pour out your frustration on your wayward lover, not knowing why, expecting not even so serious, but rather ironic and mocking argument, for which Shanks would have apologized after a while, giving the other all the love he deserved, because he knew that the warlord certainly wanted the best for him and was not that stupid to bring himself to the brink for no apparent reason.

Only instead of the ironic-sarcastic retort that the Emperor was expecting, because Mihawk was famous for always having plenty of them, the only thing he gained was silence and absolute confusion on the swordsman's face, who only lowered his head, as if he could not understand what had happened and what was happening around them. He certainly didn't understand Shanks' sudden outburst of anger either, as it wasn't strictly directed at him, but rather at his own helplessness, which the Redhead felt, because somehow everything was going and not going his way at the same time.

This, and the obvious fear for Mihawk, is evident beneath that thin layer of frustration, because how could he not worry about him seeing him like this? Something was wrong, and Shanks knew it.

He had to take him out of there so they could talk in private.

In addition, a long nap and cuddling, preferably for several hours. There is a reason why the slumber of a grim warlord is never, under any circumstances, interrupted, when sleepy he sometimes becomes untamed, and this bird has not slept for fourteen fucking days.

But that's what Shanks is for, to take care of him and give the other what he needs.

Their magnificent hawk deserved the whole world.

But only before the arm of the red-haired pirate could reach for its greatest and most precious treasure to take it with him and protect it from the world, the aforementioned jewel of their crew had already begun to rise on weak legs, refusing to reach for the hand offered to him by the Emperor, only to grab his beloved sword instead, as if that were the only thing at that moment, that he could hold on to before falling. The swordsman murmured a quiet apology, his usually velvety voice flat, tinged with nothing at all, though a clear sense of guilt seemed to be somewhere deep down there and burning, which made Shanks feel a knot in his stomach that only intensified as the warlord repentantly asked for something as obvious as rest, promising to leave, and then fled away without looking back. Even the calls of the concerned Captain could not stop him, as if no words around him had reached his head.

The Red-Haired Emperor remained on his knees, utterly confused as he lost sight of the love of his life, whereas just moments ago he had held it in his arms and had those beautiful golden eyes looking only at him and lighting up his day.

He made a mistake, he should have known about it before he opened his mouth and started screwing about his failures, which Mihawk had no control over. Sure, the warlord did wrong, throwing himself into the pursuit of the Red Force, exposing himself tremendously, which on the one hand Shanks could not praise, but on the other hand, if he... if he had known that the swordsman was in danger, wouldn't he have thrown himself into a similar journey? Even if he wasn't a captain, didn't have a luxury ship, a crew, and all the other possessions, would he have let fate decide over his hawk's life?

Now that he thought about it, his harsh words were absolutely right, sure, but weren't they unfair? Shanks felt that by focusing only on his war, he marginalized and downplayed the problems of the swordsman, who could spend most of his time at home, but that didn't mean he didn't have any worries. They both were close, so it was obvious that he was worried about him and the crew, the rather sudden severance of contact and absolutely zero signs of life from the Red-Hair Pirates certainly did not diminish his stress. He must have learned by chance of a trap set for them and of the traitor on board, and Shanks might have assumed, no, he was damn sure that this news did not so much distress the other as frighten him. In addition, he was absent when the Redhead allowed himself to be generously bitten by the Sea King, so in this case some paranoid déjà vu must have taken place in his head.

Hence the first thing, and the only thing he could do, was to chase them to warn them since the letter was an uncertain solution, and it was indeed a miracle that it reached them at the perfect time.

Of course, Mihawk couldn't have known if his letter had finally reached them.

He chose to sacrifice everything, including his own health, to avoid finding Shanks and his crew in tatters again, living again with the knowledge that he wasn't there.

The devastated Emperor raised his hand to wipe his face, taking a breath to calm himself.

Ugh, why did his dull brain always start thinking only after he had fucked everything up?

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think about this problem when a hard fist belonging to none other than Benn Beckman finally reached his head, feeling it successively pierce his occipital with such force that he almost landed face down on the wooden floor below.

Recently, when they didn't have an official conflict with Teach yet and were sitting in a neat circle with the whole crew (and of course, it was after reaching a certain level of intoxication), they agreed together, giggling, that from that moment on, Beckman had every right to punch their wayward Red-haired Captain with his fist into the head of every time their aforementioned red degenerate did something absolutely moronic, and Shanks, tipsy with alcohol, saw no problem with it, finding it as a damn great joke as he laughed out loud along with the rest of the men.

Well, now all he could see were the stars as he felt, or rather didn't feel, his own head as he slowly rose from the ground, his hand on the rapidly growing bump.

Words were unnecessary, the Emperor understood well what he had been hit for.

With obvious pain written on his face, he finally stood up and straightened up, still rubbing his hand on the back of his red head. - "Thanks, Beck".

- "You’re welcome" - his first mate replied, searching for a new cigarette.

- "You know, I don't want to say anything, boss..." – Yasopp said with his hands in his pockets, very clearly wanting to say something. At least the look on his face showed that he was seriously worried. – "But if you really want to put a ring on it, you better try next time to-"

- "Break his bed, not his heart" - Beckman suggested when he started looking for a lighter after finding the cigarette.

- "Play with his boobs, not with his feelings" - Limejuice simply added.

- "Give him backshots, not reasons to cry" - Yasopp said, now annoyed that the two scoundrels before him were faster.

- "Use sparkling water for pancakes if you want them to be softer..." – Lucky Roux drawled sadly. - "Sorry guys, I always think about food when I'm feeling nervous...".

- "Thank you, boys, I'll remember that..." – sighed Shanks, rubbing his temple. He would love to put any of these great ideas to the test if only his sweet hawk even wanted to talk to him after what happened that day.

He had to go find him as soon as possible. Worry eats him from the inside, the medicine from Hongo won't help much with such a huge exhaustion of the body, and the Emperor was ready to cut off his other arm, or even worse, if he released the swordsman only for him to fell somewhere on his ship from fatigue and hurt himself even more.

He won't let Mihawk heal his wounds and deal with it all on his own. He would never abandon him again.

- "Beck, I'll be busy for most of today" - he said after a moment, and then walked forward, passing his companions, paying no attention to anyone. - "Take care of everything while I'm away, please".

- "You got it, boss" - Beckman muttered, and then focused his gaze on the Red-Haired Emperor's receding back. - "Both of you take as much time as you need".

- "I'll be around if necessary, and be waiting for your order" - Hongo saluted, to which Shanks nodded gratefully before disappearing for good, leaving everyone in a nervous atmosphere.

- "It's going to be okay, guys..." - Yasopp said hesitantly, trying to relieve some of the tension that had been hanging heavily in the air since Hawkeyes left. - "It's just a misunderstanding. I'm sure boss got it".

- "Which doesn't change the fact that we could help" – said the first mate, focusing the curious gaze of all the gathered men around him. - "After all, Hawkeyes kind of saved all of our asses, but after our pathetic spectacle today, I don't think he felt welcome here".

The entire crew looked at each other, and Beckman was surrounded on all sides in unison, forming a kind of closed circle in which plans were about to be revealed, the knowledge of which could not be possessed even by the sea surrounding their ship.

When everyone gathered, Yasopp cleared his throat, thus starting a conspiratorial meeting. - "Then you can tell us what you were thinking about".

His sandals bounced off the wooden floor in a half-loud sound as he walked desperately swiftly through the corridors leading to the ship's quarters. The crimson color of his hair shone in the light of the dim lamps that illuminated the oblong rooms he crossed, almost running to get where he suspected that his exhausted and wronged hawk had made a place for himself to hide. The Redhead had a feeling that if the other was going to rest somewhere, it would have to be a place familiar enough for him to psychologically convince himself to let his guard down and give up. And on this ship, the only place that could realistically meet such conditions is his cabin, which was shared whenever the warlord visited them and spent his time with Shanks on the Red Force. However, he could only guess it, because he had given up on the use of Observation Haki, knowing full well that the always vigilant swordsman with hawkish eyes and Haki much more sensitive than his own would immediately notice such a mean and nosy act on the part of the Redhead, while there was no other way for them to return to normal than to trust each other again.

Moreover, the Emperor did not want to overwhelm the warlord any more than he had done already. Emotions got the better of both of them and another bad move may end in irreversible consequences.

Nevertheless, Shanks had no other thoughts than to reach Mihawk and greet him in the correct way, exactly the way he had planned since he and his crew left Kuraigana Island a few months ago.

He didn't bother knocking on the door, not thinking that the swordsman would be gracious enough to answer him, but his steps slowed down when he finally reached the door he was heading for. He didn't think long when he grabbed the handle with his hand and with a calm, light movement opened the passage, entering now with a slow and free walk.

His composure was only for show though, because as soon as the door of his bedroom closed behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, right next to his legs, he saw Mihawk sitting on the ground, his face in his hands, where glaringly visible drops of tears were passing through his pale fingers and falling heavily down, his heart broke in half and everything went to waste because whatever he had planned in advance lost any meaning to him when his angel needed him.

Together, they will learn to fly high again.

The desperate call of his name falling from the mouth of the Red-Haired Emperor successively broke through the tangle of thoughts crowded in his mind, which had previously made him freeze where he had been sitting for probably a good few minutes. Confused by the sudden sound and awakening, the Greatest Swordsman raised his head and immediately noticed a new presence at his side out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to get a better look, he saw in front of him by far the ugliest sandals he had ever been forced to tolerate. His eyes involuntarily wandered higher, from the hairy calves, the red, loose floral trousers, which by the way were even nastier than the aforementioned sandals, the red belt around the hips with the hilt of one of the greatest and legendary sabers known on the Grand Line, the white linen shirt buttoned casually at the end of it, the wide, divinely tanned chest, covered with an even more absurd amount of rusty bristles, the black cloak on his shoulders, to the handsome face of a shabby red-haired pirate, the sight of which both saved and broke Mihawk at the same time.

At first, the swordsman was convinced that his tired and distracted mind was making fun of him again, and the blurry vision of Shanks materialized only to tease and humiliate him even more if his supposed hallucination did not call out to him again, and a second later kneel right in front of him, surrounding him to embrace.

He might have been on the verge of physical exhaustion, but even in the worst of pain, he couldn't have mistaken the familiar warmth emanating from the body of the man he'd longed for so long, and he would probably have basked in all the attention and love of another if the circumstances had not been different and reality had not muddled him and thrown the cruel truth in his face at the worst moment.

He must have looked pathetic indeed, since Shanks himself, justifiably angry with him, repented to stop and bend over the kicked dog.

Or, with as much empathy as ever, the Redhead in the most subtle and, well, typically Shanks-like way is now trying to make his pathetic excuse of a lover to stop bothering his crew and getting the fuck off his ship. Understandably, the warlord had abused the Red Force's hospitality enough, even had the audacity to drag his ass into the Captain's cabin as if that place belonged to him.

Realizing this comforted him in a way, he thought because it was good to know that despite all the absurdity he had been subjected to recently, subconsciously he still managed to be the cold-hearted bitch he used to be.

Shanks' warm hand moved soothingly down his back, then he tore it away from there for a moment, only to tenderly embrace one of the swordsman's cheeks instead in such a way that they were now able to look at each other. The subtle forcing to look at the Redhead, whose face did not express rage at all, no, there was only an expression of pure concern and worry, and this quickly made the momentarily astonished warlord realize that by being so close, the Emperor had now the full picture of his swollen eyes in front of him, and these damn tears had not yet ended, so he was actually caught by Shanks in the middle of crying.

Perhaps the sight of his undefeated former rival in tears must have surprised him because Mihawk was probably the last person on earth who would be able to cry. And it was true, he never cried, damn it, and the mess he was now was caused only by fatigue and lack of sleep, but the swordsman was afraid that the Redhead wouldn't understand it that way.

And now he didn't know how to explain it to the Emperor, that this was only a temporary crisis of his shitty brain and that he didn’t become a total lame duck.

It was humiliating enough to try to explain to Zoro and Perona how he had been hurt when they both pointed out the bandage on his wrist, but the situation in which he now found himself for the hell of it, he had no idea how to play to be believed. Especially in front of the Redhead, who will definitely not avoid making jokes about it for the rest of the swordsman's shitty life, never letting him forget about it.

Without waiting long, he quickly pulled away from the warm hand that had so selfishly invaded his personal space, to now cover and wipe his wet eyes with his forearm, only for this movement to cause, of course, even more tears to fall down his cheeks, until finally defeated, he gave up, allowing the tears to fall and Shanks to make fun of him to his heart’s content.

He should probably finish his plan that he had set out earlier, which was to apologize to the Emperor and get out of there, so he focused enough to apologize to Shanks loud enough for the other to hear, but before he could turn around to grab Yoru leaning next to him, get up and walk out towards the Hitsugibune, praying that he would not faint and humiliate himself even more on the way, Redhead's arm has wrapped around him again, and Mihawk didn't have the strength to fight the bigger man, so like a rag doll, he let himself be pulled into a tight grip, not tight enough to make him uncomfortable and hurt him, but enough to make his whole body feel surrounded by Shanks, who additionally buried his face in the hollow of his neck,  irritatingly rubbing his several-week-old stubble there and tickling the swordsman with red, unruly hair, which had already begun to stick to his cheekbones, wet with tears.

- "Don't apologize" - Shanks said, tightening his grip around the warlord, and there, where his fingers were, he began to draw tender caresses. – "Don't apologize to anyone and don't leave".

Mihawk's vision was blurry, so he closed his eyes and sighed with a little trembling.

- "Even if I wanted to do it, I wouldn't go far, because in two steps someone would have to pick me up from the floor anyway" – he replied matter-of-factly as if stating the fact that caused the red-haired pirate who was holding him to snort.

The Emperor's face shifted slightly, his stubble teasing the pale skin below, until finally, his lips were just behind the swordsman's ear, pressing a kiss there.

- "You shouldn't be cuddling up to me like that, you know?" - muttered the warlord, wincing a little as the pirate's beard scratched him. - "You are well aware that there is no place for a shower on the Hitsugibune. I'm probably wearing fleas and all the germs that are known to Grand Line".

Shanks' body shuddered as he laughed again, this time louder. – "Angel, I love you, but damn it, stop making me laugh, I'm trying to convey something here" – he scolded the other, although from his seat the swordsman felt a smile on his skin, a smile that was tearing the Redhead's face. - "Besides, I don't mind it, so we'll match" - the Emperor added, referring to the fact that he is usually not in a better condition himself. - "And our combination will create something unique".

- "Like what, an atlas of fungi?".

This time, Shanks couldn't help but burst out laughing. - "Sounds pretty good to me" - the Emperor agreed, leaving another kiss in the previous place. He finally broke away from the warlord's poor neck, but before he could do it completely, his eye was caught by a gold earring, from a set he had gifted Mihawk with during one of their romantic dinners aboard the Red Force. He still remembered when they asked Hongo to sterile pierce the swordsman's ears so that he could wear the gift from the Emperor, and he also remembered the deadly serious look on his hawk's face when he loudly offered to hold his hand for the entire procedure if he was afraid. In fact, it was a miracle that his ass wasn’t kicked out of the doctor's office at that time.

