Treasure Hunt

by Mal_chite

Summary:

This was the worst possible scenario. Buggy had no idea where they were, or how they even got here. And, worse of all, he just happened to be lost with Shanks. The one person he definitely didn’t want to be alone with.

Shanks, on the other hand, was practically beaming with joy.

The fact they had teleported? Not a concern. That they were alone, with no means of communicating with either of their crew? No worries. Shanks would figure all that out, for now he had gotten what he wanted.

A moment alone with Buggy.

Notes:

Update 15/12/23
I went back and tidied up some sections, including adding a few extra paragraphs to fill a plot hole I noticed on re-read.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

This dance the two captains insisted on following the steps too. One would leap forwards, arms out in desperate need for some kind of contact, a moment to reconnect and finally speak all the things time had kept from them. And the other, witnessing this, would step back, just one little side-step that disrupted the whole tango. He’d pull away or shimmy into a crowd, vanishing out of reach, forcing the red-haired captain to seek him out and begin the dance anew.

Was sitting down to talk so hard? What was it the Great Captain Buggy the Clown feared from speaking with Emperor Shanks? The Devil Fruit user didn’t know, but he was going to fix this. He owed Captain Buggy his life and he was going to repay him, one way or another.

*

Barely two days had passed since the Big Top had reunited with its captain, accompanied by a second ship's worth of escaped prisoners seeking a second chance in the New World. And two days since the Red Force, the very ship which had returned the Bombastic Captain, had joined the Big Top in its revelry. They had been partying ever since, streamers and barrels and barrels of grog decorated the decks of both ships. Jaunty music played over the roaring crowd, one as energetic and rambunctious as it had been since the moment the celebration started. When one musician grew tired another took their place, never allowing the sound to stop for more than few seconds.

Buggy had hoped that the energy of the festivities would draw Shanks in. In the past he could never resist a sing-along or drinking contest, and Buggy would use that as cover to slip away with the Big Top and his newly expanded crew. Of course, things didn’t go his way. Shanks was as unpredictable as always, a spinning top whose direction couldn't be divined, and so it seemed was his crew. Buggy had never expected the Red Force to party with a bunch of Impel Down escapees and, yet, here they were. They were sharing stories and dancing, eating Buggy's food and a few even dared flirt with Alvida.

The Red Force had supplied the seemingly never-ending supply of booze and food, almost as if they were determined to keep the Big Top around for as long as possible. That was ridiculous, obviously. Or so Buggy would have thought, if not for his insistent red shadow.

Buggy had managed to enjoy only the first few hours of the party before he saw Shanks in the corner of his eye, persistently trying to close the gap. Buggy tried to play it off casually, moving from one group to another in order to join the conversation, or to get a renewed mug of grog. To anyone else it would just appear that Shanks was a good host, all he wanted was to have words with his old friend, reminiscence on the old days. Surely there was no harm in that. Buggy knew better, he saw right through Shanks. The other captain wanted something more, Buggy could tell by the dangerous and mischievous glint that shone in the other's eyes. Buggy would recognize it anywhere, could recall it from those quiet moments around a bonfire or in the heat of battle. It was evidence that the red-haired was trying to get closer to the clown.

And Buggy was having none of that.

Whatever Shanks wanted to say or do, Buggy didn’t want to know. He refused to open up that Pandora’s Box of feelings, too much time had passed and a scar had formed in the meantime. Picking at it would do nothing but open himself up to more pain and create an uglier wound.

“Captain Buggy?”

The voice was unfamiliar. Then again, the Big Top was so full of new faces and voices that he couldn’t be blamed for not being able to place it.

He turned to face the young pirate, drawing his attention from his place on the spearhead of the ship. Buggy still expected to see Marine ships appear on the horizon and rain cannon fire down on them, smash the Big Top to splinters and drag them all back to Impel Down. He knew it wouldn’t happen, Shanks was with them and the power he demonstrated at Marineford meant that no one would be following them. At least, not openly. As much as he wanted Shanks to leave, he was aware of the protective veil the Red Haired Pirates brought with them, and for that Buggy was begrudgingly grateful.

Yet he still felt something coiled up inside of him, like anticipation. Anticipation for what, he still didn’t know, he only suspected that it had something to do with Shanks.

He shook the thought from his head and focused on the pirate before him. The lad was probably not yet twenty, skinny and lean, with dark circles under his eyes and long black hair that was delicately braided. He was still wearing his prison fatigues, whereas Buggy had managed to steal a private moment to change back into his captain’s garbs. Buggy admired the braid briefly, taking in the technique before deciding he would have a go at mimicking the style later in his chambers.

“Yes?” Buggy said simply.

“I… uh,” the boy stuttered. “I wanted to, uh, thank you. You unlocked my cell. If - if it wasn’t for you, I – uh – I’d still be there.”

Buggy couldn’t help the smile which lit up his face, the praise he oh-so-deserved. He would never get tired of it. In the corner of his vision he saw Alvida climbing the stairs towards them, her mouth a tight line, the pinched expression of annoyance.

“Of course,” Buggy began in his well-rehearsed bravado. “I couldn’t very well leave a fellow pirate to rot in such a hell! It was my duty to free you, to send you back to sea where you belong.”

The boy’s eyes practically sparkled as he eagerly pressed his hands together, as if praying at the altar of the Bombastic Clown. Alvida rolled her eyes. Buggy noticed and chose to ignore it, instead dramatically placing a hand to his hat, casting a wistful gaze upon the party.

“I could never repay you, Captain,” the boy said. “Truly! B-but I wanna! You see, I’m –”

Among the bobbing heads of the crowd Buggy saw him, indulging in another mug of grog, his second mate – Beckman, was it? – never too far away. Buggy cringed, hoping Shanks wouldn’t look up and notice him. If he did, then Buggy was screwed, there was no easy way to escape Shanks from the spearhead without totally exposing Buggy in the process. if he flew over the crowd, people would notice. Worse, they'll notice from who he was fleeing. Alvida stood beside the young pirate, who seemed as captivated by her as he was Buggy.

“Buggy,” she said, voice firm. “Isn’t it about time we moved on? You’re back, which is great, but what’s the plan? What do you plan on doing with all these pirates?”

Buggy’s head disconnected from his body and floated towards Alvida, close enough that he could speak without fear of anyone eavesdropping.

“I’m waiting for that asshole to leave,” Buggy replied. “He’s an Emperor, I can’t just leave. It’ll look bad in front of all these pirates who owe him as much as they owe me.”

Alvida seemed unconvinced, she crossed her arms over her chest and cast a scornful look at the party. She had enjoyed the celebration at first, but it had gone on for too long and the whole event was beginning to sour. These men were unwashed, starved of physical touch and fresh air. She didn’t like the way they leered her at, even when firmly told off by Buggy and Cabaji. Unfortunately, there was no helping a man who had gone years without seeing the fairer sex.

As her eyes roamed over the faces, trying to decide which new additions were of any value, her eyes caught those of Shanks. The Emperor’s eyes, an intensity like churning magma beneath the surface, made her flinch. She dragged her eyes back to Buggy, who hadn’t seemed to notice, merely continued his little speech now that he had her attention again.

“Right now we have the potential to march into the New World with one of the biggest pirate crews around, on top of my new platinum reputation to take advantage of. We need to play nice if we’re too keep this rabble in check.”

Both Alvida and Buggy almost forgot about the young pirate, until Buggy felt him pulling on the very end of his coat. Buggy’s floating head turned to the boy, who instantly dropped the fabric, as if he had been caught committing a crime.

“I – sorry,” he apologised. “I just… I want to help. Please, Captain –”

“Buggy!” Shanks’s voice cut through the noise of the party and the colour drained from Buggy’s face. His head floated up, high enough to get a bird’s eye view of the whole ship. He spotted the Emperor, face full with joy as he waved at the disembodied head, happy to finally get some response from the clown.

Buggy ground his teeth and snapped his head back to his neck, the action so violent Alvida cringed. The way Buggy threw his disembodied parts around was always so disconcerting, it made her glad she ended up with her fruit. She couldn't imagine cutting off an arm or leg so easily, yet to Buggy it had developed into second nature. Buggy disconnected his body from his feet, shiny shoes dashing away and disappearing into the swarm of bodies. Buggy hovered there for a moment as he delivered instructions to both Alvida and the boy.

“I’m going to my room and I’m staying there until the Red Force is gone,” he said. “Make sure no one bothers me.”

“Very mature,” Alvida drawled.

Buggy ignored her, though did shoot her a quick please-don’t-undermine-my-authority glare. He then addressed the boy, the clown’s body beginning to move on its own, following the feet which were quickly escaping without him. They quietly sneaked by Shanks, who had begun making his way to the spearhead.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, kid,” Buggy said. “But now’s not the time. I’ve got… a headache to deal with.”

“I know, I can help,” he insisted. “Please.”

“Buggy! Hey, wait up!” Shanks voice grew louder.

Buggy didn’t wait a moment longer, he no longer cared how this looked to his adoring fans. He just needed to leave, desperate times and all. His body flew into the air and he vaguely registered the sound of the crowd cheering his name at the sight of him, before his body dipped and glided after his shoes. Shanks stood midway up the steps, watching as Buggy flew away, a disappointed pout on his face.

“The captain isn’t feeling quite himself,” Alvida said to the Emperor.

“I’d say this is pretty standard Buggy behaviour,” Shanks said with a smile, the warmth of it enough to make Alvida surrender a small smile.

Shanks turned on his heel. “Well, if Buggy is unwell then maybe I can make him feel better,” he said.

He began to descend the stairs and Alvida turned to give the boy some direction, something to do other than pine for the clown, when suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. He was behind her, a hand gently pressed to Shank’s arm, wanting his attention but fearful of how such a touch could be interpreted.

When did he get there? Alvida thought.

 “E-Emperor Shanks,” he stammered.

His speed didn’t seem to have gone unnoticed by Shanks, who addressed the boy with a semi-serious gaze, as prepared for action as he was amused by the development. Whatever the boy wanted to say died in his throat when the Emperor’s heavy gaze fell on him, something which seemed to affect everyone, except Buggy.

With a gentle shrug of his shoulder Shanks dislodged the pirate’s hand, it falling gently to his side.

“Not right now, kid,” Shanks said. “Buggy and I are long over-due for a talk.”

With that the Emperor carried on, walking with a brisk pace that allowed him to weave through the bodies with ease and catch up to Buggy. The clown stood near his cabin door, feet back in their place as he scrambled with his keys as panic mangled his control. He glanced over and saw the ever-approaching Shanks. He squawked and began to toss away any key that didn't fit, finally leaving him with the right one. He audibly sighed in relief as the key fixed into place and turned.

Alvida watched, entranced at the way Shanks so easily moved, never pushing or using his authority to get his way. It was more like he was liquid, fitting in through the gaps, going with the flow instead of interrupting it for his own purpose. There was also something else, a nagging feeling, one she didn’t fully understand until she saw Buggy open the door.

He wasn’t paying attention to the interior, too busy pointing and shouting something unheard at Shanks, but if he turned his head just to the side he would see that his room was no longer there. It was gone, replaced instead by a dense jungle of tropical trees, wild ferns and colourful birds that zipped between the trees. Shanks saw it immediately and tried to stop Buggy from stepping in, yet even he was too slow.

The great maw of the jungle exhaled a gust of wind, like a giant breathing out and then in, the powerful inhale sucking them in. Buggy, too startled by the sudden and strange turn of events, was taken with little fight. Shanks was leapt to the door, hand outstretched as he desperately reached out to Buggy. A look overtook the red haired, as if he had wrangled and then dealt with a difficult decision. Shanks allowed his body go slack and be taken by the phenomenon. Both pirates vanished into the green of the jungle and the door slammed shut, their departure noticed by none bar Alvida and the strange pirate.

A pirate whose hand had shone for just a split second when it touched Shanks. A pirate who, when Alvida looked to in order to get answers, had vanished into thin air.

“Shit,” Alvida growled. “What now?”

*

Buggy had landed face-first into the sand.

Not the most dignified pose to be found in, especially by Shanks, who had stumbled into him after being deposited into the jungle by the magic door. His desire to save Buggy from an unknown fate was swiftly forgotten at the sight and Shanks burst into laughter. Clearly, he found Buggy's ostrich impression to be amusing.

Buggy grumbled about the indignity under his breath, then pulled his head out from the sandy pile and spat out the grains which had filled his mouth. Shanks’ bemusement died down and he offered Buggy a hand, which was swiftly ignored. Buggy could stand by himself, he didn’t need Shanks – er, that is, he didn’t need Shanks’ help. He could handle any situation all by himself. He had, after all, done that very thing for nearly twenty years.

