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When Shanks thinks back on his childhood—his life up until Roger’s execution—Buggy is an inherent part of every memory.
As boys, they were the only two on the Oro Jackson of the same age. Roger and Rayleigh were both teachers and father figures to them. They grew up together. Be it eating, fighting or doing menial chores, they were always at each other’s side.
They never understood each other but despite that, they got along pretty well. Buggy is the emotional sort and finds it difficult to look past his own shallow point of view when it comes down to it. No matter how much he complained about Shanks’ ‘naivety’ or ‘innocence’, to Shanks Buggy was always the more naive one.
Shanks knows he still is, despite having only seen him once during their twenty years apart.
Sh-Shanks!?
It still makes him laugh recalling Buggy’s expression when they met in Marineford. Who would’ve thought that such a tragic day would bring about the joy he felt at that moment? A long familiar face, a little more square, much older, but exactly the same as Shanks knew him to be.
Buggy hadn’t changed a bit. That had been the greatest comfort for Shanks who’d changed far too much. And yet, Buggy treated him as if nothing had ever changed between them.
A lot has.
“He woke up,” Beckman says when he finds Shanks relaxing on the quarterdeck. One look from him is enough for Shanks to know that Beckman isn’t fooled by his usually deceptive nonchalance. Beckman has known him long enough now, and he’s too smart. “We had to restrain him. He’s a handful.”
“You used Sea Stone? He can’t go anywhere while we’re on the water anyway,” Shanks says, getting to his feet. “I don’t want him to hate me.”
“He already hates you.”
“Ouch.” Shanks laughs and saunters past Beckman, rubbing his chest.
A little twinge is all it is. Shanks knows Buggy doesn’t hate him. He can’t. Sure, they didn’t part ways in Loguetown on the best terms but Shanks believes it was only a matter of differing opinions and nothing else. They’d been through so much together, fought in every battle back-to-back for as long as they were crewmates, walked every step as one unit, even slept in the same bed most of the time.
Though Shanks has to admit, the last part was more by force on his end. Buggy had always tried to kick him out of the bed they shared.
Those were some of the best days of his life. Shanks never managed to let go of the feeling they gave him. The feeling that one particular day gave him. He always wondered if Buggy ever thought about it after they went their separate ways.
For a long time after Buggy left him there in the heart of Loguetown, to soak in the rain and the bare realisation that he was all alone, Shanks struggled to find his place. He thinks he’s found something of family but as expected, nothing and no one can quite make him feel the same as Buggy does.
Shanks gets reduced to an animal when it comes to Buggy. To nothing but the most primal of instincts. A horse on the steppes, a bird in the sky, a whale in the ocean. Buggy used to be Shanks’ natural habitat.
I guess he still is, he thinks wryly. He’s a little thrilled. A little anxious. A little spirited.
Perhaps it’s divine providence that Lucky Roux fished up a floating crate that contained Buggy. If possible, Shanks wishes they didn’t find him with his body cut up and tied separately, and his face blue with swollen bruises. Had it not been for Beckman, Shanks would’ve cut the sea apart to search for who did it. Buggy never had injuries like these when he’d been by Shanks’ side.
Beckman took the reins while Lucky Roux tried to calm Shanks down and he got sent on a time-out like he was a child throwing a tantrum. Yasopp was assigned to watch Buggy in the captain’s cabin so Shanks tries to get there slowly. He might not have succeeded but he doesn’t care much about that.
“He’s in there,” Yasopp says when he sees Shanks.
Before he can walk away, Shanks holds his hand out. “The key.”
“Really, captain?” Yasopp thins his lips in disbelief, and Shanks can feel him suppress the eye roll. He digs into his trouser pocket and tosses the key he pulls out in one, swift motion. “Fine, do whatever the fuck you want. He’s a pain though so don’t say I didn’t warn you later.”
“I know how to handle him,” Shanks says in response, unperturbed.
“Whatever. You’re the boss.”
Shanks hears Yasopp’s footsteps fade away to the fo’c’sle. He stands in front of the door for a few more seconds, inhales deeply and twists the knob open. It’s dim inside and Shanks wonders why Yasopp didn’t light the lamps. Buggy’s all but shrouded in darkness. He walks in, conscious of the way the floorboards creak beneath his feet.
Shanks thinks of it as approaching a jumpy animal. Buggy was always a bit flighty. At the very least, it looks like Yasopp put Buggy back together before cuffing him. He’s on the floor, unable to move from the effects of the Sea Stone.
“Buggy? Are you okay?”
A mumble and a groan. He said something.
“What?”
Another soft groan and this time, it settles low and hot in Shanks’ belly. Buggy miserably squirms on the floor. “Off… these chains… get ‘em off…”
Oh.
Shanks drops to his knees and slots the key into the cuffs as soon as he can, freeing Buggy. It also seems like Buggy got a bit quicker these past several years because he headbutts Shanks’ chin while sitting up, sending them both to the floor, clutching their chin and forehead respectively.
“You haven’t changed…” Shanks laughs through the pain, rubbing his stubbled chin. He sits up and smiles crookedly at Buggy who’s glaring at him. His beautiful, blue hair is let down for once, cascading past his shoulders like a waterfall. “There’s other ways to visit a friend, you know? I thought we’d have a drink or something after all these years.”
“Who’s your friend?!” Buggy bites back, grabbing Shanks by the collar of his shirt. He makes a face, and Shanks does his best not to laugh. “Go drown in your whiskey by yourself, fucking drunkard!”
“Aw, come on. Don’t get angry,” Shanks says, gently covering Buggy’s hand with his own. Still so familiar, despite everything. “Can’t you be happy to see me? It’s been a long time.”
“I’m never happy to see you! And it’s only been two years!”
Only, Shanks thinks morosely. To Shanks, it isn’t ‘only’. It’s two years too many.
“You said the same thing back then too,” Buggy scoffs, kicking his shin. Shanks smiles at the gesture. He didn’t hold back with that kick but Buggy doesn’t use Armament Haki so it didn’t hurt anyway. Shanks receives it as a show of affection. “But we didn’t see each other for over twenty-two fucking years before then. Two and twenty-two must be the same to an idiot like you.”
Shanks’ smile fades. Two and twenty-two. Years.
“I wasn’t away from you,” Shanks says, clenching his jaw. “I kept up with the news. You’ve made waves on the Grand Line. I knew you would.”
Buggy’s eyes widen like he doesn’t expect to hear that. According to Shanks, Buggy has always been special. No one else ever comes close to the ludicrous luck and shameless bravado that Buggy can muster. No one else can make Shanks find qualities like those so endearing.
“W-Well, of course. We were trained on the same ship! Why would I be any less than you?!” Buggy flips him a middle finger. “I’m an Emperor too now so don’t go thinking I’m not ready to fight you!”
Fight? Shanks bites back a laugh. It’s a dear thing to hear him threaten Shanks into a duel again. They’d have so many on the Oro Jackson. Back then, Buggy won a lot of them.
The first time it happened, Shanks went weak when faced with a panting Buggy on top of him. The cold, sharp steel of the knife held to his throat, strands of zircon hair dropping to tickle Shanks’ face as that intoxicating look of euphoria overtook him at his first win. The way Buggy’s heavy-lashed eyes glimmered with joy at that moment was unforgettable. It made his body boneless.
Buggy won those duels fair and square. When Shanks is willing to lose, it makes no difference.
“So why did I find a great Emperor like you floating in a crate and not on a ship? You almost gave me a heart attack, you know.”
“Good. Get one and die.”
It doesn’t escape Shanks that Buggy didn’t answer the question. He can be tight-lipped when he really wants to be.
Shanks is more than ready to prod on about it but the ship jerks, sending Buggy sprawling over him. He catches Buggy, heart stuttering when Buggy’s face presses into his chest.
“What was that?!” Buggy gasps, lifting his head. He looks at the ceiling as if he has X-ray vision and still hasn’t noticed how close the two of them got.
Shanks’ smile widens, having an inkling of what’s going on with the way his Observation Haki flares. “We’re under attack. My crew can handle them, don’t worry.”
“Who’s worried?? Do you have brain damage or some—” Buggy pauses, his gaze meeting Shanks’ dead-on. His eyelashes are as long as Shanks remembers and he resists reaching out to brush a knuckle against them. Buggy lurches back. “Fuck! Go fight with your crew or something! I’m not your keep!”
Shanks opens his mouth to reply but hears a loud ‘Captain!’ ring out which has him getting to his feet. Looks like he’s needed after all.
“Stay here,” He tells Buggy before leaving his room.
* * *
It’s just another arrogant pirate crew that seems to think that it’s an easy ride for their captain to become Pirate King. If they’ve come this far into the New World, Shanks knows they aren’t a weak crew. But when it comes down to facing off against an Emperor of the Sea, he thinks that more pirates should have some discretion. Or a plan, at the very least.
It’s not something he wants to waste his time on though. Not after Eustass Kid.
“Get out of here.” Shanks waves them off from the deck.
“You think you have a say in this?!” One of the enemy crew, likely the captain, said, pointing the barrel of his gun at Shanks. “I’m going to take your head off.”
Yasopp’s fingers twitch in the periphery of Shanks’ gaze. One shake of his head is enough for Yasopp to call off his fire-ready hands. His crew knows what to do even without Shanks’ permission but he doesn’t want to take ridiculous things too seriously. Shanks has never been the type for that.
Shanks is about to tell them to get lost one last time when someone from the other ship approaches the captain with someone in tow. Shanks’ eyebrows furrow as he focuses on the figure.
“Captain! We found this guy on our ship!” The subordinate says, holding up someone by their hair. Blue hair.
Shanks freezes, the floor beneath his soles turning to ice as he zeroes in on the person he’d been sure he left in his bedroom. The wounds that Hongo treated are open again, his face swollen with fresh abuse. Shanks’ skin crackles, violent static zapping across his pores.
“Boss…!” He hears someone say, and his crew backs away from him.
“Wait a minute, isn’t this the Emperor Buggy the Clown?” The captain exclaims, delightedly. “Good job, you guys!”
He grabs Buggy by the hair as well, and laughs in his face. “He looks so stupid! Is this really an Emperor? How weak!”
Buggy was already injured when Shanks found him. Now, he isn’t even conscious. A cold breath escapes Shanks. Between one moment and the next, he doesn’t know when he leapt off the Red Force to slice the opposing ship in half with Gryphon.
All he’s concerned about is that he managed to secure Buggy during those brief few seconds.
* * *
“Why did you run?”
Buggy hears the question but doesn’t want to respond. His foggy mind can’t comprehend what Shanks is asking. Shanks should know better when he’s always been the one to watch over Buggy while he recovers from battle wounds. It’s Shanks again anyway, still sitting by Buggy’s bed when he’s worse for wear. Sometimes, a part of Buggy still searches for Shanks when he wakes up a little under the weather.
“Cus we’re enemeesh,” Buggy slurs, his words muffled by his swollen tongue. It hurts to talk, goddammit. “Fuck…”
Something ice-cold pressed against Buggy’s face and he jumps in his skin, eyes wildly darting to Shanks who is leaning over him with a solemn smile.
“We’ve never been enemies.” He changes the position of the ice pack. “You got yourself even more beaten up than how we found you. How did you survive all these years?”
This doesn’t usually happen! Buggy wants to yell. People revere me!
But if they’re too strong and smart enough to see through Buggy's facade, he'll run in the opposite direction.
Except he’ll keep the last part to himself. Well, he has to keep all of it to himself anyway. He can’t get out a single comfortable word for the time being. How unlucky that Buggy boarded the one pirate ship that couldn’t get fooled by his bluffing. It must be Shanks’ fault somehow. Every bad thing in his life is because of Shanks.
