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Alright. Think. Longarms, Longlegs, Fishmen, Merfolks, Giants, Minks, Dwarves—but no one else with a big red nose on their face. Buggy opened his eyes. The ceiling looked so far above, the room was dimly lit, and the main sound he was hearing was a soft snore from his roommate. He hated this type of night because he knew there was no choice but to go find someone to talk to. Someone to help stop him from thinking about himself.
He hopped off the bed carefully, so as not to wake Shanks up. Tiptoeing, opening and closing the door as gracefully as he could. Alone in the hallway, he mentally thought about the layout of the ship, the room he targeted. Then he walked slowly, hoping he wasn’t making too many noises. He was so relieved when he saw light seep through the tiny slit below the door of the room he was eyeing.
He knocked once, softly. No answer. Knocked twice, louder. No answer.
“Gaban-san?” Knocked thrice, and three times must always be the charm as the door opened.
Gaban looked directly at him, hands tying his black hair back into a ponytail. “Buggy, cannot sleep again?”
Buggy nodded at that. That’s why Gaban’s the best. Buggy rarely needed to give many words to him.
Buggy entered the room of Oro Jackson’s navigator, which felt like his second room now with the at least twice-weeknight visit. He made himself comfortable by sitting on the floor near Gaban’s bed, on top of a fluffy yellow rug, near a stack of books and maps. Without waiting for Gaban’s permission, he rummaged through the stack, searching for a familiar picture book.
Gaban’s voice stopped him mid-action, “I have the book right here, Buggy. Did you really want us to read this again? It’s going to be the ninth time now.”
Buggy looked at Gaban, who was sitting down beside him. He focused his gaze on the baby elephant with the impossibly wide ears flying at nighttime on the cover of it, with the word Dumbo written in red ink on top of the elephant. “Yes.”
“Well, alright.” Gaban opened the first page of the book, putting it in the centre between him and the kid.
Buggy had not said it, and maybe he never would, but he loved how Gaban always gave different voices for each character in the stories. He loved the way his voice would go low when it was the sad part, or high during scary or happy moments. It was almost like a lullaby.
“... and no one ever laughed at Dumbo’s ears again,” Gaban closed the book softly. He figured Buggy was probably already in dreamland seven pages ago. But he knew his voice must have helped the boy stay in slumber. He glanced at his right side and saw Buggy curling and clutching the purple pillow that the boy took from the end of his bed midway through the story. The long lower eyelash, short blue hair, red nose, slightly open mouth, oh just so adorable. If only all adults could see and understand what he’s seeing. Unfortunately, the world they’re living in was not a fairytale where bias, prejudice, and mockery did not exist.
Gaban was clueless about what triggered Buggy’s sleepless nights. He had only dared to ask one time, the first time it happened. When Buggy was pouting in front of his room, eyes red and glassy, like the boy was trying hard not to cry but was on the edge. When he asked what made Buggy unable to sleep, Buggy only said that a voice inside him kept repeating, “Am I the only one with a round red nose in this world?”
He’s a master of his axes and an expert at charting the sea. But comforting a little seven-year-old boy, unpacking the boy’s feelings, answering a larger-than-life question? That’s way beyond his competence. Gaban thought he had answered that time with the same grace other adults might have answered, “No one has ever truly travelled everywhere around the world, or met everyone, so who knows?” He had told Rayleigh and Roger the next day. They were just as baffled as he was, but they had told him he had done a good job by being able to put Buggy to sleep through reading a story.
Maybe it was luck, or fate, but it was only a few days before Buggy’s first sleepless happenings that the Oro Jackson had ransacked a big marine ship with an in-built library. The adults had then shared the books among themselves. Dumbo the big-eared elephant was slipped in between other larger books. Gaban only found out when Buggy dug through the pile in his room.