Buggy rubbed his temples, continuing to complain. This was the worst possible scenario. He had no idea where they were, or how they got even got here. And worse of all, of all the people to be lost with, it just had to be Shanks. The one person he definitely didn’t want to be alone with.

Shanks, on the other hand, was practically beaming with joy.

The fact they had teleported? Not a concern. That they were alone, with no means of communicating with either of their crew? No worries. Shanks would figure all that out, for now he had gotten what he wanted. A moment alone with Buggy. Or so it would seem at first glance.

It may have nearly two decades since they last saw one another, but Buggy still understood the Red Hair so well that it was almost frightening. Shanks was smiling and laughing, all the while his eyes were studying, his ears trained for the slightest noise. His eyes were lazily taking in his surroundings, a disguise for the keen focus as he examined the trees, the formation of the clouds, the weather. All of these were clues, hints as to their location, their position in the world. His casual, easy going attitude had always been a front for his true nature, that of a calculating and formidable power.

They were stood on the edge of a forest, where soft, golden sand met hard jungle floor. Ahead the clear, sea-green waves lapped calmly at the shore. The trees of the jungle were densely packed, tall and wide with thick roots that broke through the dry, cracked ground. The canopy provided little to no light, making the jungle surprisingly eerie despite the warm bird songs from within.

The smile began to fade from Shanks face. “This place…” he said simply.

“You recognise it?” Buggy asked.

Shanks didn’t reply, he instead stepped ahead, moving towards the beach in an attempt to get a better view. A gentle breeze caught Shanks’ cloak, lifting it just enough to reveal a furled up parchment in his back pocket. Buggy had seen enough of such things to know immediately what it was – a treasure map!

Instinctively, Buggy detached one hand and used it to snatch the map from Shanks’ back pocket. The Emperor spun around, surprised by the sudden touch before becoming visibly confused by the item in Buggy’s floating hand.

“Holding out on me, eh?” Buggy said.

“Where’d you…?” Shanks glanced behind him, as if expecting to find more secret maps.

Buggy’s hand returned to its wrist, allowing him to unfurl it with a casual flick. Buggy examined the map with an eye as keen as Shanks’ had just been, though too focused on the potential gold to see the message scrawled on the back. It was small and written sideways, forcing Shanks to crouch and tilt his head to get a good look.

“What are you doing?” Buggy frowned.

“Find the treasure as marked by this map,” Shanks read aloud, “and return it to this starting point if you wish to return home.”

Buggy turned the map around, eyes skimming the message. His head fell back and he let out a loud and dramatic groan.

“Ugh!” his head snapped forwards, grip tightening on the parchment to cause it to crinkle. “Fine! Come on!”

With one final glance at the map, Buggy turned and began making his way south-west, following the edge of the forest. Shanks watched for a moment, hesitant to follow, unsure if he should. He didn’t know if Buggy’s groan was an invitation or just an acceptance of fate, one he was determined to see through, alone. Buggy clearly didn't want to spend time with him and Shanks felt like he was on thin ice with the clown already. if he pushed too hard then Buggy may slip from his grasp forever. On the other hand, considering the danger of the situation, he also didn't want to leave Buggy alone.

His predicament was quickly resolved when Buggy stopped, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Shanks, one wayward strand of sky-blue hair falling over his face.

“Are you coming?” he said.

“I… really?” Shanks asked, pointing at himself as if there was anyone else.

Buggy snorted, the sound of stifled laughter. “Of course,” he replied. “I can’t go back without you… your crew would kill me.”

Buggy continued on his way, eyes fixed firmly to the map, and was joined a moment later by Shanks. The Emperor was in the throw of mixed emotions. He was alone with Buggy, the clown couldn’t escape him any further or avoid the inevitable. They could finally discuss the eighteen year gap in their history. There was so much he wanted to know and so much time had passed, it would be like getting to know an entirely new person.

And yet the joy in his heart was overshadowed by this creeping sensation of déjà vu. Shanks couldn’t help but feel that he knew this island, he had been here before, a long time ago.

*

Elsewhere

Further up the beach, beyond the sight of the Emperor and the Genius Jester, lay a marvellous ship. Constructed by the finest shipwright and the envy of many, the Oro Jackson was unmistakable. One didn’t even need to see the Jolly Roger to know whose ship it was, its presence alone was enough to indicate its master and its strength.

Even if, on this occasion, the Oro Jackson was looking a little worse for wear. A run-in with Whitebeard was always the strangest mix of all-out brawl and playful competition. This time they had just happened to go too far with the cannon fire and the Oro Jackson needed a few repairs before they continue on their journey. Tom would be proud of his handy-work, the Jackson had taken damage that would have sunk a lesser vessel. Whitebeard didn’t do by things by halves and didn’t hold back, even in a friendly contest of strength. Though Whitebeard's Moby Dick was nowhere to be seen, having escaped during the chaos and certainly needing more work than the Jackson.

The Oro Jackson had docked at the nearest safe looking island that didn't have any signs of Marines. Hands got to work, quickly securing the ship along the golden shores, and soon there came the clamber of hammer and the hurrying of bodies as they busied themselves in repairs. All, except two cabin boys, eager to sneak away and go exploring the new and unmarked island. A scheme which was doomed from the start, they should have known better, nothing slipped by Rayleigh.

“Come on, Rayleigh! Just a little explorin’!” pleaded Shanks, hands pressed together and straw hat pulled low.

“Everyone else is pulling their weight,” Rayleigh retorted. “You can explore after you’ve helped clean the mess on deck.” He folded his arms, as if that was the end of the discussion.

“C’mon, just this once!” Buggy begged, tightly twisting his cap between his hands.

Behind Rayleigh were chuckles, crew mates who had understood the youngster’s enthusiasm. The island they had stumbled upon was beautiful and new, it hadn't been marked on their map. There could be all sorts out there. Adventure. Gold. The possibilities were endless and, as Rayleigh reasoned, not going anywhere.

A heavy arm fell over Rayleigh’s shoulder, followed by the familiar gunpowder and sea salt smell of none other than their captain. Roger let out a hearty laugh, one that had Shanks peeking up from beneath the brim of his hat.

“There’s enough hands to see to the ship’s repairs,” Roger rationalised. “Besides, do you really want these two disasters handling such a delicate task?”

“Hey!” Shanks gasped, offended.

Buggy elbowed him in the side, killing whatever argument Shanks had by sending him a look that said ‘shut up’. Shanks closed his mouth and looked at his captain and vice-captain. They were facing one another, a big grin on Roger’s face and an exasperated half-smile on Rayleigh. There was something else there too, one Shanks had glimpsed before, in those hushed moments around a bonfire, between victory drinks, in the dim twilight.

It was the softening of the eyes, a touch which was both soft and strong, protective and inviting. Lips which didn’t move but said so much, that could only be understood by that person with whom you shared that secret language. The sight of it made Shanks’ tight chest, it was a feeling he wasn’t mature enough to understand, yet desperately wanted to.

Whatever Roger and Rayleigh had, Shanks wanted. At times he felt he had it, or at least a peek of it, something small and ready to be nurtured like a seed in fresh dirt. It was a feeling which flowered when he was with Buggy. It was confusing, it made him do and say stupid things, almost like when he drunk too much. Except there was no hangover, just a continuing high that he never seemed come down from. It made him want to act more grown-up than he was, as if doing so would make him understand what to do with this feeling.

He stole a glance at Buggy and found the other cabin boy’s eyes already on him. Caught staring, Buggy’s eyes instantly dashed forwards, back to the adults who held the fate of their afternoon in hand.

“Alright, fine,” Rayleigh relented.

He shrugged off his captain’s arm and turned away from the trio, beginning to head back to the ship. “Be back by nightfall,” he ordered. “I’m not sending anyone to look for you if you’re not back by then.”

“Thank you, Rayleigh!” Shanks grinned.

Rayleigh sighed, a coy smile beneath it, and then he was gone, drawn into the hustle and bustle of repairing the Oro Jackson. Roger watched him go, that same dreamy expression in his eyes for just a moment longer, then it was gone. Roger wrestled that feeling down and looked again like their Captain, a man who loved only adventure and his crew, who didn't have secret words for only one. Roger gently tussled Buggy’s blue locks, then grabbed a handful that he styled into a short ponytail, expert hands revealing this was a practised routine. He wasn't as good as Rayleigh, who could braid and plait with ease, but it would keep the hair out of Buggy's eyes at least. 

“You heard the man,” Roger said. “Go explore, be safe and be back by nightfall.”

“Aye, Captain!” both boys cheered in unison before dashing off.

“Roger!” Rayleigh called. “I gave those two the day off, not you!”

Roger grimaced. And here he thought he could slip in a little two hour nap. Never mind, a captain’s work was never done.

*

“– and then I think if we follow this tree line we could…”

The red haired had been babbling the moment they were finally out of sight, his mind racing with all the possibilities of this island. Maybe it held some fascinating secret or held old ruins like the ones in Skypea. Or maybe they could find some treasure, gold always seemed to make Buggy happy. Shanks had so many plans and ideas as to where to start, however Buggy didn’t seem to be listening. The red-nosed cabin boy had his gaze firmly glued to the sea, for how long Shanks didn’t know. He just walked and stared, as if transfixed.

He skipped forwards, positioning himself in front of the oblivious Buggy, who kept walking until finally bumping into Shanks. It got his attention at least, pulled from the sea’s call to finally fix Shanks with those fiery orbs of his.

“What the hell, Shanks?” Buggy demanded.

“I was talking,” Shanks retorted. “Were you even listening?”

“Oh, y-yeah, I was listening,” Buggy lied. “Something about… going east…”

“Are you okay?” Shanks asked. “Rayleigh said we could go explore. We’re not going to get into trouble for wandering a little farther than we promised.”

“That’s not it,” Buggy replied. “I’m just… never mind.” He turned his head away, as if it would end the conversation, and found himself facing the sea again.

Shanks watched him for a moment, trying to study that expression on the other boy’s face, dissect it as he had seen Roger do to Rayleigh so many times. The look on Buggy’s face was sadness and longing, like fresh grief. It didn’t take Shanks long to understand why.

“You know,” he said, “sometimes I think how hard being a devil fruit user must be.”

Buggy glanced at him, eyebrows raised, curious as to where Shanks was going with this.

“You can’t swim anymore,” Shanks continued. “The sea is literally trying to kill you – a pirate! That makes the sea rejecting you twice as bad.”

Now Buggy was frowning. Where was Shanks going with this?

“Shanks,” Buggy started.

“You miss the sea, right?” Shanks interjected. “I know I would. So let me help you.”

“Help me?” Buggy repeated. “How are you going to do that?”

Shanks leaned forwards, eyes gleaming with mischievous intent. “Do you trust me, Bugs?”

Yes.

No.

You frighten me.

I –

Buggy shook his head, trying to shake off this sudden storm of feelings which threatened to drown him. All of these things were true, which just made things confusing and weird and he didn’t have the time to even begin figuring them out. Instead, he just nodded.

Shanks’ plan was surprisingly simple. He would sit in the shallow of the water, Buggy would sit in the gap of Shanks’ legs, where the red-haired would hold Buggy there in a secure hold. The water was deep enough that the waves would come and greet them, while remaining close enough to shore that Shanks could easily drag Buggy to safety if the need arouse.

Buggy was initially a little embarrassed by the position, especially when Shanks wrapped his arms around his waist. Then the embarrassment dissolved into a warm, bubbly pulse. Even when that first wave came that warm feeling stayed, contrasted to the callous touch of the sea. The waves crawled up to his thighs, cold hands that robbed his legs of feeling, leaving them numb.

Buggy had fallen into the sea a few times since the devil fruit incident and Shanks’ had always been there for him, but this was different. There was no panic here, no sense of dread, even if every wave felt like a dark siren call, attempting to pull him into its dark depths and choke the life from him. Buggy felt safe here in Shanks’ hold, he felt the sea and tasted the salt air without thinking that maybe this time someone would be too late, that this was the time the sea took him.

It was good that Buggy was so enthralled by the sea, because Shanks’ really didn’t want Buggy to see his face at that moment. He was beet red, hands clammy from nerves, from the fact that he was holding Buggy in such an intimate way, in a way he was certain he had seen Roger with Rayleigh. It felt good, to be so close, to see the pure happiness on Buggy’s face.

He felt his grip tightening, desperate to hold Buggy for just a bit longer. It’s a shame his big mouth had other plans.

“Does it feel good, Blue?”

Instantly the spell had been broken, the clock had struck midnight and whatever mood this moment had conjured was gone.