“I can get you back to your crew safely so stay put,” Shanks says softly. He has to lean even further over Buggy for this and their faces end up right in front of each other. For some reason, Shanks isn’t as bothered about it as Buggy is. “It’ll be fun. Just like old times, don’t you think?”
‘Fun’ my ass, Buggy thinks viciously. Shanks is starting to freak Buggy out by being nice. It made sense back when they were in the same crew with Roger and Rayleigh constantly monitoring them, but now it just cements the idea that he has some covert nefarious plan up his sleeve.
“Your crew…” Buggy grinds out arduously, “h-ate me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. And even if they do, it doesn’t matter.” Shanks shifts the ice pack back to the other cheek. It’s half-melted, going by the texture. “I don’t. My opinion is the most important one on this ship.”
The swelling has gone down a bit. Buggy’s face is numb from the cold so he just turns his face away from Shanks, determined to have this—whatever this is—stop.
He’s taken a good look around the threadbare room. Buggy can tell it belongs to Shanks with the Roger and Luffy wanted posters hung up on the wall and notes that Shanks never stopped with his dumb sentimentality. When they were kids, Buggy used to say that Shanks wouldn’t make it as a pirate with all that kindness but look at where they are now.
Buggy almost drifts off when he feels the bed dip. Shocked, he thinks he should’ve been more suspicious of how silent Shanks was the past few minutes because now, he’s getting under the covers with Buggy. This isn’t the first time they’ve slept in the same bed. On the Oro Jackson, Shanks often shared with Buggy and as the crew got bigger, the available beds got lesser and the arrangement became permanent.
It still doesn’t make sense that it’s happening now.
“Ge’ ou—”
“Get out, right?” Shanks chuckles and turns to face Buggy, pulling the blanket up higher. “You say the same things after all these years. This is my bed, you know? I have to sleep here.”
Buggy has so much to argue about that but it just figures the one time he needs his golden tongue, it feels like an apple in his mouth. Shanks can easily sleep along with the rest of his crew in their quarters but, of course, why would he when he has a perfectly private room here? Buggy wouldn’t either. Especially not with Shanks’ frightening crew. They all have a bad look in their eyes.
Shanks is sleeping on the side of his missing arm. It’s disturbing how aware Buggy is of it. He’s not used to seeing Shanks with only one arm, even though he’s known about it for years. Buggy almost mourns it. That arm had once been around Buggy’s shoulder after battles won, after parties, after goodbyes, after every change that came and went, and the only constant at the time were the two of them. One as a context for the other.
Left and right. Far and wide. Shanks and Buggy.
“It’s too bad that I don’t have my other arm,” Shanks says as if reading Buggy’s mind. He reaches out with his only hand, knuckles brushing against Buggy’s face, and Buggy’s sure Shanks has never touched him like this before. It sends goosebumps across his skin. His hand finds purchase in the long strands of Buggy’s hair. “Your hair’s as soft as ever. I bet you still take care of it for two hours every day, huh? Remember that time I tried to braid it for you?”
Braid? Buggy thinks, dryly. Shanks knotted Buggy’s hair so badly that he almost had to cut it all off and cried so much that Rayleigh spent three hours smoothening it out again.
“Never again,” Buggy tuts, surprised when the words come out intelligible.
“Don’t say that.” Shanks laughs, leaning closer. His chin hooks on Buggy’s shoulder, his warm breath hitting Buggy’s neck. He sifts Buggy’s hair between his fingers, his nails occasionally scraping against Buggy’s scalp when he repeats the motion. “I know how to braid hair now. I practised on Beck. Let me try again.”
Over my dead body! Buggy tries to say but it comes out more like, “O’er ma beb boby!”
Shanks understands anyway. He presses his nose into Buggy’s hair and sighs. “You’re cruel. You didn’t miss me at all, did you?”
Buggy doesn’t know what that has to do with anything but he would’ve agreed with Shanks if he could fucking talk. Buggy is cruel. Buggy never missed Shanks. He hates Shanks for everything. Blames him for what they became.
On the wall, Straw Hat Luffy’s face is in perfect view. He laughs, a hand over his eyes, his hair white and billowing around his head. Straw Hat Luffy. The straw hat that belonged to Shanks. The hat that once belonged to Roger.
When Shanks got it, Buggy had been jealous. He brushed it off as ‘nothing great’ even though Shanks had been elated. Shanks had been so proud of that hat yet, he gave it to Luffy.
Buggy doesn’t know if he forgives Shanks for that.
“Di’ you?” Buggy rasps softly and regrets it a moment later when his gaze slides to Shanks’ shocked face. He watches as Shanks softens, like it’s safe to be vulnerable in front of a man like Buggy. The damp look in his eyes must be because of the lamplight. Buggy tries to convince himself that it is.
Shanks swallows, his lips thinning.
There are years of things that Buggy doesn’t recognise about him anymore; the unfamiliar crease between his eyebrows. The scars over his left eye. His deep, sandy voice. The singular arm. The laughter lines. The man he’s become.
Then there are those things that haven’t changed; The way he squints his eyes when he smiles. The way he runs his fingers through Buggy’s hair. That tone he takes when he whines. And perhaps it’s because of all the similarities that Buggy can name, that he also notices the biggest difference in Shanks is how he looks at Buggy right now.
“Honestly, I guess…” Shanks says, and for a moment, Buggy forgets that he even asked that dumb question, “I missed us. We had some good times together, didn’t we?”
An understatement that Buggy can call out deaf.
Us.
The best days of their life were when they were still ‘us’. Buggy thought nothing could’ve been more terrifying than hearing Shanks say ‘yes’ to his counter-question but here Shanks is, proving him wrong again just like the day he told Buggy he wouldn’t become Pirate King. Proving that he can make Buggy agree that there was once an ‘us’ between them even if Buggy doesn’t admit it aloud.
Proving that he can do it as his eyelids flutter shut, his expression soothing into familiar day-end exhaustion that Buggy can recognise as something else that hasn’t changed about him.
Proving that he can make Buggy think he misses it too, all while falling asleep together like they used to decades ago.
* * *
“It’s not just me that thinks the boss is being weird, is it?”
Beckman is helping Roux with meal prep when Yasopp restlessly strides into the kitchen to ask that question. The juniors are scattered around, also helping with prepping the ingredients but Beckman is sure that all of their ears sharpened for this particular conversation.
“In what way?” Beckman asks in return.
“Are we living on the same ship? Do we all have eyes? Do I need to spell this out for everyone? Really?”
Beckman sighs and looks to Roux who shrugs his shoulders and returns to deboning the meat of their early morning Sea King catch. They’ve all noticed, obviously. It’s just that they all also decided that it’s not something to comment on. At least not for the time being.
It seems Yasopp is slightly more disconcerted about it.
“They’re childhood friends. It’s not that surprising,” Beckman responds, taking a cigarette out of his pocket. He lights it up and takes a deep drag, letting go of it in one breath. “Shanks spoke about him fondly before.”
“Fond? This is way more than fond,” Yasopp emphasises, lowering his voice. All their subordinates have drastically reduced the noise they’re making while cooking, proving this necessary. “I think he dragged the clown off to the bathroom. He told me to make sure no one interrupts them. What does that mean???”
“That he doesn’t want to be interrupted while bathing.” Beckman exhales tiredly and returns to peeling the potatoes, cigarette resting between his lips. “Don’t get involved, Yasopp. Shanks already decided on his goal and Buggy won’t make a difference to that. He finally managed to contact his crew this morning so he won’t be around for long anyway. Let Shanks do what he wants.”
Though Beckman has to admit, the look of disappointment on Shanks’ face when someone from Buggy’s crew actually picked up after several snail calls made Beckman a bit uncomfortable. It makes him think that Shanks isn’t planning on letting Buggy go.
“He does whatever he wants to anyway.” Yasopp frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. He hasn’t entirely accepted the situation but he’s visibly calmer. Beckman hopes the rest of the crew will be similarly easy to influence. “I don’t know why Shanks even bothers with that weakling.”
Beckman is about to tell Yasopp to watch his tongue when he sees a flash of blue through the cracks of their door. Yasopp is even keener than he is. He swerves around just a few seconds shy of Shanks slamming the door open.
It makes everyone in the room rigid.
They’ve already witnessed how furious Shanks can get over Buggy and none of them want to be on the receiving end of it. Even Beckman, who understands the workings of Shanks’ mind quite well, has to admit he was taken aback at how Shanks leaked out body-numbing Conqueror's Haki on seeing Buggy mistreated. One thing he never wants to stand against is a Shanks who is furious over a friend.
One thing he doesn’t even want to see again is a Shanks who’s furious over Buggy.
“Has anyone seen Buggy?” Shanks asks, obliviously. His shirt is thrown over his shoulder like a towel. Beckman guesses that Buggy ran away from the bathroom just as Shanks started taking off his clothes.
Beckman exchanges a look with his fellow commanders before they all chorus out, “No.”
Shanks raises a bewildered eyebrow but believes them instantly, shrugging before he leaves the kitchen. They hear him calling out for Buggy until he’s out of earshot.
They sigh together in relief.
* * *
Buggy sulks as Shanks dumps another basin of water over his head.
After all the trouble it took to escape the fate of bathing together with Shanks, here he is: back at square one again. Naked in front of an enemy, made to sit on a stool with Shanks behind him. Buggy wants to scoff. The least of Shanks' priorities is to kill Buggy, unlike his colleagues in the Cross Guild. Damn, those two. If Buggy had even twenty percent of Shanks’ battle strength then he’d—
Shanks sinks his fingers into Buggy’s hair, one-handedly massaging in the shampoo, and Buggy’s eyes close, the pressure so heavenly that he forgets what he was thinking about. He thinks he should’ve forgotten how this feels too. Instead, he’s just reminded much more clearly of how this used to go.
Shanks always loved helping him shampoo his hair. Shanks always loved his hair in general.
“Hey, why did you grow out your hair?” Shanks asks out of the blue. “I always wondered.”
“Huh? Then why are you asking now?” Buggy sneers. “You never thought of it the million other times you did this?”
“I did,” Shanks protests. Buggy can almost hear the pout in his voice. “I just kept forgetting to ask. I guess I must’ve thought that…”
“Thought what?”
“Nothing. I forgot.”
It’s too easy to snipe back. Muscle memory. “Shorter memory as you age, old man?”
“We’re the same age, Buggy. Can you just tell me? I really want to know.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait as easily as he used to. Another thing that’s changed about him. Buggy subconsciously files it away.
Buggy doesn’t remember exactly when he decided to grow it out. He once had shorter hair than Shanks. A long, long time ago. Buggy used to wear unremarkable clothing back then and, in general, tried not to stand out too much in appearance. He was stronger than other kids, even if Shanks had been better than him at fighting. It’s just that his abilities haven’t improved since he was fifteen.
His progress as a fighter frustratingly ended when his friendship with Shanks did.
Though, now that he really thinks about it, it must’ve started when Shanks shampooed his hair for the very first time. He forced Buggy to let him do it but then did it clumsily, getting suds into Buggy’s eyes. It hurt and made him so upset that they argued the whole day. Buggy almost stopped talking to him entirely until Shanks came to him with an apology the next evening.
“I just think your hair is pretty and I wanted to touch it,” he said when Buggy refused to accept the apology.
Buggy still remembers finding it funny how distressed Shanks had been. Shanks’ voice had never been so feeble and shy when talking to Buggy before then. And the compliment was flattering. Buggy wasn’t used to compliments about his appearance back then and he still isn’t. His obsession with eye-catching fashion began not long after that so he started to grow his hair out and change how he dressed, slowly but surely.
“No information without a cost,” Buggy replies, hoping to dodge the topic. “If you want to know, bring me the One Piece or something.”
“Is that all you want?”
The question is so disarming that Buggy doesn’t even understand it for a second. Appalled, he separates his head from his body and turns it around to face Shanks.