The sight of this little thing made Shanks feel warm in his stomach.

The awareness that this small fragment of himself accompanied Mihawk every day when he was away.

Grinning like the idiot he was, the Emperor leaned back enough to look at the warlord in his arms, but as soon as he did it, his smile faded as he noticed fresh tears on the other's cheeks, falling and soaking into the Redhead's shoulder, where the swordsman's head rested. The pirate approached, leaving feather-light kisses on the other's face, tasting the salt, the imprint of how much harm had been done.

- "I didn't get mad because you came, how could I get mad when you're all that makes me happy?" – Shanks confessed as he pulled away. - "I got mad because you were hurt, and seeing your pain made me unable to control myself" - he continued, sincerely regretting that it all turned out this way. - "And now I'm just beginning to understand why, of all people, you were so angry when you saw what was left of me after the incident with the Sea King in the East Blue".

Mihawk finally opened his eyes, and his gaze went to the bandaged wrist he held and squeezed in his other hand.

- "I had a dream recently" - he began, loud enough for Shanks to hear. - "I was standing there when you died. All of you. Mockingly, my mind gave me this image just when contact with you became impossible. There was no news about you, no sign of life. Then, as if out of spite, I heard that there was a man on your ship who knew more than you and me and that the Red Force was about to be swallowed up by the sea, a trap was set in some canyon, Blackbeard was plotting somewhere else and-" – he stopped when he ran out of breath, and then hung his head low as if admitting something embarrassing. – "I think I got scared".

Shanks, on the other hand, felt his heart's grief as he heard every word of this confession.

- "When I set out to chase you, I told myself that I don't really care if you get mad at me later and curse me for it" - the swordsman added, snorting when he pointed his finger at his own face to emphasize the absurdity he was representing. - "But I think I've miscalculated again".

- "Well…" - the Emperor began slowly, trying to calm down after what he had learned. - "I, on the other hand, during one of our chats with Beck, confessed loudly and boldly that I am so composed and responsible that I won’t get upset even by my lovely, angry-" - he stopped, blushing, quickly correcting himself. – "-lover! And I miscalculated too when Beck reminded me how feral you can be when it comes to me" - he chuckled as he watched Mihawk roll his eyes at this when he heard it and couldn't deny it.

- "By the way, I dreamed about you too" - Shanks confessed, slightly playing and brushing the warlord's face with his thumb, wiping away the traces of tears. - "I always dreamed about you as soon as I managed to fall asleep properly. Recently, for example, I was dozing about being a landscape photographer and after finishing a business trip I came back to our house, where we had a huge garden full of colorful flowers, where you especially loved to spend time and read to me while I was lounging next to you on the grass" - he sighed, completely dreamy. - "Every day I ate the kimchi fried rice you made for me, and we had a dog called Red Force, and it stayed that way after Luffy accidentally dropped a can of paint on that poor puppy in my garage" - he laughed out loud when he remembered it. - "Our house was always noisy, there wasn't an evening when Uta didn't give us a concert, wearing the dresses that the three of you made together with Perona, while Zoro chased me around the rooms with a plastic sword, explaining that you told him that if he manages to beat my ass, then you would duel him" - said the Redhead, smiling, as he watched Mihawk snort in amusement as he imagined it. - "And Luffy, well, he never shuts his mouth, he kept asking you for food, crying that he was starving. It was fun to raise all four of them together, and when I looked at them, I couldn't believe that our biological children could be both so different and similar to each other".

The warlord snorted again, shaking his head as he listened to the Redhead's nonsensical chatter. A nonsense that only Shanks could come up with, but the swordsman had to admit to himself that the script sounded almost cute. However, his amusement disappeared when he thought about something thoroughly.

- "What did you mean by biological?" asked Mihawk, slightly interested. – "How?".

Shanks began to giggle, but the swordsman was no longer laughing.

- "Which of us was pregnant?".

Shanks looked at him, his laughter died down a bit.

- "Shanks, answer me".

Shanks started coughing.

- "Four labors?!".

- "Let's change the subject!" - suggested the Redhead, leaning in to place a juicy kiss on the swordsman's forehead, risking the possibility of getting a pale fist in the teeth.

Pleased that his jaw remained in place, Shanks' warm hand was once again on the warlord's cheek to study him. - "How are you feeling?" - he asked, and his expression was serious and concerned again.

- "Like shit" – replied the other, rolling his eyes.

- "What do you need?" – the Redhead asked, not letting go.

Mihawk sighed heavily, then closed his eyes and buried his face in the Emperor's shoulder again. - "I want to take a bath and finally go to sleep".

- "Understood" - Shanks assumed, hugging him one last time and placing a tender kiss on his temple, then moved in such a way as to try to get them both on their feet. – "Can you stand? I'll help you, we just need a few steps".

The swordsman nodded, clinging to the Emperor as they both rose from the ground, Shanks' hand falling heavily on his waist and holding him tightly as they took their first steps toward the bathroom, adjacent to the Captain's bedroom.

Shanks was right. After a few steps, the two of them were in the next room, and the Emperor helped the warlord sit on a chair that had been there for no reason actually, but the Redhead was grateful that it was there because it saved his poor bird from having to sit on the cold and uncomfortable floor again.

The swordsman sat stiffly, fighting the dizziness that had come and attacked his head as soon as he got up from the ground, and the incessant crying did not help to correct his condition. The captain noticed this at once and knelt in front of him, urging him to take a breath and calm down, all the while making sure that the other remained conscious.

When Mihawk was half sure that the pressure in his skull had eased a little, and that he wouldn't slump out of his chair to land face down on the cold tiles as soon as the Redhead was an inch away from him, Shanks nodded, then kissed him lightly on the lips and turned to prepare a hot bath for him.

At the very thought of the water and soap, the swordsman rejoiced inwardly, looking forward to tearing off the dirty clothes he was wearing and scrubbing his skin, which disgusted him mercilessly at the mere mention of it.

However, his joy did not last long when he looked up and only now noticed that he was sitting in front of the mirror that the Captain had hung in his bathroom.

And in the mirror was, of course, a reflection.

His reflection.

His reflection?  That was his reflection?!

The golden eyes were jumping between the morbidly pale face, the black hair in complete disarray, the uneven beard, the cut lips that he was biting from stress, the bloodshot eyeballs, and the black circles beneath them, the whole picture was so unpleasant that the owner of all these charming features himself turned green, feeling that he was about to vomit.

The swordsman had certain standards, and everything he saw was below all minimum levels.

Was this the sight that greeted the crew of the Red-Hair Pirates when he set foot on the Red Force?

Was this the sight Shanks had been facing all the time he had held him and talked to him?

Is the Redhead blind or did he force himself to swallow his disgust every time he looked at him, touched him, and kissed him just to avoid making him uncomfortable?

He quickly turned around in his chair, not wanting to look at himself, almost falling from his seat, and this movement made Shanks, now without his black cloak over his shoulders and shirt on, keeping practically only his pants, jump out like an antelope from behind the bathtub in which he was preparing the bath, and in a second materialize at his side, holding him and asking what happened.

The warlord only managed to point his finger at the mirror hanging against the wall, and the Emperor's eyes followed him, staring in amazement at the painting enclosed in glass.

- "Your reflection?" - asked the confused pirate, scratching his stubble as he struggled to understand what his shaken bird was all about. - "I don't understand, you're perfect as always".

Liar  The swordsman thought angrily, when full of remorse he managed to look into the Emperor's eyes. –“How could you just kiss me when I look so awful?”.

- "First of all, you've never looked awful, angel, and second, I'm going to do it again" -  Shanks said, bending down to place a kiss tight and severe enough on the warlord's lips for him to understand that the Emperor was getting immense pleasure from their bonding. - "And if you're asking me, baby, I'd take you here and now if I was sure you wouldn't pass out as soon as things started to get funky" - the Redhead added after a while, pleased with himself when he saw a charming blush spreading across the face of his confused hawk.

- "And could you also not be a nasty pervert when I have a nervous breakdown?" – sighed the aforementioned bird with resignation, while his lover began to laugh.

- "Don't bother your pretty head with stupid thoughts" - the Redhead giggled, tenderly brushing the other’s cheek with his finger. - "You can try to take off your clothes, the bath will be ready in a moment. Let me know if you need help with this" - he said after a moment, then turned to check the water, leaving the swordsman alone.

Mihawk didn't admit it out loud, but Shanks' assurance made him feel a little better in his own skin.

Undressing shouldn't be a problem, it wasn't like the Emperor's eyes never saw him naked.

The problem, however, was that as soon as his coat slipped off his sore shoulders and fell to the ground below, the Greatest Swordsman flinched as he felt himself freeze. The room was slowly filled with hot steam coming from the bathtub, but the general cold reflected off the tiles on the floor and walls, as well as his body, which had basically nothing to produce heat from since he hadn't eaten for a dangerously long time, all gave him goosebumps when a cold shiver ran through his spine.

He tried to ignore it anyway, tossing his black feather hat aside, pulling off Kogatana, unbuttoning his boots, and slowly stripping the rest of his clothes from his body until he was completely exposed, sitting cross-legged in his chair, rubbing his shoulders desperately to keep himself warm.

He did not remain like this for long when moments later something heavy fell on his shoulders and wrapped his cold body tightly, and when he opened his eyes he noticed that he was wearing Shanks' cloak, which he had abandoned some time ago before he started filling the bathtub.

- "You're soon about to get into the water, then you'll warm up properly" - the Redhead assured him, his hand tracing circles on the swordsman's back as he embraced him. – "For now, I'll keep you warm" – he laughed.

It wasn't long before the water finally reached its optimal temperature, and a moment later, with the help of the pirate's arm that held him and on which he could lean, the warlord finally sat down in a bathtub, filled with warm water that smelled sweet and soothing, a special bath mixture with which he had previously stocked the Captain's modest bathroom, as soon as he noticed that his beloved red-haired stinky bastard had only an ordinary soap and a 13in1 shower gel of a questionable quality, which Shanks valued for its supposed practicality, because, as he claimed: "you can wash your teeth, hair, ass, balls, dog, ship’s deck and the sewerage at the same time! It's a real invention!". Mihawk, of course, ignored this nonsense, buying the other the “right” care products, teaching him one by one, the overgrown child like Shanks, what to use and where.

The feeling of pleasantly warm water surrounding his tired body, the touch of hot steam on his cool skin, and the more than wonderful smell made the warlord moan in delight as he breathed, allowing himself the long-awaited relaxation he had denied since the Redhead left him, leaving him alone in his gloomy, cold castle.

The aforementioned Emperor burst out laughing at the absolute adoration on the usually unexpressive face of the stoic swordsman. - "I wish I had a camera to capture this view as a souvenir" - he joked as he moved his chair closer to the bathtub so he could sit and admire the bird of paradise enjoying its bath. - "But the sound of pleasure you just made so sweetly will definitely be cherished in my head for the next few weeks".

Mihawk gave the other a dry look, not commenting on it, but his hand went up to the Redhead's face to pinch his nose. The other, unfortunately, was faster and at the last moment grabbed the pale hand, hiding it in his.

- "I really hope I made you feel better at least a little" - the Emperor muttered into his cool skin as he brought the back of the hand he held to his lips to begin to fold feather-light touches there.

- "You did" - the swordsman agreed, allowing his beloved to pamper him. – "I am grateful".

- "Don't be" - the pirate instructed him, winking coquettishly. - "It's my duty".

They did not encounter any major problems during the bath.

The Red-Haired Emperor remained close throughout, helping the warlord wash himself. The man distracted the swordsman's still conflicted and confused mind with smooth talk, telling him of what had happened on Red Force in his absence, while his hand remained patient and gentle as he massaged the aching and stiff muscles of the other, or reached where it would have been difficult for his hawk. His fingers stopped and traced the dimples and faded scars with a soft caress, tracing and sealing with his lips those above the water level, while the rest of those he could find and flatter with a touch below, he swore to take care of them in the same way when they found each other tangled in the sheets, which he was sure would happen soon.

As for Mihawk, Shanks' shifting touch on his body didn't bother him, in fact, he was charmed by the way the red-haired man adored him not only verbally, but also with every caress, muffles and squeeze, leaving his trace almost everywhere. He felt the finger of the other sliding down, counting each vertebra of the spine separately, a blunt nail connecting with an invisible line the beauty marks scattered here and there on his pale skin. He felt no embarrassment when the Emperor grabbed where a gentleman like him should not, hiding behind a low laugh and a joke "What was touched, is mine." The warlord, on the other hand, felt uneasy when Shanks's fingers caught on the collarbones protruding from under the skin, which was much more prominent than they both remembered, or when the pirate's hand stopped and studied the ribs, which he did not feel as clearly before as he did now, and the steely gaze he cast on the alarming parts of the body of his beloved, which he took apart as if he were seeing them for the first time in his life, that made the swordsman slowly realizing the incriminating fact that he hadn't taken care of himself the way his lover would have liked him to do, somewhere in expecting of the return of the Red-Hair Pirates, he had lost weight, and Shanks noticed it.

And to think that he was reprimanding the Emperor to eat healthier, to sleep in a warm bed, and not to overdo it with alcohol, while he himself did not do the same for him.

So his lover's outburst earlier in the morning was understandable.

And Hawkeyes understood and will try to recover.

For Shanks.

- "I'll be right back. Try not to drown yourself while I'm gone, okay?" - the Redhead asked him, half jokingly, half seriously, then threw one of the towels over his shoulder and left the bathroom.

With nothing better to do, he might as well start taking care of himself right now. He bent down to reach the razor that the Emperor had left among the other things scattered around. The sensation of a sharp instrument on his skin caused a pleasant tingling feeling, making the corners of his lips reflexively lift upwards.

When Shanks was back in the bathroom, apologizing for his sudden departure, he stood slightly surprised as he looked at what was just happening in front of his eyes.

- "Do you shave your legs with my razor?".

- "Yes" - the swordsman agreed, not taking his eyes off the pale skin he was working on. -- "And that's not the only place I've shaved with the use of it".

The Emperor shrugged. - "Well, I'm perfectly fine with that" - he said, closing the door behind him. - "Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy too. I brought you clothes so you could put them on when you get out of there" - he added, putting Mihawk's things aside.

Then he walked a few steps until he stood over the bathtub, watching with a smile the concentration of his lover as he worked to keep his skin spotlessly smooth.

- "I'm honestly impressed that you are so willing to do this" – the pirate wondered aloud, then raised his hand to scratch his face. - "As for me, at the very thought of standing in front of the mirror and shaving my face, I look for any arguments not to have to do it".

Mihawk snorted as he dipped his leg into the water, then resurfaced it, lifting it high enough for Shanks to touch it.