“Let me up!” Buggy demanded. “Right now!”

Shanks obeyed wordlessly.

Hold still firm but less familiar, Shanks stood and carefully pulled Buggy back to shore. His feet now on solid, golden sand, Buggy was able to leap to his feet and storm away from the red hair. Shanks only saw a brief glimpse of Buggy’s face, enough to see Buggy’s face was as red as his nose as he mumbled incoherently.

Shanks stretched out a hand, as if to grab a hold of the cabin boy who was quickly disappearing from his sight. He pulled his hand back and instead grabbed a hold of his straw hat, pulling it down to try and hide the angry tears.

“Stupid, stupid,” he chastised. “What was you thinking? Idiot, Shanks!”

He had to do something, say something, to fix this situation. Buggy had opened himself up to Shanks, made himself vulnerable as a show of trust for Shanks to enact his plan. And how did Shanks repay that trust? By being a stupid, horny teenager, of course! He was certain the Captain had never failed so utterly in his romantic endeavours.

He roughly wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, clearing his vision. His eyes still stung, still threatened to be taken over by tears, but he could see. He could see Buggy walking away and he could see something in the sand, in the space between them, a glass bottle just barely sticking out from the sand.

How had Buggy not noticed it? His eyes were keener than most, especially when it came to potential treasure maps. Was he that upset by what Shanks did? The guilt almost overwhelmed him, froze him to the spot to be overtaken it by it. Then a clearer voice spoke, a firmer voice that reminded him of the Captain. It said to pick up that bottle.

He obeyed.

Crossing the short distance to reach it, Shanks pulled the dark blue bottle from its sandy grave. The bottle wasn't heavy and there was no tell-tale feel of liquid. The colour was unusual, inspecting it closer Shanks could see that the blue was textured, like starlight reflected in the sea at night. There were gold engravings along the neck, reminiscent of rising and falling sea waves. The stop was simple cork and was removed without much effort. Tipping it upside down, hand waiting expectantly underneath it, Shanks almost gasped in relief when a rolled up parchment slipped out.

“Buggy!” he called. “Buggy, come quick! I’ve found something!”

Buggy stopped, so far down the beach his expression was unreadable. Shanks held the parchment up in his hand, in hopes that Buggy would be able to see it, despite how far away he now was. It seemed to work, as Buggy turned around and started to march back to the red haired boy. The relief Shanks felt was clear from the big dumb grin that plastered his face, one he tried to hide behind the parchment as he unfurled it in an attempt to examine it.

“It looks like a treasure map,” Shanks continued. “Maybe it’s for this island, maybe –”

A disembodied hand was suddenly before him, tapping the back of the paper to get Shank’s attention. He looked at it, grin dropping at the sight of the outstretched hand. Buggy stopped two metres away, a gap which signified the hurt Shanks had caused, that he needed to repair if he was to close it.

Buggy’s face was no longer red, his expression instead unreadable, refusing to give up anything that he thought – feared – could be used against him.

Shanks handed over the map.

The hand returned to Buggy, fixing back to his wrist, allowing the cabin boy to study the map with an eye far more practised than Shanks’. They had no map of this island, after all this was their first time at this here, yet Buggy was fairly certain that what was in his hand was a map of the isle.

The curve of the beach where it met the sea, the sharp strokes of pen which suggested a rocky, harder environment beyond the sand. He looked over to the jungle, where outside the treeline he could see a small formation of mountains, just like the map showed. Most importantly, at the base of one of those mountains was a cave, its entrance marked by a single red X.

“Weird,” Buggy said as he looked back to the map.

“What’s weird?” Shanks asked.

Buggy looked up at Shanks, dark eyes beneath thick lashes that made Shanks’ heart skip a beat. If Buggy knew what this look did to Shanks, what power it held over him, the blue haired cabin boy didn’t ever let on.

“You don’t leave treasure maps on the same island where you hid the treasure,” Buggy explained. “Treasures only left behind if it can’t be taken, like if there's marine on a pirates trail or there’s a feud between crew members. A map is just a guide to help you get back to that treasure, but maps can be stolen, which is why you hide the map.”

“Huh,” Shanks said. He had given little thought to the reasoning behind buried treasure or their maps in the past. All he knew was that they meant treasure and treasure was always good. The hows and whys weren’t important to him, but they were to Buggy.

“Maybe something happened then,” Shanks said. “Like, before the bottle could be thrown to sea.”

“Maybe,” Buggy agreed. “If you throw it into the sea then it means you don’t want anyone to find it, not your own crew, not even yourself.”

“Are you going to look for it?” Shanks asked.

“Obviously,” Buggy retorted, almost insulted.

“Then can I come?” Shanks said. “You’ll be in charge, you’re obviously way better at this kind of stuff then me, but I can help. An extra pair of hands can’t hurt, right?”

His attempt at spending more time with Buggy was obvious and desperate. If Shanks could just say ‘sorry’ and resolve the situation then he would, but he knew Buggy better than that. A verbal apology wasn’t going to be enough, what Buggy needed was some physical or emotional repentance.

If that meant Shanks would follow him into the unknown and be his sword to protect him from those dangers, then he would.

“Alright,” Buggy said. “You can come, but you obey me without question, got it?”

“Aye, aye!” Shanks cheered with a mock salute.

Despite his frustration, Buggy smiled.

Stupid Shanks, that damn energy of his was intoxicating, it drew you in until you had no doubts, no fears, which Buggy had plenty of. They were going into a jungle potentially filled with beasts, maybe even dinosaurs like back in Little Garden. Buggy was going to need all of the help he could get if he was going to find this mysterious treasure.

*

The Emperor hadn’t stopped talking since they had begun their search. Buggy led the way, as expected, traversing the foliage with ease despite the foreignness of it. Down hills so steep and over forest floor so rough and irregular that even Shanks found himself struggling. Yet, despite this, the Emperor hadn’t stopped talking for one second.

He wanted to know everything.

Where had Buggy been all these years, how did he meet his crew, what’s his deal with Luffy. Over and over, questions upon questions, in hopes that Buggy would provide him with something beyond one or two words. If Shanks was getting frustrated by the wall he repeatedly hit, he didn’t show it, his smile unwavering.

They stopped near a treeline which had begun to thin and space out enough that one could traverse between them with more ease. Beyond it, the gentle hush of overlapping waves, a beach. The cave they was aiming for was accessible via the jungle and it seemed to be the more direct route. It was also the more difficult path, judging by how treacherous their short trek had been so far.

Following the beach and then cutting up through the forest was going to be easier and longer, more exposed, but Buggy had no worries about such things with an Emperor around. It may even provide them with some clues as to where they were, perhaps the Big Top was nearby and they had just been teleported to a passing island. One could only hope.

“Hey, Shanks,” Buggy said.

“Yeah?” Shanks replied, almost too enthusiastically.

“What’s wrong?” Buggy asked.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Shanks said, smile faltering for the first time.

“You seem… tense,” Buggy replied. “Has your Haki picked up on something or what?”

Shanks doesn’t reply, not immediately, because he didn’t know what to say. How did Buggy know? Shanks thought that nothing had slipped through his shield, yet it did, something so small to crack the façade. Was it the way he held himself, the unconscious hand on the hilt of his sword that was more firm than it was relaxed? It was something he expected Benn or Yasopp to have noticed, crew mates who had been with him for years, day after day. Not an ex-cabin boy he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years.

Shanks smiled and it felt like the first real smile he had worn all day.

“You really are amazing, Bugs,” he said.

Buggy frowned.

“There’s something… off about this place,” Shanks continued, more serious. “I can’t say why, it’s almost like déjà vu.”

“It could be the power of that devil fruit user,” Buggy reasoned. “We still don’t know where we are. It could be an island you’ve visited before.”

Shanks made a non-committed sound, not entirely convinced by Buggy’s theory. There was something else to this, a piece of the puzzle they were missing. One that if they found, could be slotted into place and everything would make sense. He supposed they weren’t going to find it by standing around.

They carried on, pushing past the shrubbery and trees and finally arriving at the beach. Lush clear blue water, sand so golden it sparkled and, in the distance, a massive ship with a hauntingly familiar ensign. The sight of the Oro Jackson froze the two pirates to the spot and the booming, jovial laugh which reached them even so far away froze their blood.

Buggy could see him.

Captain.

It’s Captain! He’s alive, he’s alive.

No!

Buggy slapped his own face, leaving a stinging red mark. It wasn’t Roger, it couldn’t be. Roger was… dead, long dead and the Oro Jackson was gone. What was this then? Buggy looked at his hands, then to Shanks, half-expecting for the two of them to have changed, be reduced to their former cabin boy states. They hadn’t. They were still an Emperor and an escaped Impel Down prisoner.

“Shanks,” Buggy’s voice cracked as he managed to speak up.

The Emperor turned, spinning on his heel and disappearing into the forest without a sound. Buggy, instinctively, reached out to grab him, hold him, anything to keep him there to talk about this. He would have succeeded, if not for the empty space he blindly grasped, a hole once occupied by an arm, an arm that was no longer there.

It had barely been a thought before, because Buggy hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, the real, physical change in Shanks that was the manifestation of all those years apart. A reminder of what was lost.

Gone. Gone like the Captain. Like the Jackson. Like Shanks.

Buggy delivered a second slap to his face, over the same spot, the sting twice as bad and twice as refreshing. Briefly glancing back at the Oro Jackson, at the last place that felt like home, Buggy followed Shanks back into the jungle.

“Shanks!” he called. “Stop! Where are you going?”

Shanks didn’t answer, head low as he retraced their steps back. Buggy ground his teeth in frustration. He disconnected his torso from his body, the disembodied extremity shooting forwards, passing Shanks. Buggy blocked the path before the Emperor, arms outstretched as if he could ever physically stop Shanks. Yet he did stop, the Emperor’s body coming to halt, even if his eyes remained fixed to the ground.

This just frustrated Buggy more.

“You think I’m not upset too?” Buggy said. “Seeing the Captain, the crew, the damn Jackson! It… tears me up, but we can’t stop. We can’t let that distract us. We have to get back to our crews.”

“You know,” Shanks said, “that’s the most you’ve said to me since we came here.”

Shanks looked up, those intense eyes now so soft, the scarred skin relaxing. Buggy lowered his arms, still hovering before Shanks as his legs finally caught up.

“I’m sorry,” Shanks said. “Seeing the Captain, after what happened with Ace…” he sighed heavily and placed a hand over his chest. “It hurts so much more.”

“Ace was a good kid,” Buggy said. “The Captain would have been proud of the man he was.”

“He would be proud of us, too,” Shanks said.

Buggy snorted, “One of us,” he corrected.

Buggy reconnected to his lower half and pulled out the map from his pocket. He examined it, trying to reposition themselves and figure out what to do next. Following the beach was no longer an option. They couldn’t risk being in the sight of the Oro Jackson, not without knowing what it was.

“Was that the real Jackson?” Shanks wondered aloud.

They continued, now walking side-by-side, Buggy no longer leading the way as he charted their next route. Buggy could have walked ahead, he chose not to. Didn’t want to. He wanted to be close to Shanks, as if his presence was some kind of protective blanket against the weirdness of the situation.

“It seems so,” Buggy said. “It looked like it had been in a fight, like the ones we used to get in with Whitebeard.”

“Then did we… time-travel?” Shanks said. “Did someone use the Toki-Toki no Mi on us?”

“That devil fruit can only send people forward in time, not back,” Buggy corrected him. “It also can’t send people back to their original time.”

“And the reward for us finding the treasure is being returned,” Shanks said. “A different devil fruit then?”

“I don’t think it matters right now,” Buggy offered. “We just need to do as we’re told. We find the treasure and go from there.”

“While avoiding the Oro Jackson and its crew,” Shanks added.

“Ha!” Buggy laughed. “You make it sound so easy.”

“I’m an Emperor,” Shanks grinned, “and you’re the infamous Buggy the Clown! You escaped Impel Down, took a swing from Mihawk and survived. Finding a little bit of treasure is going to be child’s play.”

*

The cabin boys had made it to the mouth of the cave, a jagged wound at the base of a massive mountain capped by flowers. Dove orchids, red buttercups and daisies danced around the high tip and came down and around, wayward strands of a forgotten maypole. Even the entrance was not spared, dozens of the colourful and overgrown plants stood at the bridge between the cold darkness of the cave and the warm sunshine of the forest.

Buggy, not an expert on horticulture, knew enough to find the flora unusual. Flowers like this didn’t usually grow on this type on island, in hard ground and dry soil. An experienced gardener would laugh at such a suggestion and call you a fool for trying. The New World, however, made fools out of everyone.