“Of course not, stupid!” Buggy yells, circling his head around Shanks who casually picks up the washcloth to begin scrubbing Buggy’s back since Buggy’s hair is no longer an option. “You’ve got some nerve! You didn’t want to become Pirate King back when Captain Roger died and now you’re okay with going for the One Piece to know why I grew my hair? Fuck you!”
He detaches one of his hands and flips Shanks off to emphasise his point. Shanks simply smiles and peacefully fills the basin with water, splashing it on Buggy’s back. They haven’t gotten in the tub yet but now, Buggy doesn’t want to.
“I’m going after it now anyway. If you want it, I don’t mind bringing it to you later.”
Of course, for Shanks, going after the One Piece is something he can easily say. The golden boy of the Roger Pirates. The Pirate King’s own protege. Someone Buggy can never match up to because, unlike Shanks, Buggy could only admit his desire to go after the One Piece in tears, after summoning up every ounce of courage he had.
Of course, he can say it while they’re bathing no less because the One Piece is Shanks’ right.
“I don’t know why Shanks even bothers with that weakling.”
The words resound in Buggy’s mind. He wishes he hadn’t heard that bastard sniper say that. He shouldn’t have tried to escape Shanks when he was just dragged back here anyway. But he also can’t let Shanks keep doing what he wants. Buggy holds the towel around his waist and stands up.
Blinking in surprise, Shanks looks between Buggy’s head and body.
“What?” He asks, confused, and that just makes Buggy angrier.
“I grew my hair out because I like being flashy, idiot! If the One Piece is worth that stupid piece of info to you, then you can fuck right off!” Buggy lets his body run away while he lets his head loiter around long enough to blow a raspberry at Shanks.
“Wait!” Shanks says, just as Buggy’s head follows after his body. “I want my back scrubbed too!”
“Do it yourself, loser!”
As if Buggy wants to stay around and play buddy-buddy with Shanks after all these years. They’re long past that phase of their lives. If Buggy had a choice, he wouldn’t be here to begin with.
Shanks used to have a way of making Buggy feel the worst about himself.
He still does.
* * *
Shanks finds Buggy on the quarterdeck later that evening. After an entire day and a half of ignoring Shanks, his body floating around every which way, Buggy finally stopped running from him.
He’s lying on the deck, looking up at the sky.
It’s strange to see him dressed in normal clothes. A red button-up and black three-fourth shorts, no gloves to speak of, no makeup, and his hair in a plain, high ponytail. Buggy looks so bare that Shanks feels the need to be extra gentle with him. He makes no effort to hide his footsteps so he knows that Buggy hears him approaching, even if he doesn’t say anything about it.
When Shanks towers over Buggy’s view of the scenery, he receives a scornful look. “Get out of the way.”
Shanks grins and drops down next to Buggy, also lying flat on his back to look at the sky.
“This is one of the things I love about being a pirate.” Shanks sighs happily. The tops of the palm trees on his ship sway in the wind. It’s peaceful. “Just wish the stars were out.”
“Stars always look better out at sea,” Buggy says, to Shanks’ surprise.
“Yeah.” Shanks stares at him, pulse quickening. “Exactly. For you too?”
“No, idiot. Why the fuck would I have dumb, sentimental thoughts like those?” Buggy side-eyes him critically, lips twisting with distaste. “You said it a long time ago while we were doing the star pointing thing. Word for word.”
“Oh. I did?”
“Yeah.”
Shanks looks back at the sky, bright brushstrokes of orange clouds streaked across a navy canvas. It’s a beautiful evening, even if the stars aren’t visible yet. “It sounds like me.”
“Because it was you. Were you listening to anything I said? You need to get your brain checked!”
Shanks laughs. “My crew says the same thing sometimes.”
“At least the other people on this ship know what they’re talking about.”
Shanks shifts his hand and feels it knock against Buggy’s. From the corner of his eye, he sees Buggy flinch. Shanks begins to retrieve his hand. Then, possessed, he doesn’t. He glances down and firmly grabs Buggy’s hand. It’s warm, and calloused from years of knife-throwing practice, no doubt. Shanks circles his thumb over one hard bump of battle-roughened skin.
“What are you doing?”
“Holding your hand.”
“I know that. Why?”
Shanks’ hand tightens around Buggy’s. They’ve both grown older. They haven’t grown enough. They’re so different now. They’re not that different. Shanks has changed a lot. Buggy hasn't much. They still know each other despite those years of white static noise in their relationship.
“Because I missed this.” The simpler times.
Buggy pinches him hard and it takes a second for Shanks to realise that he separated his other hand to achieve this feat. He slightly laments not having another hand any longer to hold that one too.
With Shanks refusing to let go, Buggy decides to slap his grip away. “Stop being so wishy-washy! That part of you always made me so frustrated! We’re not kids anymore.”
Buggy doesn't have to give the reminder. It’s something Shanks already knows. He can see it when he wakes up in the morning and catches sight of his stubble or the occasional flash of grey hair in the mirror. He sees it on Buggy, the little stress lines around his mouth. They haven’t been kids since Roger died and time keeps passing, pushing them and their dreams into a bygone era.
“What did you talk about with your crew when you called them?” He asks. He doesn’t try to hold Buggy’s hand again.
“If you didn’t leave in between, you would’ve known.” Buggy rolls his eyes. “What’s it to you anyway? Just drop me off at the next island and they’ll pick me up.”
“What’s the point?” Shanks says, a little bitterly. He doesn’t appreciate the topic. “Where were they when you fought the enemies that injured you and put you in a crate?”
Buggy splutters enough to make Shanks concerned about his throat. He looks at him curiously and sees a strange expression. Buggy’s jaw is rigid and there’s sweat beading on his forehead. Sweat on a pleasant night like this.
“That’s none of your business!” He settles on eventually.
“...Who was it that you fought anyway?” Shanks narrows his eyes, finding Buggy’s increasingly nervous face suspicious. He shuts down as he’s always done when he’s trying to hide something.
“Like I said! None. Of. Your. Business!” Buggy insists, sitting up to mercilessly jab at Shanks’ chest with a finger to punctuate each full stop.
Shanks frowns and rubs his chest once Buggy stops, also sitting up. Buggy scowls at him as usual. He used to scowl a lot at Shanks as kids too but they’d laugh together even more often. He hasn’t laughed even once since Shanks found him.
“This is a good time for a party, don’t you think?” Shanks blurts.
Buggy blinks at him, taken aback. “What?”
He puts his arm around Buggy’s shoulder—a habit he apparently hasn’t grown out of—and grins, lowering his voice conspiratorially. Like those days he and Buggy would spend discussing how to steal the adult’s alcohol stash so they could try it.
“Let’s get wasted.”
* * *
Beckman admits impromptu celebrations are more than common for the Red Hair Pirates. With the way the entire crew drinks though, he thinks this’ll be their last party until the next island stop.
Shanks dragging Buggy by the hand onto the main deck to announce a drinking party had everyone jump into action immediately. Roux quickly put racks of meat on the grill to go with the alcohol, the juniors busted out their instruments, and everyone lowered the sails to make the ship go slower for the minimal need of steering.
Usually, Shanks is the one in the middle of the party but, this time, he shares that spot with Buggy, happily urging him to drink up. Buggy gets a little merrier after a few drinks and laughingly pours booze for Shanks in return. Beckman sits further from them, tending to his own drinks. When his cup is empty he reaches for the bottle only to see it already in the air, held up by a floating hand.
He raises his eyebrows at Buggy who grins, pointing at himself with his thumb. “Let me, pal.”
Beckman doesn’t know when they became ‘pals’ but he guesses that's the wonder of alcohol.
Shanks’ laughter booms when Buggy pours the drink for Beckman, then retrieves the bottle to pour another for Shanks too. They both giggle like children, talking about things that Beckman cannot hear if he doesn’t activate his Observation Haki. He doesn’t want to hear it either. Especially when it’s so clear that the whole reason Shanks organised this is to please Buggy.
Yasopp sits down next to him. For a minute, he just drinks silently. They watch Shanks and Buggy chat non-stop, laughing at old jokes that none of them have context for. It’s the happiest they’ve seen Shanks since Luffy’s first wanted poster was released.
“You still think this is just him being fond?” Yasopp asks. He doesn’t sound angry or unhappy but he’s unnaturally serious. “Everyone sees it. I do too. There’s no way you don’t. We’re Shanks’ oldest mates.”
He’s right. Beckman does see it. He just doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to accept what it could mean for their crew. He wants to believe that this is something passing that won’t affect Shanks’ goal to claim the One Piece in the long run.
“It’s not something temporary,” Yasopp states almost as if he read Beckman’s mind. “I’ve been there. It's a long story for Shanks. I don’t even want to know how long.”
He stares at Buggy and Shanks. They’re still talking excitedly, Buggy getting angry with Shanks in between and grabbing his collar irritably to which Shanks just laughs and manages to calm him down until they’re both chuckling again. They may continue this cyclical interaction until one or both of them pass out. It must be an intricate tale to Yasopp’s experienced eyes.
Beckman sips his drink.
“...That is the most disturbing part of it, isn’t it?” He says slowly, the words feeling foreign. He can’t believe he’s discussing this. “That we don’t know.”
“They’ve apparently known each other their whole lives,” Yasopp inserts, unhelpfully.
It’s like he’s insinuating that Shanks has been like this with Buggy his whole life.
Beckman downs another cup.
* * *
Shanks stumbles into his room with Buggy in tow. He laughs when Buggy tells another Oro Jackson story that Shanks only vaguely remembers until Buggy gives a more detailed explanation.
He goes to great lengths to recount when Roger tried to arm wrestle a giant squid. It was definitely not the best of his ideas. Shanks doesn’t know how the event completely slipped his mind.
“Crocus really gave it to Captain Roger that day… Gave him good. Shit. Even Taro thought he deserved it!”
“And Taro—he was always the first to defend Captain too!” Shanks adds, his drunk-hazy mind feeding him all the extra memories he hasn’t tapped into for a while.
“Egg—Exactly!” Buggy sways over to the bed. He hiccups a laugh when he sits down. Shanks isn’t in perfect shape either. He might’ve gone a little overboard with the drinks too.
Then again, what’s the point of a party unless you’re drunk enough? He chuckles and unclasps his cloak, letting it fall to the floor. He’s too lazy to think about hanging it up.
He staggers a bit when he sees Buggy pull off his hair tie. Shanks’ hair usually stays in the shape it’s tied in for a while if he makes no effort to smoothen it out. Buggy’s hair flows down like a river. It looks heavy despite how every strand glistens like a feather-light silk thread. He doesn’t even know when he began running his fingers through it again.
Buggy eyes him but doesn’t protest.
Shanks gets a little bolder. He lowers his hand to the back of Buggy’s neck.
He stays silent.
Shanks sits down next to him. Buggy looks at him. All his smiles have disappeared now. There’s groggy curiosity in his expression. The scent of stale alcohol floats around them. They’re both drunk.
“I think your hair is… beau—tiful,” Shanks says, fumbling his words a little.
“I know.” Buggy exhales drowsily, closing his eyes. The first time they drank together, they were fourteen. Buggy fell asleep peacefully after briefly being wildly energetic, just like he did today. Another thing that hasn’t changed. “You told me…when we were brats, you told me the same thing...kinda the same.”
“I did?” Shanks asks, unable to recall. Though, it’s never been a secret anyway, even if he didn’t word it out. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Buggy’s temple. His mind clears a little. “There are other things I like. About you.”
That makes Buggy laugh as if he thinks it’s a joke. A drunken hiccup escapes him and he throws an arm around Shanks’ shoulder, patting his chest once, twice. “Oh yeah? Go ahead, praise me and make…make it flashy.”
“How do I make it flashy?” Shanks chuckles. He looks right at Buggy’s face. Unfamiliar. Familiar. “I’ll just say it…I like your eyelashes…they’re long. And blue.”