After relaxing in the lukewarm water for a while, the red-haired pirate finally got up from his seat, reaching for a towel, spreading it wide, holding one end in his hand and the other in his teeth. - "Okay, come out, cherry, or you're about to wrinkle like a raisin" - he chuckled, lisping as he spoke.

When finally, after fourteen fucking days (it must be emphasized), the swordsman sighed with relief, now that he was wearing fresh clothes again, and every part of his skin was scrubbed and shone like porcelain (when he said that, Shanks gave him a perfidious, dirty smile, and he gave him a solid kick in the ass in return), Mihawk felt alive again (I mean, inside he still felt like shit, but at least he was clean from the outside).

Before he joined his boyfriend though, he sat down in front of the mirror and grabbed a pair of scissors, finally ready to clean up his face. His mustache has been trimmed, his eyebrows have been trimmed too, including his facial hair, as well as the strands of black hair that have grown enough to fall on his forehead and not harmonize with the rest of the combed back. Then he did some quick touches, which were to apply skin soothing cream, eye serum (to kill those damn dark circles on his face), and lip oil (to make Shanks feel like he was kissing him and not sandpaper). Under normal circumstances, he would have highlighted his eyes with eyeliner and used concealer, but fuck it, he's going to bed now and he'll do it when he's done with the beauty sleep that was already waiting for him. He sincerely hoped that he would have enough energy to try the nail polish that Hancock had gifted him along with the one for Perona, but he was so tired that he could barely sit in his chair, so this time he would skip it.

When he looked up and now watched himself in the mirror, he could tell with certainty that it was him. The same opinion must have been shared by the Emperor, who appeared behind him and smiled broadly at the sight of him, then whistled. - "Fuck, I don't think I can keep it in my pants!".

- "I'm sorry, but you will have to because I really feel like I'm about to switch off" - the swordsman said, gifting the other with a small, apologetic smile in the reflection of the mirror.

The Redhair looked at him tenderly, then approached to kneel in front of him. - "Then let's carry you to the nest, birdie" - he said, before grabbing the confused swordsman by the waist and throwing him over his shoulder, carrying him into the other room like a sack of potatoes.

Oh, Mihawk had a genuine desire to argue, and the Kogatana around his neck was itching to tickle the Red-haired ogre who was carrying him, but between the two evils, the warlord really needed this rest, and being carried to bed by Shanks sounded ridiculously inviting in his head, so he decided to let it go this time. But only this one time.

And the swordsman quickly regretted letting it go when the Emperor entered the bedroom, and the warlord instinctively looked up and saw Beckman and Hongo standing at the entrance to the Captain's cabin, probably waiting for them... for some inexplicable reason.

Just at the moment when he was already fucking convinced that no more humiliation for one day would be able to happen to him.

Why does God keep punishing him like this? He just wanted to go to sleep.

At least the two of the intruders had enough of the decency to start making fun of him only when Shanks gracefully sat him down on their bed.

- "I understand that everything is going well between you?" – Beckman asked first, genuinely amused by what he saw.

- "It couldn't have been better, am I right, Hawky?" – confirmed the self-satisfied Captain, glancing politely at the love of his life.

Hawkeyes, for his part, did not deny or affirm, for all he did was stare at the Redhead with a deadly gaze, burning a hole in his skull with his eyes, staining everything around him with his blood, invisible to mere mortals.

At least the red-haired scoundrel had enough self-awareness that when he noticed hawkish eyes boring into his red empty head, he swallowed loudly when he realized that he had forgotten something important.

- "Ah, yes, I forgot to tell you that when I left, I called out and asked Hongo to examine you and check if you are okay, I hope you don’t mind?" – he explained awkwardly, afraid to look directly at his beloved now. - "I swear I have no idea what Beck is doing here".

- "I came to laugh because I knew you were going to fuck something up again" - Beckman assured, to which his boss threw a furious look at him.

- "Okay, if the two of you want to argue, you can go outside, I'd like to examine you in the meantime, if I may?" – the doctor said, addressing Mihawk directly, ignoring the other idiots in the form of his chiefs.

In the end, Shanks stood nearby and supervised, watching throughout the whole examination, his first mate only was there for a moment to give the Captain an update on how things were going on the ship, then saluted and left, wishing the warlord a speedy recovery.

The doctor had unwrapped his bandaged wrist, and now both he and the Emperor could examine the deep wounds carved into the pale skin, and the fresh blood indicated that the scars were still open.

- "That required stitches, you know that?" - said Hongo, again properly cleaning the wounded area and putting a new, more appropriate bandage in its place. - "Now I don't see the need to sew it, the inner tissue has fused well, and the stitching can only leave unnecessary scars" - he added when he was finishing this part of his work. - "Can you tell me how that happened?".

Ah, today's humiliation continues.

Fortunately, Shanks reacted in time, ordering the doctor to continue, as Mihawk really needed rest. - "It's a long story, Hongo, I'm sure we'll find a more opportune moment for Hawky to tell us about it another time, don't you think?".

By the time the doctor finished auscultating him and checking his pulse, the warlord was practically asleep. Before this happened, they managed to persuade him to swallow pills and consume another dose of electrolytes, trying to remove the effects of long-term dehydration as quickly as possible. Hongo considered connecting a drip but decided to let the idea go until the swordsman wakes up, at this point, it was decided to let the medication work and let him rest in comfort, peace, and quiet.

- "If he wakes up and has trouble falling asleep, just try to make him lie down. I will not give him sleeping pills, in his condition it can be dangerous, it is better to let him recover at his own pace" - said the blonde man, giving his Captain instructions and reprimanding him, about what he should not do under any circumstances. Shanks only nodded, although he listened to the doctor very carefully and tried to remember every word. - "The second thing is that he will have to eat something. I've already instructed Lucky to make something light and digestible, we can't overload his stomach with some heavy food" - Hongo assured, for which the Captain thanked him.

- "And that's it, a lot of sleep and hydration and he will recover" – the doctor concluded, taking his things, but before he left, he looked at Shanks for the last time with sincere anger. – "And no carrying on your shoulder in his condition, especially upside down, you wanted him to get a concussion?! Control yourself next time and let him rest from now on" - he reprimanded him sharply, to which the Redhead grimaced and blushed, murmuring a quiet apology.

After the doctor left and after making sure that fortunately, it wasn't as bad as he feared it was, the Captain sighed in relief as the tension and weight he had felt so far slowly began to subside. The pale dawn was long gone, and the bustle of the morning had settled in earnest on the ship as the men worked hard to prepare for the day.

And this state of affairs affected everyone here, except for Shanks himself and his beloved birdie.

The rush and danger of the outside world will remain locked up behind the door to the Captain's cabin for the present day, so that the two longing lovers can find asylum and happiness in each other, the rest they both most certainly deserve after all that had happened to them and all they had to face alone.

From now on, there will be no separate action. They have experienced first-hand the irrefutable proof that their souls and bodies cannot survive separately without inevitably heading toward self-destruction. An invisible force, a feeling as strong as no other, will draw them to each other so that they can become whole again.

And soon the Emperor will personally seal it when the ring in his pocket is finally delivered to its rightful addressee.

For now, his love is here, safe and protected, nestled in the sheets of his bed like sweet nectar covered in flower petals, and that's enough for now.

The red-haired pirate walked slowly to the bed, finding himself on the side where his hawk was dreaming adorably, free from the cares that Shanks would take upon himself and get rid of so that they would no longer torment the other, and sat there by his side, bent over the divine beauty that he would not give up for any treasure and would not abandon, he had already done it once and learned his lesson.

A tanned hand reached for the sleeping figure, twirling an unruly lock of black hair between his fingers, which escaped and stopped on the pale face as if to become an integral part of the divine craft. After playing with it for a while, he pulled it back, then the hand slid down, where the warm touch of his fingers brushed the skin of the cheek from the corner of the closed eye to the lips, stopping only for a moment to leave a tender caress on the beauty mark, one of his favorite places to focus his vision on and leave kisses.

The red eyes absorbed the whole picture, eagerly, as if their owner could not believe that what was visible in front of him could be real. He went lower, along the pale neck, until he reached a chain whose end was a golden cross, adorning the center of the rising and falling chest, just above the beating heart. And just like the warlord, it was necessary to avoid the sharp blade to reach his love, hidden deep inside, fortunately, Shanks was a stubborn and capable warrior, and breaking through both walls was his destiny and at the same time the greatest battle he had fought. In no way could he imagine himself without a connection with Mihawk, there was no life in which he would not seek out his hawk and love him with a feeling as burning as fire as red as the crimson of his hair.

The emperor leaned lower to hang just above the other's face, their noses almost touching each other as the pirate brushed the other's lips with his own, a touch as light as a feather, clear and innocent enough to not awake and disturb the peace of his sleeping love.

Finally, the Redhead stood up, quietly circling the bed to be on the side that belonged to him, threw off his sandals, and finally lay down, shifting enough to embrace the swordsman from behind, his only arm resting loosely under the chest of the other, and pressed their bodies so that there was no more space between them to fill.

But before the Emperor sailed away to the land of Morpheus, he rose for a moment to cover the warlord's body with his, his red head wedged between the hollow of his pale neck and his shoulder and pressed his lips against the faded scar above his collarbone that had found its place there after their little incident together years ago. Now that he could return to his old routine, he lay back satisfied, closing his eyes, with a pleased smile as he buried his face in the black curls in front of him, ready for a well-deserved rest after months of cold, lonely, and sleepless nights.

The feeling of holding Mihawk in his arms made his whole body warm, a spark that he knew was there but couldn't ignite, imbue his veins with energy, and fill him with love when Hawky wasn't there to light it up and make sure it didn't stop shimmering.

Now everything is in its place.

His heart was finally where it should be.

Shanks felt that he was starting to live again.

Now he felt complete.

And he can go to bed with peace of mind, knowing that later in the day the warlord will wake up and the Emperor will be there with him.

In the end, he will keep his word.

Chapter Text

A cold sense of unease came over him as soon as he set foot on the hard wooden floor lining a large pirate ship with the characteristic dragon's head on its front.

There was a deafening silence all around, so unsuitable for this place, where the sound of glasses filled with bitter poison and bursts of laughter seemed to never end.

Now the only sound was his footsteps as he clumsily tried to climb the war-damaged stairs, only a few steps of which managed to be preserved in good enough condition not to collapse under his weight.

The journey through the Dead Canyon was a terrible experience, even for a ruthless human slicer like him. It was cold, dark, and stuffy, and the water below was murky and brown from the amount of blood that had recently been shed, staining the rocky walls of the canyon and almost everything else around it. Worst of all, however, were the bodies, a multitude of nameless bodies, one more mangled than the other, filling almost every conceivable space, including the narrow water passage, preventing the novices from getting out of this unholy place on earth. Not only the waters were deadly here, you could sense the smell of cadaver venom and spreading disease in the air. Deprived of life and left in the dark by Blackbeard's merciless crew, or (he hoped) by the crew of Red-Hair Pirates who, when needed, could be as merciless as the former, if not more so, the piles of human remains would now be warning enough to the other pirate crews never to delve into it and to give these dangerous waters a wide berth. There's a reason the Dead Canyon is considered the worst place known to the Grand Line, so horrible that even the Navy is unwilling to attempt to implement any form of order here, and the two relentless Emperors have just shown the world why. Unaware of the danger, landing in these waters is in fact tantamount to suicide.

But despite the unpleasant experience he had to deal with alone, what awaited Mihawk when he finally climbed onto the ruined deck of the Red Force was, in his opinion, far worse than all the road he had traveled to get here.

The sky above his head was completely black, obscured by graphite ridges of swollen, stormy clouds and dark dust of gunpowder, suffocating and obscuring all visibility. The smell of sea salt in the air was contaminated by the stench of spilled blood and rotting, charred human bodies. The dense fog around was cut only by the fire-shrouded fragments of the deck, or rather what was left of it.

The swordsman's weak, staggering breath quickened, and inside he felt as empty as he ever felt when the golden, hawkish eyes moved from one corner to the other, somewhere deep inside him painfully mourning and longing for a family that had never been his.

The last time he had experienced a similar scenario, the coherence of his thoughts had been disturbed by Blackbeard's loud, ominous laughter as he was shrouded in darkness, and his own sobs as he held on helplessly to Shanks, begging the other not to leave him alone.

It was so quiet here now.

There was no wicked Devil Fruit user, no jealous and vile Emperor on whom he could later take revenge. There was no Red-haired Shanks to hold on to.

All that was left was him and his uneven, interrupted breathing, all alone, the only living thing left in the middle of everything that had long since gone.

Completely lost, he didn't know what to do with himself. Ever since he climbed the ruined stairs to the deck, he had been standing still, as if in a frenzy, unable to escape the cage he had fallen into. It was as if he had been shot by a bullet right in the middle of his chest, and now he could only watch helplessly for these last seconds of his life as he lost blood before falling completely dead to the ground.

But no, in his case, the reality turned out to be much more cruel again.

Now he could only watch helplessly at Beckman's body, stretched limply on the ground nearby, half of his skull split and crushed by a single, well-aimed shot from behind.

The warlord's golden eyes moved to the side, where Yasopp lay with his torso heavily resting against the railing behind him, a large hole torn in the very center of his body when he had been pierced through, probably by a cannonball. In addition, his body was stuffed with another dose of lead, as if each of the snipers in Blackbeard's crew wanted to humiliate one of the best shooters in the history of the seas in this way.

Lucky Roux's body, beaten to death, had been impaled into a deck nearby, his mangled face unrecognizable, especially when the goggles the cook was so fond of wearing had been brutally fused into one mush. The result of the unsuccessful clash with Burgess.

Hongo's hands were cuffed behind his back, and he was pushed onto a rod protruding from one of the walls, which pierced the doctor's intestines, leaving him to watch helplessly as a primitive piece of metal slowly took his life. His piercing eyes and brutally honest mouth will never move again, never again will they make the always correct diagnosis.

Limejuice was hung just above his head, his face blue and blood still dripping from his open mouth, hanging from a rope from one of the masts. His sunglasses were crooked, not hiding the absolute terror in his now-absent eyes, which did not disappear even after death.

Building Snake hung with his body thrown over the railing, his neck clearly broken, and his head turned at an unnatural angle. Gab and Bonk Punch were beheaded, their headless bodies paving the way for the descent below deck.

A cruel fate even befell their beloved monkey, whose twisted entrails stretched almost across the entire deck. Monster's tail was severed, and his face was stripped of its teeth and eyes. How could you do something so horrible to an animal? It was a pure act of cruelty and a desire to torture a creature that simply could not signal to a human to stop abusing him.

The world around him became blurred for a moment, which made the warlord think innocently that the fog must have thickened or that it was his vision that began to fail, while trying to ignore the painful pressure in his throat and the growing burning in the corners of his eyes.

But he was unable to look away. He couldn't turn his back on those men and leave, just as he couldn't believe it was over. That this is their end. That the crew of the Red-Hairs is gone.