What was normal in the East Blue was strange in the West, what could be considered an amazing feat in the Grand Line was a parlour trick performed by children in the New World. It was probably why Shanks paid no attention to the pretty flowers and instead focused on a rickety wooden sign.

It was a tilted plank of wood on a weak pole, bleached by the sun. The writing was barely eligible, worn down by weather and the years spent on display. Shanks leaned in close to read the barely eligible writing which clung on.

“Enter!” he read aloud. “If prepared to face the darkness.”

“O-ho, a challenge is it?” Buggy bravely declared.

He folded his arms over his chest, a bold smile on his face that he hoped would mask the sound of his knees knocking together. It didn’t. He was very frightened, who wouldn’t be? A dark mountain covered in weird flowers with a spooky sign, it was like the campfire stories Roger told them late at night.

He wouldn’t back down though, not when there was treasure to be had and especially not when he had Shanks with him. It was a strange spell the red-haired weaved on Buggy. No matter how frightful the situation, or how dire, as long as Buggy had Shanks he wasn’t afraid of anything.

“I’ll go first,” Shanks said. “That way, if anything does attack, my sword is the first thing it’ll meet.”

“Y-yes!” Buggy agreed. “I’ll stick to the back, that way I can keep the map safe and – and use my devil fruit to keep watch from up high.”

“Good idea, Buggy,” Shanks said. “You’re so smart.”

“I know,” Buggy grinned.

Shanks stepped over the carpet of flowers and made his way into the gloom, followed a second later by Buggy, who was definitely not afraid but did appreciate being the second person in.

*

“Enter! If prepared to face the darkness.”

Shanks read the warning aloud in a thunderous, dramatic voice and didn’t get the reaction he wanted. He turned to the only member of his audience and found the Genius Jester examining the flowers which decorated the mountain like a crown.

Buggy’s painted lips were pursed, a frown cutting into his features. He couldn’t shake the feeling all of this was eerily familiar. Not quite déjà vu, more like a dream he had woken up from and, in a groggy state of awakening, was attempting to recall the details. They had been here before, evident by the Oro Jackson, and yet he couldn’t dredge up any memories of this place.

It was only when he saw something out of the ordinary, such as the cave, did he feel any sense of nostalgia. It was an itch at the base of his skull and he desperately wanted to scratch it, drag it out from the depths of his mind and into the light.

“Hmm?” Buggy turned to the Emperor.

Shanks pointed at the sign, a gleeful smirk on his handsome face.

“Pre-tty spooky, huh?” Shanks said. “Maybe we should hold hands?”

“That afraid of the dark, are we?” Buggy teased.

“Terribly so,” Shanks retorted. “I won’t be able to go a single step without someone to guide me.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky to have someone as brave as me around?” Buggy flicked his hand, catching one of his two ponytails in a dramatic flourish.

The playful smirk on Shanks’ face faded, shifting into something much warmer, more secretive, one he shared with so few. The wall between them had been broken, just a little, a few bricks tossed aside to allow the other to peer over. He was starting to see more of the new Buggy, the man the scrawny cabin boy had grown into it.

And there was more to learn, to uncover, to dissect and enjoy. If being here, on this strange island surrounded by foggy memories, meant he could rediscover the boy he once knew then he was more than happy to stay a little bit longer.

“Come on then,” Buggy called, startling Shanks out of his daydream.

Buggy was already several steps into the cave, map in hand, having stopped mid-step when he noticed he wasn’t being followed.

“Right behind you,” Shanks called back.

He quickly caught up with the clown and they continued on, not the least bit surprised to find lit torches in braziers along the wall. The path was smooth with grooves, the walls supported by thick wooden beams. It seemed this place was once a mine in the past, no longer in use judging by the cobwebs in the gaps of wood and the discarded, rusty tools.

Which begged the question, who lit the torches?

As they treaded further and further, Buggy found his eyes less on the map and more on the winding path ahead. It split into bisected tunnels and he knew, without a glance at the parchment in hand, which path to take. His feet were moving on their own, led along by a song he no longer knew the words too but whose steps were whispers in his bones.

The cave entrance was far behind them now, taking all heat and replacing it with an unnatural dampness they felt seep into their clothes. Their steps echoed off the stony floor and walls and was answered by voices far in the distance, growing closer with every inch moved forwards. The voices were young, teenagers judging by the way they cracked on certain syllables.

One voice in particular sent an ache across Shanks’ chest and his steps faltered, for just one moment that didn’t go unnoticed by Buggy. The Clown brushed one hand against Shanks’, the ghost of a touch, but it was enough. It was warm and comforting and it reminded Shanks that he wasn’t alone, that whatever was ahead, they would face it together.

Even if instinct screamed at them to turn around, to not face what lay at the end of the tunnel, because whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. 

“– I’m telling you, we need to get some help,” one voice argued. “We can’t carry this back by ourselves.”

“If we get help then that means splitting the treasure three ways!” the other retorted. “Which means we get less of it, is that what you want?”

“If it means not having to lug this back to the ship, then yes,” the first replied.

The second gasped, “You –! And you call yourself a pirate!”

Just one more step, a turn around the corner, and there was no turning back. Shanks glanced at Buggy, only to find Buggy looking back. Despite the uncertainty on his face, he was prepared to go forwards, if Shanks was.

They rounded the corner and came face to face with a vision from the past.

Red, the striking visage of a young Shanks from his straw hat to his small sword, was stood in a hastily dug ditch where a half-buried treasure lay. His shirt and hands were dirty, where he clutched a rusted old shovel. The other boy, Blue, was Buggy through and through, from those stripy socks and red nose, to the utter naked fear on his face at the sight of the adults who had suddenly appeared.

He was standing outside of the ditch and was tightly grasping a shovel too, though was now using it more like a poorly designed shield. Red, upon realising Blue was much closer to the potential danger in the room, leapt out of the ditch and came to stand beside Blue in one smooth motion. He discarded his shovel and drew his sword, a sabre with enough scratches and cuts to signify it wasn’t just for show.

Red now before him, Blue seemed to lose some of that fear, his grip on the shovel loosening enough for him to truly take in the situation. His one hand moved to his hip, from where – Buggy knew – there would be several knives ready to be thrown. It was such an easy thing for them to do, to get into position, one which protected the other while not neglecting the challenges of potential combat.

There’s a reliance there, a conjoining thread that allowed the pair to move as one, one which had – or will be – severed. The feeling which whelmed up inside of Buggy was almost like grief, a crushing sense of loss at an unspoken bond he didn’t realise he ever had in anyone bar Roger and Rayleigh. The grief was short lived, quickly replaced by a bubbling rage, at whom he wasn’t sure.

Everyone and no one. The Marines who had taken Roger from them, who had killed Ace. Shanks, who had gone from strength to strength, become a legend while Buggy was nothing more than a laughing stock. These boys, whose mere presence mocked him, reminded him of what he had and what he had chosen to throw away.

He was angry at himself.

Buggy drew his own knives from behind his back, four in each hand, held between the joint of his knuckles. Blue balked at the sight, having only managed to hold two in the same fashion. Shanks grimaced, he hadn’t wanted the situation to escalate, but Buggy was clearly upset and the boys were scared. A fight was almost inevitable.

His hand went to the hilt of his sword, but didn’t go no further. He needed to think. He could use his Conqueror’s Haki on the boys, knock them out and then leave with the treasure. They could nab the chest and be back on the Big Top before the boys woke up and remember the details of the encounter.

Okay then, Shanks thought. Just a little bit of Haki, no need to go overboard –

“Who are you?” Red demanded, his voice as firm as the grip on his sword.

“Yeah!” Blue piped up. “Are you… visions the cave sent to scare us?”

“Sure, why not,” Shanks said. “We’re the ghosts of the future yet to come.”

“Ghosts, huh?” Red said, lowering his sword slightly.

“That would explain why they look so terrible,” Blue half-whispered then exclaimed. “It’s a warning! We can’t let ourselves end up like that, Shanks!”

Buggy’s mouth twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean, brat?” he demanded.

“I, uh, I just mean…” Blue trailed off, confidence suddenly drained when fixed by the gaze of his counterpart. “You can’t really be me. My nose isn’t that big.”

Buggy threw a single knife, it sliced through the air and struck the wall just above Blue’s head, cutting the tiniest of paths through his hat.

“Buggy! What the hell?” Shanks reprimanded.

“No one talks about my nose!” Buggy growled. “Not even me!”

Red, sensing the direction the encounter was going, moved next. He launched himself forwards, swinging his sword in an upwards arc meant to dash open the opponents face. Shanks, instinctively, took one step forward and drew his sword. Red’s blade jerked back, knocked off course by the much stronger, more experienced blade.

Buggy watched the sword play for a moment, as Red goes at Shanks with a fiercer, lower jab more in line with a fencer. Shanks reads the movements in Red’s feet, he knows all these moves and knocks them aside with an ease which was clearly frustrating the younger red haired. Buggy returns his attention to the treasure chest to find Blue hasn’t moved, mesmerised by the dancing steel.

Buggy, having seen enough fantastical sword fights in his day, isn’t distracted for a moment longer. He sheathes his knives and detaches his torso, sending it flying across to the chest, past the blue-haired cabin boy. Buggy grips the handles of the chest and Blue comes back to his senses, whirling on the Clown, knives now drawn in one hand.

“Eyes on the prize, brat,” Buggy smirks.

“So what?” Blue retorts. “It’s not like you can get it out of here on your...”

The words die in his mouth as he watches in silent, mouth-agape awe, as Buggy heaves the chest out of the ground effortlessly. It’s heavy, though not for someone who has spent weeks surviving the horrors of Impel Down. Inside Buggy can hear the goods inside clinking, the sound of coin and jewels rubbing against one another.

With one cheeky wink Blue’s way, Buggy heads back to his lower half.

“Shanks!” Blue calls.

Both Red and Shanks turn at the sound of their voice, though Red is quicker on the uptake, on what he needs to do. He whips around to face the waiting legs of Buggy and delivers one swift kick to his Muggy Balls.

Buggy freezes, face twisting in tight pain, and he drops the chest with a thundering thwunk. Blue darts forwards, grabbing one handle as Red seizes its twin. Together they half-drag, half-carry the treasure chest away. Shanks knows he should stop them, but the way Buggy’s torso falls to the ground, twitching in pain, is too hard to ignore.

He rushes to Buggy’s aid, helping the clown's torso into what could be considered a sitting position in his current state.

“Buggy, breathe,” Shanks soothes him.  “Take a deep breath and –”

“…him,” Buggy wheezes.

“Hmm? What did you say?”

“I’m going to kill that Straw Hat!” Buggy explodes.

His disembodied legs begin to give chase. Buggy manages to compose himself enough to get off the ground and back up into the air, where he wordlessly places his arms beneath Shanks’ arms and carries him away.

“I can run you know,” Shanks laughs.

“This is faster,” Buggy says simply. “And I’ve got a plan.”

*

“Why did you have to kick him there?” Blue whined.

“I thought that was the plan!” Red argued.

“I wanted him distracted, not infertile!” Blue snapped.

The chest was heavy, exhaustingly so, luckily both were running high on adrenaline. Otherwise the chest would have been abandoned, which Red was seriously beginning to consider. These ghosts were serious business, they weren’t to be taken lightly and, honestly, Red wasn’t sure if they could handle it.

The tunnel ahead of them opened up, enough that the ceiling above them concaved to reveal several tunnel entrances and the remnants of beams from where, in the past, carts would dart between the various entrances delivering goods. It was the ideal spot for an ambush.

Red stole a glance behind him, trying to make out any chasing figures, and saw only a pair of rapidly approaching legs. Legs? No scarred adult version of himself? Had they left them behind? Had he kicked the future Buggy too hard? Or – and the thought came a second too late – had they played right into their hands?

There was a flash of red and suddenly the chest was jerked from the boys’ grasp, leaving nothing but a painful burn in their palms. The red blur took shape, became hair, scars and a jacket which flared and settled like a great, all-encompassing cape. Shanks was crouched atop the treasure chest, triumphantly beaming up at Buggy, who had to admit what a flashy entrance it was.

“Hey!” Blue barks. “Watch it! There’s treasure in that chest, you know!”

Shanks turns to look at the cabin boy, who flinched when those warm, honey eyes find him. Shanks gives him that smooth, boyish smile and Blue, admittedly, found himself charmed.

“Sorry about that,” Shanks apologises. “I know this chest means a lot to you. It’s important to us too, it’s why we need it.”

“W-well, we found it first,” Blue stammered.

“I know,” Shanks said and gracefully descended from his spot atop the treasure, coming to stand before Blue. “It’s a big find for two cabin boys, I get it. But in this case we need it a bit more than you do, so how about a trade?”