Buggy’s face scrunches. He hiccups again but the intervals are getting longer. “All my hair is blue—is that all? Eyelashes are dumb.”
He’s about to take his arm off but Shanks leans closer and Buggy leaves it there. He squints at Shanks, blinking away as Shanks brings a thumb to his lower lashes, brushing over them lightly.
“I think they’re beautiful,” Shanks insists, confident his opinion is correct. He speaks slower, trying to make sure his words don’t garble. “And I like your nose.”
Buggy’s expression sharpens and he bares his teeth at Shanks. “So that’s where this was going, huh?! Go on, say what you really think of…of my nose, you fucker!”
His hands detach to grab Shanks’ collar and he hits Shanks with his handless arms. Shanks can't help grinning. “M’kay. Your nose is cute.”
“Huh?! You’re still making fun of me—okay, pretty boy, outside! Let’s settle this with…”
Buggy trails off when Shanks leans forward to kiss his nose. He stares at Shanks, his jaw slackening. A few seconds pass with him frozen in place so Shanks kisses his nose again.
“See? Cute.” Shanks nods to himself. Buggy doesn’t say anything so he must understand by now.
“Did you just—”
“Stay here.”
Buggy falls into disbelieving silence.
Shanks tucks a lock of hair behind Buggy’s ear and buries his fingers in those waves, holding Buggy’s face. He sees something flit through Buggy’s eyes. Confusion. Suspicion. Irritation. And maybe just a little affection—perhaps entirely Shanks’ wishful thinking.
“Get your hand off,” He commands.
“Ask anything else from me,” Shanks pleads softly. But his willingness to be pliant has Buggy dragging him by the shirt and shoving him against the wall roughly. Shanks lets himself get manhandled.
“What are you playing at, bastard? You're up to something!” Buggy's fist twists in his shirt. Shanks’ head hangs but he meets Buggy’s gaze head-on. He allows himself to get trapped there. “Are you deliberately making this ship go at a snail's pace??? I’ll fucking fly off with just half my body if I have to! I’m not going to be your prisoner!”
“I don’t want you as my prisoner. Or my subordinate.” Shanks is sobering up, and he wishes he drank a bit more. He doesn’t want to do this lucidly but he has no choice anymore. Buggy’s threat of leaving right now feels genuine. “That was never our relationship.”
“So what? Doesn’t mean things won’t change! No—I’m not even considering it!”
“Everything already changed when you left me alone in Loguetown.”
Buggy stills over Shanks. He hasn’t realised that he’s practically sitting in Shanks’ lap but right now, neither cares. They’ve avoided the topic so carefully and here it is, out to air again, after all they’ve done to pretend like they’ve moved on. To pretend like the past is in the past.
“It changed because of you,” Buggy grinds out. He’s wearing a similar expression to that day. Shanks had seen the disappointment back then too. “You’re not the only one who was alone.”
Shanks has thought of it before too. When he sailed from Loguetown, island to island, searching for something. A place to belong. A home. A person. When he looked out at the setting sun and then at the starry sky, the search had to continue.
The nights were the worst because they reminded him of Buggy, the jokes they shared and laughed at, their hopeful midnight conversations of the future carrying well into the morning, and a warm body against Shanks’ when he couldn't fall asleep.
He always wondered if Buggy thought of him too during those nights.
“You also want to go after the One Piece, don’t you?” Shanks asks. Buggy’s face twitches, and he averts his eyes for a moment. Then he looks back at Shanks, courage pouring out from him. He can be brave when he wants to. He’s just never been brave in front of Shanks. He never needed to.
“I’m going to get it.” Buggy clenches his jaw. It took visible effort to say that. “You gave away Captain’s hat to some kid you met in the East Blue. I won’t ever forgive that!”
Shanks doesn’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. He just knows that Buggy plans to leave him again. It’s something he saw coming but having confirmation of it makes him snap.
“Then we’re enemies as soon as you leave.” The words just tumble out of him and Shanks surprises himself.
“That’s obvious! We agreed on that a long time ago!”
There's a chill in Shanks’ veins. He hasn’t survived the Grand Line by being a pushover and instinct overtakes him.
“...You don’t know what you’re talking about. I never treated you like an enemy. If I did—” In a swift motion, Shanks pins Buggy to the bed, towering over him menacingly. He coldly stares into Buggy’s rounded eyes. His hand is half on Buggy’s shoulder, holding him down, while his thumb presses into the tender hollow of Buggy’s neck. “—then you wouldn’t have the guts to stand against me.”
A look he’s never seen on Buggy makes Shanks ease the pressure of his thumb. It takes him a moment before he identifies that expression—terror. And Buggy scares easily but never when he’s with Shanks. Never because of Shanks.
“G-Get off me,” He stutters.
Shanks does, at once. The reality of what he just did comes crashing down on him with all the destructive weight of an avalanche even before Buggy kicks him all the way off, his body detaching in different directions.
“Buggy, wait, I’m so—!”
Buggy doesn’t look back at him. He throws the door open to escape from Shanks.
To escape Shanks.
Buggy feels threatened by Shanks. Shanks threatened Buggy.
* * *
“Are you avoiding Shanks?” Beckman asks, unnecessarily.
Beckman’s office is the only hiding spot that Buggy can use after exhausting all his other options. Shanks kept trying to find Buggy after what happened last night. Buggy will keep running from him.
“He’s annoying,” Buggy responds, pulling his legs further under the table as if it’ll conceal him any better. “I’m staying here until we reach an island.”
Beckman raises a cool eyebrow which makes Buggy lower his voice meekly. “...Please?”
“Sure.” Beckman shrugs and goes back to his accounting. He seems like the smartest one in the crew so it doesn’t look out of place to see him wearing glasses while he jots down whatever he’s keeping tally of. “I don’t mind, but this is just a pirate ship. You can’t go too long without seeing everyone on it at some point. Especially not someone who knows you’re in this room.”
Buggy is about to ask how Beckman’s so sure that Shanks knows his whereabouts but then he remembers about Observation Haki. How did he forget that Shanks has that annoying ability? Most of his crew does, likely.
“Shanks can do anything he wants to,” Beckman says with such confidence that Buggy finds himself jealous. How many from his crew—his crew that really know him—can say anything about him with such casual confidence unless it’s to insult him? “The reason you still have a choice is because Shanks wants you to have it. Remember that.”
It’s a well-needed reminder.
Even without being trapped by the ocean, Buggy is disadvantaged. A crew full of big bounties, an Emperor who actually earned his title, a pirate ship that’s not his wherein Buggy has to sneak his hands out to retrieve food from the kitchens—it’s miserable. He’s pretty much stuck with Shanks until they reach an island.
Shanks, who trapped Buggy under his weight, threatening to choke him. As much as Buggy has picked fights with Shanks, he’s never really thought Shanks would hurt him. Buggy hates how it keeps repeating in his brain: He has never believed Shanks would hurt him. It’s pathetic beyond anything. How does he still trust Shanks that much after so many years? After so much distance and history and hurt.
Buggy wasn’t afraid of him back in the captain’s cabin, either. He was shocked, flooded with unadulterated disbelief and most of all, he was terrified that he may not know Shanks as well as he thought. But not terrified of Shanks himself.
Somehow, never of Shanks.
He only finds himself upset, alone, and now hiding in the crow’s nest like he always does when he fights with Shanks.
Did. Not ‘does’.
Because this time, Rayleigh isn’t here to sort the mess, Crocus isn’t here to show his disapproval, Tom isn’t here to jovially help them smooth things over, Gaban isn't here to scoff at them, Roger isn’t here to forcefully make them shake hands and make up and none of their old crew is around to laugh at them for being stupid kids.
And they aren’t stupid kids anymore. Just stupid adults.
Someone jumps into the crow's nest that Buggy’s been occupying for sleep since the night before. An unwelcome presence.
He sits still, eyes focusing on anything but the intruder. It’s suffocating how his self-preservation hasn't kicked in, even though Shanks had used his Conqueror’s Haki on Buggy to subdue him just last night.
Slowly, he lifts his gaze, then pauses.
It’s like he’s transported back in time. Shanks stands in front of Buggy, head lowered apologetically, a blanket in hand. Buggy doesn’t say anything and neither does he. They know how this goes: Buggy won’t make room for Shanks but he’ll find a way to carve out a space next to Buggy anyway. He’ll cover them with the blanket over their heads and everything, and they’ll sit.
Just sit until they see a star twinkle.
“That one sparkled,” Shanks says, pointing up.
“I didn’t see it,” Buggy lies.
“Really?”
“No, I lied, idiot.”
Shanks doesn’t say anything so Buggy glances at him warily. He has one eyebrow raised at Buggy, an amused smile gracing his lips. Stupid Shanks. He looks handsome no matter what he does. Just another way that Buggy can never win against him.
“Well, I can’t get mad. I’ve lied to you before,” Shanks admits. Buggy doesn’t get to ask about what because Shanks drops his head on Buggy’s shoulder. His heart skips a beat and he’s hyper-aware of it in the seconds that follow. A running tempo. “You don’t have to worry about standing against me. I won’t touch you even if you do.”
“You are a disgrace of a pirate,” Buggy grumbles. “Again and again…I already know that you can easily destroy me.”
“I won’t.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
Shanks exhales heavily, his hair tickling Buggy’s chin. “Yeah,” he says, “I am.”
They look up at the sky, Shanks still leaning against Buggy. A breeze blows past them, and Canopus twinkles.
“There,” both of them say at the same time, pointing up. Their hands knock together, and they turn to each other.
A beat.
Buggy will later maintain that Shanks started first, but right now, as they both dissolve into chuckles, it doesn’t really matter.
It’s dumb. It’s nostalgic. They’re just two men soaking in the small joys of the past. Buggy forgot those little moments of happiness for a long time. Of course, the only person able to remind him is the one who was there with him the first time around.
It takes Shanks’ laughter fading out for him to see—really see—the way Shanks is looking at him. His throat goes dry, every laugh dying off within him.
Shanks looks at Buggy’s ponytail, falling over his shoulder, and Buggy knows even before he reaches out that he plans to touch it. He watches as Shanks twirls his blue hair with his fingers. He can’t help himself. He’s never been able to, but it’s gotten worse.
“I never asked why you grew your hair out,” Shanks says, and Buggy thinks he’s repeating a tired question until he continues, “because I thought we had time.”
He’s continuing the conversation they had a few days ago. Buggy furrows his brow. “For what?”
“Anything…everything.” Shanks’ eyes meet his. They glimmer, and Buggy’s stomach swoops. “The future was far away back then. I wasn’t ready to stop sailing with you so soon.”
“You said yourself a long time ago that people as different as us should go our separate ways.”
“Yeah. But I guess my brain and my heart just didn’t agree when it came down to making that decision.”
“What are you talking about?” Buggy sighs, tired of trying to decode Shanks’ words. “I still can’t understand the shit you say! We’re really incompatible.”
“You think?” Shanks smiles placatingly. He pulls the blanket tighter around them. “Buggy, have you ever thought about what you’ll do once this is all over?”
“What? This short trip on your stupid ship?”
“...Yasopp talks about going home,” Shanks says, looking at the sky, and Buggy falls silent. He realises Shanks is talking about after…everything. However long that ‘everything’ takes to come. “He wants to be with his family. A lot of my crew says they’ll go home once the adventures are done.”
“Some crew…” Buggy can’t resist quipping. “Already talking about the end? You’re more pitiful than I thought.”
Shanks huffs a laugh. “Well, I can’t say I haven’t thought about it, too. After I see Laugh Tale, what then? Do I go home?”
“We’re both orphans raised on a pirate ship. When the hell did you get a home?” Buggy scoffs. He expects Shanks to laugh or explain. He doesn’t expect Shanks to look at him, his smile turning solemn. Buggy isn’t familiar with this smile.
