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“You got married?!”
Perona gawks over her teacup at her begrudging father figure, who's currently pinching his brow into that one expression he does that either means I’m starting to realize this carpet doesn't go with the rest of the furniture, or Perona, what in God's name could warrant such an outburst.
Clearly he was going for the second one this time around.
“Is it really such a surprising concept? I've been seeing him for nearly a year,” Mihawk reasons as he reaches across the table for one of the sweets he prepared, “I feel thats plenty of time for us to mutually decide we’d rather have something more official between us.”
“Well, yeah, that'd be fine I guess, if you'd invited me…” Perona agrees before stabbing her fork into the cookie Mihawk took, “–or if you’d gone and told anyone about him in the first place!”
Mihawk frowns. “I don't see why anyone should need to know about my personal endeavors, least of all who I choose to court with.”
Perona scoffs and rolls her eyes as she relinquishes her hold of the treat. “‘ Who you choose to court with,’ God, I can't leave you or Moria alone for more than 10 minutes without one of you aging a century.”
“If I'm a century old then I deserve to keep my private life just as it’s described: private.”
“Nuh uh,” Perona denies, sipping her tea before she starts her rebuttal, “You should at least tell your kids if you’re gonna start seeing someone! How do you think Zoro’s gonna feel?”
“He's not going to care,” Mihawk points out, his frown deepening, “and neither of you are my children.”
“Okay, bad example, but I'm still right!” Perona insists with a cross of her legs, resolutely ignoring the second half of his statement, “I mean, if Moria suddenly told me I had a new mom or dad, I'd be pretty confused! I'd wanna meet ‘em first…”
“Roronoa’s met him,” Mihawk comments mildly.
“Exactly! So Zoro can– Zoro’s met him?!” Perona screeches, and the conversation continues to go downhill from there.
“Married? You?”
Mihawk nods seriously.
“You. Got married.”
Mihawk’s mouth draws into a line, and Shanks laughs.
“This… you're kidding, right?” he asks incredulously
“Why would I joke about something like that.”
“Good point,” Shanks acquiesces, leaning down to grab his half empty beer keg, polishing off another quarter of it in one go.
They're quiet for a minute, Shanks with his beer and Mihawk with his wine. It isn't long before Shanks pipes up again, though.
“And you didn't invite me?”
“I wouldn't have invited you even if we’d had a ceremony,” Mihawk rolls his eyes, “In fact, I won't be inviting you if we do have a ceremony in the future.”
“Meh, I'll find my way there eventually,” Shanks waves away with a grin, to which Mihawk grimaces, “I'm the only guy good enough to be your best man.”
“My best man would sooner be a news coo,” Mihawk grumbles into his wine glass, despite his mouth twitching up at the corners. Shanks takes it as a win.
“You're not gonna tell me anything about the guy?” He prompts after another short moment of silence.
Mihawk swirls his beverage around absently, staring at nothing. “Would you care to guess?”
“Would I?” Shanks says excitedly, sitting up from where he'd been laying upside down. “Why, I thought you'd never ask.”
Mihawk rolls his eyes as Shanks begins thinking.
“You've only ever dated me, as far as I know–”
“Dated is a strong term–”
“–But I think that was more out of convenience than anything.”
Mihawk makes a strange face at that, but doesn't elaborate.
Shanks scratches the scruff on his face as the gears turn in his brain. “I think you'd probably go after someone a little different, then. Maybe someone shorter.”
“You never fail to remember the single centimeter between us, do you?” Mihawk deadpans.
Shanks ignores him. “I bet he's quiet.”
When Mihawk doesn't have a quip, Shanks knows he's hit it right on the head. He grins wildly.
“Is he older too? Oh man, you really went away with this one.”
“I think that's enough,” Mihawk sighs as he places his now-empty wine glass into a crate. He stands from his place beside Shanks’s hammock, somehow managing to not stumble at all in the sand despite his heeled boots. “I only came to inform you of the formation of Cross Guild, I haven't the faintest clue how you managed to get me to talk about my love life.”