Mihawk was always alone and didn't belong anywhere. On the one hand, because he didn't want it, on the other hand, because others didn't want it either.

Hence, he and the men who died here meant nothing to each other. He was not a member of their team, they were not a family. They weren't even friends, and he was sure they barely tolerated him, probably just out of respect for the Captain.

Their departure should not hurt.

It shouldn't hurt.

It didn't mean anything.

So it doesn't hurt.

After a while, completely in spite of himself, he sobbed.

But it hurts. It hurts so terribly.

There were few constants in his life; he could barely remember the faces of the people who challenged him to a duel, taunting and threatening him, the only human interaction he was used to. But Shanks and his silly bunch of fools were always there. If not here, then somewhere else. If not with Mihawk, then against him, but they were always there.

Never again will these men tease him and try to make him laugh with their pathetic jokes below any culture, and he will never roll his eyes again, playing and pretending he doesn't care. They will never ask him to help them play a prank on Shanks again. They would never again affectionately call him their rosie, birdie and princess, he would never again taste the sweets prepared by Lucky, he would never be able to beat Yasopp at cards and deliberately strip him of all his money and the last remnants of dignity to the absolute amusement of the rest of the crew. He wouldn't be able to have tea with Hongo and Beckman, or look with pity at Limejuice, who tripped and dropped a can of glue before accidentally sticking to the deck as he clumsily tried to clean it up. And he would never scold them again when they debated whether they should continue to destroy their health with the amount of alcohol they could drink a day, he wouldn't lecture them on how ethics, spelling, and multiplication tables worked, or he wouldn't be able to give Monster a bath in peace when all the men finally collapsed from exhaustion after chasing that monkey around the deck for half a damn day.

Shanks would never again call them all to the table for an emergency sitting, with Beckman on his right, with Mihawk on his left, there, on the side of his heart.

There would no longer be an opportunity to drink all the wine they had managed to store on the ship, especially for him, although they would laugh every time, completely denying it. There would be no more opportunity to interrupt his reading of the book to give him a single rose from each of the men of the crew individually, and then one large bouquet from their Captain, for they had previously stopped by chance on an island, where they had just as accidentally met a florist who happened to be selling the most beautiful roses in that corner of the New World, which they well knew their whimsical birdie would like.

Now he stood here, alone, freezing in the middle of the destroyed deck of the Red Force and the dead bodies of its inhabitants, silently mourning the loss of a family that may never have been his, but to him, it felt like it was at times.

He felt that the weight that fell on him could knock him off his feet at any moment.

He felt like a bird that had only jumped out of its nest for a moment, only to look around and hunt for something from time to time, only to return to a perch devastated by another predator, where the eggs he had laid were missing, and his mate had gone, probably lying somewhere in the grass, torn apart by alien claws two miles away.

However, what really made Mihawk finally lose his strength, slowly sinking to the ground until his knees met the cool wood below, were the paintings placed on one of the walls of the destroyed galley of the ship, not far in front of him. Apparently, one of the lousy crew members of the Blackbeard decided to be "funny" and leave some colorful threats and information for whoever would end up on the abandoned wreckage of the Red Force in this part of the New World.

The first one pictured a caricature of Uta, her eyes depicted two black crosses, and right next to her, there was an inscription: "Your daughter's throat will sing no more". Below was a clear drawing of Luffy, with a straw hat on top of his head and the caption: "The boy will be next".

The swordsman felt a persistent painful lack of air in his lungs as he read these filthy horrors, unable to believe that this disgusting fucker really dared to go so far. As if he hadn't managed to take everything he had from Mihawk by now, as if taking the crew away from Shanks wasn't revenge enough, and now he still has the audacity to attack their children? The only hope in their eyes that this damn world was still worth any price?

The warlord knew he had to go, that Shanks would have wanted it, that he had to save at least one of them, do anything.

But how could he choose? How could anyone expect him to be able to choose between the life of the girl he remembered as a tiny baby, whom he himself took care of, because his goofy, red-haired rival was still too young and stupid to know what to do with the baby he had accidentally found and taken in just as accidentally (not that the now adult Shanks had any greater idea in this regard), and the life of a boy, as carefree and brave as his lover, who at the same time separated and reunited him with the Redhair, to the point that they became inseparable and closer than ever?

He couldn't do it, he didn't want to choose, and he couldn't be in two places at once. The worst part of it all was that it was not known where the crew of Blackbeard could be now. Uta could have been dead a long time ago, and the Strawhats? It may take too long to warn them in time. In addition, Luffy's danger automatically means the danger of Zoro, the boy who made this miserable attempt at a warlord's life reasonable. And the loss of these two, Shanks and his crew, means just as much that Mihawk had nothing left to live for.

He valued Perona, but she would not be able to fill this emptiness in him, especially when she herself suffered and looked to someone for support.

And what if she was also in danger?

Moria was as famous for being annoying as he was for not being famous for his intelligence quotient, and the swordsman would not be surprised if the moron, after escaping, came into conflict with Blackbeard again, thus getting his equally annoying protégé into further trouble.

But if Teach ever dared to make this girl lose even one pink hair from her long curls, the Greatest Swordsman would personally cut the Emperor into so many pieces that even a master like Moria would not be able to sew him back together, and his mangy crew would have to pick up his remains with a vacuum cleaner.

Beyond the safety of Perona, there was Hancock, who not so long ago almost died herself at the hands of Blackbeard, greedy for the power of her Devil Fruit. And if Rayleigh hadn't been there in time...

Mihawk grabbed his hat, then pulled it off and threw it on the floor next to him, so that he could now bury his trembling fingers in his hair, tugging at it with no small brutality.

None of this would have happened if he had simply managed to warn the Red-Hairs about Teach's plans. All this time he complained about boredom, and after such a long time he finally had a real reason to prove himself, and he screwed!

It is because of him that these men are dead now. He drifted peacefully on the other side of the Grand Line, worrying about the sun, while they were dying here!

He always trusted his gut feeling, why didn't he do it this time?

Because Shanks asked him to. He listened, and what did he get out of it now? He would rather endure Red's rage and die among them against Blackbeard than stand here now, aimlessly, on the destroyed deck of the Red Force, staring with empty eyes at the people he has let down again. Because he let himself be overcome so easily by distance and unfavorable winds.

He should have chased them earlier. To get his way, stubbornly demanding his participation in this war.

To be with Shanks right now.

Balancing on the dangerously thin line between letting out a cry of despair and breaking down, the swordsman in desperation grabbed his hat again, searching the lining for the most precious Card that had led him here before.

He did not see his beloved anywhere around, which was probably the only hope in his heart that all was still not lost yet. He's sailed so many miles to get here just to be with Shanks, and he's going to do it. What happened to the crew certainly had an impact on the Redhair. Mihawk still remembered the abandoned boy who had lost everything so suddenly. And even though their current situation was much worse, maybe the swordsman still had enough charm in himself to convince the other again and make his only and greatest friend rise again. He loved this man so much, he would do anything for him to see his iconic smile again. And the warlord will stand by him, even if the seas are to swallow them up, they are more than capable swordsmen, they will carve their own way to peace. It won't be easy, but at least they will be in this together. The two of them would have been able to warn and save the children, their only hope, and they could not let them down.

Inside the hat, however, he found not the Vivre Card, but only a fragile fragment of it, smoking and crumbling in the weak grip of his fingers.

The cloudy sky above the Greatest Swordsman's head thundered, the wind increased and stirred up the waves, and from above spherical drops of water began to fall with a thud to the ground, but neither the rough waves nor the sound of rain could drown out his crumbling heart, another loud crack caused by each subsequent disappearing fragment of the remnant of Shanks' Vivre Card.

The golden eyes became shiny, but not because of the raindrops.

- „… R-Red-...You-...N-No-...Please, no!" - the warlord cried desperately to an almost completely charred piece of paper, foolishly hoping that in this way he would be able to beg his beloved to stay.

- "I won't let you down this time, I swear, please, Shanks, wait for me, I beg you!" - he pleaded in a broken voice, looking around in panic, looking for the familiar silhouette of the Red-Haired Emperor, perhaps hidden somewhere in the fog among the defeated bodies of his devoted companions.

He used the Observation Haki, but to his even greater panic, he was unable to see anything.

No matter how hard he tried, his attempts to find the Red-Hair Pirates’ Captain were futile.

Why? Why did it get so dark now?

It didn't take a moment for the last piece of thin paper in his hand, undaunted by the begging, the wind, and the raindrops, to flicker brightly, and then to disappear, taking with it the last glimmer of hope that connected him to Shanks.

The rain turned into a downpour, water droplets settled on his eyelashes, soaked into his hair and clothes, making him freeze and shiver painfully from the cold. Mentally, however, he was unable to comprehend what had happened.

He felt so empty, as if he had been struck by lightning, resetting him to factory settings.

The crashing of the waves against the ship's ruined walls and the sound of rain were no longer able to reach his ears.

And so did his own voice when, without much thought, he began to call Shanks's name, looking around, looking through the fog, waiting for the unmistakable sound of sandals hitting the wood of the deck, the sight of crimson hair blown by the wind, and a broad smile on a tanned face covered in several weeks' worth of prickly stubble, a smile that will come with an amused laugh when its owner asks in a moment what his darling angel is doing in this rain, calling out to him so desperately.

Mihawk only called out to him for a moment, until a tightness in his throat prevented him from doing so. Then he burst into bitter tears, among the dead bodies of the Red-Hair Pirates crew, who, under normal circumstances, would not have spared him from being mocked, too hostile to feel sorry for him.

But he felt sorry. Not for himself, never for himself.

He should have known better; he should have come here earlier.

Recently, he had behaved so stupidly, so pathetically.

At this point, he hated himself even more than he hated Blackbeard.

That was the fate he should have had, not a man like Shanks. The Redhair filled everyone with hope, fed everyone with a smile, and was ready to sacrifice his dominant arm and even his own life for the New Era, while he passively watched everything, simply waiting for someone to finally deprive him of his title and further suffering related to the emptiness and meaninglessness of his own existence.

The grief that came over him crushed his chest, depriving him of the ability to take a full breath as he slowly sank down, struggling with a pain too great even for him.

He knows that he should pull himself together. After all, death was something natural in their world. He should get up, continuing the memory of the Red-Haired Shanks and his devoted crew, waste no more time and follow Blackbeard's trail, protect their little singer and the boy in the straw hat as best he can, and stand by until his swordsman is strong enough to free his mentor from the burden of life forever.

But something had already taken away his strength; he couldn't feel an ounce of energy in his worn muscles. He felt as if he had died here with those he had let down. As if at some point in their shared history, his soul had involuntarily reunited with the crew, and with their departure, they dragged it with them to the other side, leaving here nothing more than the empty shell of a rotten devil with hawkish eyes.

He had no right to rest here among these men. Their captain invited him many times, and he refused and ran away each time. This one time, he wanted to sail with them, as it turned out, it was the last time he could do it. But it was too late, and it was they who refused him this time.

The swordsman's hands were on his shoulders as he was unable to stop his body from trembling.

Another sob. More tears rolled down his cheeks and blurred his vision.

He had to pull himself together.

He could not stay here.

In a fit of disgust at his own helplessness, he clenched his fingers into a fist and hit his head.

Maybe he should use Kogatana and stick it between his eyes, he thought. That would surely end this pathetic act he was doing.

Soon, he raised his arm again to repeat the process, but it took him a short moment to realize that this time he had a big problem with delivering the punch. His arm seemed useless, and his confused mind was only able to register a slight pull on his body in the opposite direction.

The warlord began to struggle, finally turning his head to look furiously at his forearm, only to notice thick, tanned fingers squeezing his visibly slimmer limb, preventing him from the slightest movement.

The swordsman tried to jump away, but to no avail, and a moment later, he was forcibly turned towards the man who dared to invade his personal space so brazenly.

Alerted by the threat, Mihawk's eyes sharpened again, and before him, he saw the Emperor of the Seas leaning over him.

The Emperor of the Seas, Marshall D. Teach, or Blackbeard as he is called on the seas, stared at him, his ugly smile widening in the joy of the loot that had just fallen into his hands.

Not only his face, but the faces of his men contorted in absolute derision as they gathered around their Captain and his new prey.

- "Gentlemen, it looks like we're serving a rotisserie chick as an appetizer today!" – howled Blackbeard, amused, causing a burst of laughter among his comrades. – "Are you lost, hatchling? Were you hunting for the red-haired rat? You see, you're late for the party, I've already gotten rid of him for good" - the Emperor turned directly to the swordsman, not stopping to laugh, and an unknown gleam appeared in his pitch-black eyes. - "But you're just right in time for me".

From his position, Mihawk had no chance of reaching Yoru, so, with a rush, his free hand reached out towards Kogatana, only for his left wrist to be quickly knocked away by Teach, causing him to hiss in pain, painfully reminding himself of the injury he had suffered earlier through his own fault.

Blackbeard's face drew closer, not hiding the rage growing in this man. – "What did you think you would achieve with this? The government dog and the cum bucket of the red scum won't threaten me with a butter knife" - the Emperor growled, then his other hand reached for the dagger attached to the belt tied around his hips. Then, in one motion, he pinned the warlord to the ground, slowly bringing the blade closer to him, and Teach's face once again spread a wide smile.

- "You don't have a Devil Fruit to interest me with, but since Red-Haired Shanks lost, what kind of pirate would I be if I didn't rob another defeated pirate of the most precious gold he had, right?" – The Emperor laughed low, evilly, and the blade of the knife hung right in front of the golden iris of Mihawk's eye.

Blackbeard hummed. - "You won't see him again, and let me make sure of that, hatchling".

A painful cry left the shaky warlord's throat as he flinched violently in an instant, rising and sitting down where he had lain, ignoring the dizziness and stiffness of his muscles as he desperately struggled to catch the breath he lacked from the persistent pressure swirling in his chest.

The shortness of breath caused his eyelids to flutter, revealing to him the surroundings swirling around him, which made him sick quickly. He wanted to cry and vomit at the same time, and he felt the constant touch of someone's hand on his forearm, conjuring up an image of the nightmare he so desperately wanted to free himself from. His ears were pounding as if a whole horde of screaming pirates were shouting at him, and he felt as weak as if he had been awakened in the middle of the agony.

He wanted to scratch his skin, to cut himself, do anything, only to wake up from this hell, but the hand that still held him wouldn't allow him to do so, adding to the panic that was eating away at his insides.

Finally, he dared to touch his attacker's hand, to somehow force the other to leave him. He raised his head slightly, absent-minded eyes staring ahead at the face of his tormentor, which, combined with the nightmare, once represented Blackbeard, and after another blink-

- "...S-Shanks..." - He begged quietly, his throat aching and tightening with every syllable. His lover flashed before his eyes once, and that was enough for the swordsman to call out to him, no matter how pointless it might have been in the face of what he had seen just a moment earlier.