He thinks he asked a bad question.
On the sea, sailors tend to face the direction of their homes when they talk about it. It’s easy to do when the horizon surrounds you. Buggy’s own crew do it so he knows that home is the direction they face when they have somewhere they belong.
But Shanks looks right at Buggy when he talks of it, his earthy eyes melting into deep pools of warmth. “I’ve had one for a long time now.”
Even once Buggy thinks he’s figured it out, he believes he’s wrong.
This is Shanks. He’s known Shanks for years. They were crewmates while growing up and enemies for the rest of it. Shanks is handsome, powerful and fearless, and Buggy is none of those things. He knows that he’s misunderstanding something because, after all, Buggy is no match for Shanks.
He averts his gaze. The way that Shanks is looking at him is petrifying. Even more than the way he looked at Buggy the night before. He was at his bravest back when he still fought for the Roger Pirates with Shanks. Since leaving Loguetown, though, he's been a coward.
“Don’t look away.” A large, rough hand frames Buggy’s jaw, guiding his eyes back to Shanks’. He isn’t smiling anymore. The blanket slips off, exposing them to the cold, ocean air. “You’re going to leave me as soon as you can, aren’t you?”
Buggy gulps but doesn’t answer. He’s not stupid enough to agree or disagree on an enemy ship. Shanks already knows the answer either way because his jaw visibly tightens in the wan moonlight. His hand moves to the back of Buggy’s neck.
“Then look at me while you’re here.”
He leans forward. It’s slow, he doesn’t use any Haki, and gives Buggy enough room to escape if he wants to. Shanks is giving him a choice, and yet, Buggy’s sure that if he leaves now, he might break something in Shanks. He looks at Shanks and remembers a boy he knew long ago. In some ways, he remains.
And Buggy’s always had a bit of a soft spot for that boy, no matter how much he’s tried to convince himself otherwise.
He squeezes his eyelids shut, shrinking in on himself as he feels Shanks’ breath ghost over his mouth, waiting. He chuckles, and it irritates Buggy into opening his eyes.
Shanks takes this small window of opportunity to tilt his head and press a quick kiss to Buggy’s cheek.
Buggy gapes at him, but Shanks grins joyfully, like he just stole something of great value. It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid that he’s satisfied with something like this.
“You should’ve seen your face!” Shanks leans back. His teasing expression turns fond. “Thank you. But you don’t have to force yourself with me.”
He closes his eyes and tips his head up to let the breeze brush his face. Buggy hates people as beautiful as Shanks. Especially when they act like they can't have something that's not good enough to be theirs in the first place. Call it an inferiority complex, if necessary—but that’s exactly why it sounds even crazier to him.
“Are you a fucking pirate or not?!” Buggy hisses, more pissed off than he should be. His hands fly to Shanks’ collar, shaking him furiously. Shanks blinks with wide eyes, head bobbing back and forth from the force. “Since when do pirates wait for permission to claim unguarded goods??? If you want something from me, then take it while I’m still willing to give it!!”
The look on Shanks’ face shifts. A dawning realisation.
Buggy’s face burns. He just said something he can't take back. Shanks’ wide, astonished eyes search his own. He wishes he had any sort of make-up on to hide behind, but he’s bare-faced and armour-stripped. Shanks can see every shift of emotion on his face. He knows what each one means.
Only he would.
And then Buggy is pulled towards him, stumbling till his nose hits Shanks’ chest, and he has half a mind to screech about the pain, but Shanks grabs his jaw and tilts his face up. He’d been so careful with Buggy before, but the moment he's given the go-ahead, Shanks seizes it with all the ferocity of a starving dog.
He crushes their lips together, kissing Buggy feverishly, hand on the back of his head, holding him still while Shanks claims his grounds. His mouth is eager, insistent, and Buggy tries to keep up, but he can’t.
Shanks kisses like an overflowing dam. An exploding star. A volcanic eruption. The Knock Up Stream. He gives and gives and gives, and as much of a taker as Buggy is, he’s still overwhelmed, filled to the brim, hands grappling at Shanks’ shirt to anchor himself.
He gasps in a much-needed breath when Shanks pulls off briefly. “Breathe through your nose,” is his only warning before Shanks dives back in, capturing Buggy’s lips again. His hot tongue pushes past the seams of Buggy’s mouth, and it gets more and more difficult to follow that simple instruction.
Buggy isn’t a man with any experience in this field. Shanks clearly is.
There’s a tug at the back of Buggy’s head, loosening his ponytail till his hair falls loose, tumbling in waves over his back and around his face. Shanks digs his fingers between the locks, softening the kiss. Buggy pants when Shanks’ lips stray, moving to his jaw, down his neck. His face is on fire, and his vision has gone blurry, but he’s thankful that they’re far above the deck, so whatever happens here will remain here.
“Your hair looks like water,” Shanks says, pulling away, and Buggy’s pleased to note that he isn’t entirely unaffected. His lips are swollen and embarrassingly shiny with their shared saliva. His chest heaves faintly, his voice breathy. “Why don’t you at least leave your head here with me if you want to go?”
Buggy scowls, overcome with indignation. “As if! How am I supposed to do anything without my whole body around!? If I’m going, every part of me is!”
“Then should I go with you too?”
He opens his mouth to retort when the meaning of those words sinks in. Silence falls between them, and when Shanks simply smiles, Buggy doesn’t know how to take it. Does Shanks mean all his words or—
“Just kidding. Don't look so serious!” He puts a hand up in surrender, and of course, Buggy thought so.
He’d actually been waiting for that revelation, and now that it’s out, he should breathe out a sigh of relief, but—
But what?
Buggy slaps Shanks’ hand away, infusing as much spite as he can into his jibes. “Duh, you're kidding! What would you even do if you came with me? You’ll just drag me down. I’ll let your crew suffer you as they should! I already had enough of you on the Oro Jackson anyway.”
“Ah, that hurts!” Shanks places a hand on his chest in mock pain, grinning at Buggy sunnily. It pulls at Buggy’s heart, wringing it like it’s nothing more than a wet rag. “But I haven’t had enough of you yet, so what should I do?”
The gall to say that. Shanks has lost his sense of shame to speak like that without batting an eye.
Buggy flushes, humiliated at finding himself so swayed and disappointed. He wants to kick himself. Shanks was obviously joking around, but for a brief, negligible second, Buggy almost—almost wanted it. And everyone knows how things go when Buggy is the one who wants something. Most of all, himself.
“What do I care? Go get your heart attack and die already!”
He’s ready to dispatch his body parts into different directions and let his legs follow later, but Shanks picks up on his plans quickly. He grabs Buggy’s wrist, and the barest hint of Armament Haki stops Buggy from separating. He glares at Shanks poisonously.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Shanks pulls him, and Buggy nearly hits his nose somewhere again, but manages to steady himself by wrapping his arms around Shanks’ neck.
“Fuck!” He says, letting go, which makes him unsteady again.
Shanks snickers like Buggy is performing a comedy script. “What are you doing? Here, this way.”
He helps Buggy land soundly beside him again. Shanks wordlessly smiles at him as he adjusts his position, and it feels strange. After everything, it’s just back to star-watching.
He sees Pollux twinkle, and Shanks points at it. “Pollux! You told me the name of that one, remember?”
“I have a better memory than you. Of course, I do,” Buggy grunts. His heart hasn’t calmed down since kissing Shanks, and he doesn’t think it will anytime soon. He doesn’t know how to bring it up either, so he just stews in the anxiety that something—or maybe nothing—will come out of it.
“I remember the names pretty well now, by the way.”
“Whatever.”
“I can point out constellations, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Want to kiss again?” Shanks asks, and Buggy nearly says ‘sure’ but catches himself.
His heart pounds, and he tries to hide it behind his glower. He stands up. “No. The sky’s getting fucking lighter. I’m going to bed! Since you're here anyway, you stay watch.”
Shanks exclaims in disbelief. “Wha—”
“And you can braid my hair tomorrow since you wanted to so badly. Don’t fuck it up.”
That shuts him up. His eyes glow like a kid with candy, and Buggy doesn’t wait for him to get another word in. He jumps down from the crow’s nest, letting his body disperse, his feet slowly making they’re way down via the rope ladders.
He reassembles himself at the base of the mast and looks up to see Shanks leaning over the edge, arm folded over the wood, staring at Buggy. He waves from where he is.
Buggy sticks his tongue out at him before going to the captain’s cabin.
Tomorrow, he’ll pretend like he managed to sleep.
* * *
Neither Shanks nor Buggy slept much last night, and Beckman sees it plain on their faces when they turn up at the galley for breakfast. Buggy volunteered for the night watch to avoid Shanks, so Beckman has an idea of what must’ve happened for Shanks to be the one to descend from the crow’s nest instead.
Another thing he notices, almost immediately, is the reduced distance between them. Where just yesterday Buggy was ducking at the very sight of Shanks—and before that, just keeping a decent distance—now he doesn’t care. Shanks sits close to Buggy as they eat breakfast, picking out the blueberries from his pancakes to toss onto Buggy’s plate, which he eats automatically.
A mechanical habit if Beckman has ever seen one.
“Why blueberries?” Shanks sulks, tossing another one to Buggy. “Roux! No more blueberries on this ship!”
“They’ve been in the freezer for ages! And you’re the only one here who doesn’t like them,” Roux shoots back, chomping down on a rack of roasted meat. “Why’d you take the pancakes? There’s other stuff.”
“I still like pancakes! Just not the fruit in them.”
The back-and-forth continues until Buggy flicks one of the blueberries from his plate into Shanks’ mouth as he talks. It devolves into a short choking fi,t which Buggy takes great delight in. He chortles into his palm at Shanks, who struggles to swallow it down.
Yasopp chuckles, coming into the galley. “Well, that’s mature.”
Beckman scoffs. He watches Shanks slump defeatedly when Buggy keeps laughing, ribbing him for being ‘bested by a berry’. Shanks usually ignores strangers who treat him like that and gets back at his friends when they do, but Buggy doesn’t get either treatment.
Buggy gets an endearing gaze and a helplessly besotted smile. A look that isn't returned, much less noticed by him.
“Why him?” Beckman and Yasopp say simultaneously, equally disturbed.
They look at each other in surprise.
Yasopp tuts. “Well, guess we’re on the same page.”
“Not entirely.” Beckman takes a cigarette out and lights it up.
Yasopp is taking out some mild distaste on Buggy purely for how much Shanks seems to like him. But that’s exactly why Beckman knows he and Yasopp think of it differently. Beckman doesn’t get what Shanks likes about Buggy, but he understands that loving someone isn’t always tied to the type of person they are.
There’s a bond with Buggy that runs in Shanks’ veins, and nothing they do can change that.
“Well?” Yasopp prompts, after a few seconds of silence.
“Well, nothing. I’m not exactly on your page, but I don’t think Buggy can stay here any longer.”
“So we are on the same page.”
“Like I said,” Beckman patiently intones, observing the way Shanks gently twirls the ends of Buggy’s ponytail with his fingers. The hand of a deadly pirate, handling something lovingly, “not entirely.”
* * *
Leaving Shanks to do his hair was a mistake. Buggy shouldn’t have trusted him.
“What do you think?” Shanks asks proudly, puffing his chest out.
He really did tie the braid himself, one-handed, with the help of multiple hair ties and all. Buggy doesn’t know how much practice that must’ve taken and wonders if Beckman cut his hair because Shanks kept using him for it. If so, Buggy can understand.
He stares at his reflection in the handheld mirror, flabbergasted, and pulls forward the lovely, princess braid that Shanks styled. The locks twirled around each other in deceivingly loose, complicated twists, adorned with several floral ornaments.
Shanks is annoyingly pleased with himself for the shit he pulled. “I’m pretty good, right?”