Shanks pouts at his friend leaving, but still manages to crack a sly smirk. “I'm just so irresistibly charming, as I've been told by many throughout the years–in fact, I'm amazed your husband didn't object to you meeting me here,” he suggests with a wink.
Mihawk scoffs, turning on his heel and making his way down the beach. He waves a hand halfheartedly behind him, “Good bye, Redhair.”
“Good luck, Newlywed!”
“ Married?! Since when?!”
“Since one month ago, two if you include the time I spent holding on to the ring.”
Buggy pouts dramatically, giving Mihawk the world's second best impression of a congested pug in an attempt to make himself look sad and pathetic, “and you didn't invite me?”
“There wasn't even a ceremony,” Mihawk says with a roll of his eyes, flipping Yoru over so he can continue cleaning her. “And even if there had been, I wouldn't want a clown at my wedding.”
The clown in question decides to shut up before he gets his tongue sliced off, for which Mihawk is infinitely grateful.
Silence can't last forever, though, and soon Buggy gets restless. “I mean, you never even told anyone–let alone your coworkers,” he comments while tracking Mihawk’s hands with his eyes.
“As I've been reminded countless times now,” Mihawk replies blandly. “I shouldn't have to disclose that information to anyone. He was my partner, and now he's my husband. That should be a natural progression of events.”
“It's only logical when you give people a timeframe and don't just spring it on them!” Buggy hisses, to which Mihawk glares at him menacingly. He pipes down again for the moment.
Mihawk sighs as he puts his cleaning supplies away. “You’re reminding me of Perona.”
“Good! She might be a bitch but she's also sensible, unlike someone I know.”
The fact Buggy leaves the room remotely in tact is entirely thanks to his devil fruit powers.
“Married, huh? For tax benefits?”
Mihawk scowls. “I am married, but not for something as trivial as taxes. Who told you?”
“About the marriage or about the taxes?” Crocodile practically yawns, continuing to sort through his seemingly endless piles of paperwork.
“My marriage.”
“A little birdie told me,” Crocodile says past the smoke coming out of his cigar.
Mihawk narrows his eyes. “More like a gigantic birdie. Who told that pink beast about it?”
Crocodile’s coat ruffles in what could be a shrug, his hook glinting as he knocks an envelope into the trash, “You think that bastard stakes his claim over Dressrosa, land of love and fertility, without keeping tabs on every one of his powerful adversaries’ marital statuses?”
Mihawk frowns, though he can't do much about that. With a dramatic sigh, he sinks into the guest chair opposite of Crocodile’s desk, kicking his boots up indignantly. Crocodile hardly bats an eye.
“So, do you intend to reap the benefits of your marriage anyway, or are you going to leave that to me?”
Mihawk arches a brow at him. “What are you referring to?”
“A ceremony would be good publicity for the guild,” Crocodile starts listing, producing a new sheet of paper to plan on his own, “not to mention the copious amounts of networking that could be done–”
Mihawk is already leaving the room before Crocodile can get to the part about pyramid schemes.
“... Yeah, I knew that,” Zoro says slowly, almost confused, “why’s it coming up all of a sudden?”
Mihawk looks at him sideways. “You knew? Who told you? I thought we’d agreed–”
“Well, yeah, duh,” Zoro interrupts, leaning down to grab his weights, “You’re probably like, a million years old, and you wear so much jewelry that I just sorta assumed you'd have someone chained down somewhere.”
That has to be one of the most idiotic ways to come to that conclusion. Mihawk pinches his brow, and suddenly understands why the Straw hats were so surprised at his most basic of table manners. “Roronoa, I've only been married for a month and a half.”
“Really?” Zoro seems genuinely surprised–because he is genuinely surprised, the buffoon.
“Yes.”
“... So you were just holding onto the ring for four years?”
Mihawk might just kill him here to spare the world the trouble. “No, I only had the ring for a month prior to the proposal–I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this.”
Ignoring the latter half of his statement, Zoro grunts as he begins his workout. “So who's the lucky guy?”
Ah, the fun part of the conversation. Mihawk hums, “You've certainly met him before,” he begins vaguely. Zoro arches a brow.