But then the heady scent of sea salt and something familiar hit his distracted senses, including the warmth that surrounded him and pressed him close, and the hand that had previously kept him from drifting away from the nightmare was on his back, extending a comforting touch from his trembling shoulder to the lower vertebrae of his spine.

Mihawk cuddled his face into a shirt that smelled of Shanks, trembling fingers faintly squeezing the fabric, similar in feel to the one Shanks wore, grieving and begging in his soul for Shanks to be here with him.

The warlord could hear a voice above him, but he couldn't understand anything. Everything around him seemed so blurry, so indistinct.

A lump in his throat made it difficult for him to breathe again as the hurt, overwhelmed, and tired swordsman quietly broke down, sobbing into the other’s shirt, where fresh drops of tears began to soak into the linen material, making it wet.

Quiet confessions of "I'm so sorry", "Please, forgive me", and "I didn't mean to disappoint you" repeated like a mantra, began to leave his lips until the darkness suddenly engulfed him again, when he ran out of breath and collapsed, fainting from pain and exhaustion.

The horrible and recurring trembling of his body seemed at that moment to be the only thing that kept his struggling mind in constant contact with his surroundings.

It was a very strange feeling. He was shivering and his body ached as if he was freezing, but on the other hand, he was not cold at all, on the contrary, he felt surrounded by warmth on almost every side, especially in the place where his cheek and chronically icy fingers were pressed.

In fact, if it weren't for the delightfully warm spot where he huddled, he would have frozen to death.

He let out a trembling breath, and another shiver ran down his spine, sending throbbing pain throughout his body, causing him to instinctively nestle closer in search of the needed warmth.

He felt a shifting weight on his back, or rather, on the surface, as he guessed, of the thick blanket with which his body was covered. He had the impression that it was a hand, wide, masculine, but at the same time extremely gentle and warm. Thick fingers traced circles on his quilt-covered shoulder blades, spreading this care deeply, despite the layers separating the touch from his skin.

He should feel uncomfortable; Any unwelcome touch on his body frightened him, disgusted him, whether he was covered or not—no foreign finger had the right to be placed on him.

It was still an unknown feeling for him, maybe incompatible, undeserved. All his life, he was told that he did not deserve such treatment. That is, as long as he was still dependent on people who cared about degrading him. After that, he had no one left, so he was basically the only person who could convince him that it was true.

This time, however, despite the circumstances, he was far from feeling fearful. That hand on him, though perhaps it should, didn't feel strange. A moment later, the same hand moved from his back to touch his forehead; warm, thick fingers played with the strands of his hair that must have fallen over his face.

The rough skin brushed his cheek, leaving a caress that made him shiver slightly. He buried his face in the warm pillow on which he lay, the frozen tips of his fingers clenching weakly on the linen material, which smelled so soothing and... and so... familiar.

Thick fingers run through his hair, brushing the strands back, then that warm hand was on his back again, rubbing the stress accumulated there with a soothing touch, finally stopping at his thin waist, squeezing it lightly as the shivers in his body returned again.

His own fingers left the thin linen material they held in a weak grip to move his hand further until the material ran out and the tips of his fingers came into contact with warm, almost hot skin, slightly damp from the sweat accumulated on it, covered with the familiar coarse, stinging hair...

…

…

…

Mihawk's eyelids fluttered.

Confused, he completely did not expect what would happen to him.

When, after a few more blinks, the dreamy mist graciously left his sight, the first vision he saw was a small window, through the glass of which the cloudless sky beautifully mingled in red and gold.

The evening time bathed the cabin in a cozily dim light, the rays of the setting sun surrounded the nearby furniture and the surfaces of objects scattered in the corners.

Eyes shimmering with bright gold moved lazily from point to point, pupils tracing the contours of individual places, which involuntarily caught the warlord's attention each time, bringing to his mind warm memories of them, and especially of their stories, told in the deep and equally warm voice of the man, at the sound of which the swordsman's icy heart melted and beat strongly, trying to break free from his chest. His eyes were looking closely, starting with the narrow grooves and the marks of small teeth on the surface of the dresser, left there by Luffy years ago, who, convinced that Shanks was hiding snacks from him there, but still too small to reach and open the heavy drawer, tried to bite a hole in the wood to get inside. That little termite, the future Pirate King, and their rubber demon.

Then, his eyes moved to the desk, where colorful musical notes and miniatures of bunnies adorned the bottom of the furniture, left there centuries ago by Uta and her crayons in all the colors of the rainbow, drawings that she left as a gift wherever her father least expected it. This little dodger, the future Queen of Pop Music, and their melodic angel.

Everything in this room seemed to be in its place, and all the details also indicated that it was not another dreamlike image, but a real view.

Well, in that case, he must have been in Redhair's cabin now.

Mihawk blinked lazily, registering the image before his eyes with inner peace and some strange relief, and it was a really ridiculously long moment before his eyebrows frowned.

… How the hell did I end up here?

It definitely wasn't Kuraigana, he thought. He remembered that he had planned to go home after doing that damn boring job commissioned by Admiral Sengoku, disappointed (as usual), but bad luck wasn't going to leave him on the way, so he first came across the Straw Hats, who deprived him of his nap and any pretense that he had meticulously built around himself for years, and then he encountered Perona, who on top of that (he expected it) devastated his wallet and hearing aid without batting an eye (although if he hadn't been the main victim of her awful character he would have found it admirable to some extent). And then, to make his life even more miserable, he was forced to wander around the island, looking for wine that would at least be able to pass through his throat.

What a hellish place, to not have a single bottle of decent wine? He will never set foot there again.

Wondering if he had finally managed to find something on this cursed island in the middle of nowhere, his eyes involuntarily wandered upwards, where instead of the expected piece of ceiling, he came across...

Mihawk blinked again, registering the image before his eyes this time with a little less inner peace and definitely no relief as another ridiculously long moment passed before his eyebrows frowned even more than before.

…A drip?

Indeed, not far from where he rested, on a tall metal stand hung bags filled with transparent liquid, which flowed down in large drops, traveling to the narrow cannulas below.

His gaze now involuntarily followed the path of the plastic tube, which disappeared around the corner of the bed, only to return, tangling on the surface of the blankets covering his bed until it finally reached the intravenous puncture located in the bend of his elbow, professionally secured with a white bandage.

This sight quickly made him worried. He was not used to it; he couldn't even remember the last time he needed an IV. He also didn't remember what had happened that he needed it at all now.

His other hand was also taken care of; his wrist was wrapped in a neat bandage, soaked in medicine, which effectively soothed the inflammation and persistent pain that had been irritating him for weeks, leaving only a tingling sensation that reminded him of the injury.

All of this confused him a lot.

What is going on, and how did he get here? He was tormented by a terrible confusion in his head, probably due to the medicines given to him; he was unable to concentrate well.

He moved his bandaged wrist to see if it still hurt as he moves it, when the feeling of the rough bristles scratching the back of his hand distracted him from the characteristic feeling of pulling under the medical material.

And on closer inspection, it was only at that moment that the warlord realized that the solid and warm pillow on which he was resting was not a pillow at all. It was a chest, and judging by the steady rise and fall, it belonged to a very alive man, clad in a sloppily buttoned shirt, and the copper clumps of prickly hair scattered over its surface pressed against his pale skin, scratching slightly as he lay on it. At the same time, he also realized that a heavy arm was pressing against him from behind, embracing him with a hand placed on his waist as if to hold him close.

Surrounded by warmth, the familiar smell of sea salt and musk of sun-warmed skin, as well as this no less familiar sight, golden eyes widened in shock and his breath froze in his chest as he rolled his head to look up until his gaze greeted a radiant and tender smile directed straight at him, whose owner watched him intently from behind the messy strands of his crimson hair, leaning against pillows and the head of the bed behind him.

For a brief moment, they both lay in silence, just staring into each other's eyes, as if they were reuniting for the first time after such a long nightmare as their last separation, not counting the war and all the terrible misfortunes that had befallen them.

Mihawk couldn't believe it, and he didn't know what to say. He was so damn confused.

And to his inner shame, despite Shanks' comforting presence with him (God have mercy, could this even be possible?), all this confusion horrified him.

Not to mention the sight of a drip and the Redhair in one room. It only brought back negative memories in his wounded mind.

He automatically tried to get up, it was very clumsy and although he managed to sit down for a short while, he would have fallen back down soon, if not for the fact that the Emperor also stood up, following him, and the warlord was again buried in a wide chest, the pirate's hand embraced him in a protective grip.

The slipping of the blanket from his shoulders made him shiver involuntarily from the cold, but the pleasant warmth coming from Shanks outweighed the coldness of the world around them.

The swordsman could not contain a desperate sigh. He missed it so much.

His eyes burned at the thought of losing it.

He didn't know if clinging to the Emperor's shirt would keep the other close, but he did it anyway, anything to keep Shanks here. Let hell consume him, if it's just another of his cruel dreams.

- "It's okay, love, I'm here with you" - the one-armed man spoke, burying his face in his black hair and leaving a kiss on the top of the warlord's head, convincing him that this was not a dream. - "I promised you I will be there with you again before you wake up, remember?" - The Emperor asked affectionately, not hiding his own happiness in the smile that adorned his face widely as Mihawk stepped back slightly in shock to look at him.

- "...Oh" - the swordsman muttered quietly, embarrassed by how stupid he thought his voice sounded at that moment. But now there were so many emotions - God, it's really happening - fighting inside him that he could barely process it, and he had never been good at speech, enough to express what he felt in a nutshell. To say that he struggled with it would be quite an understatement.

Fortunately, Shanks didn't need his words; one glance into his favorite golden irises was enough to understand what his hawk needed. So, as usual, he helped them get through it together.

- "How do you feel?" – the Redhair began slowly, in a calm voice and with a charming smile, encouraging the other to talk, at the same time looking at him carefully with visible concern in his eyes.

- "I'm not sure..." – the warlord replied weakly, because he really didn't know. He felt odd... atypically, for lack of a better word. He couldn't remember anything like it ever happening to him before. He was tormented by severe fatigue, despite the fact that he had just woken up from a coma. His muscles ached terribly, his arms seemed almost useless, not to mention the unpleasant stinging under his bandaged wrist, where his wounds were still healing. The worst, however, were the holes in his memory, through which he was unable to efficiently find the differences between his dream and reality. It was all confusing; it was shattering his peace. And because of all this, he could not give an unambiguous answer.

Mihawk felt a warm hand on him that lightly combed his hair, leaving a calming caress that made him look at his beloved again.

- "Earlier in the day, you lost consciousness, you were very exhausted. After the bath, you fell asleep, but only a few hours later your condition deteriorated drastically" - the Emperor began to explain, extremely calmly and slowly, helping his love to understand what had happened. - "The fever made you have nightmares, Hongo explained to me that a sick mind can bring the worst-case scenarios to your head. You were asleep, but you were too tired to wake up on your own, so our doctor decided to put in an IV" - he said, lowering his hand to stroke the warlord's arm with his fingers next to where the end of the cannula covered with a bandage had joined his vein.

Well, at least now I know where it came from... thought the swordsman as he listened to the other's explanation, while watching the shifting touch of Shanks' hand on his body.

- "By the way, Hongo was terribly sorry that he hadn't done it sooner, and believe me, we've never seen such guilt in him before" - the Captain continued. – "But we couldn't blame him, no one’s did a great job today and it was my fault, you fell, you needed me and instead of helping you, I panicked like a complete moron, I will never forgive myself for this, I swear, and then...".

Shanks' further explanations stopped reaching Mihawk's mind as the warlord began to slowly recall all the events that led to him ending up here in bed with a drip and partial memory loss instead of reaching Kuraigana.

After a short while, he remembered the journey, meeting Cito, crossing the Dead Canyon, and reaching Red Force. Then everything starts to blur, but he remembers well the crew's confusion and Shanks' exasperation... and this is where his memories end for now.

- "I'm sorry..." - he confessed instinctively, expressing pure regret when it became clear to him what had happened, thus interrupting the long argument of the Emperor, who stopped to look at him carefully.

The swordsman did not know exactly what he was apologizing for; looking at the whole case he allowed, one could say that it was for everything. With the disappointment of both of them at the forefront.

Shanks sat quietly for only a brief moment, not letting remorse prematurely consume his dear hawk. - "I don't want to hear it" - that brief comment was all that left the Emperor's mouth.

Mihawk frowned slightly. – "But-".

He could not finish when the pirate joined their lips, effectively depriving him of both speech and breathing. The kiss itself lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was enough to shake Mihawk to the point as if Shanks had kissed him and deprived him of air constantly for an hour or more. And in his defense – he did not expect it.

- "I won't allow this, sugar" - the Emperor repeated with determination in his voice, leaving no room for any discussion here, while enjoying the spreading blush on the warlord's face. Seas, he already misses this wonderful view. – "No more apologies, do you hear me, angel? And I'm going to suffocate you with kisses every time you try to do it again" - he threatened, gently placing his hand on the cheek of the other, stroking the skin heated there with his thumb.

A grimace appeared on Mihawk's face, and the Emperor earned diabetes from the sight. - "But I-" - he tried again, but this time the attempt ended with another kiss on his lips. Shanks would remain irresistible, that was certain.

- "Don't test me" – the pirate reprimanded him tenderly, stealing one more kiss for himself as a kind of punishment. - "Damn, Hawky, if only you knew that...".

The Emperor stopped, then lowered his hand to reach into the pocket of his ridiculous trousers, from which he pulled out a mysterious piece of paper, the corners of which did not bend, despite the fact that the man had literally held it in his pants.

One glance at this piece of paper was enough for the warlord to quickly realize what it was – especially after recognizing his own handwriting on it.

It was the same letter –  a warning he had sent to Red Force, in the hope that this little thing could keep the Red-Hair Pirates out of harm's way.

But how...?

- "You need to know" - Shanks began with unusual desperation as he looked into Mihawk's eyes. - "You need to know that you are the most precious thing in my life. You need to know that you are the support that no one has ever been to me and my crew so selflessly. You are... my angel” - the Emperor confessed with unimaginable frankness, and the warlord could swear that he had never seen the other so moved. - "This letter... came to us at the perfect time. I'm afraid to admit how things would have turned out if it wasn't for your looking after us, Mihawk. Hell, I had no clue about Cito, and Beck would have paid for it with his life” - he paused to catch his breath, his voice expressing pure remorse. – "You saved our damn asses from doom... I'm not proud of what cursed buffoons I've proposed to join my crew in the past, but I swear I couldn't be happier that the greatest swordsman with the biggest heart and the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen is my chosen one”.

Mihawk didn't know what to say. This is another time when there was so much of everything that he was speechless.

His letter reached the Redhair, he actually helped the crew...?

Oh my...

So he achieved some small success, at least in one thing...

- „…Oh" - muttered the swordsman, embarrassed again by how stupid he sounded.