Around them, the Red Hair pirates all pass by with faces going crimson from barely holding in their laughter. From a little distance away, Beckman extends Buggy a sympathetic look and—oh, yeah. He has been through this.
“It looks great,” Beckman tries unsuccessfully and shrugs when Buggy scowls at him. The sniper, Horse-opp or something, walks up to him and says something to Beckman in a hushed voice, pulling him away from the deck. Beckman shortly goes, leaving Buggy alone to deal with unsympathetic cackles from the rest of the crew.
He narrows his eyes at Shanks, who keeps grinning. It’s terrible because he is good, but in the most horrible way. This looks like the sort of braid that high-society young ladies wear.
“What the fuck? Who did you practice this for?!” Buggy yells, his detached hands grabbing Shanks’ collar. “Your goddamn daughter??!”
The crew stills, eyes going wide in surprise. Shanks looks mildly surprised for a moment too, bewildering Buggy about the strange reaction.
“Well…not just her,” he says. “She does love these sorts of braids, though.”
Buggy blinks. “What?”
“You already told him about Uta, boss?” One of his crew yells. “Man, you don’t keep a single secret from him!”
“Hey!” Shanks exclaims, offended. “I didn’t tell him about her. He figured it out! Am I supposed to lie?”
“Yes!” The entire crew choruses back. Even those who aren’t on the main deck pop their heads out to yell it.
Buggy starts to understand, but even then, he’s disoriented. The revelation kicks him in the gut, more fierce than any of the ones he’s received. He loosens his hold on Shanks’ collar, eyebrows furrowing.
“No wonder this is how you do braids,” Buggy says, trying to keep his voice level. His throat has gone dry. “Huh. Wonder what poor woman had your kid.”
His voice cracks slightly at the end. Shanks raises an eyebrow and has the nerve to look confused. Buggy wants to hide. He detaches his torso by the waist and flies off without another word.
Having nowhere to really go, he ends up in the captain’s cabin, vexed enough that he wants to rip out the braids Shanks did. His hands fly to his hair, ready to pull them out. Then he pauses, unable to go through with it.
The door creaks open, his legs running in to reunite with the rest of his body. Following close behind is Shanks, obliviously scratching the back of his head.
“What’s wrong?” Shanks asks, eyebrows raising when Buggy turns on him with a venomous look. “Did I…do something?”
“Yes. Living,” he spits. “Do me a favour. Go eat a Devil Fruit and take a high dive into the sea!”
“Alright, I did something. Got it—”
Buggy pulls out a knife and throws it at his head. Shanks dodges effortlessly, letting the blade fly past his ear and lodge into the wall. He doesn’t even flinch, damn him.
“This whole time, it didn’t occur to you to tell me you have a wife and daughter?! You’re more of a bastard than I thought!”
“Whoa—Whoa, wait! What are you talking about? I don’t have a wife!” Shanks yells, dodging a barrage of knives that Buggy throws at him, and catching one between Haki-hardened fingers. He lets it fall to the floor. “I adopted Uta!”
Buggy pauses, a new set of knives ready for attack between his knuckles.
Shanks takes the opportunity to explain further. “We found her in a treasure chest after a raid, and I couldn’t leave her alone, so I raised her on this ship for a few years.”
“A few years?” Buggy repeats, brow wrinkling, “What happened to her?”
“Well, I couldn’t let her stay as a pirate, could I?” Shanks says, flippantly, but there’s love in his eyes. Reminiscence. And apparently, there are big changes that occurred during these twenty blank years in their relationship. “I want her to find her own path. I’m ready to pick her up anytime if she ever feels like sailing again. Besides, maybe once I retire, we can settle down on an obscure island somewhere and she can come and go as she wants, out of the government’s eye.”
Shanks looks at Buggy as he says ‘we’, and it’s almost like he’s making plans for all three of them. A ludicrous thought. One that he doesn’t want to confirm, so he holds himself back from asking questions.
What is she like?
Where is she now?
Have you ever told her about us?
Only there isn’t an ‘us’. Just some memories.
“Do whatever you want. It has nothing to do with me if you’re so keen on retiring.” Buggy drops his knives and goes to the bed, kicking his shoes off. “I’m taking a nap, so scoot off to play with your crew or something.”
He keeps his back facing Shanks as he lies down, hoping it’ll be enough to send him out the door with boredom. The braid Shanks made will get messed up, but it’s fine. It’s not something that’ll stay forever. Not much about them has.
He’s waiting with closed eyes for the door to creak open and close, but instead, he feels a familiar dip of the mattress. He stiffens when a strong arm wraps around him, pulling him till his back is flush against a firm, broad chest. A cold nose nuzzles at his nape and, mostly out of reflex, he elbows the body behind him in the gut.
“Oof!” Shanks puffs out in surprise and then laughs against Buggy’s neck. “Wow, you could’ve been gentler.”
“I could’ve been rougher if you can still laugh like that,” Buggy sneers, trying to wriggle out of Shanks’ grip. “Let me go!”
“No,” Shanks says, and it surprises Buggy enough to stop moving.
Ever since he boarded this ship, Shanks hasn’t refused him anything. It’s almost strange to hear him say ‘no’ now. He presses his face into the curve of Buggy’s neck and exhales hotly. The sensation sends tingles to the tips of Buggy’s toes.
Then, almost shockingly, he presses an open-mouthed kiss there, scraping his teeth lightly against the thin skin of Buggy’s throat.
“Wait, wait.” Buggy panics, squirming in Shanks’ embrace. “What are you doing?!”
“Nothing,” Shanks murmurs, growing bolder as he drags his kisses to Buggy’s jaw, the friction of his stubble raising goosebumps in its wake. “Go to sleep.”
“No one can sleep soundly with mosquitoes around!” Buggy detaches his hands to pull at the back of Shanks’ shirt, trying to pull him off, but goddamn, he’s heavy. “Stop already! What are you trying to do?!”
Buggy makes the mistake of turning around because now, Shanks’ face is right in front of him. And they haven’t been this close since the night before.
The memories of it flood Buggy’s mind again.
There’s something here, with roots as ancient as the sea, rearing its tender bud above the soil after centuries of dormancy. It's an old tree blooming for the first time; a phoenix egg, hatching once again. A millennial record with a new entry. Yet nothing new all by itself.
Because between Buggy and Shanks, new is rare.
Shanks leans over Buggy, their foreheads nearly touching. His pupils are blown wide, so dark that Buggy can barely see the gold flecks that always enchanted him as a child. The scars over his left eye are a merciless presence. Another chapter in his life that Buggy hasn’t been a witness to.
“I’m being a pirate,” Shanks replies, his forearm settling beside Buggy’s head, bearing all of his weight, “and taking what I want.”
Buggy only just figures out what Shanks is implying, face reddening in response, when his body presses down, followed by his lips on Buggy’s.
Unlike last night, Shanks takes his time kissing Buggy. He moves his mouth slowly, languidly, learning the creases and curves. His warm tongue gently prods at Buggy’s sealed mouth, coaxing it to relax. It’s probably because of his inexperience that Buggy automatically opens under him, lying helpless as Shanks—true to his word—takes what he wants.
He’s gentle about it, though. It has Buggy wondering if anyone else has ever treated him like this, and he draws up blank, only receiving memories of ruthlessness and pain. Shanks is the only person in the entire world to touch him this softly. He always has been. He may always be.
Shanks’ lips curl against Buggy’s, and it takes that for Buggy to realise that he began to kiss back at some point. He promptly wrenches his mouth away, but Shanks doesn’t get discouraged. He simply kisses any patch of skin he gets, and in this case, it’s Buggy’s cheek. He nips and sucks like a largely harmless New World insect, and if Buggy closes his eyes, he can imagine that’s exactly what he is.
An annoying bug in a handsome package.
“I’ll take it.” Shanks chuckles. “I don’t even mind being called a bug if you think I'm handsome.”
Buggy slaps his hands over his mouth. He said that out loud? He can't believe he said that out loud. And Shanks heard it.
“I didn't say that!” He exclaims, his voice muffled by his palms.
“Of course you did.” Shanks raises a smug eyebrow. His smirk is almost unbearable to look at. “How handsome do you think I am anyway? Most handsome guy you know?”
Now he's getting ahead of himself. Give a man an inch and he'll take a mile.
“You misheard me.” Buggy decides he’ll deny everything. “I didn’t say ‘handsome’. I said ‘bothersome’!”
Shanks frowns petulantly. “No, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did!”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No!” Shanks grins and bites Buggy’s nose.
Jolting, Buggy yelps and tries to push Shanks off him. He kicks and scratches, but nothing bothers Shanks. He just laughs as usual and kisses Buggy, swallowing every curse Buggy readied to spit out at him.
“If you try to deny it,” Shanks mumbles against his lips, “I’ll bite your nose again.”
Fuck him. Buggy hates him. No one except Shanks would dare to do something like this. His breath comes short, though, and he can’t voice his displeasure. His mind starts spinning, and maybe it’s his lack of sleep from the night before, but his body refuses to listen to him anymore.
“You… idiotic…don’t make fun of my nose…” Buggy breathes, the lack of air going to his head. “Let me sleep already…”
At some point, Buggy starts feeling comfortable, though. It’s the familiar smell of Shanks, he thinks. It’s all over this room. It lulls him more than the sounds of rocking waves. The weight over him eases, settling beside him in a warm heap. Drowsy breathing near his ear, an arm around his torso—it’s all very nostalgic.
It’s a vivid echo from a lifetime ago.
Buggy drifts off with the tides.
* * *
Beckman doesn’t want to be the one to do it, but someone has to. As the first mate, this unsavoury task falls to him.
It’s been two days since Yasopp informed him of the call, and Beckman conversed with someone from the Cross Guild—Alvida, her name is. She kept him updated about their whereabouts throughout. He also occasionally heard two deep voices talking in the background, but they never came to the receiver.
“We’ve reached Allord,” She told him, disinterestedly. “Well, we won’t stay long, though. Some people here are testing that clown, and I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire. If he can make it to our ship before we leave, he’s in luck.”
She didn’t keep on the line much longer than that either. It leaves Beckman to decide for the crew on behalf of their captain. A captain who cannot be trusted to make sound decisions while his heart is in charge. He hesitates to knock on Shanks’ door later that night.
Buggy and Shanks had been inside since early evening, even forgoing dinner. Roux kept their portions aside anyway, but Beckman couldn’t wait till the next day to give this information. He raps on the door, schooling his face carefully.
A moment later, there’s a click and the door slowly opens to reveal a sleep-rumpled Shanks. The room within is dark, and snores accompany the sound of the ocean.
“Beck?” Shanks yawns, stepping outside to close the door behind him. He’s always considerate of Buggy. “Shit, I overslept.”
“It’s fine. I'm not here at the best time either,” Beckman replies, mostly because he knows this discussion will be hard on Shanks. Shanks instantly picks up on that uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.
“What is it?” Shanks asks, features hardening, “Did something happen?”
“No. There was a short storm while you two were asleep, but no real problems,” Beckman says, and knows he’s only delaying the inevitable. “Look, Shanks… Buggy’s crew got in touch with us. They’re at Allord already.”
Recognition blankets Shanks’ face. He’s already figured out where this conversation is headed. “...How much longer?”
“Snake said we’ll dock by noon tomorrow.”
He can tell just by the small furrow between Shanks’ brows that it’s not enough time for him. His eyes avert to the ground. Shanks is not the type to avoid eye contact. It just cements how much this news must be affecting him.
“That’s sooner than I thought…” He admits, softly.
Beckman purses his lips. “We’ve been sailing for over a week with Buggy and nearly a fortnight since Gartel. We need to stock up on supplies.” But it doesn’t matter what he’s saying. Shanks doesn’t seem to be listening too well. “Shanks…you know he can’t stay here. He’ll never become a part of our crew.”
Shanks doesn’t say anything but, after a moment, nods tensely.
