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Mihawk has been there, by Akagami’s side since the beginning of his journey with his own crew. He’s seen him beaten and broken, sobbing and crumbling in front of his eyes and recollecting himself in the next moment, giving him the biggest smile he can muster, he was there when he became a Yonkou, so young, without divine gifts to support him, relying only on his will and the memories from his Captain– sometimes that word feels too small, too weak to describe what Roger was to Shanks, but the later daren’t call him the appropriate one. He had been delighted at the time, becoming an Emperor solely by his own capabilities and Mihawk himself had been truly proud; his Shanks, the man he’s held oh so tenderly hundreds of times, a Yonkou.
In a few years, his name would bring shivers to the strongest of men, his territory would grow and despite being a pirate, he would be so loved by other pirates and common people alike– Mihawk grew prouder of him by the day. His haki got stronger and stronger, their duels more intense, more even; Shanks was not a swordsman, but he was his equal, and Mihawk thought that having him to himself was enough.
Until he came back to him with a limb and a precious straw hat missing, and that was the first time Mihawk had been truly angry; Shanks was not his equal anymore, having lost the arm he’d been fighting for years with, and once more, he had almost thrown away his life. That evening, laid beside him in bed, Shanks had taken his hand into his own and kissed his pale knuckles one by one, telling him a story about a small boy in the East Blue with a heart of gold, a soul he knew too well and an ambition that would turn the world upside down. He had told him that he bet his arm– as well as his hat– on a new era with a nostalgic smile on his face and stars in his eyes; Mihawk couldn’t stay angry at this, not at the man he loved and cherished, so he just kissed his shoulder– the only part remaining of his left arm– and let himself fall asleep.
As the years passed, Mihawk watched Shanks become a living legend and his responsibilities grow; he now walked with the air of a Captain long gone, with fire in his eyes and the earth crumbling beneath his feet, and to Mihawk, he was still the same; when his boy got his first bounty Mihawk had taken the poster to him, and to also tell him about his overconfident first mate, who had stupidly challenged him and lost in the process. Shanks was beaming with pride, a huge smile reaching up to his eyes, eyes that were full of affection, and in his joy, he looked lovely; he truly was still the same.
Despite the cheap alcohol and his husband’s rowdy crewmates, Mihawk stayed beside him and basked in that warmth only he could emit.
Akagami no Shanks was wonderful, he thought. For a man that walked with so much weight on his shoulders, and so much grief in his heart, that had gained enough power to stop a war with his words only, he still managed to be so kind, so devoted to his morals; he had changed, and at the same time remained the tear-stricken boy he’d met in Loguetown so many years ago.
And maybe that development in Marineford was what started tearing him apart. The realisation that this was a little too much. He walked and the earth shook, he’d tamed the sea. He’d bend and stretch it at will, his haki was so overwhelming that men passed out at the sight of him, and this was not something humans would ever be able to do. He knew that power came at a price, and he’d rather that price be his own life than his humanity.
“What’s pestering you, darling?”
Mihawk’s smooth voice echoed in the sparsely furnished room; it was too big for just one bed, a wardrobe and a dresser, but he didn’t need any more than that, he never stayed long enough to call it home. Then again, Kuraigana was the closest thing to a home he’s ever really had.
Just a few feet behind him, sitting at the edge of their bed, Shanks is struggling to find the right words; his lone arm is fumbling with the white sheets, his head full of worry and stress, because how the hell did it come to this? To the point where he’d have to tell him what, that he was not Shanks anymore? How he despised that power that had seeped into his skin and ran through his veins the same way that the blood that kept him alive did?
“I don’t– I don’t feel human anymore, love.”
If Mihawk couldn’t hear the despair in his voice, he might have laughed. But he did, and it made him wish he couldn’t see through Shanks the way he did now. He knew exactly what he was talking about. Power could turn even the most humble of humans into greedy beasts that would commit the most hideous of sins to keep their position safe, to impose their beliefs onto the world. Shanks held that kind of power in his hand and played it like a fiddle.
“I’m not the man you married.”
A chuckle. That wonderful man, that beautiful boy. How silly. How utterly and devastatingly human. Mihawk would give him the world.
“Funny”, he says, facing his wreck of a husband on the bed.
“That’s something the man I married would say.”
At this point, the swordsman is kneeling in front of him, looking up at him directly in the eyes; so, so beautiful.
“You contradict yourself, Akagami. You’re devastated, telling me you have lost your humanity, but I see nothing but a human in front of me.” He’s taken his hand away from the crumpled bed sheet and into his own, tracing the lines on his palm, the calluses on his fingers. Human. “Worries like this, such vulnerable questions of your own nature, such sadness and misery, do you think they would haunt a beast? A power-hungry tyrant, perhaps?” His head is now resting on the younger’s knees; there’s no pride between them, no titles, no sense of dignity to hold them back. Here, in this room, they are just Shanks and Mihawk.
“You’re divine”, Mihawk says, placing soft kisses along the length of his thighs.
“Divinity is not something fitting to my name, my love.”
The swordsman laughs. He’s truly still the same. What a fool. What a man.
“You do not see yourself the way I see you.”
Shanks feels lighter, more content than ever, so he bends down to kiss Mihawk’s temple, earning himself a quiet hum from the still-kneeling man. It was almost time for bed, anyways.
—
The sun is slowly rising in Kuraigana, drowning the sleeping couple in its soft morning glow; For now, all that matters is the entangled limbs, the mingled breaths and their shared love. The rest can wait.