“It's not Shanks, is i–”
“Absolutely not. I may disown you for the implication alone.”
“I'm not your kid, you can't disown me!”
“You assume that will stop me?”
Zoro grumbles his defeat, resuming his thinking. “So it isn't Shanks, it's not Buggy,” Mihawk has to stop himself from snorting at the immediate refusal of that concept, “... Is it Zeff?”
Mihawk makes a face, a rare instance for him. “Neptune, no. We may share a taste in wine, but not a taste in age range.”
Zoro nods like the idea made him uncomfortable too. “It’s not Crocodile, right?”
Mihawk crosses his legs disinterestedly, “Are you truly trying to guess, or are you simply going down the list of men you've seen me in the same room as.”
“How do you know I'm not doing both?” Zoro asks snarkily, instantly regretting his words as Mihawk nudges him with his foot, nearly making him topple over due to the weight hes carrying, “hey, it's not my fault you never talk about your friends around me!”
“He's someone you may not even be aware that I'm acquainted with,” Mihawk adds to his earlier description. Zoro looks horrified.
“It's not Sanji, right?”
Mihawk is one stupid comment away from just leaving the ship entirely. “Blackleg is your age, and I'm friends with his father, why on Earth would I possibly be courting such a twinkish thing?”
Zoro lets out a sound that could be between a sigh of relief, a bark of laughter, and a horrified gasp. Regardless, he finally gives up with a shrug, “I've got nothing.”
Mihawk scoffs in pseudo-celebration of their little challenge, allowing Zoro to stretch his muscles to max capacity before sharing his partner’s true identity.
If someone told you Mihawk laughed loud enough for the entire grand line to hear, well, it certainly couldn't have been louder than Zoro’s face hitting the floor after he dropped his equipment in shock.
“How did it go?”
“Hm,” Mihawk finishes off his tea, putting his cup down before leaning into Koshiro’s side, “well, I certainly told all the necessary people.”
Koshiro chuckles knowingly, “and who might those ‘necessary people' be, Hawkey?”
Mihawk rolls his eyes, “My coworkers, my children, and my best man,” he lists off matter-of-factly, further nuzzling his face into his partner’s neck. “Who else might I possibly need to tell?”
Now it's Koshiro’s turn to roll his eyes, scoffing with a smile as he gently rejects Mihawk’s affections, to which the man pouts. “You're definitely forgetting some people. What about Tashiro?”
“Transponder snail call. She sends her regards.”
“Your best man’s crew?”
Mihawk frowns. “I'm sure he's told them by now. He counts as his own news source, so I'm sure telling him alone would inform the entire rest of the grand line with ease.”
Koshiro has to restrain himself at that one. “Hm… ah, what was his name–did you tell Perona’s other father?”
“She’s similar to Redhair. If she didn't know me better, all of thriller bark would've been invited the day after I told her.”
“Shanks’ daughter–?”
“You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you darling?” Mihawk teases with a small grin, to which Koshiro laughs.
“Sorry, I'm just trying to cover all of our bases. I wouldn't want any of your friends coming after me if you forgot to tell them about us,” he explains as he lays his head on Mihawk’s shoulder, giving the man the cuddles he craved so much before.
“If they did, I'd kill them,” Mihawk replies loyally, in a tone that doesn't really sound like he's joking.
“Ah!” Koshiro sits up, causing Mihawk to look like a cat that kept having it's favorite toy snatched from it in an attempt to play, “You told my family, right?”
Mihawk blinks.
Koshiro’s caught him. “Right?”
If he could get any paler, Mihawk would. Instead he glances away, breaking his infamously-consistent eye contact. Koshiro gleams in victory, and though he should be disappointed, he doesn't really care.
“That was part of our agreement,” he reminds his husband, a word he was excited to get used to, “in exchange for not telling anyone when we started seeing one another, you would tell everyone we got married.”
“As I'm aware,” Mihawk grumbles, “Who do you expect me to tell? Kanae is the only relative you've told me of.”