“Yeah. I know.” Shanks exhales and Beckman knows that he knows, but he always keeps holding out hope. Dangerous hope that makes Beckman’s throat go thick with words he doesn’t dare say unless he wants to ruin Shanks. Especially when he meets Beckman’s eyes like an anxious child. “...Can you do me a favour?”
His vulnerability is Buggy’s doing. Beckman hates how easily Shanks’ weaknesses have shown this past week and clenches his fists for the slight consolation to his vexation. “I won’t make this ship go slower on purpose.”
“It’s not that.” Shanks takes a deep breath. He prepares himself like he’s about to fight a war. “I want time with him, uninterrupted—till I come on deck tomorrow.”
It’s such a little ask that it’s surprising. Shanks has never asked such an insignificant favour from Beckman before.
Insignificant. To Shanks, as insignificant as the ocean.
He’s the type to laugh off insults. To get into petty squabbles with friends. To protect what he believes needs protecting. He’s a guardian of the world and never takes it lightly. Any favour from him, be it big or small, is Beckman’s to handle as his right-hand man. So even if this favour seems trivial to Beckman, he’ll treat it as if it’s worth Shanks’ soul on the line.
“That,” Beckman says, relaxing his shoulders, “is something I can do.”
* * *
Buggy wakes up in the middle of the night, starving. When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t expect to see Shanks wide awake already. His desk lamp is lit, which is strange by itself. Buggy doesn’t recall ever seeing Shanks at a desk.
He’s busy writing something down, and Buggy sits up. “What are you doing?”
Shanks isn’t surprised that Buggy’s awake. His voice is as laid back as always. Buggy can hear the smile in it as he talks. “Just tying up some loose ends. Are you hungry? Roux left some food out for us, so I brought it here. It’s there on the bedside table.”
The sounds of paper getting folded follow. Buggy sees the plate of onigiri and picks one up. He eats as Shanks continues doing…whatever he’s doing while staring at the back of his head. It would be a familiar sight if not for the missing straw hat.
“Why did you give away your straw hat?” Buggy asks, against his better judgment.
Shanks pauses his movements and turns around in the chair, eyebrows raised. His face softens. “You’ve met Luffy. Why do you think?”
“Beats me.” Buggy scowls around a mouthful of rice and swallows before continuing, “He’s just a snot-nosed brat without any respect for his betters!”
“Haha, that sounds like him! But he’s come far within just two years of his pirate career. Isn’t that impressive?”
“You’re way more impressive than that human chew toy,” Buggy says casually, and then nearly chokes on the rest of the onigiri at his own words. Shanks grins at him, eyes wide in pleased surprise. “I-I just meant that Captain Roger trained you! Of course, you’re better!”
Buggy is digging his own grave now. Why can he suddenly only compliment Shanks? It must be because of how much time he’s spent on this dumb ship. He’s gotten too comfortable with Shanks. It draws a grimace from him.
“Oh?” Shanks beams. “You’ll make me blush.”
As if someone with skin that thick can blush. Shanks has always been immune to compliments, having received them throughout his life while growing up. It’s always been, ‘Shanks will be the strongest of his generation’, ‘Shanks is a born king’, ‘Shanks will grow into a dashing man’, etc. No one said things like that about Buggy, but that’s why he took pride in standing back-to-back with Shanks during raids and battles.
A mountain like Shanks trusting a molehill to watch his back. It made Buggy feel like a mountain, too. The day he left Shanks, he was a little mound of dirt again, constantly seeking out that feeling.
A compliment from him shouldn’t be anything special to Shanks.
“Buggy,” Shanks says, getting up from his chair.
He walks forward, and enough has changed between them for Buggy’s pulse to kick into gear immediately. No—‘changed’ is wrong. For a while now, he thought that’s what it was, but it’s not.
Things haven’t changed.
They’ve evolved.
The way Shanks says his name. The way he looks at him. The way he reaches out and lets his fingers sink into Buggy’s hair. The way he cups Buggy’s jaw with that same hand because he doesn’t have two anymore. These are things he used to do before, from time immemorial, just multiplied in their intensity.
“We promised Captain Roger that we’d sail to Laugh Tale ourselves one day.” Shanks sits down on the bed. One of Buggy’s detached hands swats at the one Shanks has placed on his face. Shanks doesn’t take it personally. He grabs it. Holds it. His smile tapers till he’s only blankly staring down at their hands.
There’s that familiar, unfamiliar crease between his brows again.
He looks up at Buggy, opening his mouth to say something. Then he closes it and lets go of Buggy’s hand. It’s bewildering to see Shanks so at a loss for words.
“Just spit it out!” Buggy barks, losing his patience.
Shanks’ lips thin, his eyes hardening. “Let’s have a match, Buggy.”
And it’s not at all what Buggy expects him to say. They've had a miscellany of matches, battles, duels—however you prefer to call it—all their lives, but rarely were they ever initiated by Shanks. Buggy listens carefully, just like he always does.
“Let’s see who gets to Laugh Tale first. And if it’s me, then,” Shanks says, the corner of his mouth lifting crookedly, “you’ll do something for me, no questions asked.”
“Huh?” Buggy glares, “As if I’ll let that happen after all this time of you sitting on your ass! I’ll definitely get there first! And then you—” He catches hold of Shanks by the collar of his shirt, detaching his head to look down at Shanks. “—You’ll be my servant for life, got it!?”
Shanks laughs heartily, as if the idea isn’t in the least detestable to him. Or maybe because he doesn’t think it’s possible. Either way, it pisses Buggy off when he answers, “If you find it first, then let’s talk.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth!”
It’s a heavy topic covered up by light-hearted banter. Routine arguments.
Shanks grips the back of Buggy’s neck and draws him in—a now recognisable motion with how he tilts his head as if he wants to devour Buggy whole. It’s all-consuming when their lips meet, just like every other part of Shanks, and leaves him breathless, unable to formulate a single coherent thought.
Maybe that’s why the thought of Laugh Tale suddenly coming up as the focus of a bet doesn’t make him suspicious at all until much later.
* * *
“Are you really giving me treasure?” Buggy asks when Shanks insists he keep the blindfold on for longer.
After they woke up, they couldn’t fall back asleep, and it led to staying up, talking about almost anything and everything till the sun rose. They've talked a lot this past week, but it’s nothing compared to the easy comfort of doing it today. As if a little time of being together was all they needed to renew the relationship they once had.
It’s not exactly the same, though. Shanks knows he can’t go back to being as he used to with Buggy. Not when he knows how sensitive Buggy’s neck is. Not when he knows that it takes around thirty seconds of kissing Buggy to make his face go as red as his nose. Not when he’s seen how Buggy’s blue eyes glaze when they pull apart for breath, sending a deluge of want into his bloodstream.
It’s why Shanks had this prepared.
“Trust me.”
“I don’t.” Buggy sniffs. “How many times have you falsely promised me treasure already? I have nothing to lose this time, so do whatever the hell you want! I don’t expect anything!!!”
His hands hover around Shanks, giving him warning gestures, and somehow know exactly where he is. It makes him wonder if Buggy is cheating, but his Observation Haki doesn’t detect any lies.
Shanks shakes his head in amusement and takes out the item he’d kept aside ever since first laying eyes on it. His fingers glide over the smooth golden surface of its intricate carvings. Over the thick anchor chain fashioned from pure gold and the several gemstones that embed it all around. Most of all, his gaze lingers on the locket.
“Hm? Wait, I hear it. That’s definitely the sound of treasure!” Buggy says, turning around, ready to pull off his blindfold.
“If you peek, I won’t give it to you,” Shanks threatens, and it does the job of keeping Buggy in place.
“Bastard…okay fine, I can wait a few more seconds maximum!”
He says it like he’s the one doing Shanks a favour.
And really, Shanks thinks, he is.
“Uta loves jewellery too,” He says. Shanks knows how protective the crew is of her. They don't talk about her to keep her safe, but Buggy is different. Both Uta and Buggy are a part of Shanks. “So I stored everything she might like, and it became a habit to look through loot.”
“Your daughter?” Buggy’s eyebrows rise from under the blindfold, “Thank the seas! That means she doesn’t dress like you.”
“She’d be scandalised to hear that,” Shanks thinks out loud, which Buggy finds delightful.
“You get bullied by your own daughter, don’t you?” He snickers. “How pathetic.”
Shanks says nothing. Buggy is pretty close to the mark, and he knows it. It makes him wonder how it would go if Uta and Buggy ever met. Shanks hopes they’ll like each other.
He lifts the chain up and carefully lowers it around his Buggy’s head, the best he can. It doesn’t have a clasp or hook and is big enough for Buggy to easily take off, which is what Shanks believes is the perfect gift.
If Buggy keeps this on, it’ll always be by choice.
“Oh, it’s heavy,” Buggy says, and Shanks tries not to take that the wrong way, but he’s been getting a little out of control around Buggy.
He clears his throat, slightly embarrassed at his own thoughts. “You can take off the blindfold now.”
Buggy doesn’t waste any time. He rips off the cloth around his eyes and immediately inspects the chain with round, twinkling eyes. It reminds Shanks of all the stars they learned the names of as children.
“The locket’s attached to this chain! It’s really fucking flashy!” Buggy grins and grabs the mirror on the desk to look at himself. “You’ve got a better eye than I thought, Shanks! This suits me.”
Shanks laughs indulgently, standing behind Buggy, watching his ecstatic expression through the reflection he’s offered. He brings his arm around Buggy to trace the pattern on the large, round locket attached to the chain.
“Perfect for a pirate, don’t you think so?” He states, hooking his chin on Buggy’s shoulder. His finger moves down the anchor carved on the locket. “Did you know, the rod of an anchor is called a shank.”
“What? Really? Is that what you were named after?”
“I don't know,” Shanks says, “but I like to think so.”
“And you’re making me wear your name. I should’ve known.”
Caught so quickly.
“It’s not like anyone will make the connection anyway.” Shanks grins through the mirror at Buggy. “So just wear it. It looks good on you.”
Buggy glares at him witheringly but ultimately agrees with the last part and shrugs, going back to examining the necklace.
In less than an hour, they have a rendezvous lined up, and then, Shanks will not see Buggy again. Maybe not for another month. Maybe not for another year. Maybe not for another twenty-four years. And, if he’s really unlucky, maybe never again.
It’s the way the life of a pirate goes. Goodbyes forever, when you least expect it.
The plain fact that they managed to meet again on this vast ocean is miraculous enough. That somehow, Buggy doesn’t seem to dislike the feelings Shanks has for him. May even welcome them, in his wildest wishes. And perhaps, if they meet again, next time will be the last time they have to reunite.
“You’re making a weird face,” Buggy says, and a floating hand pokes the centre of Shanks’ forehead, between his eyebrows. He turns to Shanks, raising an eyebrow. “You never used to have a wrinkle here.”
It’s a small thing. Buggy hides so many of his thoughts behind anger and spite. So much grief and joy behind the bitterness that consumed them both at some point. It’s a testament to how much he’s allowed himself to open up to Shanks during this fleeting week of borrowed time that he’s able to show this drop of concern.
It means the world to Shanks.
His eyes dampen, and his throat tightens. Buggy’s eyebrows knit together, perplexed. Shanks can see the worry. He realises, just like he did twenty-four years ago in Loguetown, that he’s still not ready to let go of Buggy.
He never will be.
“What?” Buggy asks.
Shanks crumbles, fragile as a sandy ruin. He pulls Buggy in for a tight embrace and presses a shuddering kiss to his hair.
“Take care. Don’t lose fights anymore,” Shanks tells him, allowing himself the small comfort of soaking in his scent for a little longer, “and if you can’t win, come to me.”
“I don’t need your help to win my fights! I have an army of people under me, stupid.”
