Chapter 9: Shanks/Buggy: Sick
Growing Old together and all the pain that entails.
Notes: For you Batsy 3 Have just a little bit of angst.
Buggy splashed water on his face before beginning his nightly remove make-up routine. Skincare was important for a Great Showman such as he! It was quiet in his bathroom. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of his rowdy crew partying through the night, like they did every night.
A 24 hour circus of danger and death! Gyahahaha! He stared into the mirror, unsmiling, make-up smudgy and ugly. He hated his face underneath it. Dark circles under his eyes, frown and fear lines. Skin turned hard from the damn sun, the beginning of wrinkles across his forehead and by his eyes. Lashes sparse and pores too big. Signs that things were not what they seemed on the wanted posters.
Not the face he showed his men. The mirror rippled, the pale light overhead like that of a hospital, giving Buggy the look of a gaunt and tired old clown. Reflected across from him, was a head of red hair, staring back. It was late where he was too, but his boyish looks had aged better than Buggy's had. But they clashed with his oily and lank burgundy locks, with the tiny broken red veins by his eyes and across his nose.
Too much drinking, to push away the pain of old battle scars and promises too hard to keep.
But most of all, from the ache. The ache in their chests, deeper than bone, deeper than blood. An ache in their very being. Too far apart for so long, no way to come back together without more pain. Shanks went his way, chasing after Roger, and Buggy… He sighed, leaning his forehead against the mirror.
"We're getting old, huh Shanks?" he murmured before pulling back and turning off the light.