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The seas were never kind to those who second-guessed their dreams.
Buggy stood at the railing of the Red Force, staring at the endless blue that had once promised him treasure, glory, and a name that would echo louder than Gol D. Roger’s. Ten years had passed since Loguetown. Ten years since Shanks had grinned that stupid, carefree grin and said…
“Come with me, Buggy! We’ll make our own crew. No more chasing the old man’s shadow.”
Buggy wanted to refuse. He had rehearsed the words in his head
“I’m not letting you drag me down, Red-Hair!”
But the rejection had stuck in his throat like the Devil Fruit he’d accidentally swallowed all those years ago on the Oro Jackson.
“Fine. But I’m not calling you Captain. We’re equals.” He spat out instead.
Shanks laughed and clapped him on the back.
Now, Buggy was co-captain in name, but the crew called him “the Clown” with affection that grated. His chopped-up body parts made for flashy demonstrations during raids. Hands flying to snatch enemy weapons, legs kicking from unexpected angles, but every victory felt borrowed. Shanks’s Haki cleared the path. Shanks’s reputation made enemies hesitate.
Buggy just… complemented.
Tonight, the ship rocked gently in a hidden cove. The crew partied on deck, sake flowing, laughter rolling like thunder. Buggy sat apart on a barrel, a half-empty bottle in his detached hand, while his torso sulked below. A fresh scar burned across his side from the last battle against a rival crew claiming Yonko territory. They won, of course. They always win.
But Buggy felt down. Lower than the seabed.
Shanks dropped beside him without invitation, red hair loose and a sake jug balanced on one knee. His missing arm was old news now, no one mentioned it.
“You look like someone stole your treasure map again.” Buggy’s floating hand flicked a middle finger before reattaching
“Shut up. This is your fault.”
“Everything’s my fault with you.” Shanks teased before he took a long swig, eyes twinkling under the moonlight. “Spill it, partner.”
The word twisted something in Buggy’s gut. On Roger’s ship, they’d been brats fighting over everything. North Pole versus South, who got the bigger share of meat, whose fault it was when the captain caught them stealing. Shanks had pushed him into eating the Chop Chop fruit by startling him during that stupid prank. Then Shanks had dived in after him when he sank like a stone. Always pulling him back up.
Buggy hated how that pattern continued. He took a long swing of his drink to say what’s on his mind.
“I should’ve gone alone,” Buggy muttered. His voice came out smaller than he intended. “After the old man died, I could’ve built something flashy. My own empire. Not this… sidekick life. Every time we win, it’s because of you. Your stupid Conqueror’s Haki. Your name. I’m just the detachable clown who can’t even swim if we sink.”
Shanks was quiet for a moment, the kind of quiet that made Buggy want to punch him.
“Remember when we were kids, and that storm hit? Ship tilting hard, waves crashing.” Shanks started. “You slipped overboard because you were showing off, trying to juggle cannonballs.”
“I did not slip. You startled me!” Shanks grinned at his words.
“Same difference.” He dismissed. “You went down like a rock. I jumped in after you. Nearly drowned myself because I didn’t have Haki worth shit back then….Captain fished us both out, laughing his ass off. Said we were stuck with each other.”
“And look where that got me!” Buggy’s detached left arm floated up and poked Shanks in the ribs. “Down here, ten years later, still getting dragged along. We could’ve been hunting the One Piece! Instead, we’re playing nice with the seas, letting that straw hat kid run around with your hat like some legacy project.”
Shanks’s expression softened. He set the jug down and his empty hand now rested inches from Buggy’s.
“You think you’re down because of me?” He asked carefully.
“Aren’t I?” Buggy’s voice cracked despite himself. He hated that. Buggy the Clown didn’t crack. He exploded in glitter and denial. “I eat the fruit that ruined my swimming, lost the map I probably could have sold for a fortune, and then I let you talk me into this crew. Now I’m co-captain of the Red Hair Pirates, but everyone knows it’s your crew. I’m the flashy accessory. The one who splits apart when things get too real.”
The party noise faded into the background. Waves lapped against the hull. Shanks leaned back against the mast, staring at the stars.
