Remnants That Haunt (MihawkXShanks)

1

Halls, they rumbled of silence. Rooms, they echoed of emptiness. Floors, they sounded of unease. A mansion owned by a man titled Dracule Mihawk, and the tales he could tell no one but himself. The man never showed his face to the sun with skin that paled ever more then before. In this mansion, no light peeked through as curtains heavily detained every splitting ray, lit by only the small flames of candles and a dim fireplace with embers glowing in a pile of grey ash.

Mihawk sat. Sat with a look of emptiness and unease, staring at the void of black that hid everything but the dark creatures within. The sorrow that seemed to groan. The loneliness that drooped along the walls. The fears that seemingly scraped chalkboards. The kindness, that was swallowed whole by cruelty. Nothing quite hid from the man as they all consumed him. His sorrow of dry tears. His loneliness that grew with each day. His fears became only a brutal reality. His kindness, that showed no more by the cruel mental trauma.

From the large dining table, he heard faint echoes of glass clinking, and a slight pouring of liquid. This was soon followed by a hearty chuckle.

Over there, there was nothing besides the looming darkness and small flickers from the candles. No one was there.

Mihawk, tired of hearing the constant nothingness that was there, walked down the hallway with a slouch, once before foreign to him. The candles, they staid burning. If they caught the house on fire so be it, it would save him the trouble.

Down the halls, with a presence much like walls caving in, there was something again. In the entrance of the library, for yet only a split second, a man with flowing red hair sneaked in the room as papers fluttered. Mihawk almost didn't look inside but when he did, it was as expected. The library was untouched. Papers in a neat stack and lacking any human presence.

"Shanks..." He muttered, recognising the person that could be seen for but only an instant. He walked off in a different direction, not quite wanting to be there now. The next destination was the master bedroom, the largest and only room to have an occupant. On the bed, he caught glimpse of Shanks again, and only a glimpse.

Mihawk sighed, for he knew those glimpse's were as real as his social life, non existent and uncomfortable.

The book on the bedside table, bright red and worn out, caught his attention. The book used to belong to Shanks. Mihawk sat down and opened it to many logs and entries of utter nonsense.

The first written thing was sloppily written and with sparkling ink on the inner side of the cover.

Mihawk? You're reading this!? How dare!? Bad! Bad!...

The phrase, bad, kept going on and on until the bottom, ending with a suggestive closing that could surprise no one.

But, I like you naughty.

Mihawk, for only a second, smiled, forgetting his reality.

The next page was Shanks' intention for the book.

In this here diary (no, it's not a journal!!!) I will in fact write about the best moments of my life. (The ones without booze. And Luffy. And Benn. And Roger... A lot of other things...) it's about the times with ol' Hawk eyes..."

Mihawk's attention focused on the sentence mentioning it was about him. Honestly it surprised him. Never before was the book ever really thought of, he never stole a peek not even once.

The contents of the book were definitely written by Shanks. The second page only had five choice words across it.

MIHAWK HAS A NICE ASS.

As the pages went on, nothing could be a surprise.

I beat hawk-eyes at chess, rubbed it in his face of course. He said if I could win he'd call me Shanks. Typically it's my name... he always said 'red hair.' In return I will now call him Mihawk! I only called him hawk eyes because he said 'red hair...'

Stubborn and hot.

Most of the pages were pretty pointless, simply complimenting Mihawk's looks or a random comment like how sloppy his own handwriting was. Some even had strange and almost unintelligible doodles of events between the two.

Note to self:
Before I forget, his birthday is my birthday too and he's 4 years older, always. March 9th... If I forget my own birthday I'm an absolute idiot like I've always been told. On the same day is our anniversary and I asked him out after he took me to a friend of Luffy's birthday party. He always mentions how it was clearly my fault I kicked Yasopp's kid on the head while I was on the giant blow up slide. Clearly it wasn't but he says so. He also says I forced him to say yes to me as well. He'll likely say it every year.

Below are notes written in different pens and obviously different times noting the years he said both of those things.

The next page that caught his attention had a taped in picture of a drunk Shanks and a completely sober Mihawk in a small bar by the name of Partys Bar. Shanks held up the other's wrist with a gigantic smile.

I'm not afraid to say: he makes me happy, extremely.
I love him.
The day I proposed, June 18th.
Easy to remember since it's twice our birthdays.
Sometimes it lands on Father's Day.

P.E.R.F.E.C.T.

The last entry, a few pages from the end was odd, something Mihawk clearly didn't expect at all.

I love Mihawk, and this has nothing to do with him but, something has felt off for a while. I keep trying to think, why? Nothing was different but everything was off. So off in fact I'm not sure I want to drink it away with alcohol.

Mihawk's hands, along with a wedding band, clenched the book tightly. For a man who thought he had no more emotion, he was definitely crying as tears fell.

"He knew something was out of the ordinary..." The room seemed to get colder, a shadow that encased everything that ever lurked there.

The day that marked the paper was also the last day since Mihawk saw Shanks' grand smile.

That day, played out relatively normal. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The curtains were open, Shanks had his alcohol and Mihawk had his specific wine, Shanks tried to sneak up on the other in the library though instead knocking down papers, and then Shanks took a short sleep break out of shear boredom in the bed the two shared. When he woke up, his friends arrived to take him to his favourite bar in town. Mihawk stayed behind, normal as it was typically too much commotion. On rare occasions he would go. That night the red head didn't return yet, his friends did. Their faces, it wasn't good.

"We've looked everywhere for him. We. Can't. Find. Him."

Something happened at the bar, whatever it was clearly was not good. Weeks passed for his search and not a trace was found. Months, still nothing. Even a year later leaving only a speckle of hope to be left. This hope existed in such a way as the typical, needle in a haystack. Good luck finding it after all this time, may all your bits of light be consumed by the ever growing darkness.