“A trade?” Blue parroted, hesitantly. “What could we trade it for?”

Shanks leaned down, his face now dangerously close to Blue’s as he whispered, “Anything you want.”

It was hot all of sudden, how did that happen. Why did Blue feel his face flush with an alarming sense of excitement? Why was old Shanks so damn handsome? Everything he did was so damn cool, his cocky walk and playful smirk. Oh no, what was happening. Blue opened his mouth to answer and no sound came out, just a jabbering as he tried to piece together what was left of his melted brain.

None of this had gone unnoticed by Red who was definitely not jealous, no sir. He just didn’t appreciate this weird old guy being so close to his friend. Yes, that was definitely the reason. Red went to move in, intercept this meeting before it got even weirder, when Buggy’s torso descended from the ceiling and blocked his path. The legs had finally joined the scene and reconnected without a sound.

“You know, most pirates would hang you for such a dirty trick,” Buggy rumbled.

Red drew his sword, lips drawn together in one tight line as he retorted, “Oh yeah? Do all pirates wear makeup in the future?”

Buggy scoffed at the boy’s feeble comeback. “Only the flashiest pirates,” he retorted. “You’d be surprised, in fact, by how many. But none do it as flashy as me! Gyahahaha!”

Red snorted, a sound which both surprised him and offended Buggy.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“N-nothing,” Red laughed. “You just… you’re so weird. This is who Buggy grows up to be?”

“You got a problem with that?” Buggy growled.

“No,” Red smiled. “I like it, actually.”

Buggy cocked an eyebrow, surprised by the response and yet, it seemed like a very Shanks thing to say. Of course Buggy was weird, he was used to hearing it – and worse – from other pirates. Yet only Shanks could make it sound like a compliment, like he had discovered a yet unknown aspect of the clown to praise.

Damn, had Shanks always been so smooth?

At the sound of Red’s laugh, Blue had glanced over, tried to see past his future self to make out what was happening. Shanks, seeing his opportunity, takes it. Gently winding his arm around Blue’s back, he takes the boy and spins him out of the way of the chest. In a carefully practised dance, the Emperor removes the young pirate from the treasure and passes him to the unsuspecting Red. Buggy steps aside, allowing the boys to stumble together and get tangled in their own feet.

He clicks his own heels together, opening up a small compartment in the heel of his left shoe that drops the smallest of buggy balls. The ball strikes the ground and instantly breaks apart, releasing a cloud of thick grey smoke. The cabin boys, confused by the sudden turn of events, desperately try to pull apart from one another as they attempt to make anything out of the smoke.

They see nothing, not one another and not their future. Only when the smoke finally dissipates does Red see the damage which has been done, the treasure which has so easily been spirited away from them.

“Argh!” Red groans. “No way! We were so close! We –”

A light catches his attention, the sparkle of a jewel caught by firelight. He whirls around to face Blue, sat on the ground, holding in his hands a single, beautiful pendant. It was a massive garnet, held in place by a gold frame suspended by a thick, gold chain.

“Buggy! You! How?” Red struggles to find the words and instead leaps at the boy, throwing his arms around him. “You’re amazing! I love you!”

Blue’s face flushes as deep a scarlet as his nose.

His first reaction is to shove Red away, call him an idiot, do or say something that would unbalance this moment. Like he usually did, because Red did said and did things that confused Blue. He took the jar which held his brain and heart and gave it one violent embrace. This time, however, he didn’t. Maybe it was seeing the ghost of himself, a man who, as strong and capable as he appeared to be, still had Shanks at his side.

And so, instead, he buried his face into the crook of Red’s neck, where he hoped his blush would be hidden.

“Of course I’m amazing," he said instead. "Who wouldn’t love me?”

“Do you think they’ll notice you took something?” Red asked.

Blue shrugged. “They were just ghosts, right?” he said. “Does it matter?”

*

Aloysius Greybeard was a man who studied birds. South birds, News Coo, he loved them all and had made it his life’s journey to find each and every single one of them. And he almost succeeded. He had documented all birds the great wide world had to offer, bar one, a bird he had only heard from a distance while travelling on his little skiff past a little island. He had made plans to stop and rest at the unassuming island with its tall mountainous peaks, until he saw the Oro Jackson and thought better of it.

Then he heard the sound, a screech so loud and piercing that it caused all nesting birds to take flight into the darkening afternoon sky. He had heard nothing like it before and quickly turned his boat around, desperately searching high and low for the bird who had made that distinct, curious cry. He never found it, because it wasn’t a bird, it was pirate.

A very angry, red nosed pirate who had realised they had been duped.

After lugging the chest all the way back to what was the starting line, the pair had waited expectantly for something to happen. It should have been a surprise that nothing had happened, of course things couldn’t be that easy for Buggy. The reasoning behind this hiccup, however, was unexpected.

“That brat!” Buggy swore. “That sneaky little brat!”

Buggy had thrown open the chest to find glittering coins, jewels, broaches, all the standard markings of a healthy treasure chest. It was so overflowing with loot that several coins were dislodged from the pile and sent skittering across the forest floor, stopped only by Shanks’ boot.

“How can you be so sure he even took anything?” Shanks asked.

“Because it’s exactly what I would do,” Buggy replied. “If I saw the tide turning like that and had the cover of smoke, I’d take what I could.”

“Alright then,” Shanks said.

He picked up the wayward coins and tossed them back into the chest. He closed the lid and then, smoothly, jumped up to sit on the chest.

“If our younger selves did take something from the chest,” Shanks continued. “Then all we need to do is get it back. That should meet the conditions of this game and we’ll be sent back to the Big Top.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Buggy snorted. “How do you expect to get onto the Oro Jackson?”

“Obviously, we don’t,” Shanks replied.

Buggy, finally, seemed to calm down. He was still fuming, enraged by having been duped by a trick he pulled on himself, but it seemed Shanks had a plan. That calm aura of his was infectious and Buggy was glad for it, for once. He needed cooler heads to prevail, he had spent enough time around hot-headed fools like Straw Hat and the other Impel Down prisoners for one lifetime.

Besides, seeing Shanks take this treasure hunt so seriously was, well, Buggy could admit it was very attractive. Had this always been an aspect of Shanks? Buggy couldn’t really remember, his memories of such times seemed to be either dragging Shanks along to find treasure or of Shanks trading a found map for a week of deck scrubbing.

“What are you scheming?” Buggy asked.

Shanks laughed, “Scheme? Do I look like a schemer to you?”

“The worst kind,” Buggy retorted. “You’ve got to be, to think you can sneak a jewel from the hands of two Oro Jackson cabin boys.”

“You’ve got me there,” Shanks chuckled.

“So what are you planning?” Buggy asked.

“It’s simple,” Shanks said. “Those boys think we’re just shadows, to them we don’t exist outside of the cave. They won’t be expecting us. Second –” a mischievous smirk spread across the red haired face – “what did we always do after sneaking away loot for ourselves?”

Buggy paused, casting his mind back to those hazy, warm memories. The Oro Jackson was under repairs, it wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, which usually meant a bonfire on the beach. There would be food and grog, it would be loud and jovial, and the adults would be too drunk to notice two cabin boys pilfer a bottle for themselves.

The memory resurfaced, as solid as the ground beneath Buggy’s feet, and the clown grinned.

The cabin boys would sneak away to enjoy their stolen goods, somewhere far down the beach, just far enough away from the watchful eyes of the rest of the crew.

*

The night sky arrived with rapturous laughter, as Roger delighted the bonfire’s attendants with details of his last legendary clash with Whitebeard. Many in attendance had seen the faithful fight of course, it was hard not to get caught up when the two powerhouses clashed. Hearing it from Roger, with his own insight into the nitty-gritty details, was a different thing entirely. Both exhilarating and hilarious.

Under the dark velvet sky, Roger animatedly recanted the fight, putting on a terrible impression of Whitebeard as he retold their barbs. The fire was high, fuelled by the excellent wood provided by the forest. A second, smaller fire fit stood not far, from where a pig caught from the expanse of trees was currently roasting.

Rayleigh stood beside the roasted animal, a bottle of grog in hand as he enjoyed the fire’s warmth and took in the crew. Those who weren’t actively engaged with Roger’s tale had split off into smaller groups, either dancing to music played back on a sound dial, or in their own circles where they discussed the next route they were most likely to take.

As Rayleigh looked around the camp, seeking out two particular targets, he found his eyes always returning to Roger. No matter how far his eyes seemed to wander, they returned to the beating heart of the party, that loud, ridiculous man who made Rayleigh’s chest ache.

“Lookin’ for the boys?” asked Gaban, the man having appeared to come check on the meat.

“Yes,” Rayleigh replied. “I’ve not seen them since they went to explore the island. Have you seen them?”

“Shanks was just here,” Gaban said. “He took a bottle and went down the beach. He’s probably going to meet Buggy.”

“Hmm,” was all Rayleigh could say. “I should go get them. I don’t want them so far from the bonfire.”

A firm slap to the back almost knocked Rayleigh over and Roger was beside him, body warm and stinking of sweat from working on the ship’s repairs. That longing deepened until it threatened to drain Rayleigh of all strength. He focused on something other than Roger’s silly little moustache and deep eyes. Which, in this case, was the grog he quickly took a full swig from.

“The boys’ll be fine,” Roger slurred. “You’ve got to give them the freedom to, uh, explore.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Rayleigh asked him.

“Not enough,” Roger laughed. “Come on, Ray. Let’s dance!”

Rayleigh had no strength to protest, his body no longer his own to control as Roger so easily winded their fingers together and led him towards the heat of the bonfire. Gaban watched them go, chuckling quietly at the ease in which Roger could command his second. As Roger engaged in what could politely be called dancing, drawing a hollering from the crowd, Gaban looked over to the far side of the beach where he had seen the cabin boys vanish too.

They weren’t far, they were still within the safe reach of any member of the crew. Besides, what kind of trouble could the pair get up to?

*

Red ran, bottle triumphantly in hand, as he raced to meet his blue haired companion. They were far enough away that the light and heat of the massive bonfire were just a faint glow, a reminder of where safety was should they need it. Red was pretty confident that they didn’t. While today had been strange and exciting, he was confident it was over. They had beaten the cave and its shadows, and now they celebrate.

He quickly finds where he left Blue. The other cabin boy was sat cross legged far from the water, perhaps not wanting a repeat of that day’s earlier incident. He’s holding the garnet up towards the full moon, admiring its quality through the pale moonlight. He doesn’t know it, but the moonlight is reflecting the light back onto his face, splashes of burgundy that dance over his skin as the jewel sways in his grasp.

For a moment Red is mesmerised, he wants nothing more than to freeze this moment in time, preserve it for eternity. Then he thinks better of it, deciding he would rather be beside Blue than watch him for afar.

“Hey!” he calls.

He jogs over and lands on the ground beside Blue, all teeth as he grins up at the other cabin boy. Blue rolls his eyes and puts aside the garnet, placing it safely at his side. Red removes the cork with one loud pop and then offers Blue the first drink. He takes it, one probing sip to adjust to the warm and bitter taste before taking a second, longer drink. He passes it back.

They remain that way for several minutes, quietly passing the bottle back and forth, allowing the alcohol to work its magic. They feel it seep heat into their bones, protecting them from the biting cold of the sea air. It was nice, just sitting beside one another, especially after the chaos of the day. Then Blue breaks the silence, surprising Red. It’s usually Red who wants to talk, to word vomit every single thought that passes through his head because he can’t stand the thought of keeping them cooped up.

“Those… ghosts from before,” Blue began, “did you think they looked weird?”

“Weird?” Red asked. “Weird how? I thought I looked cool.”

“And me?” Blue probed hesitantly. “I heard you talk about my - his - makeup.”

“Oh,” Red said and then repeated much louder when he realised what had made Blue suddenly so talkative.

“No, I didn’t think he looked weird,” Red assured him. “It surprised me, that’s all. I just never expected you to wear something like that.”

“So you don’t think it looked… bad?” Blue asked.

Red shook his head. “It suited him, actually,” he said. “It was flashy.”

Blue smiled, “That’s good, ‘cause actually…” he leaned in closer, bringing Shanks in on this secret. “When I’m alone, I’ve been wearing lipstick.”

“Really? Where have you been getting them from?” Red asked.

“Whitey Bay,” Blue revealed. “A couple of months back, when we ran into Whitebeard, I saw her putting her own makeup on and I – I just asked to try it. I didn’t think she’d let me, I thought she’d laugh.”