Mihawk knew that at this point he was expected to be furious with his lover, that he should now tell the other directly how irresponsible and annoying he was, that he had put his crew in danger by his carelessness and subjected his partner to enormous stress – the warlord had literally fallen ill after everything that had happened.

But in the end, somehow... he couldn't. He couldn't, because... for so many months, day in and day out, there wasn't a moment when he didn't miss Shanks. During the day, he could not eat because of stress, at night, he could not fall asleep because of fear. There was no one who could understand how much he had paid for it. He might not have shown it, but inside, he was a wreck of a man. His dreams were so emotionally draining that by the time of the day he was completely devoid of emotion.

That is why he has avoided attachment like the plague so far. Because he knew that, because of the way he had been pushed around all his life, and because he knew like no one else how much it hurt to be betrayed, he would have let himself be cut for the person who trusted him. And since he attracted bad luck like a magnet, he always thought that it was good for everyone that he was alone.

It was also the reason why he considered himself a hopeless member of the crew. And a friend. And even more so, a lover. Everyone saw this and wisely avoided him, except for the Red-Haired Shanks, who always seemed to be stubbornly blind to who this rightfully alienated swordsman really was and what he would never be.

All those kind things that the Emperor so generously called him were sweet, that’s true, but...

The fact that he happened to be on that island at the time and overheard conversations in the bar was a pure coincidence. The idea of sending a warning simply popped into his head at some point. But at least he could help Redhair and his crew in this way. Such a small thing for working off everything he received from them. He was glad that Shanks, Beckman, and the rest of the crew were fine. But he hated relying on others, and his embarrassing appearance on the deck, upsetting all the inhabitants of this ship, and burdening their doctor with extra work was still a heavy boulder that lingered at the bottom of his stomach...

- "...-I have said so many times that I will never accept snotty brats into my crew and I have continued this rule many times for many years. These morons laughed at me, led by Yasopp, for “exaggerating”, so I finally gave up and took a young brat who seemed perfect to me for dirty work like scrubbing the toilet bowl and what did it turn out to be? I'VE BEEN RIGHT ALL ALONG!" - growled Shanks, running his hand through his hair in frustration as he now complained about his crew, who he believed were partly to blame for Cito getting on Red Force. "If it weren't for this letter from you-".

- "You still would handle it" - Mihawk assured him, taking his hand and pulling it away from his red hair, which the Emperor was beginning to tear out in a fit of anger. - "We both know it's true".

- "Whether I would be able to handle it is not so certain, and hey! Don't belittle your merit in our cause, Mi, you saved the day" - Shanks argued, his gaze softened as he looked at the swordsman. His rough fingers gently squeezed the pale hands that held his own. - "When our allies suddenly started to turn their backs on us, I was really close to real despair. Just like the first time you brought me the news about Luffy, this time you have again pulled me out of the dark thoughts I had fallen into. Only you can make me find a reason to fight for myself again" - the Emperor's lips were dripping with sincere love as he raised their joined hands to shower kisses on the warlord's cubes. – "You are my North Star; when I'm lost, you show me the way back to our home".

Their eyes met, and because of the pirate's ridiculous words, the corners of Mihawk's lips involuntarily went up. He hadn't heard Shanks' voice and received his stupid compliments for so long that he couldn't help but smile no less stupidly.

At the sight of the sweet lips of the amused swordsman, the Captain opened his mouth, ready to shower the other with such an absurd amount of love that they would both drown in it. But that lovely smile suddenly disappeared, and a melancholic sadness reappeared on the warlord's face, which caused the cogs in the red head to alarm its owner, who a moment later put himself on full alert again.

- "What's wrong, Mi? Do you feel faint again? Do you want to lie down?" - asked Shanks with concern, placing his palm flat on the swordsman's forehead to see if the fever had returned.

Mihawk took his hand away from his face, then shook his head slightly. - "But instead of showing you the way home, as you asked me to, I raided your ship and upset your crew" - the warlord explained, not sounding proud of what he had done. After a short sigh, he gained enough courage to look at the Emperor again. – "I know that because of me, our reunion after all these months did not look like you expected. I spoiled this moment for us, which nothing can give us back now".

The red-haired Emperor watched him, listening to every word of the warlord very carefully. Seas, he loved his perplexed bird so much. And his heart broke when he heard how the other perceives his own presence here, especially when he knew full well that his earlier stupid outburst of anger must have made it worse.

Shanks shook his head, not wanting to hear these unfair judgments any longer, and then he sent his love the most wonderful of his tenderest smiles, reserved only for the other and no one else. - "You couldn't spoil something that's already perfect for me. Who the hell cares about the scenery I expected, you being close to me is everything I really wanted. The only thing that matters is that I have you again, everything else can get the fuck out the door" - he said with undisguised confidence, at the same time pointing to the exit from the cabin at the end of his speech.

A small grimace appeared on Mihawk's face again, and Shanks got diabetes - again - at the sight. – "But...".

- "Alright, fine" - the Emperor interrupted him again, suddenly extremely calm, then straightened up and spread his only arm wide.

The warlord frowned. – „…what?".

- "I agree" - nodded the pirate, driving the confused swordsman even deeper into confusion. - "Come here, sweetie, and show me how you wanted to greet me!".

Hearing this absurd request, Mihawk wondered for a moment if he really was the one who needed hospitalization here. What a ridiculous idea; so ridiculous that only a madman like Red-Haired Shanks could run into it. The swordsman has agreed to many of the pirate's requests in the past, even against his own will, but this? There is no way he will participate in it. He had to save the last remnants of honor that remained to him. And what the Emperor asked him to do was idiotic and childish, the warlord would not agree to it even under the threat of the worst torture-

And less than a moment later, Mihawk found himself seated on Shanks' laps, trembling, his arms tightly slung around the pirate's neck, who embraced and hugged him, pulling him closer, taking care not to accidentally disturb the IV connection. The two let out uneven breaths when they finally – seas, finally – for the first time since they had parted on the coast of Kuraigana Island, they could consciously revel in the closeness, the warmth of their bodies, and the pair of hearts beating together for each other, synchronizing in unison as their chests touched, leaving no an inch of free space between the lovers now.

- "Damn you, Red" - muttered the warlord, but there was not an ounce of anger or reproach in his voice; it was sheer relief and reconciliation with the exposure of his still fresh wounds that made him involuntarily sob. - "I thought you were dooming me to find you in pieces again...".

I missed you.

- "My most important goal will always be to bond with you in one piece, Hawky" - the Emperor assured him, his low voice remaining calm and soothing as he embraced the swordsman, his hand gently circling the other's back. The pirate's lips began to leave soft kisses on his pale neck, reveling in the trembling at the point where his hawk's pulse was clearly palpable.

The seas know how much I missed your sweet presence at my side.

- "I knew it, Shanks, believe me... I know you would handle it all yourself, and this sudden appearance of mine here without asking... I don't know what got into me, I swear I didn't mean to ridicule you in front of your crew" - the swordsman confessed, sincerely regretting every stupidity he had done recently, especially the one that made the Redhair no longer trust him.

- "I made you worry – that's what happened, Mihawk" – The captain interrupted him firmly, tearing his lips away from the other's neck, pulling away slightly so that he could look again at the flushed face of his love with obvious concern. – "Your sustainable faith in me is a certainty that is not subject to discussion. Besides, you are an honorary inhabitant of my ship, angel, not some guest, we all know that here, and nothing has changed in that regard. And as for the crew – come on, there wasn't a moment when I didn't make fun of myself in front of them, and it's usually my own fault" - the pirate snorted, shaking his head in amusement, and then his face became serious again when he noticed that his hawk still didn't look convinced. – "The boys love you more than you think. And it's really disturbing how much you downplay your own pain, birdie. It worries the hell out of me. If anyone failed here, it was me, since I still haven't proven to you how much you mean to us".

Hearing this, the warlord shook his head. - "No, Red, you did enough for me, you didn't have to prove anything".

- "So what makes you to have to prove anything to me?" – Shanks asked him, looking him straight in the eyes. - "In my entire life, no one has done as much for me as you. You don't have to say it out loud to let me know how much you care about me. I've always seen it and I still do it. Although I am sorry to say that recently we have both been extremely blind – to what was really good for you, angel" – the Emperor confessed sadly, not hiding his disappointment with his own behavior.

- "Shanks, you had a war".

- "Yes, but that doesn't give me the right to belittle you, Hawky. When we needed it most, you watched over me and my crew, let me do the same for you now" - the Redhair asked him, joining their foreheads together. – "Again, thank you for being our guardian angel, birdie, really. I'm grateful".

The swordsman rolled his eyes, feeling that the pirate was exaggerating as usual, and then sighed. - "Don't be" - he murmured quietly, and after a moment, a tiny smile adorned his face. - "It's my duty".

Hearing his own earlier words now leaving Mihawk's mouth, Shanks' eyes widened in amazement, and a huge, broad smile split his face in half as he leaned forward to join them both in a passionate kiss that warmed the warlord's frozen body to the tips of his chronically cold fingers.

The lovers took their time, enjoying the lazy rubbing of their lips, enjoying each other's closeness, and wishing to prolong the moment as long as possible. The Emperor's arm was once again on the warlord's back, embracing him and pulling him closer; the swordsman's thighs tightened around the pirate's hips, holding him softly on both sides.

They were both delighted to enjoy the warmth of the touch of each other's bodies, even though they were separated by layers of clothing; to share the breath and taste of each other's lips. The delightful moment lasted a long time, until Mihawk suddenly pulled away slightly, breaking their kiss, when he felt some mysterious, hard object in Shanks' pants digging into his thigh.

- "What is it?" - asked the surprised warlord, moving his seat on the Emperor's laps. – "What do you keep in your pocket?".

- "Huh?" – muttered the Redhair, still distracted by the past kiss, looking as if he was waiting for the next one.

- "I felt something hard in your stupid trousers".

This sentence brought Shanks back to reality. His face turned pale instantly.

- "Oh, angel..." - The Emperor chuckled nervously, gently pulling his lover off his laps. – "Come on, it's not your first time, you shouldn't be so surprised that you feel hardness in my pants when sitting in this place...".

Mihawk frowned. – “That's… that’s not it. Don't play the act of an idiot, Red, I asked about the contents of your pocket" - he explained, not hiding his slight embarrassment.

- "Well, my pants are pretty packed, aren't they?" - the pirate continued the game, waving his eyebrows up and down, clearly preferring to continue joking and thus avoid easily granting access to his pockets.

Ignoring his embarrassing jokes, the warlord, with his literal hawkish sight and advanced Observation Haki, and despite being deeply weakened, could not simply ignore, and at the same time, could not understand the Emperor's strange behavior. What could the other want to hide from him? And why was it so important to keep it a secret from the warlord? The swordsman did not want to be nosy, he was only genuinely curious, and the panic and nervousness in the Redhair's voice only fueled his interest. Besides, it wasn't his fault that he was a curious person, and the Captain knew that. Well, apparently it wasn't just the rumors that interested him – the contents in his partner's trousers too.

- "What is it all about? I only asked what you have in your pocket...?" - he asked the Emperor hesitantly. Was he really asking for too much? Was this question inappropriate? But... was there any taboo at all, since they were a couple? They were a team... right?

The warlord was far from being an expert in this field; only subconsciously, he felt that in their position, it was more than okay to ask the other person about even the stupidest and most absurd things. Shanks does it all the time, so he thought it was true...

Has he failed Shanks so much that the other doesn't trust him even in such trivial things now?

However, before his thoughts could take a rather dark path for good, the hypotheses in his head were drowned out by the loud laughter of the red-haired pirate, who, after a while, bent down to kiss him in the middle of the forehead. – "I promise I'll be more than happy to fill your curiosity about whether or not I still have everything in place in my pants, honey, but first we'll fill your empty tummy with delicious food, how about that? I'm sure Lucky has prepared something special just for you!" - the Emperor suggested with a radiant smile, skillfully avoiding the subject of what he had so stubbornly hidden from the warlord.

At this point, Mihawk was torn between a helpless sigh caused by Shanks' strange behavior and a flinching in disgust at the mere sound of the word "tummy", but in the end, he didn't have time to react in any way before the Redhair jumped out of their lair, now looking for the sandals he had abandoned somewhere at the foot of the bed before joining him here.

With the Emperor's departure, the man took with him the heat he provided; slowly, the warlord began to feel cold again, and hearing about the meal, although he didn't feel much physically, not even hunger, mentally the vision of eating something seemed to be something he would actually love to try.

- "Come here, my Sweetie Honey Pie" - Shanks purred as he turned to his love again, standing over the edge of the bed and leaning down to catch Mihawk's lips again in a soft kiss, sighing and savoring him as if he had the most wonderful dessert on all the seas in front of him (which, well, wasn't this far from the truth). - "I'm taking you out to dinner" - muttered the Emperor as they separated to catch their breath after a few moments. – "A special dinner for our special birdie. I think it's time for the boys to start preparing the tables for the feast..." – he wondered aloud, moving away slightly to scratch his beard.

Unable to help but feel a wistful sensation that pricked his chest, the warlord reached out to touch the Emperor's cheek, reveling in the more than familiar roughness beneath the back of his hand and the tips of his fingers. Shanks muttered contentedly, hugging the pale skin that covered his face, enjoying the unique caresses Mihawk was giving him.

Only after some time of stroking the wayward pirate on his hairy face, the swordsman began to think about what the Redhair had said earlier. This made him look involuntarily towards the window, behind which the red-gold color of the sky heralded the coming evening. This sight lit a light bulb in his head.

- "Red?" - he began hesitantly.

- "Yes?" – muttered the aforementioned pirate, smiling.

- „…how long was I unconscious?".

Shanks blinked. - "Well, you fell right into my arm at sunrise, so..." – he spoke, then also turned his head to look at the sky outside the window. - "The dinner I'm taking you to will also be your very, very late breakfast, I suppose?" - he laughed slightly, though he didn't seem genuinely amused by the fact he had just stated.

Mihawk would have turned even paler if it were still possible.

- "Did I sleep through the whole day?".

- "And that's fine, really, you needed it" - said the Emperor, assuring him.

- "And you... you have been here all this time?" - the warlord asked, not sure if this information pleased him more or worried him.

- "Beck took charge today, and the boys are more polite than usual, so there was no reason for me to be anywhere other than here with you" - the pirate explained calmly, raising his hand to comb and play with the swordsman's night-black hair. - "Nothing in this world is more important to me than you".

Mihawk sighed resignedly. – "But should be. Your crew, for example. I deprived them of their Captain for the day, and sentenced Beckman to more work, as if this man no longer considered me a sufficient nuisance here. Not to mention all the rest of your team, who barely tolerate me, and only for your sake. And you really expect me to go there now, show myself, and sit at the table with them? After all of this? Unless you really want to see them draw their weapons again as soon as they see me" - he said emotionlessly, already considering the idea of dinner to be lost.