Gaban thought for a second, next time when they have peaceful times, not on a sleepless night or full adventure day, he should ask Buggy the reason why he liked the book or story so much. But for now, he carried the boy carefully in his arms, aiming to put him back in his own bed in the cabin boys’ room. For he knew if Buggy went missing in the morning when Shanks woke up, Shanks would go into a slight panic mode, then he would start asking Buggy questions that would annoy the other. Putting both boys in a sour mood throughout the day. Gaban chuckled internally, silly boys, their boys.
He was closing the boys’ room when he sensed two pairs of eyes were watching him.
“One of these nights?” He heard Roger’s whisper, which was probably not that much of a whisper. He hoped that would not wake Buggy, or Shanks.
“Yess,” he shushed the other two men. They got the message as Gaban heard them walking towards the captain’s cabin. Really, one of these nights, maybe he should bring Buggy to that room, and maybe then they could do some sort of intervention.
But maybe that was more of him wanting Roger and Rayleigh to share the same feelings of confusion, rather than what Buggy needed, so he put that thought back.
Besides, it was not really a bad thing. He was never an early sleeper anyway, and he did feel nice knowing the boy trusted him enough and was comfortable sleeping in his vicinity.
They grew up fast, he thought. One day, these nights will stop, whether because Buggy would stop thinking about that question, or because he found someone else to confide in, or other happenstances. So, for now, he’s happy to recite Dumbo a hundred times if need be. For one day, it will end.
Crocodile loves having early meetings, but Buggy cannot find it in himself to share the excitement. He’s having one of these migraine-inducing hangovers when he arrives at the meeting room. No sight of the sandman yet, well, lucky him, that means he can get a cup of coffee first. He’s about to leave when he hears a voice from behind the door,
“Who gave you that elephant doll with huge ears and the children’s book?”
His stomach lurches. He closes the door to find Mihawk scanning the books in the bookshelf situated behind the door, a blind spot. If Buggy’s mind was not clouded, he would’ve sensed the other minutes ago.
“What the flashy hell Hawk Eyes! Who entered someone’s tent without permission!?”
Mihawk slowly turns himself, his arms crossed, a cold stare and a raised eyebrow, “You invited me last night, clown. Was my wine so strong that it wiped some memory of yours?”
Buggy thinks it’s just so Mihawk to be so exasperated at him very early in the day. He can feel the heat creeping up his neck and face, scenes coming back to his brain. He had invited Mihawk to his tent because he wanted to show the other man the brand of the new rose-scented aftershave he ordered from Dressrosa. Damn his low-functioning but brag-mode brain on wine. Why Mihawk had agreed is a matter that he’s now shelving for another thinking day.
“Well, it’s none of your business! You'd better not tell another soul!”
Buggy had forgotten to put away Dumbo-san and his book when he had another sleepless spell the previous night before he invited Mihawk over. Curse Mihawk, his wine, and his question last night on why Buggy smelled like the rose he grew in his garden. Curse him as he’s ignoring his threat and just walks over to the shared couch. Has he really no power leverage over this man.
“You were an amusing drunk.”
Buggy stares at that pompous hat with its big feathers. He wishes he could shoot Pacifista’s laser beams out of his eyes and make holes in the swordman’s back. “Why’s that?” The thrums in his head intensified.
Mihawk tilts his head, “Well, at first you kept babbling about how you have tried fifty different aftershaves from all over the islands on Grandline before you finally found the savoury rose you called ‘the one’,” Buggy saw Mihawk airquote handsigns and can only groan in return. But Mihawk’s not finished.
“Then, you started rambling about how you had been trying, for years, to calculate how long it would take for one ship to visit all inhabited islands in this world. You said you always tried to find out if there could be information about unknown islands other than Laugh Tale. By that time, you had stripped yourself into your nightgown and climbed into the bed.”