The memory of Whitey Bay and the way her surprise gave way to intrigue made Blue smile. She had taken the cabin boy to her room, away from the eyes of the two crews, to show off her arsenal of makeup. She patiently explained every item, their uses, and then helped him apply the pieces he found the most interesting. It wasn’t the neatest start to his journey, but he couldn’t deny the effect his reflection had on him. Those bright, red lips promised so many things.

Maturity, danger, romance. He saw for the first time the type of pirate he wanted to be. A pirate who could be remembered. And not just as Roger’s cabin boy, or Shanks’ friend or that kid with the weird nose. People would remember him as Buggy, as his own pirate.

“She gave me some lipstick to take home,” Blue continued. “When I’m alone I… put it on.”

“You should show me next time,” Red told him. “I’d like to see it.”

“Yeah,” Blue said. “Maybe.”

“I mean it,” Shanks insisted. “Next time we’re alone show me, okay?”

“Okay,” Blue gave in. “But you can’t tell anyone. I don’t know what the Captain would say.”

“Deal.”

Shanks raised a hand, ready to swear in this promise, when he realised how close the two cabin boys were. The distance between them had shortened once more, now when they looked at one another, it was into the others eyes. There was barely a hair between their noses, they could feel the heat of the others alcohol infused-breath. Blue froze up, fingers digging to the sand, startled by the sudden proximity of the one person who could make a fool of him.

Red, confidence fuelled by grog, was calmer, even if he felt his lips tremble as desire and instinct egged him on. It was an almost perfect moment, ruined only by the disembodied hand neither of them notice approach Blue’s side, nimble fingers aiming for the now forgotten jewel.

Hidden in the shrubbery of the forest was Shanks and Buggy, the latter pressed to the ground where he could see the two cabin boys by the shore. Shanks, meanwhile, stood crouched beside him, eyes fixated on the dancing embers of the bonfires. Back in their youth, in moments like this, they weren’t usually bothered. Still Shanks was cautious, he didn’t want to risk anyone stumbling upon them and so he kept a keen eye out.

After all, Gol D. Roger was just down there. As much as he longed to see his Captain again, they didn’t know the consequences such a meeting would have.

“Buggy, hurry up,” Shanks urged.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Buggy shot back. “I….”

Ahead the cabin boys inched closer and Buggy froze, fingers just curled around the golden chain. He remembered this, somewhere in his foggy memory he recalled his first kiss with Shanks. It was here, on this very beach? Then he couldn’t interrupt it, right? The boys would never notice anyway, Buggy would be in and out before either knew the jewel had been stolen, but what if they did. What if this changed the timeline?

The thought had never crossed his mind before, but now, faced with the very moment in which he could alter what was a pivotal moment to his teenage self, he found he couldn’t make a move. Luckily he didn’t need to.

Blue, in a panic from the approaching lips, found his eyes darting everywhere but where they should be focused. And so he saw the hand. Yelling a profanity unsuited for a teenager, Blue snatched at the jewel just as Buggy’s hand did. The hand pulled back, unbalancing Blue and throwing him face first into the sand. Still he refused to let go, even as the hand began its retreat to its master, dragging the cabin boy through the sand.

“Shit!” Buggy leapt to his face and ran to his hand, reattaching it to continue the game of tug of war with himself. “Let go, brat!”

“Stop calling me a brat, you old fart!” Blue retorted.

“Old?” Buggy screeched. “I’m younger than Captain!”

“Well, you look older!” Blue snapped.

Shanks, having been temporarily distracted by the farce happening before his eyes, quickly turned back to the bonfire. The noise of the party hadn’t changed in anyway and he saw no approaching shadows. The party must have been loud to drown out not just one, but two Buggy’s.

Sighing heavily, he emerged from the dense forest and made his way over to Red. The cabin boy said nothing, even as Shanks sat down beside the boy, too focused on watching Blue get dragged screaming through the sand by Buggy. Wordlessly, he offered Shanks the bottle of grog.

“How are you still holding on?” Buggy growled. “How – what are you doing?”

Buggy finally spotted the two red haired pirates sat comfortably in the sand.

“I think we need a different approach,” Shanks said. “How about we all sit down and talk?”

Buggy and Blue eye one another, suspicious of the other’s next move, but aware that they weren’t really getting anywhere. Worse, Buggy and Shanks were now woefully outnumbered if either cabin boy decided to call for help. They had been lucky so far, the sound of struggle drowned out by merriment, but if either of them truly called for help or made a run for it, then Roger or Rayleigh would be here within an instant.

Best to play along for now, see what Shanks was hoping to pull off. After all, this plan could have worked, if Buggy hadn’t foolishly given into his boyish memories. Both clowns relented, holding the jewel between them as they joined their companions on the beach, only releasing it once they were seated. Blue and Red on one side, Shanks and Buggy the other, the jewel the decorative piece between them.

“How did you even know something was missing?” Red asked.

“It’s complicated,” Shanks said. “We’re not actually ghosts, but we are from the future and we can’t get back without that treasure.”

“The future?” Blue questioned. “Did you come all the way back here just to steal this from us?”

“No, it was… a test,” Shanks tried to explain. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“If you’re from the future, who’s the captain?” Red asked.

“Huh?” Buggy frowned.

“You’re obviously not with Captain Roger anymore,” Red said and pointed at Buggy’s hat. “That’s a captain’s hat, does that mean you’re the captain? What do you call yourselves?”

“Of course I’m the captain,” Blue answered him. “You’re better suited to being my second anyway.”

“How you figure?” Red said.

“All vice-captains are sword masters,” Blue explained, matter-of-factly. “And you obviously grow up to be one.”

Shanks couldn’t help but blush at the compliment.

Buggy said nothing, his frown only deepening. What could he say to them? The boys obviously had the expectation that their future was together, the great Shanks and Captain Buggy exploring the world, taking on marines and uncovering lost treasure. It was so far from the truth Buggy couldn’t help but laugh.

*

Somewhere between the third and fourth pilfered bottle of grog Blue was very drunk. Red had expertly sneaked back to the main bonfire to retrieve more bottles and soon what had started off as a debate over who got to keep the jewel had devolved into a festivity of its own. It started with stories, both from Shanks and Buggy as they recalled some of their better adventures, then words became songs and now Blue found himself dancing to a rhythm no one else could hear.

He cheered and twisted, moving so wildly he had lost his hat somewhere along the way, ponytail dancing as freely as he did. His torso had come undone, moving in one direction as his feet danced along the opposite path. Shanks trailed after the boy, trying to guide the two separate pieces away from the water while not interrupting his buzz. Blue, mistaking Shanks’ closeness for an invitation to dance, grabbed him by the hand and began to spin with him. Shanks, caught off guard by the sudden small hands which clasped his own so tightly, almost stumbled before regaining his footing and entered an off-kilter trot with Blue.

Buggy watched, bemused. Red remained at his side, facing Blue and Shanks, but eyes glued firmly to Buggy.

“Something bothering you?” Buggy asked him.

Red jumped and buried his face in the bottle, not having expected Buggy to have noticed his very obvious staring. He took a deep drink, mostly for courage. When finished, he turned his full body to Buggy, a very serious expression on his very drunk face. Buggy decided to play along, turning to face the young red haired, hands on his knees.

“In the future,” Red began. “I guess you’re not… co-captains, or whatever.”

“That’s right,” Buggy nodded.

“So if you’re not… that,” Red continued. “Are you something else?”

“What you getting at, kid?” Buggy said.

Red leaned forwards, face red from the alcohol but eyes wide with clarity. “Are you… are we… like Captain and Rayleigh?”

Roger and Rayleigh? What did that –?

Oh.

It had been so long that Buggy had almost forgotten what his Captain and Vice-Captain had been like. Being here felt like all those memories were dusty photos he was rediscovering, every bit wiped clean revealing a new forgotten moment now textured by his adult eyes. Those stolen glances and longing, lingering touches. Buggy had to conceal the bitter smile he felt on his face, because Red clearly didn’t know the truth.

Buggy didn’t know the details of Roger and Rayleigh’s relationship, he didn’t want to, it wasn’t his place. He did know, however, that it had never been anything more because it could never have been. As Roger’s infamy grew, as more and more marines and pirates came for his head in hopes of making a name for himself, all relationships connected to him became more entangled, more dangerous.

Rayleigh, who was at some point both lover and ally to Roger, eventually had to choose between the two. He couldn’t be both, not without risking the safety of Roger and the entire crew. What the ally saw as beneficial to the whole could be viewed as traitorous to the lover. They weren’t positions that could co-align, at least not in this time and place.

Thus Rayleigh chose to be Roger’s sword, the man he could always rely upon, both in and out of battle. Whether that made things easier, especially with what transpired with Rouge at the end, Buggy couldn’t say but that was the decision they had made.

At this point in time maybe that boundary hadn’t been set, which is why Red looked to them as the shining beacons, the examples to which he built his relationship expectations on. Or maybe that point had been crossed and what Red was witnessing were the ghosts of that relationship. The intimate moments Roger and Rayleigh shared without meaning to, a secondary impulse like breathing, so natural neither of them were aware they did it.

Buggy didn’t know how to tell the boy that the pirate fairy tale romance he saw in the two men he respected the most in the world was dead. As dead as Shanks and Buggy’s relationship was, one he saw no hope of resurrecting, not after so much time had passed. Instead Buggy said nothing, he snatched the bottle from Red and pulled the hat low to hide the redness Buggy felt whelm up in his eyes.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Buggy said. “You’ve got your whole life to figure this out.”

*

The moon had begun its descent, falling into the darkest corners of the night sky. The bonfire of the Oro Jackson has quieted down, the fire having grown low, bringing with it a quieter mood. Most have either passed out around its warmth or managed to retreat to the confines of the ship. Those still awake sit in small circles, discussing what most drunk men do, which is philosophy.

Red and Blue had too given into the night, their bodies made heavy from sleep and alcohol they found the most comfortable spots to fall asleep. In Red’s case, it’s with his head on Buggy’s lap, limbs splayed out haphazardly. For Blue it’s at Shank’s side, tucked beneath the crook of his arm, kept warm by the embrace of Shanks’ cloak.

At some point hats had been traded. First between Red and Buggy, then between Buggy and Blue once the boy had found it. The young cabin boy still donned the straw hat as he snored beside Shanks. Red had removed Buggy’s hat to sleep, using it as a pillow. Any other day he would have been insulted, this time – for Red – he let it slide. Without his hat, Buggy had taken his twin ponytails out and styled it into one singular plait. Now he drunk the last of the grog and stroked Red’s hair, an action he didn’t seem unaware of judging by the content look he gave to the night ocean.

“Hey, Buggy,” Shanks whispered. “Look.”

He gently removed the straw hat from Blue and stuck it upon his own head.

“Still fits,” he laughed quietly.

Buggy disconnected a hand to reach over and swat the hat from the Emperor’s head, the article falling to the sand behind him. Shanks glanced back at it, but can’t reach it, not with his only arm currently busy being the resting place for Blue.

“Hey,” Shanks whined. “What was that for?”

“I don’t want to see that on you,” Buggy replied, fixing Shanks with a scowl. “That’s… the past, I don’t want to see it.”

Shanks laughed, so loud and abruptly Buggy thought the boys would awaken. Thankfully they didn’t stir, which was good since this sound wasn’t joyous, but bitter. Buggy, surprised, used the still disembodied hand to grab the hat and place it on the ground before Shanks almost as a token of peace, hoping to placate whatever sourness had sunk its teeth into Shanks. The hand hovered there for a moment, unsure of its next move.

“All I’ve wanted,” Shanks said, “the whole reason we’re on this crazy adventure is because I’ve wanted to discuss the past. You can run from it all you want, Buggy, but I can’t.”

“I’m… not running,” Buggy replied weakly.

“Aren’t you?” Shanks asked, tone harsher than he intended. “That day after Captain’s execution you ran and left me. You ran from me on the Big Top, every. Single. Time I tried to talk you. Your crew noticed, the devil user who sent us here noticed, you keep running from me. Why?” He almost chocked on the last word, his bubbling anger quickly drowned out by frustration.

Shanks lowered his head, desperate to hide the ache in his eyes behind the red bangs. He hates feeling like this, like a teenager swayed by emotion, a thin tree in a violent wind, but he can’t help it. One of his biggest regrets has always been Buggy, at the way they left things. The first time Buggy ran from him, back at Loguetown, has haunted him and countless nights. He laid awake sometimes wondering what he could have done differently, if things could have even been different if he had just ran after Buggy.

"I ran from you?" Buggy said. "You left me!"

Shanks' head snapped up at the response, surprised by the answer and the scowl on Buggy's face.

"How?" Shanks demanded.