- "You couldn't just forget the whole thing with the letter and everything I said before, could you?" – Shanks frowned with concern, then sighed. - "You have to say such nasty things about yourself because you're hungry. I'm taking you out to dinner" - the Emperor repeated confidently, not allowing further discussion.

- "Can't I just eat here for everyone’s sake?" - the swordsman asked him, complaining quietly as the Captain pulled the blankets away and then gently pulled him towards the edge of the bed.

- "Nope. I need to make sure that anything at all went into your stomach and didn't end up anywhere else" - the Redhair assured him, helping him sit up without violating the IV puncture.

- "I'm not a child, Red" - the warlord admonished him, genuinely offended.

- "I know. You're one stubborn bird, and that's even worse sometimes" - the Emperor chuckled, grinning broadly as he knelt in front of the other.

Shanks' fingers remained gentle and attentive as he helped him disconnect the IV.

- "Removing the part under the skin is the doctor's job, so let's leave it to Hongo to take care of it" - the Redhair informed him, tightly securing the puncture site, preventing any infection from occurring there.

Mihawk was impressed by how efficiently Shanks did it, and in addition to having only one arm.

- "And voilà~" - the Redhair sang, grinning broadly, and then stood up again. - "Now you're free" - he joked.

The warlord thanked him silently, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the last of his drowsiness, then looked at the Emperor standing over him. – "Could I wash myself first and change my clothes before we go out? I'm not too thrilled with the idea of accompanying you up there looking like... this" - he asked, ironically pointing out that he looked like he had just crawled out of bed, which was true, but he didn't want to look like that in public.

Enough humiliation for a day, thank you.

- "Of course" - Shanks laughed. - "But your coat and the clothes you came here in are still in the wash, so your options are limited, you'll have to wear some nice silk from your closet" - the pirate said, not even trying to hide his perfidious satisfaction with this vision.

Oh, he's going to have to salvage the remnants of his pride from the crew while feeling weak and all that in a soft outfit? And all through his own fault? Fucking marvelous.

So the humiliation continues. If Mihawk hadn't been so chronically stubborn and calm, he would have started screaming and beating people. But he was a stoic swordsman, so he didn't scream. As for the second option, he was still not sure, though.

Getting out of bed, despite the Emperor's helping arm, was more problematic than he had expected. In an instant, his head was spinning, and his legs felt weak and stiff. Not to mention his arms, which hurt like hell.

The swordsman groaned in pain as he managed to straighten up. His wrist began to sting under the bandage as he clenched his fingers too tightly on the Captain's shirt to save himself from losing his balance.

- "Are you okay? Do you need me to help you cross the room?" - Shanks asked him, his voice concerned as he hugged him protectively.

- "I'm fine, thank you, you don't have to worry..." – the warlord assured him, giving the other a weak smile to calm him down. He already felt guilty; he didn't want to take advantage of the Redhair's kindness anymore, who had already shown him more empathy than he deserved.

Slowly and somewhat awkwardly, he finally made his way to the closet where his belongings were located, which he used when he came to visit Red Force to see Shanks.

Shiny jewelry, silk fabrics, and delicate lace – perfect for a romantic evening and pampering the Emperor's eyes on a starry night in candlelight. Less perfect for an awkward dinner among gruff men and non-beating around the bush pirates who would rather see him disappear forever and never come back.

He could have predicted it earlier, he thought bitterly, as he searched for anything that wasn't too provocative.

- "I really like this one" - Shanks said as he leaned over him to look inside. Mihawk looked at the place where the pirate's fingers were playing and tugging slightly at the extremely thin material of the lace underwear, and the warlord was honestly shocked that this set had survived so far and had not been destroyed before by the same animal that liked it this much. There was a chance that he had bought it one day on some island and hid it at the bottom of the closet out of shame, eventually forgetting about it. And there was a definite certainty that he was not going to wear it now - for God's sake - so he reached out to gently pat the red-haired pervert on the forehead, at which the other laughed out loud, clearly not regretting anything.

As the Emperor turned around, the warlord finally made up his mind and, with a heavy sigh, grabbed a few things, then closed the closet and stood up, wobbling slightly, and then headed for the Captain's bathroom.

- "I'll be waiting here if you need anything" - Shanks said, sitting comfortably on the bed with his torso resting on his elbow bent on his knee, smiling tenderly at the swordsman, glancing at the other with pure love in his eyes. – "One word and I'll be there with you, okay?".

Completely breathless by these... feelings that began to blossom and swirl in his stupid chest, Mihawk could only nod slightly before closing the bathroom door to hide behind it.

He suddenly felt hot as he leaned against the wood, pressing his heated forehead against the cool surface in front of him.

How did Shanks always know what to say and how to say it, that was so unfair...

Still not giving up and not wanting to admit to himself how much the red-haired man waiting for him outside the door had influenced him, with a heavy sigh, the swordsman put the things he had taken aside and then walked to the sink to begin to compose himself after a long day of rotting in bed.

Shanks had a smooth tongue, but he had his looks, and this balanced them in a way, so he had to do everything to make the scales tip in his favor again.

However, when he reached his destination and raised his eyes to look in the mirror, he was pleasantly surprised by what he saw in front of him.

He didn't look... bad, or at least as bad as he would expect it after thirteen long nights of constant stress and insomnia (read: Hell). His skin was paler than usual (he was surprised that it was even possible), and his eyes were slightly blue, but apart from the messy hair he caused while sleeping by being buried in blankets and sheets, and his slightly sunken cheeks, he looked really decent, and it was quite... puzzling.

Was it the salutary effect of the drip given to him by the doctor, or was it...

- „… Red?" - he called, asking for his lover who was behind the wall.

In the blink of an eye, the bathroom door opened with a bang, and the Emperor, clearly panicked, burst in. – "Mi! Don't be afraid, babe! I'm here! What happened?!" - he shouted, looking around in a hurry to find his poor hawk.

- "First of all: calm down, can you?" - sighed the warlord, rolling his eyes at the red-haired man's antics. – "Second, were you the one who took care of my face when I was unconscious?" – he asked after a while, looking at himself in the reflection of the mirror. – "Well done, by the way".

- "Oh! No, no, it was you, and don't ask me how, angel, even I was under the impression that in such a bad state you were stubborn enough to declare that you wouldn't go to bed politely until you felt pretty again" - the pirate chuckled as he came closer. - "You always look pretty to me though" - he assured in a low voice, leaning in to shower the warlord's flushed cheek with soft kisses.

So it was his own work? Well, then it wasn't that surprising...

The swordsman turned to kiss the Emperor on the cheek in gratitude, at which the other smiled broadly.

- "You were really tired because you moaned so sweetly and delightfully here when you got into the bath I prepared for you..." - Shanks continued, sighing dreamily and exaggeratedly loudly, to which Mihawk sighed heavily, wondering if he shouldn't throw the red-haired pervert out the door this time in a gesture of his gratitude. Eventually, he let the other one stay, and the pirate suddenly burst out laughing. – "You even shaved your legs despite being tired, it's ridiculous!".

It was ridiculous, indeed. Truly, the human brain could work in a frighteningly astonishing way.

- "But your pretty face and long legs are one thing. You even took care of yours-".

- "It's okay, Shanks. I already understood" - the swordsman interrupted him, considering the topic as over and beginning to regret that he had asked at all. The Emperor's extensive knowledge of the smooth parts of the warlord's body was only the tip of the iceberg of all his life's problems. - "Thank you for your help, Red. I wish I could get ready now if you don't mind?".

- "Such a shy bird..." - the red-haired man muttered, smiling maliciously and shrugging his shoulders, ignoring the two golden dots drilling into his empty head. Shanks laughed merrily, then leaned over again to leave a kiss on the top of Mihawk's head, burying his nose in his black hair. - "Okey-dokey, take your time, and just in case, remember that I'm here on the other side of the door, alright?" - he assured the warlord, not expecting an answer, as he walked slowly towards the exit of the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him.

The swordsman sighed painfully, cursing himself inwardly and trying to swallow the embarrassment that flooded him as he rubbed his ears, which began to burn and irritate him.

He had to pull himself together and in order, so he got to work as soon as possible. He washed his face with water, brushed his teeth, applied cream, and touched up his hair (which took him the longest because he went to bed right after the bath, before the curls had time to dry, and it was hellishly difficult to give them the right look).

Putting on fresh clothes did not cause him much trouble, although he expected it to be different due to his current state of health, but somehow he succeeded. His outfit wasn't much different from what he wears on Kuraigana, but the cut was a bit more extravagant, but he couldn't help it; those were the most decent things he had in his closet at the moment. He could borrow something from Shanks... NO, come back, this man avoided doing laundry out of sheer laziness, and Mihawk definitely couldn't imagine this huge pile of dirty clothes stuffed into one of the corners of the Captain's cabin, which for months had been waiting for their owner's partner to take pity on their fate and save them with water mixed with washing powder.

So, all signs in the sky indicate that the swordsman will have to look a little slutty today and, well, he was a stoic so he wasn't going to fight an already lost fate.

Maybe his pale cleavage will help him eat dinner in peace and distract the Red-Hair Pirates from trying to cut off his head for a while. In the past, this usually worked.

"If you can't scare the pigs away with your gaze, trap them with your chest" Hancock would say. Or something like that, Mihawk wasn't sure, he wasn't listening.

Finally, he examined his earrings - the gift Shanks had given him - and Kogatana hung loosely around his neck, shining brightly in the dim light of the bathroom. Now the whole of his outfit fit and harmonized perfectly, only his hands suddenly seemed to him strangely... naked. Something was missing; he wasn't sure what, but their pallor and ordinariness irritated him.

In this way, the warlord spent the next ten minutes painting his nails a deep black color. But despite the addition of a new detail, the look of his hands still seemed boring to him.

Maybe he should think about some jewelry, light enough not to interfere with the hilt of his sword? He would have to think about it, but later, he knew that he simply did not have time for it now. All he had left were the last few minutes to put on the nail’ top coat and come out of his safe hiding place before dinner began.

Making the final touches, but being careful not to disturb the still-fresh polish on his nails, the Greatest Swordsman calmly left the bathroom, and before his eyes he saw the Red-Haired Emperor of the Seas, who, as promised, was still in the cabin, waiting for him. The pirate apparently took advantage of his beloved's absence to change his shirt to a clean one, adding his iconic black coat that he threw over his shoulders.

At the sight of Mihawk, Shanks' eyes widened, his mouth remained open, and his cheeks were covered in a blush that stretched from the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears.

The Emperor was definitely speechless. For a moment, the warlord feared that something was wrong; he looked down quickly, trying to understand if perhaps it was his outfit that turned out to be more inappropriate than he thought.

The Captain's chest rose and fell heavily; his hand slid over his unshaven face to calm himself, but the pirate couldn't take his eyes off the swordsman, not when the other looked so... so...

- "Damn, Hawky... Honey, have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" - said Shanks breathlessly, approaching his chosen one, albeit hesitantly, as if he felt unworthy of just looking at the warlord – an angel, let alone being close to him, listening to his melodious voice and smelling his sense-soothing scent.

There are two possibilities here: either I overdid it with the outfit, or it was him with his compliments, Mihawk thought, rolling his eyes, but unable to stop the heat spreading in his chest and stomach, and which was surely also on his face, abandoning the whiteness of the skin there like porcelain in favor of red like a ripe tomato.

The swordsman turned his head to the side, unable to bear the way Shanks looked at him, and then he was struck by the sight that made him stagger backwards, and it was truly a miracle that he didn't fall over.

In front of him, on the bedside table, was a magnificent bouquet of freshly cut and bloody-red flowers, their delicate dark crimson petals unfolding and leaning toward the setting sun, which surrounded them with a warm light from behind a small window in the Captain's cabin.

The warlord could have sworn that this bouquet had not been there before. Not to mention the vase, which he had never found aboard the Red Force so far, despite the fact that he had received flowers here many times and each time he had been forced to save them by keeping bouquets in buckets or in empty booze bottles.

He stood as if frozen, and his golden eyes widened at the sight of his favorite flowers in his favorite color.

- "They’re for you" – said the Emperor with a tender smile, coming closer and encouraging the warlord to touch his gift by placing a warm hand on his lower back – this and at the same time extremely soft voice of the pirate woke up the swordsman from the slight frenzy into which he had unconsciously fallen.

- "But how...?" – Mihawk asked quietly, reaching out to stroke one of the lush, red goblets that filled the bouquet, and the wonderful scent of fresh flowers made him breathe with pleasure. – "How did you manage to get fresh flowers? Here? Being on a ship, in the middle of the sea?".

- "I'm sorry, but a wise pirate doesn't reveal the places he gets his loot from, my dear" - Shanks laughed merrily, clearly not wanting to reveal how the hell he managed to do it, laughing even louder when he looked at the swordsman, who didn't look convinced.

- "You promised me that you wouldn't leave the cabin, so how...?".

- "Do you like them?" - the Emperor asked, interrupting him, genuinely excited, his eyes shining with pure joy.

The warlord looked at Shanks's happy face, then sighed, the corners of his mouth lifting, unable to contain his own happiness when he saw the other smile so sincerely and broadly – and especially when it was directed at him.

- "Yes" - he muttered, nodding slightly, and his hand left the soft petals of red flowers to instead find itself on the pirate's cheek, rough with stubble, but no less pleasant to the touch under his fingertips. – "I truly love them".

- "Good. That's good" - the Redhair's smile did not leave his face, and warm feelings poured out of him, resounding loudly in his every word and gesture. - "I also truly love you, by the way" - he replied after a while, looking straight into the golden eyes he loved most in the world.

The Emperor's ability to read so efficiently what he meant will always surprise him. And as always, his heart beat faster in his chest when he heard that the other wanted to keep and love him, despite how horrible it must have been to form a relationship with someone like him. - "I appreciate it, even though I don't fully understand the occasion and that I know I don't really deserved any of these special gestures...".

- "You deserve the whole world" - Shanks interrupted, raising his voice to drown out the swordsman. Mihawk rolled his eyes. - "And above all, you deserve a warm, delicious meal in the company of your handsome man and his decidedly less handsome comrades, who are our family and are surely already waiting for us" - he spoke, smiling warmly at the warlord and putting his arm around his waist. – "Are we ready?".

The swordsman nodded, though hesitantly, knowing that all his complaints and doubts would be ignored here anyway.

Satisfied, Shanks leaned forward to kiss Mihawk before their departure, without the obnoxious onlookers that his crew was. But before the Emperor could catch the warlord's lips and lick off the last of the balm that the other had applied there, the loud sound of the characteristic purupuru purupuru resounded inside the cabin walls, coming from the Captain's desk, where his personal Den Den Mushi was located.

Both the Red-Haired Emperor of the Seas and the World's Greatest Swordsman looked at each other, not hiding their surprise.

Shanks definitely didn't expect any phone call now.

- "Wait here for me, I'll sort it out" - the Captain asked, politely forcing the warlord to sit on the edge of the bed, then headed for his desk to dig out the annoying snail that kept ringing.

