Ben relaxed on the deck of his captain's ship, remaining as calm as ever. Someone needed to be in this crazy hellhole. Between his fingers was a single, silvery hair.
"Hey, Benny-boy, is that a gray hair?" Shanks teased his first mate. Settling down next to him, he curiously awaited the response from his crewmember, which was taking a little too long.
"…Yeah. It looks that way, huh? I'm getting' old." Ben answered, not taking his eyes away from the gray hair fluttering in the breeze.
Shanks felt something off and raised his eyebrow at his friend, who seemed lost in his own world.
"Who knows, maybe I'll be passing away soon. First the gray hair, next thing you know I'm gasping for my breath at my deathbed." Ben mocked, smiling only slightly.
Shanks was about to laugh before the realization sunk in.
He plucked the hair from Ben's grip and threw it overboard, secretly sticking his tongue out afterwards.
"You're not dying, Ben. Don't joke like that." Shanks whined, plomping back down besides him.
Ben chuckled. "I'm not getting any younger, Shanks, none of us are. If I can't keep up, I'm no good. It's simple logic."
Shanks pouted. "You're not that old."
Ben countered. "My hair's getting grey."
"Oh yeah? Where's the evidence?"
Ben hesitated. "You just threw it overboard for some reason."
"Exactly! There IS no proof!" Shanks smiled and slapped Ben on the shoulder with his-well, with his only hand.
"Besides, didn't you know? Gray hair means getting old, but yours'll go silver. That means you're wising up!"
Ben chuckled again, and took the ponytail out for a change.
He'd be damned if he was dying anytime soon.