Oh sea gods and goddesses, Buggy wishes Crocodile’s sand would swallow him whole to spare the embarrassment. He decides he cannot take this onslaught of information standing up, so he perches himself on the far end of the couch, avoiding the swordsman. He can feel Mihawk’s eyes on him, but he’s not prepared yet to return the gaze.
Mihawk continues, which only elicits another groan from Buggy, “So I took it as a sign that you wanted to be left alone, but before I got the chance to open the tent flap, you mumbled, and I quote, ‘I have a favour’, just that. Even in your drunken state, you refused to stoop so low to ask for a favour properly.”
Bit by bit, the events start to come to Buggy’s mind. He is not going near any wine in the coming months. He lowers his head and shields it from Mihawk’s stare. This is not happening.
“You chopped one of your hands, grabbed a small picture book from your nightstand, shoved it to my chest and said, 'read me this'. I was very close to plummeting you with Yoru, but I have mine and Yoru’s honours to protect.”
Another groan, louder this time. Why do the events keep rolling? How come Mihawk did not just leave then and there? Actually, why did he even stay for that long if he had such big honours to protect? Buggy’s mind is full of questions being juggled like pins. He feels the intense stare dissipating from his side, so he dares himself to look between his fingers at Mihawk.
Mihawk’s looking straight now, or is it to the ceiling, but his lips continue moving, “I sat on the bed and read it. Halfway through, you already snored aloud, but the story intrigued me, so I finished it. I put it back at your nightstand, and that’s when I noticed the doll.”
Buggy thinks Mihawk can definitely see how tomato-like his face is right now as he removes his hands. But he locks his eyes with Mihawk’s golden ones, which are way less murderous or irritated than usual, as Mihawk asks again, “Who gave you those things?”
It is a weird question, Buggy thinks. He could have asked where Buggy got them, but a question of who gave those implied Mihawk’s thinking that these were sentimental gifts, memory pieces, which is true. But he’s not keen on appreciating Mihawk’s keen sense of logic, yet.
“They were part of some loot taken by the Oro Jackson’s crew.” That’s not far from the truth, the book was a loot. The plushie was made by Rayleigh-san, at Gaban-san’s request for Buggy’s eighth birthday. It was slightly embarrassing then, when he received it, and would be unbearable to admit now in his thirty-ninth year.
Buggy sighs, admitting defeat slightly as he’s not escaping this conversation with Mihawk but is desperate to end it, “Please keep it to yourself.” He shudders internally at the sincerity of the please word he uttered, how low can he go now.
Mihawk cuts Buggy’s self-mockery running thoughts when he replies, “I see no benefit in sharing it. But, now that the world sees you representing us, the Cross Guild, you should tell us if some insects openly mock you in the open. We have our reputation to uphold.”
There is just no way the blood in his face’s capillaries is going to subside anytime soon, Buggy thinks. Mihawk has not only read the book but also him. In one night no less.
Buggy tries to nonchalantly scoff, “No small fries who mock me in the open ever live to see another day!”
That’s when Buggy sees a Mihawk’s lips curved a little at the edge. He has to blink twice to make sure he’s seeing correctly in the daylight.
Mihawk says, eyes not meeting Buggy's, “For what it’s worth, being able to capitalise on your unique feature is one, if not the only, thing that I respect out of you.”
Buggy manages to both snort and laugh at the same time. Life is, he concludes, funny in that weird twisted way. “Coming from Mister Dracula himself, I’m touched.”
He immediately senses haki emitting from the swordman’s body and, in one of these rare times, is actually glad he can hear the sound of sand shifting nearby, as Crocodile will save him from untimely demise, even if unintentionally.
That’s just life, isn’t it, Gaban-san, so vast and full of the unknown. Buggy makes a mental note to one day tell him that life is just a big wheel of comedy, and he’s accepted now that his part is to be the flashy clown that occasionally makes powerful men tumble at their feet. Unlike Dumbo escaping the circus, Buggy embraces it, making it his own. He will have the last laugh, even if the laughs at him might never stop.