“You remember what I said at Loguetown?” Shanks asked quietly. “I wanted us to start fresh. Not chasing the King’s title right away. Build something that lasts. You said yes, even if you pretended it was under protest.”
“I was weak.” Buggy interjected.
“No.” Shanks turned, meeting Buggy’s glare with that infuriating calm. “You were honest. For once. You didn’t want to be alone. Neither did I. Losing the old man… it hit hard. But with you here, the crew’s stronger in ways you don’t see. Your tricks saved our asses in that last raid. Those flying hands disarming their snipers? That was all you. I just provided the opening.”
Buggy snorted, but his floating head tilted closer despite himself.
“Flattery won’t lift me up, Red-Hair.”
“I’m not trying to lift you.” Shanks reached over with his remaining hand and poked Buggy’s nose, the gesture landed much to the clown’s dismay. “I’m saying you’re not down because of me. You’re down because you’ve been measuring yourself against some imaginary version of what you should be. The lone Emperor Buggy. Flashy solo act.”
Buggy’s body parts twitched, one leg kicking irritably at the deck. Shanks didn’t back down and continued, now holding Buggy’s empty one, the gesture startled the clown, who acted as if he didn’t care.
“And what if that’s who I was meant to be? What if joining you was the wrong path? Dragging me down into your laid-back, sake-drinking, arm-losing lifestyle?”
Shanks laughed, low and warm. It always disarmed Buggy more than any Haki blast.
“Then we’d both be sunk. But look at us. We’re not at the bottom. We’re sailing. And when the ship tilts, when one of us goes down, the other jumps in. That’s how it’s always been.”
A long silence stretched. Buggy reassembled himself fully, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the man who’d been his rival, his curse, his anchor since they were brats on the Oro Jackson. And in a moment of vulnerability, Buggy moved closer to Shanks but still refused to meet his eyes.
“I still hate you for the fruit,” Buggy grumbled.
“I know.” Shanks answered as he wrapped his arms around Buggy’s waste bringing him even closer, not allowing any small gaps.
“And for making me look like the dramatic one while you play cool captain.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Buggy punched Shanks’s shoulder lightly, but not enough to scare the red-haired from resting his hea don his shoulder.
“If we ever go after the One Piece… I get to claim half the glory. No sharing the spotlight.”
“Equals, right? Co-captains.” Shanks grinned wide, the same grin from Loguetown. He moved his head in a way that made his chin rest on b=Buggy’s shoulder so his face can be inches from his own.
“Damn straight.” Buggy replied with a grin before giving in and turning his head to face his co-captain.
The party swelled again as a crewmate called for another round, unaware of the intimate moment that is being shared in the dark or maybe not caring and allowing the couple their privacy. Shanks stood, offering his hand. Buggy took it, letting himself be pulled up, not down. For the first time in months, the weight in his chest felt lighter.
As they rejoined the crew, Buggy’s detached hand sneaked over and stole Shanks’s sake jug mid-toast. Shanks just laughed and tried chasing after the clown, earning great laughter from the crew as they sabotaged their red-haired captain in favor of helping their flashy captain, which made the smile on Shanks’s face to become a fronw.
“Mutiny!” Shanks declared that Yassop tripped him over.
“Don’t be a sour loser, captain.” Said Lucky while hiding Buggy behind him.
“A captain that loses their temper so easily, tsk tsk.” Lectured Cabji while leaning against the railing.
“Loser Captain! Loser Captain!” Mohji sang out while Richie roared in the same rhythm, both clearly too drunk.
Buggy sneaked around, lucky, to glance at the scene of their combined crew teasing Shanks, who is stomping like a child in the middle, demanding they reveal Buggy, and he realized that some paths felt wrong at first. But maybe this one, side by side, rising and falling together, was exactly where they belonged.
Later that night, as the ship creaked peacefully, Buggy lay in his hammock staring at the wooden ceiling. Shanks’s snores echoed throughout the cabin they shared while sleeping above him out of an old habit from when they were kids.
“Idiot,” Buggy whispered to the dark. But there was no heat in it.
He closed his eyes while playing with his lover’s red strands of hair, as the sea rocked them gently. Not down. Not anymore.
For now, the wrong path felt surprisingly right.