It’s just like Buggy to say things like that. He always has an enormous ego when it comes to Shanks. Even at his lowest, at his loneliest, Shanks knows Buggy would never come to him for help on his own. It’s why Shanks offers it now and hopes that one day, if there’s no one else left standing beside him, Buggy will think of these words and come back to him.
“I know,” he says, holding Buggy close. This is the last time. “So let me have this much.”
If only the universe would freeze this moment in time, unlike all the ones we lost.
A prayer that will remain unanswered. The world grants him few favours, and the memories he collected were all carved by his own hands, scarred from the blades he handled and battled alike, from loving and losing.
Shanks collects another one right now and tries to contain it as much as possible. Only one man can bring him to his knees in any way that matters. His rival and comrade. A friend and beloved. His past, present and future.
Buggy’s hands yank at the back of Shanks’ shirt, urging him off with all their strength. “How long are you gonna do this for?!” he grouses, pushing Shanks away with his handless forearms. “Let go already! I have to get back to my ship now.”
Closing his eyes for a second, Shanks complies. He takes a step back, pulling away from Buggy completely. He sees the mild bemusement on Buggy’s face and hides the shattered constellation of his heart.
Their time is up.
Shanks smiles. “Yeah. Let’s go to the deck.”
* * *
Galdino trembles when he finds himself needing to intercept and pick Buggy up to prevent Red-Haired Shanks from boarding the Big Top. Mihawk especially believes that it would be a bad idea.
“Too many weaklings here,” Mihawk had said, while leisurely sipping his tea and giving out orders to Galdino as if he had all the authority in the world. “Red Hair’s Haki goes out of control on enemy territory. He’ll unintentionally knock out everyone who keeps the ship running if we let him on.”
He expects it to be a simple handover: Meet in a remote area, secure Buggy, avoid the Red Hair Pirates, and get back to the Big Top.
And if not for how the captain, one of the Four Emperors, Red Haired Shanks himself, escorts Buggy, Galdino thinks it would’ve gone exactly like that.
“Maybe we should go back and check if you forgot something,” Shanks says, his arm around Buggy’s shoulder like a worried husband.
Buggy smacks that hand off like it’s nothing but a fly on his clothes, making Galdino shudder at the incoming rage he expects of any other Emperor. Except, no such thing happens, and Shanks only retrieves his hand like a reprimanded dog.
“Check for what?!” Buggy tuts, pulling his cloak around him. He looks very different from usual. There’s no makeup on his face, and he wears regular clothing under an open brown cloak, his hair tied in a modest, low ponytail. In fact, Galdino thinks he looks nearly ten years younger like this. “I came with only the clothes on my back, and your crew threw those away, so what do I have there?”
“Well,” Shanks says, pointing at himself, “me?”
Buggy makes a disgusted face that Galdino would’ve replicated if not for how he freezes in shock and fear.
“Yeah, right! Good riddance to you.” Buggy grabs Galdino by the back of his shirt. “Come on!”
Galdino’s overcome with the brief relief of it all being over, so that he can finally just go back to somewhere more familiar to him, but his breath nearly stops when Shanks catches Buggy by the arm.
Look at what you did, you stupid clown!!! Galdino’s heart of hearts screams. There is no Emperor worth his salt who would tolerate the way Buggy talks. Whitebeard was an exception. Just because Buggy and Shanks used to once sail together doesn’t mean it’s any different now.
He doesn’t even realise what’s knocked him to the ground, but knows that Shanks did it somehow because of the brief, distasteful look he shoots at Galdino.
“What is it now?” Buggy hisses, grabbing Shanks by the collar. Galdino wants to cry. “Do you want to get beaten up or—”
The threat is empty. Galdino can’t believe that Buggy can still make such pointless bluffs when in reality, he probably can’t even measure up to Shanks’ toenail. But it’s also because Buggy has never measured up to anyone in the league that he somehow manages to play in that Galdino believes the next few seconds are a desperate hallucination his brain conjured to blanket any real horrors.
He watches, almost in slow motion, as Shanks grabs Buggy’s jaw and guides their faces together. Buggy makes a muffled sound that gets dissolved when Shanks presses forward, pulling him into a deep kiss.
Galdino is sure he must’ve died and found his way to some level of hell.
Then Buggy kicks Shanks in the shin, effectively freeing himself with the advantage of surprise on his side.
“Fuck you!” Buggy yells, flipping Shanks off. His face is red enough to drown his nose in it. “Don’t you dare think I feel any attachment to you because of this past week! I’m happy to leave everything that happened on your ship right where it is! Don’t forget we’re enemies now.”
It’s ridiculous to say that to someone who very clearly doesn't feel the same way.
At least now, Galdino understands why Shanks doesn't lose his temper with Buggy, unlike how most other people would. Galdino almost feels sorry for him—and isn’t that something laughable? Feeling sorry for one of the most powerful pirates on the planet. But with the way Shanks’ face falls, his arm dangling by his side, it’s difficult not to have some sympathy.
Most of all, he’s sorry that a man so venerated and feared has, for some reason, obvious unrequited affection for Buggy of all people. Even when Buggy roughly pulls Galdino away in the direction of the Big Top, Shanks stays rooted to his spot, watching Buggy the entire time.
No one will believe Galdino if he talks about these events.
He might as well pretend he saw nothing.
* * *
Alvida reclines on the chaise lounge her subordinates brought for her onto the deck. It’s stuffy staying inside a ship full of men, and she prefers the sea breeze. The conversations were beyond stressful, too.
This empire that grants her every comfort under the sun, though still retaining two of the strongest men she has ever met, was still built by Buggy, as annoying as it is to admit. If he doesn’t come back like he bet them he would, then it would be a problem for her and possibly everyone on the ship.
As much as Mihawk and Crocodile detest Buggy, it wouldn’t bode well for them to have him gone. His charisma overflows into weaker men—men like him. It makes them follow him anywhere. It’s not charisma that proud, untouchable men like Crocodile and Mihawk can reproduce.
She found the entire thing ridiculous anyway. It was one thing after another. First Buggy wants to be King of the Pirates, saying that with his luck, they’ll manage, and instead of taking everything back and begging for forgiveness, he proposed that they even abandon him on the ocean to prove himself.
It was completely out of character, and Alvida considered him mad, but Mihawk and Crocodile were more than glad to have the opportunity to drown him for his stupidity in their brief period of fury.
Who would’ve thought that Buggy would get picked up by the Red Hair Pirates within less than a day of floating around? He really does have extraordinary luck for someone so unpalatable.
“Lady Alvida.” A nameless subordinate simpers to her side, a cocktail balancing on a tray. “For you.”
She hums and picks up the glass, waving him off just as Buggy comes out from within the ship. Alvida observes him carefully.
When he arrived on the ship after around eight days since being stuffed in a crate, he almost looked like a different person with a normal button-up and pants. She didn't expect him to look so young without any makeup on. He also wore his hair in a plain, low ponytail that she hadn’t ever seen on him before. She never noticed how much of an effort he made to hide everything human about him before.
Now she does.
It’s in his glittery blue eyeshadow. In the bright red lipstick meticulously drawn into a permanent smile. In the face paint he skillfully applies. In the gaudy outfits and noisy shoes. In the—
She pauses, eyes narrowing sharply.
“Did you always own something like that?” Alvida asks as Buggy approaches her. She points at the large gold locket resting on his sternum, hung by a gem-studded gold anchor chain. It’s an exquisite piece of treasure, and she can’t help but wonder where Buggy might’ve procured it from.
“Flashy, isn’t it?” Buggy smirks, hands on his hips. “It’s a gift.”
“A gift?” Alvida scrunches her nose. “From whom?”
“A fan.”
That could be anyone on their ship. Buggy commands the hearts of the mass dregs. Really, any of them finding this piece of treasure is the most unbelievable part. Alvida has half a mind to whip all of them to find the one who didn’t bring it to her instead.
“Are you going to put something in the locket?” Alvida asks to hide her envy. She won’t allow herself to be caught dead being jealous of Buggy.
“What?” Buggy looks down at the locket, holding it up with one floating hand. He squints. “Oh yeah, that’s what they’re for. What do people put in? More treasure?”
“Beats me. I guess pictures?” Alvida rolls her eyes, already bored with the conversation. “Of their family or sweetheart or something.”
“Huh? There’s already something in here!”
Alvida blinks and sits up. Buggy has his back turned to her, pulling something out of the locket. Curious, she gets up from her perch and approaches carefully, sight lowering to what Buggy holds in between his fingers. Her eyebrows furrow.
“A letter?” She says and tries to see what’s written in there when Buggy opens it up, but he turns away, keeping it private. She scowls at him. “Well, Buggy the Star Clown has secrets, does he?”
Her provocation doesn’t seem to affect Buggy as it usually would. He’s preoccupied with whatever’s written on the paper, unusually focused and serious. Astonishingly, he tears off a corner of the paper and folds the rest, putting it back in the locket.
The piece of paper in his palm twitches to the east. The Big Top begins its move, sailing off from the harbour. The paper could easily have moved because the ship did but Alvida recognises a Vivre Card when she sees one. And to think that Buggy has a full sheet in that locket.
She studies him dubiously, but her attention diverts when she hears rambunctious laughter as they draw closer to another ship. They’ll pass by quite a few ships on their way but this one is the most recognisable with the flag of an Emperor waving at the very top. A skull with a scar.
A flash of red and black appears on deck, and Alvida sees Red Haired Shanks in the flesh for the first time. He’s talking to someone Alvida recognises as Benn Beckman—the man she conversed with while Buggy was on the Red Force. He’s a shrewd one. He even bribed Alvida to make sure the ship didn’t leave before Buggy could make it to them.
They wouldn’t have left anyway, considering they need the stupid clown.
Alvida starts when Shanks’ head turns, his eyes widening as he catches sight of her. His entire body spins on its axis, almost as if commanded by gravity, his gaze glued, not to her—she realises now—but to Buggy. It’s an expression she doesn’t fully understand.
“Do you ever think about what you’ll do once this is all over?” Buggy asks in a non-sequitur. The Vivre Card in his palm jerks towards the Red Force.
“When what’s over?” Alvida asks, perplexed and slightly annoyed. “Today?”
“Everything.”
It’s surprising that Buggy is capable of holding any meaningful conversation like this. Unfortunately, Alvida isn’t the right person to have it with. This journey won’t get over anytime soon, according to her so it doesn’t seem interesting. She’s never been much of a sentimental person, nor does she care for anything apart from her own survival. These past two years, though, she has found herself enjoying the company of a few people on board.
Maybe that’s why she indulges Buggy.
“I’ve never thought of it. I hear a lot of our men talk about it, though. They say they want to go home while staring off into space. The direction of their homeland, I guess.” She snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why? Do you know what you’ll do?”
Buggy looks straight ahead, his eyes locked with Red Haired Shanks. She rears back when Shanks smiles at them, lifting a hand in farewell. Buggy doesn’t return it, but he doesn’t look away either. There’s a strange quality to his eyes that she’s never seen there before.
Almost sad. Somewhat tender.
“I don't know. I think…” His long eyelashes quiver, and he speaks so softly, it carries into the breeze, right down to where Shanks seems to have frozen. Alvida doesn’t know if she’s reading too into things, but the look he and Buggy share seems to make the rest of the world fade around them.
The Big Top steers sharply away from the harbour. Shanks walks to the edge of his ship's quarterdeck, where he watches them until the Big Top turns around entirely and none of them can see each other anymore.
Alvida glances at Buggy to see what he thinks about all that, but he’s already yelling at a subordinate for not bringing drinks for him when he’s been on deck for the past ten minutes, and she wonders if what she heard a few seconds ago was all her imagination.
It must’ve been because, as far as Alvida knows, Buggy doesn’t have a place to return to—But she could’ve sworn that when she asked that last question, Buggy’s answer had been: “I’ll go home too.”