As much as he hated to admit it, Mihawk missed the company.
It was odd, since for months now he had been counting down the days to the departure. There hadn't been an actual discussion on the subject, but the unspoken consensus was that the ghost princess would be guiding his green-haired disciple back to Sabaody to reunite with the rest of the Straw Hat Crew. After all, a man who regularly got lost in the ten-foot road between the castle and the training grounds had no business navigating the seas.
So the day had finally arrived and the two set off in the small boat he had provided.. Mihawk had smiled to himself as they bickered in their usual fashion - he had grown a little fond of them, but that was it. At last, it was his long-awaited return to normalcy, return to the solitude he had come to value so much after spending two years dealing with the whining and wailing of that insolent pink-haired girl and the admirable yet somewhat tiresome persistence of his student.
So why now, two weeks later,was he feeling so empty? Why did he miss the creaking of that armchair that Perona had taken a liking to? Why did he keep looking out the windows towards the training grounds, as though expecting to see the younger swordsman, bloody and scarred yet hard at work at whatever training to which he had been assigned? Why was it so unpleasant to eat the dining hall now that he no longer had anyone to fill the extra chairs?
Was he lonely?
God forbid. The idea was so absurd that he laughed out loud. Constant human company was not something he had ever thought he would need. Sure, occasionally he sought it out as a change of pace. But at the end of the day, he was always alone, just him and his thoughts.
And that's the way he liked it.
Didn't he?
Cup of tea in hand, he wandered out to the coast of his abandoned island. The red-haired had always asked him that why, of all the islands he could have settled in, he chose Kuraigana. The utter lack of people was of course the key deciding factor. And though he would never say it out loud, he was attracted to the grandeur of the castle and the aura of mystery and malice that enveloped the island. It was fascinatingly dark.
His guests, in the two years they had lived here, had never questioned his living choices. Roronoa, obviously couldn't care less about anything that didn't involve his training. As for the other one, she fit in perfectly. She was one of Moriah's men after all, and had willingly lived in that floating zombie island for god knows how long. She clearly took joy in the dreary, damp atmosphere.
For once, his thoughts centered on the ghost princess rather the green-haired man he had taken under his wing. He never quite understood why he didn't kick her out immediately; she was unwelcome, loud, childish, rude and outright irritating. She did help around the house, bandaging the young swordsman as he constantly injured himself and much to his surprise, voluntarily did chores. And, he reflected, she had matured over time - while she never lost her spunk, she had become genuinely more thoughtful, aware and had learned how to take pleasure in silence.
But what bothered him right now was not why he let her stay but more so why she chose to stay. Unlike Roronoa, she hadn't once asked for a boat or a way to leave, not even when she had despaired over Moriah's apparent death. The only assumption here would be that she enjoyed living with him and intended to do so permanently. As annoyingly arbitrary that seemed, it aroused a flicker of hope in him.
Will she come back?
Mihawk shook is head. This was preposterous! He did not, could not care about her presence. In any case, it was foolish to harbor such hope - now that she could go anywhere her heart desired, why on earth would she ever come back to a place she had more than once referred to as a prison? If anything, she was probably searching for her former subordinates, looking to rejoin Moriah.
He felt a stab of pain at that notion, that he refused to acknowledge.
One week later, Mihawk found himself once again lounging at the same coast, lost in his thoughts. He had imagined that he couldn't possibly be any more troubled at something so trivial. He was wrong. His restlessness had grown exponentially in a week and had now taken over his sleep. He had gone from searching for signs of his departed guests in his house to gazing at the ocean, hoping to see one of them come back. It was pathetic, and sitting there with bags under his eyes, he finally accepted something.
Their company was more important to him than he had guessed.
So he had to search for some other way to satisfy his craving for human companionship. The humandrills were no good - despite their capacity to mimic human actions, they were woefully inadequate in dealing with human emotions. Perhaps he could go over to the New World and meet the red-haired.
But he didn't feel like it, and hated himself for that.
As he close his eyes, contemplating another night of staring at the high ceilings of his bedroom, he heard a sound that had annoyed him so greatly the past two years and yet one he had aching to hear these past few days.
It was the sound of her laughter.
Horo horo horo!
He couldn't see her quite clearly yet, but the pink hair, frilly black dress and garish crown was unmistakable. The small boat was bobbing up and down as she waved and jumped at him furiously. As he watched her steadily row closer, his face remained unchanged - calm, unfazed. Words, however, couldn't describe the relief that washed over his soul the moment she caught his eye, satiating the terrible yet human fear of loneliness that had been plaguing him all the while.
As she reached nearer, she shouted at him, "You could have at least waved back!" Pouting, she added, "Did you miss me?"
"Hardly.", he lied.