Koshiro shrugs, “because she's the only one alive at the moment, not including Zoro.” Then he giggles a little, “I'd say you might have to ask my wife, but I think it's a little late for that.”
Mihawk deadpans, “I'm sure Eiko is positively thrilled with me from beyond the grave.”
The comment earns Mihawk a strangely sincere look, followed by a hum, “You know, I'm sure she is.”
“Finally!”
Mihawk arches a brow at her. She hugs him, leaps away and apologized for hugging him, and then opts for a slightly awkward handshake instead.
“Oh, I'm so happy for you both! I mean, I wish I'd been invited,” she states quickly, before returning to her excitement, “but that's in the past now! Ah, you guys are great together!”
Mihawk nods his agreement, “Yes, we do go together quite nicely. I'd hope as much, seeing as we're bound together somewhat permanently.”
Kanae snorts, “If you weren’t so fancy you'd sound just like Eiko did after her wedding.”
Something about that makes Mihawk swell with a strangely prideful feeling.
“Oh, uh, this is the part where I grill you or something, right?” She asks, somewhat jokingly and somewhat genuinely, “Ah–just because I'm his little sister doesn't mean I won't kill ya if you hurt him!”
Mihawk merely blinks at her as she pretends to be menacing.
“Um, um, bring him home in one piece ya hear me? And… make sure to eat your vegetables!”
“I believe there's something about taking care of Koshiro in there somewhere,” Mihawk adds helpfully.
“Oh, right,” she stage whispers, before assuming her burly persona, “Take good care of him and such!”
Mihawk hums his amusement, and Kanae looks close to sparkling.
“That's the best I'm ever gonna get out of you, huh?” She jokes, though without even a hint of malice. “Being serious though, take good care of him. He's… getting old.”
That's what actually gets Mihawk to scoff, “he's 53, Kanae.”
“Y-Yeah!” She defends herself weakly, “that's old for humans! Y-You wouldn't know, you vampire!” She laughs, mocking fangs at him with her fingers.
Mihawk laughs too.
The headstone is cold.
Not a single cloud laid in the sky, birds were concocting their usual melodies, the shopkeeper he passed on the way here heckled him like it was nothing. Fresh incense was burning. This girl was alive. She was dead, but not unliving. She was loved.
Mihawk clears his throat. This was going to be a hard conversation.
The grave is ornamented with various things. Flowers, some purchased and some natural. Candles, some whittled down to puddles of wax and others fresh and white. Children's drawings, older than anything in their irony. Letters, from friends, from family, from strangers. Newspaper clippings detailing her best friend’s journey.
A best friend she would be proud of. A best friend who just kept on going when she couldn't. Mihawk’s lip draws into a line.
He'd never gotten to meet her, but he had an idea of who she was. She was a mean little girl. A prodigy. Someone to discipline, to carve into a refined young swordsman. An older sister. A daughter. A fighter.
He couldn't urge himself to feel any certain way about it. He was far too detached from this, an outsider looking in, both of them simply being dreams to one another before either of them knew it.
Besides, the promise she’d sewn her life into had already been fulfilled.
“Kuina,” he starts, and then stops.
He kneels.
“Shimotsuki Kuina,” he starts again. She would always be his junior, even if she were still around, but the respect he held for her wasn't something to laugh at. “We have… never met before. I should hope we never will.”
A wind chime sways absently somewhere, like an answer to his one-man exchange.
“... I am not a spiritual man,” he explains, his knees in the mud and his eyes fixed on two dates totalling up to eleven years, “I don't believe you go anywhere special when you die. I don't particularly believe in talking to rocks.”
The headstone is unmoving. The wind chime jingles.
“However…”
Mihawk glances towards another grave, a wilted bouquet of roses upon it. Theres barely any petals left. No one's visited them for a while.
“... I feel it would be rude of me not to inform you. In his place, that is.”
And his justification is just thick enough for him to believe it. Thick enough for him to stay for a while, to ponder if she's listening. When he leaves, he thinks he's just done something incredibly silly.
He cannot be blamed for the way his head turns when the wind chime sounds like a young lady’s laughter.