"When you rejected Captain's will," Buggy answered, voice more even. "He would have wanted you to find the One Piece! You was obviously meant to inherit his will and you just refused it! I wanted to see you become the King of the Pirates and I was willing to do anything to put you there. When you said no I... I saw no place for me."

"King of the...?" Shanks shook his head, as if confused. "I never wanted to be the King of the Pirates, Roger himself said his treasure was meant for Ace. I couldn't have just taken it."

Buggy could have said, 'Well, Ace is gone' and he knew what Shanks' immediate answer would be. Luffy. Luffy would be the next King of the Pirates and Buggy would believe it, because Shanks believed it. No matter what Buggy truly hoped and believed, Shanks' own dreams would overshadow Buggy's own, as it always had. Buggy had once dreamt of wearing that crown, then he saw how Roger had put his dreams on Shanks and Buggy wanted to see that come true. He had wanted to bask in that light beside Shanks, because Shanks was worthy of it, far more than a second-rate pirate like Buggy.

"You still could have joined me," Shanks argued. "Even if I didn't want to be King, you could have come with me."

"I was hurt, Shanks," Buggy reminded him. "I didn't want to be around the person who did that me."

As the years had gone by the hurt had faded into the background, a white noise that pierced him in the heart whenever he heard about Shanks or glimpsed a wanted poster of the Emperor. It was a pain that endured, as his affection for the boy he once knew battled for dominance with his anger at the man who was living the pirate's dream without him.

This entangled ball of complicated, messy emotions was a mess of carnal lust for the man who had ended the Paramount War. Jealousy at the heights the former cabin boy had reached. Joy at seeing Shanks live so happily and carefree, with a crew who seemed to genuinely love and adore him. Then finally regret, at having missed out on the highs and lows of Shanks' life.

Shanks raised his head, though his eyes remain fixed on Blue, at a boy he probably knew better than the man before him.

"Do you still feel that way?" Shanks asked.

"It's... complicated," Buggy admitted. "I don't want to feel that way."

"Then what do you want?" Shanks said.

You.

It was always you, Shanks! he wished he could scream. Despite everything, Buggy still wanted Shanks in so many ways. He wanted him as a lover, as a friend, he wanted to stop watching him from a distance and finally take his rightful place at Shanks' side. But he couldn't. He didn't deserve it, he hadn't earned it, and why would Shanks' want someone like him? Buggy had seen the men Shanks kept on his crew, Buggy couldn't hope to compete with any of them.

"What do you want?" Buggy shot back.

“I’m… tired of watching you walk away,” Shanks said quietly. "I want you to stay, with me."

Buggy opened his mouth to speak, but his mouth went dry. It couldn't be that simple, could it? Could Buggy stop running, just long enough for Shanks to finally grab hold of him? Could they let go of the past? Buggy didn't know if he could, Shanks certainly seemed willing, or at least act like he was. That wasn't fair on either of them, they had missed out on twenty years of the others lives, they couldn't just pick up from the teenagers left off.

Finally Shanks looked away from the boy, fixing Buggy with dark eyes tinged with hurt.

““Every time we’re together it’s like a – ugh, I don’t know?" Buggy struggled. "A ship without a navigator?” He shook his head, abandoning the metaphor he was struggling with. “All I know is you make me feel everything at once. Angry, jealous, worthless…” His tone grew bitter and he stopped himself before he got carried. “You look at me like I’m the freakin’ One Piece, like I’m… worthy of being by your side, but you won’t even hunt down the real One Piece.”

“You are so worthy, Buggy,” Shanks assured him. “I’ve never thought otherwise.”

“I’m not,” Buggy retorted. “When I saw your first wanted poster I was so angry. Does that sound like someone who deserves to be with you?”

“Angry?” Shanks repeated. “Why?”

“You had nothing, like me, and yet you had made a name for yourself so easily,” Buggy replied. “You wasn’t afraid to cross the Grand Line, to go into the New World, but I… I was. I stayed where I thought I could be safe and rich, where the people were weak and idiots. Then I saw your wanted poster. The Great Shanks, Emperor of the Sea, using his power for nothing. Just sitting in bars and drinking and acting the fool. I guess I was no better, except I didn’t have a stupid title.”

Buggy drifted into another quiet spell, eyes filled with that same self-facing anger. Shanks had always wondered why Buggy had remained in the East Blue, only occasionally drifting further out when in search of a particular treasure. Buggy had done it out of self-preservation, but even he could admit it was a tactic Roger would never have approved of.

Shanks, on the other hand, was grateful. Maybe it was cowardly and unbecoming of a Roger Pirate, but it meant Buggy had been safe for all these years, until he ran into Luffy, of course. The kid had a knack for diverting people’s destinies. He wondered if this encounter was also because of Luffy. Shanks had heard how Buggy had teamed up with Luffy to escape Impel Down, if he hadn't then it was possible Buggy would still be there. And Shanks wouldn't have found him again, they wouldn't be here, finally reconnecting.

Shanks, spying the hand which still watched over the straw hat, gently reached out to lace his fingers with it. Buggy jumped at the contact, Shanks’ hand was warm, even with his gloves on Buggy could feel the heat of his skin.

“I was watching you too,” Shanks admitted.

“You was?” Buggy asked, his tone revealing he wasn’t entirely convinced.

“I remember being at this bar and there, on the board, was your poster,” Shanks recalled. “I had spent years not knowing if you was dead or alive, seeing it made me so happy I cried. My crew didn’t know what came over me.”

“You can’t have missed me that much,” Buggy reasoned.

Shanks fixes Buggy with his eyes, the fire behind them so passionate he didn’t need Haki to fix Buggy to the spot.

“I’ve missed you since the moment you left,” Shanks revealed. “I tried to forget you, but I couldn’t. No matter where I went, the sights I saw, the people I took to bed, you was always there.”

Like a ghost. A maybe, a what if that haunts him. Even in Shanks darkest moments, facing regrets and grief, he couldn’t help but imagine Buggy mocking him for being so foolish or reckless. When he lost his arm, he pictured Buggy’s face, sneering at the thought of a one armed swordsman. When he left behind Uta, the image of Buggy, disappointed in the decision.

Whenever he thought he was over Buggy, that he could move on with someone or put the past behind him, something would remind him of Buggy. After a distance carved out by two decades Shanks had almost stopped thinking of Buggy, then Whitebeard had asked about him and brought back all those complicated, fuzzy feelings with the question. Then Shanks saw Buggy at Marineford, at that terrible battle. Despite the chaos around them and the annoyance in Buggy’s tone at Shanks’ casualness, Shanks couldn’t deny the pure joy he felt in finally coming face to face with him after so long.

Shanks’ face was wet all of a sudden. He looked up, wondering when it had started to rain and saw the sky was clear. He was crying. He laughed at his own sudden lack of control and tried to bury his face in his jacket.

“Ah, sorry,” he said. “The alcohol’s getting to me.”

“Shanks.”

“This isn’t how I imagined our reunion would go, you know? I knew there’d be booze, but –”

“Shanks.”

The voice was firmer now, thick with emotion. Shanks finally looked up Buggy, the clown’s eyes were red and he could see the tell-tale wobble of his chin as he fought back whatever was threatening to spill out of him.

“All that stuff,” Buggy said, “it's all in the past. I'm tired of talking about yesterday.”

“Of course,” Shanks sighed.

“I want to talk about tomorrow,” Buggy quickly added. “If you want to join me.”

“I… I’d like that,” Shanks cried.

Fresh tears poured from Shanks’ face and Buggy had to turn away, knowing he would get caught up and cry too. Damn it, they were adults, they shouldn’t be acting like the teenagers currently using them as pillows.

That sting of Shanks’ rejection was still there, but Shanks had been a boy when he made that declaration and now he was an Emperor, working towards some goal Buggy didn’t understand. Maybe they could move on from that, maybe they could do something with the time they now shared, instead of spending it on regret.

Buggy didn’t know, he couldn’t guarantee that tomorrow he would wake up and change his mind. Or indulge in whatever this was for another few weeks or months and then grow tired of it. Whatever this was, whatever Shanks wanted from him, Buggy wanted it to. Was it a relationship? Love? None of the words felt right, all Buggy knew was that he wanted Shanks and he didn’t want to lose him again, regardless of the difficult and complicated feelings that accompanied such a journey.

Buggy’s eyes found their way to the sea, to the rolling, rising waves of the sea.

“Shanks,” Buggy spoke up, “can I ask you a favour?”

Shanks, confused for a moment, followed Buggy’s eye line to the ocean and knew, somehow, instantly, what it was Buggy wanted.

“Do you trust me, Bugs?”

“Always.”

*

Beneath a blanket formed from the dark cloak of an Emperor and coat of an Impel Down escapee, two young pirates are bundled together. Moving them from their initial sleeping posts had been an easy task, the boys so exhausted from alcohol and the day’s adventures that they didn’t stir or protest. They allowed themselves to be moved and, almost instinctually at the feel of the other, moved to share their heat in a gentle embrace neither of them would remember.

Nearby, down by the water, Shanks sits with Buggy in his lap, one strong arm pressed firmly around his stomach. The dark water comes up to greet them, glacial touch leaving Buggy’s legs damp and numb, a naked weakness that normally would render him beyond terrified.

Not today. The arm around him was strong and warm, the heat counteracting the sea’s spell. Buggy could feel the gentle rise and fall of Shanks’ chest, he could hear the tell-tale thump of his heart, perfectly in sync with Buggy’s own. His gloved hands absentmindedly fingered at the scars on the tanned arm, his head comfortable beneath Shanks, the red-haired chin’s pressed gently to the top of his head.

Shanks’ smelled of booze and gunpowder, and it was intoxicating. Buggy wanted to touch more, he wanted to taste Shanks like a wine, to indulge and savour the flavour in ways only an adult could.

Shanks spoke up, voice thick, “Does it feel good?”

Buggy could only nod, lost in the warmth of that moment. He turned to Shanks, his eyelashes soft against Shanks’ neck, the feeling sending a violent shiver down Shanks’ entire body.

Buggy’s lips whisper the softest of kisses against the nape of Shanks’ neck, as he replies, “Yes.”

*

Rayleigh makes his way down the beach, head fuzzy from last night’s drinking contest. He should have known better than to get mixed up in Roger’s games, it always ended the same way – a heavy head and an even heavier heart. At least he was getting better at picking up those little broken pieces and fixing them back together.

As the other crew mates tidied up the beach from their revelry, Rayleigh searched for the absent cabin boys. They hadn’t been in their bunks, as he usually found them after a night of drinking on the beach. The nights could be cold, even on beautiful islands, thus the duo usually bundled up in one bunk to share warmth.

It’s something they had done for years, though it had become increasingly rare since puberty made the act of sharing a sleeping space something far more salacious. In those moments he could still expect to find them there, where it was warm, instead of in the sand.

Which is where he did find them.

The boys laid sprawled out on the golden sand, Shanks’ arms spread out wildly with no regards for his nearby companion, who was tucked into his side, one hand tightly holding onto the other’s shirt. There were dozens of empty grog bottles scattered around them, far more than what the boys were usually capable of downing in a single evening. There were footprints too, far too large for children. Perhaps some of the crew had joined the boys at some point?

Rayleigh couldn’t be sure, last night was a bit of a blur. He tried to trace where the footprints went and couldn’t discern a direction. It looked like the individuals had walked around a few times, as if in discussion, leaving behind prints on prints that made his head spin.

He nudged Shanks with his foot. The boy groans loudly, the sound upsetting Buggy who mumbles a complaint and rolls away.

“Ssstop hogging the blanket,” Buggy slurs.

Rayleigh kicks up some sand, right into Shanks’ open, snoring mouth. The boy coughed and splutters, jumping to his feet, suddenly wide awake as he desperately wiped at his tongue. Buggy sits up, frowning in confusion at the sight before him.

“Good morning to you too,” Rayleigh greets the pair. “Had a lot to drink, did we? It looks like you pilfered half of our supplies.”

Shanks, tongue pinched between his fingers, looks around at the graveyard of bottles. He turns back to Rayleigh, eyes wide like saucers. He releases his still sandy tongue.

“Did we actually drink all of this?” Shanks asks him.

“You don't remember?” Rayleigh replies, eyebrow arched.

“No,” Buggy groans. “I remember… exploring a cave and…”

“That’s it,” Shanks finished with a shrug.

Rayleigh grabbed a bottle from the sand, noticing a faint tint of red lipstick on its mouth. Red, huh? He didn’t know anyone who wore that colour. He glanced at the prints, with clearer eyes he could now make out the faintest sign of them leading into the forest.

“Hmm,” he mused.