- "Who's there?" - Shanks said as he picked up the phone, ready to scold the pile of shit that dared to interrupt his date night.

- “YOU!” - a high-pitched, squeaky and extremely angry female voice rang out on the other side, piercing the Emperor's eardrums, making him wince in pain. - “Stinky barbarian!”.

They would both recognize that annoying voice everywhere.

Mihawk could feel the worry begin to eat away at him from the inside. Why did she decide to call here? Why Shanks? Where did she get this number from? Is Moria in trouble again? Is anyone threatening her? Is she in trouble again? Where is she?

Shanks noticed how his hawk's face turned pale in an instant, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. – "Perona-chan! My favorite, absolutely cute and totally not haunted princess!" - he greeted the girl cheerfully, ignoring her anger, which he was able to sense all the way here. - "What happened to my second, sweet little girl? Papa’s listening-!".

- "Don't you dare call me that if I didn't let you do it first, you stupid, horribly behaved red orangutan!" - Perona scolded him, so loudly that the receiver in the Emperor's hand began to shake. - “Moria-sama is my father! And you have to earn it first, be good and take a bath if you want me to even think about becoming your daughter!".

- "Well, I think I earned it already, now that you're talking to me and not to stupid, useless Moria!" – Shanks replied, sticking his tongue out, sending the angry Perona even more furious.

- "I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU BECAUSE I WANT TO!" - Perona shouted, making the glass in the small window of their cabin almost shatter.

- "Oh, so why are you calling me if you don't want to talk to me, huh?" - the Emperor continued in a stupid voice, destroying the Ghost Princess's arguments in the most idiotic way possible for the human species.

- "I don't want to... I mean, I want to, but I don't want to, I mean... BE QUIET!" - The pink-haired girl shouted, reaching her limit.  – “This is all your fault!” - She screamed again, her voice visibly cracking at the end.

This made the red-haired man get serious in an instant. - "Perona-chan, what's wrong?" - he asked her, worried about his partner's protégé. – "Please tell me what you need. I'll do anything-".

- "It's not about me, you moron!" - Perona interrupted him, struggling not to cry. – "Two weeks ago I met Mihawk and he looked unwell and sick BECAUSE OF YOU!" – she began to tell the story, emphasizing the end of the sentence to make sure that the Emperor will understand that it was all his fault. – "He hurt himself and said that one of those stupid baboons bit him, would you believe it?!".

Shanks looked again at the warlord sitting nearby, who, hearing what the Ghost Princess was saying, hid his face in his hands.

- "And despite this, I... I left him there alone, although I felt that something was very wrong and..." – she continued, sniffling. - "Two days ago, I read the headline that you and your crew have won this stupid war, so since yesterday I've been trying to call him, but to no avail, he doesn't answer. I asked Moria-sama if he knew anything, and I found out that since I left him on that island, he disappeared, no one had seen him alive since, the Navy had lost him from the radar, although that doesn't surprise me much..." - she snorted in annoyance, sobbing softly.

Suddenly, her voice became harsh again. - "You're done with your war, so how..." - she began slowly, not hiding the contempt she must have felt. – "How dare you sound so carefree now? Didn't you tell me and Zoro that you love him and care about him? So why don't you do anything?" – Perona asked, crying. - "He was suffering, you don't even know how much, it was slowly killing him, and you didn't even deign to send a letter, bomb an island, give a sign of life, anything to calm him down, and you still play the act of an idiot as if nothing had happened..." –  she added, barely catching her breath. – "So why? Why are Zoro and me the only ones worried? Shouldn't that be your job?!".

The Emperor froze in place as he listened to the bitter words of the Ghost Princess. He didn't know it was that bad... well, he knew it was that bad, but hearing it from her perspective...

It broke his heart to pieces, for lack of a better term.

Seas, and after all this, he shouted at him for being irresponsible...

He could guess that this state lasted longer.

Shanks really wanted to hit something now.

If Perona had found out what had happened this morning, she would have torn him to shreds, and he wouldn't have even blamed her. That girl was damn right.

But he still owed it to her to try to calm her down. – "Perona-".

- "He's not a member of your crew, but he's your partner, your love, but most of all, he's your friend! Why do your crewmates and the damned Blackbeard deserve and get more of your attention than he does?!" - the Ghost Princess continued, screaming further.

- "Perona-chan, listen to me-" – he tried.

- "You vile scoundrel! Insensitive brute!".

- "Perona".

- "WHAT?!" - she screamed, finally quieting down.

- "Perona, Mihawk is with me on Red Force, so you don't have to worry about him going missing" - the Emperor explained slowly, trying to keep his voice soft and calm.

On the other side, a sniffle could be heard.

- "Oh..." - the Ghost Princess murmured softly, visibly calming down. – “That’s good…”.

After a while, however, she exploded in anger again.

- "Wait, what did you just say? He's there and he still ignored me?! Tell him that when I get him, I WILL PEEL HIM OFF FEATHERS WITH MY OWN HANDS AND MAKE BROTH OUT OF HIM! BUT I WILL CURSE AND DESTROY YOU FIRST, YOU WILL BE DEPRESSED FOR CENTURIES!" - she started screaming, even louder than the first time.

- "Hawky hasn't been feeling well in the last few days, so be gentler with him, okay?" – Shanks asked her, not hiding his remorse. – "But I will accept any punishment. I deserved it".

Perona seemed to have calmed down again when she listened to him.

- "Just... take care of him for us, can you?" - sighed the pink-haired girl, sounding sad. - "This stubborn oaf, he will be exhausted before any of us can stop him. He shouldn't worry that much, it's dangerous at his age...".

Shanks quietly snorted with laughter upon hearing this.

- "I promise you that he will be in good hands, and this time I will do it better" - the Emperor swore, both to her and to himself.

- "Hmph! I won't believe you, you sneaky red toadstool, until I see it with my own eyes!" - Perona shouted, returning to her normal disposition again.

- "So we have a bet" - the pirate agreed, smiling almost devilishly.

- "A bet, huh?" – the Ghost Princess snorted, amused. - "Be it, you stinky red baboon’s butt. I'll keep an eye on you until I make sure that my mom is truly okay".

If Shanks had a drink in his mouth right now, he would spit it out. - "Mom, you say??" - he asked, to make sure he had heard correctly, while at the same time unable to stop laughing. - "Does that mean, princess, I still have a chance to be the Papa in this family? Pretty, please? Please? Please, please, please-!".

- "I'll think about it when you stop being so annoying and smelly" - Perona nodded, sounding extremely proud of herself. - “…And of course, if you're good to mommy" - she added, barely holding back her own laughter.

And just a moment later, Shanks' loud "BUAHAHAHA HAHAHAHA" and Perona's even louder "HOROHORO HOROHORO" filled the Captain's cabin, bouncing off the thick walls to fly straight through the ears of a certain bloodthirsty warlord who watched Yoru hanging proudly on the wall with a certain indecipherable desire to commit genocide-

- "Alright, I'm going to eat cookies and learn to sew, only to forget that I stooped to your level to talk to you" – the Ghost Princess spoke, finally deciding to leave them alone.  – "Take care of Hawky, or I'll fill you with Negative Hollow to the point that you start defecating my ghosts" – she added arrogantly, then hung up, not allowing the Emperor to have the last word in this conversation.

- "And the guy right here…" - Shanks spoke, pointing his thumb at himself as he hung up the phone. - "…just earned another daughter~!" - he sang, extremely proud of himself. After a while, however, he lost his strength, leaning heavily on the desk.

- "But we'll have to have a boy, because I don't think I could endure a third one..." – he sighed, not hiding his tiredness. - "Damn, that was exhausting...".

- "Well, now you know how I feel about having to endure the moods of a spoiled brat every day" - Mihawk said coldly, clearly showing that he was very offended.

Shanks looked at him with pity. - "Oh, angel, don't be so harsh on Perona, she's still young and silly".

- "I was talking about you".

- "Oh, alright then- ...HEY!" – The Emperor shouted indignantly, laughing, ready to continue bantering with his love...

...if it weren't for another purupuru purupuru coming from his cursed Den Den Mushi.

- "Is it Perona again?" - thought Shanks aloud, sighing, and then picked up the receiver to his ear. - "Who's there?" - he asked.

- "...".

The Emperor frowned. – "Hello?".

- "Go fuck yourself, shitty Emperor" – well, a not very friendly and equally not very polite voice definitely belonging to Roronoa Zoro resounded in his cabin, which made both him and Mihawk look at each other in complete surprise.

After a moment, Shanks burst into a loud laugh, barely holding back tears. - "Did Perona-chan tell you earlier to call me and tell me that, Zoro?" - he asked, already guessing the truth. Seas, that was so pathetic that in a moment he started laughing again.

- "Yes" - the teenager admitted, sounding embarrassed. - “That stupid, annoying, levitating, pink cunt. Has she talked to you yet?" – he asked after a while.

- "Hell yeah, she did" - the Emperor chuckled, nodding. - "And be nicer to your sister!" - he scolded the other, using his best fatherly voice.

- "Did she chastise you?" - Zoro added, sounding like he wanted to make sure. - "And she's not my fucking sister, but a splinter in my cock!" - He growled, still angry at the splinter in his cock, which he treated like his big sister.

- "She threatened me with lifelong depression and cursed me with diarrhea" - Shanks explained, scratching his beard before sighing. - "I’ll be shitting ghosts, man" - he added, groaning.

- "Alright" - the green-haired boy snorted, then became serious again as he began to think. - "As far as I know, you've earned it. So..." - the teenager began, trying not to sound awkward, which he was damn bad at. – “Take care of Hawkeyes or something. Or leave him alone and get away from him, I don't fucking know" - he growled in frustration. - “And tell him that if he kicks the bucket prematurely, I'll dig him out and pull him back to the surface!”.

- "You’re still hunting for his title, huh?" – the Emperor asked him, smiling.

- "He is my idol and he believes in me. He is my mentor and..." - Zoro began hesitantly, then sighed. - "I still have a lot to learn. I still need him".

Shanks' eyes widened in shock; he did not expect such sincerity from the younger swordsman.

- "...so if something bad happens to him, you'll be the first one who’ll get their ass kicked!" - Zoro threatened, not joking.

The Emperor stood in silence for a moment, then snorted, finding it adorable. - "Alright. But you remember this" - Shanks began slowly, using the same tone of voice as the younger man before. - "that the same thing will happen to you if you get your way and get the title, so you better be on your guard in the future".

- "You're both about to share this fate if you don't finish this pathetic tirade" - Mihawk scolded them, rolling his eyes, ready to vomit from this absurd exchange.

- "Nice, I hear he's in his old, good form again" - Zoro said, amused, now with some relief in his voice. – “But Emperor… From now on, we have a bet, and I hope you won't chicken out" - he turned again to the red-haired man, who laughed back at him out loud.

- "You'd better stock up on diapers, brat" – Shanks advised him, to which the teenager snorted when he heard this. - "I'm not going to give you Hawky back so easily. I will take revenge on you until the very last breath in my lungs”.

- "The only thing I'm afraid of is that I may still have too few swords to clog your mouth, which you never close!" - Zoro replied, and both he and the Emperor burst into foul laughter.

Then, on the other end of the phone, you could hear the sound of someone's quick footsteps, a loud litany of Zoro's curses, and the characteristic, loud voice of his rubber Captain: - "Wait, was it Shanks?! Oi, Shanks! SHANKS-!" – and at that point, the connection between Red Force and Thousand Sunny was suddenly interrupted.

Apparently, Luffy, too excited as always, jumped on Zoro's back, knocked him and their snail over, thus accidentally ending their conversation.

- "Well, at least this one was fast" - the Emperor snorted, then grabbed the snail and threw it back deep into the desk drawer. - "No more babysitting brats for today" - he decided, closing the drawer and walking away from the aforementioned piece of furniture to approach the love of his life, still resting on the edge of their bed. - "Oh boy, being a father these days is so tiring...".

- "I really can't believe you managed to get them both on your side so quickly" - Mihawk confessed with a sigh.

- "What are you talking about, they literally threatened me??" – the surprised pirate pointed out, not hiding his amusement. – "They even went so far to somehow get my fucking number just to tell me they're going to kick my ass!" – he snorted with laughter. - "Those clever snots".

The warlord crossed his arms in front of him on his chest. - “Well, they've never been like... that towards me” - he muttered.

- "Because they have a desire to stay alive and are smart enough to know to never try to threaten you like that" - Shanks chuckled, considering his hawk's doubts unnecessary. - "And judging by these two conversations, nothing is more obvious to me than that they truly love you" - the Emperor said, embracing the warlord as he rose from where he had been sitting. - "And I'm not surprised at all, because I feel exactly the same way whenever you appear in my mind..." - he confessed in a soft voice, a warm smile adorning his face as he watched his love in his embrace.

The swordsman sighed, rolling his eyes, but letting the other hold him in a warm embrace, commenting no more.

Shanks joined their foreheads together, but the obvious worry disfigured the features of the usually cheerful Emperor. "Hawky, listen, about what Perona-chan said...".

- "Just ignore what she said" - the warlord interrupted him, closing his eyes, seeing no point in continuing to delve into this uncomfortable topic. - "It's okay, Red, they're both just exaggerating".

- "No, no, I think they were absolutely right, and I feel bad that I've ignored it for so long, and I'm sick of it" - the Captain confessed remorsefully, his voice sounding so unnaturally melancholy for him. – "I made my own plans, without asking for your opinion. I feel like a selfish brat...".

- "Because you are a selfish brat" - Mihawk snorted with amusement. – "But... I like you, even like this. Whatever you do, you won't please everyone, Red, and I don't expect you to change for anyone, much less for me" - he comforted the other, placing a soft kiss at the corner of the Emperor's mouth. – "It's just... next time, be more careful with who you let on your board, will you?" - he asked, not hiding his typical irony and slight irritation underneath.

Shanks laughed. - "I'll do it if you won't just throw yourself into a suicide expedition on your own next time, will you?" - he asked him, imitating the tone of the swordsman's voice.

- "You won't tell me what to do" – the warlord said simply, moving away from the Emperor and considering this topic to be over. - "And you can't forbid me anything".

- "Ha! We'll see~" - the pirate chuckled, jokingly showing his tongue. - "Someday I'll make sure that you can never resist me again!".

- "And that day will never come" - the swordsman snorted, slowly walking towards the exit.

There is no need to, since I have not been able to refuse you for so long already, he thought, sighing, and not intending to help the red-haired idiot to find out this truth. Maybe the other one will finally notice it. Maybe.

- "Hey, hey! We can't just leave without finishing the most important thing here!" - Shanks called out, running after him in a hurry to stop him.

Mihawk let go of the door handle to turn to face his wayward lover and look at him in annoyance. – "What is your problem again-?”.

He didn't finish when the Emperor caught his lips in a passionate kiss, and this time, thankfully, no stupid snail had stopped him from doing so.