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Twenty-six years.
For twenty-six whole years, Hakuba had been stuck listening to Cavendish go on and on and on about himself, having no way to shut him up. And boy, did he try.
Yelling at him in his head had no effect. Forcefully taking over his body was no simple task; it was draining so it never lasted for long, giving Cavendish the chance to overpower him much more easily than when he was naturally sleeping. At one point, Hakuba even considered sewing his bloody mouth shut but he dismissed the idea once he realised it would one, hurt him, too, and two, it wouldn’t even last long with all the servants at Cavendish’s every beck and call.
And so, for twenty-six bloody years, Hakuba was forced to resign to his fate of a constant headache in between his stress-relief killing sprees.
And then, Bartolomeo came along.
Hakuba couldn’t stand him—after all, the first thing the guy did once the battle of Dressrosa was over was to got bloody fucking chains to keep Hakuba from having any fun at all!—but there was a plus side to him being there. Finally, Hakuba wasn’t the only one annoyed with Cavendish’s inability to shut his darn mouth for 5 fucking seconds.
As Cavendish sat with Bartolomeo in the corner of the large hall of the Dressrosa royal castle, Hakuba was pleased to see the expression of clear disdain, maybe even disgust, at the storm of self-centred remarks and poorly-acted mock-interviews Cavendish was doing with himself. For a while, Hakuba questioned Bartolomeo’s sanity for not walking away, but Hakuba wasn’t about to complain about having someone to commiserate with for once.
But then, just as Hakuba was about to start smashing his head against the metaphorical wall inside of Cavendish’s head in hopes of knocking himself out… something happened.
Bartolomeo clicked his tongue and took a deep breath, obviously beyond done with listening to the garbage that was coming out of Cavendish’s mouth. Cavendish didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late—not until Bratolomeo had grabbed the lapel of Cavendish’s fancy shirt and yanked him roughly towards himself.
Pressing their lips together in a sloppy, rough kiss.
“Shut the fuck up already, Cabbage,” Bartolomeo growled as he let Cavendish go.
As if by magic, all words left Cavendish and blessed, wonderful silence echoed all around Hakuba.
Well. That’s one way to do it, he thought to himself.
If having to deal with kissing—or worse— was the price to pay for getting some peace and quiet, even for a moment, well… Then Hakuba really fucking hoped this green-headed, annoying idiot was going to stick around.