“Rayleigh?” Buggy said, climbing to his feet. “Everything okay?”

He turned back to the boys. They looked fine, hung-over certainly. They didn’t seem injured or like they were hiding something. Perhaps they really had drunk a little too much with some crew mates, pulling out a little lipstick was certainly something he didn’t put past the drunken lot. And Buggy had been spending time with Whitey Bay whenever their paths crossed with Whitebeard.

Rayleigh flipped the bottle, grabbing it by the neck and holding it out to Shanks, who took it.

“Everything’s fine,” Rayleigh assured him. “Now hurry up and clean this beach. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Aye, aye!” they saluted in unison, before working together to tidy up and try to recall what happened that night. The beach was left exactly as it had been found, but the night’s events eluded them. Even as the stupor of alcohol left their system, even after they left the island, neither of them could remember.

That night was gone from their memory, like sand between their fingers.

*

Buggy and Shanks returned to the Big Top to find everyone passed out. Buggy was already annoyed, ticked off by the fact the treasure chest hadn't passed over with them, not even one lousy gold coin. Seeing the Big Top so calm only soured his mood further. Surely the whole crew should have erupted into applause at his return, mesmerised by his reappearance after vanishing so suddenly. Then again, perhaps it was for the best. He didn't know how to explain the hours he spent with Shanks without some sordid rumours flying. He didn't want that, not when he and Shanks really needed to talk. It was best they conducted it without an audience.

Shanks had gone to speak to his crew and find the devil fruit user responsible for their disappearance. Buggy, meanwhile, returned to his room to remove his makeup and change. He threw his clothes into a pile beside his vanity, the whole table a mess from his hastily cleaned face that left only the softest hints of red on his lips. His hair was released from its plait, falling in loose waves around him.

His clothes, a baggy vest and harem pants, were loose and comfortable for what was inevitably going to be a difficult conversation with Shanks. His revelation at the beach had been one thing, to put that into words for Shanks’ was going to be a different, more difficult, thing to do. Especially if what Buggy wanted wasn’t what Shanks’ wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time a disagreement about their future ruined everything. He thought back to the cabin boys he left at the beach and the mysterious way the whole event was murky in his recollection.

He could recall the hunt for the treasure so clearly, yet when he tried to dredge up the details of their fight with their past selves, it was hazy like a fog in his mind. He remembered the beach, the way Shanks had held him in the water, yet not the details of the curl of the young Shanks. Yet he could remember his first kiss, the one he had meant to have with Shanks on that very beach, one that hadn't happened because of the presence of their future shelves. In his mind, the event had happened without interruption from the ghosts of future present, as if the two events couldn't co-exist in his mind.

Buggy and Shanks, as cabin boys, had shared a kiss on that beach. And that was it. He had no memory of running into his future self, as if it had never happened, as if it had been a dream. Buggy suspected that's what it had been, a dream or a hallucination. It would explain the way his memory hadn't been rewritten, why he as an adult didn't have preexisting knowledge of the encounter. He couldn't provide it, unfortunately. Alvida claimed she hadn't been able to access his room after the captains vanished into it, the door was locked tight and only Buggy had the key to it. She hadn't wanted to break the door down either, in case it somehow effected the devil fruit's effect.

If she had been able to get inside, Buggy wondered what she would have seen. Two passed out captains, he hoped. It didn't matter now, Buggy had other things he needed to be concerned about, such as his upcoming confrontation with Shanks.

Buggy rubbed the back of his neck, craning his head back to stare up at the ceiling’s light.

“No more running,” he said quietly.

There was a hesitant knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called.

There was another pause, then the door opened and Shanks’ stood in the doorway. He glanced around the room, at the large bed with its canopy and arches, the rack of costumes and hats and station for all of Buggy’s knives and sharpening tools. Fastened to that station by a knife was a wanted poster, Shanks' poster, left there months ago by Buggy who had stumbled it one night. He really should have taken it down before Shanks' came in.

“You can come in,” Buggy said.

“I know,” Shanks replied, stepping over the archway and closing the door with his foot. “I just didn’t expect your room to be… messy.”

Buggy frowned. “I may have… rummaged through it after escaping Impel Down,” he explained.

“Making sure no one stole anything in your absence?” Shanks joked.

Buggy didn’t answer, very clearly he had ransacked his own room for that very reason.

“Oh,” Shanks said. “Uh, was anything taken?”

“Alvida ‘borrowed’ some lipstick,” Buggy replied. “Did you find that devil fruit user?”

“No,” Shanks replied and eyed a spot to sit.

He decided to avoid the vanity and opted for the edge of the bed. Buggy didn’t protest, instead standing over him, arms folded over his chest. Shanks’ hadn’t gotten to see it back on the island, with Buggy covered head to foot in flashy clothes, but the clown’s body was muscular and masculine in ways Shanks’ didn’t expect.

The stubble along his jaw, the bulge of his folded bicep, the line of hair along the base of his stomach that peaked out from beneath the fold of his vest. Shanks crossed his legs because he wanted to be comfortable, and for no other reason.

“They vanished,” Shanks replied. “Alvida tried to chase him down, but lost him amongst the party. My men confirmed that one of your row boats was taken too.”

“He ran then?” Buggy said. “Coward.”

Shanks would have laughed at the hypocrisy, when Buggy grabbed the chair from his vanity and set it down before Shanks. He climbed into the seat, face pointed down, his expression barely visible past the curtain of blue. Shanks opened his mouth to speak, when he felt Buggy’s hands, a gentle brushing of knuckles against his own.

The tenderness rendered Shanks mute, unable to comment on the moment or take in the fact Buggy’s hands were as scarred as his own. Shanks opened his hand, seeking out more touch, more tenderness, and Buggy obeyed. He placed one hand in Shanks’ own, fingers curling over the clown’s to lock it in place.

No more running away.

Buggy looked up, tilting his head to the side, the hair falling out of his face to reveal a flush in his cheeks.

“I’m taking the Big Top into the New World,” Buggy announced. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, yet, but I’ve got a lot of men and a reputation to make use of.”

“Okay.”

“When I go,” Buggy continued. “I don’t want this –” he squeezed Shanks’ hand for emphasis. “– to be like before. I want… to see you again.”

“And what is ‘this’ going to be?” Shanks asked.

“I don’t know,” Buggy admitted. “I just know that I don’t want you to walk out that door and disappear for another ten or twenty years.”

A wide grin Shanks splits across Buggy’s face, the sight warming Buggy deep in his stomach. Shanks leaned forwards, his breath hot on Buggy’s face.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Buggy?” Shanks teased.

Buggy’s face lit up bright red, reminding Shanks of the fever which had once taken hold of a blue haired cabin boy. Buggy mumbled something and looked up at Shanks, expectantly. When he realised the sound had been lost, he repeated it a little more clearly.

“Yes.”

Shanks’ grin widened and he leaned closer, “I’m to be yours and only yours?”

“Y-yeah,” Buggy stumbled.

Shanks leaned closer again, lips a breath away from Buggy’s own. “How could I say no to you, Blue?”

As if to seal their proclamation, Shanks planted a kiss against the corner of Buggy’s mouth. So fleeting, yet the taste was intoxicating, a promise of what was to come next. As Shanks went to pull away Buggy dove in and caught his mouth with his own, a messy clashing of lips that opened up to teeth and tongue.

Buggy’s hands popped from the wrists and bunched up in Shanks’ shirt, pushing into him more and more, as he pulled out more moans from the red hair. They finally separated, Shanks as flushed as Buggy’s nose, his lips stained by the faintest of Buggy’s lipstick. Buggy smirked, no longer blushing and shy as he felt the situation finally turn in his favour.

Shanks’ was his, he belonged to Buggy and Buggy belonged to him. They would figure out what came next, Buggy could work on making that ache of betrayal something else, massage it into a feeling worthy of Shanks.

There was no need to be coy, to act like boys who didn’t know the next steps. Buggy wasn’t a virgin and neither was Shanks, they both knew what came next.

Buggy gave one hard push, setting Shanks onto his back, the plush bed conforming to his shape. Buggy followed, climbing atop the Emperor, hands releasing his shirt to fly up to Buggy’s hair. Shanks watched, transfixed, as those floating digits delicately took the waves of blue and pulled them together, tying them neatly up.

“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, Red Hair,” Buggy beamed down at him. “And the night’s short.”

Shanks gripped Buggy by the hip, the grip almost bruising in desperation to hold the clown there.

“Well then, let’s get started.”

*

The Red Force stayed for another two days before, surprisingly, it was Shanks who made the call. It was time to part ways, at least for now, he said. Buggy agreed, even if the thought of separating proved far more difficult than he expected.

Buggy stood at the spearhead of the Big Top, watching the fading façade of the Red Force. Behind him Buggy could hear his newly expanded crew tidying up, putting the ship back into shape before they too would leave. The thought of going into the New World was daunting, especially since Buggy’s plan still had a first kinks to work out.

He had presented his plan to Alvida and Galdino, who surprisingly seemed on board, even if they too had reservations. Buggy honestly expected Galdino to leave with the few other pirates who hadn’t wanted to join Buggy on his trip into the New World. His decision to stay made Buggy think that this new direction he was taking was the right one.

The pair joined him now, stood either side of him, neither of them commenting on Buggy’s less than flashy appearance. At a glance he looked as flashy as usual; big hat with the twin pony tails, coat hanging from his shoulders in order for the breeze to pull at it dramatically, face painted to emphasis his lips and eyes. At a second inspection, however, the frayed edges were there.

Small bruises along his neck, left there by a lover’s rough kiss, visible only when the wind caught the collar of his coat just right. The eyeliner on his right eye had been applied by an unsteady hand, distracted by a wandering hand, and his lips had the tiniest of smudges from where a kiss had been stolen.

Buggy was also in a very good mood, beaming with an enthusiasm and joy that was almost blinding. Galdino had found it hard to believe that Buggy had been not only Gold Roger’s crew, but friends with Emperor Shanks. Now they were lovers and Galdino couldn’t decide whether Buggy was far more impressive than he first appeared, or just incredibly lucky.

Shanks, stood at the back of his ship, had been waving from the moment the ship had sailed away, even if he was no more than a dot on the horizon to the Big Top. The Emperor had been less subtle about the relationship, judging by his open coat and shirt which revealed many love bites. He wore them with pride, like a marine with medals. Beckman didn’t know what to think of the whole situation, he could only smile and hope Shanks’ knew what he was doing.

Clutched between two of his fingers was a piece of vivre card, a piece of Buggy’s, just as he now had a piece of Shanks’ tucked neatly into the pocket of his jacket. He stopped waving and brought the card to his lips.

“See you soon, Blue,” he whispered and then planted the softest of kisses to the card.

Buggy shivered, unsure from where the feeling had come from, and tucked his coat closer around himself. The Red Force now nearly out of sight, Buggy turned away from it, facing his two comrades.

“You really think this is going to work?” Alvida asked.

“Alvida…” Galdino protested weakly.

“He’s an Emperor,” Alvida continued. “You’ve painted a massive target on your back – on all of our backs – if the wrong people find out about this.”

“She’s right,” Galdino said. “Having him as an ally can only play to our favour, but –”

“He’s not an ally,” Buggy interjected. “Red Hair is going his way and I’m going my own way.”

“Then what’s the point of all this?” Alvida demanded, hands on her hips. “Is he just a booty call for when the nights get lonely?”

Buggy balked at the accusation, face brightening. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, pushing past her.

“He’s an Emperor from another crew,” Alvida continued. “There’ll be stretches of oceans and marines between you, never mind other pirates looking to knock you down a peg since your escape from Impel Down. He can’t be worth it, Buggy.”

At that Buggy paused.

He tried not to let the two days colour his decision, days that had been spent in the other’s arms, reminiscing and forming new memories as Buggy discovered all of Shanks’ developed likes and dislikes. He rejected that hurt from eighteen years ago, directed at a red-haired boy who himself didn't want what he wanted and whom it had been unfair to expect so much. He also ignored that cowardly desire to run away again, to reject the kindness and love he had been shown in favour of the safety of solitude.

Instead he thought of those two cabin boys left behind on the beach, tangled in the embrace of the other.

Buggy smiled. “Of course he’s worth it,” he replied.

He whipped around to face the pair, arms spread wide. “Now come on!” he cheered. “You’re a part of the Great Buggy the Clown's crew! And nothing is going to stop us!”

Notes:

This whole story was inspired by a series of art I found on Pinterest, maybe I'll pin them here in the future.

Also if it feels inconsistent at times I'm sorry. I've been chiselling away this for a couple of months between another project, and I don't have a beta reader.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Bitter, Sweet, Sour