Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marco watched the campfire flicker its last breath. Or rather, he watched it leap from the dying embers into the hands of their new commander, who absorbed the flames back into his body with a smug, almost mischievous smile. The crowd erupted into applause, a wave of hoots and cheers that made Marco want to smash his head against something. The palm tree at his side wouldn't suffice, so he eyed a nearby rock instead. 

The commanders danced in a chaotic rhythm around the fire—resparked and snuffed out by Ace, over and over, as if he were some bizarre, analog lightshow. The display was surreal, Ace wielding his flames in a hypnotic cycle of bursts and fades, every movement as fluid as the fire itself. The others clapped and howled like an audience entranced by something divine.  

Marco, meanwhile, felt only exhaustion. And a low, simmering irritation that this was how he was spending his night. He had told Whitebeard, told him, that his desk was piled with more work than he had hours in the day. But the old man had waved him off with a gruff, “Fuck this nonsense paper stuff and live life.”  

And so here he was, "living life," which apparently meant babysitting fifteen grown men who were, in his opinion, well past the age of needing a chaperone. Yet here they were: an unsupervised pack of rowdy drunks on what Whitebeard had optimistically dubbed a “team-bonding trip.” To Marco, it felt more like a school outing gone wrong, with booze replacing adult supervision. Marco yearned for a talking grey pullunder, who would send everyone to bed before they managed to hurt themselves.  

He sighed, leaning heavily against the palm tree, and then slid down its rough bark in defeat, his head tilting back as he let out a long, frustrated exhale. The pounding behind his temples grew, each throb echoing louder through the hollow skull cave behind his forehead. Then he just sat and watched everyone else.

Marco allowed himself the faintest of smiles as Izou flung his arms around Ace, the two tumbling into the sand in a fit of laughter. Their joy rang out, wild and unrestrained, cutting through the din of the other commanders’ raucous antics. This was a good picture to end the day on and take to his sleep, he decided. And therefore closing his eyes, letting sleep tug him further under. 

The firelight flickered against his closed lids, the sound of waves lapping at the shore mingling with the soft roar of the wind. His head dipped forward as sleep began to cloud his thoughts. Maybe this was his chance to finally rest, to claw back a sliver of the hours he'd lost to sleepless nights haunted by memories he couldn’t escape— memories of laughter, warmth, and Ace. 

Ace.

…

Something was off. Wrong. Tickly.

Marco scruffed his nose. His hands twitched, attempting to lift a to scratch the irritation away. But his arm wouldn’t budge.  

Confused, he blinked groggily, the blurred scene around him sharpening in fragments. The stars glittered above him, scattered across a velvety black sky so densely packed they made the night seem more alive than the bright summer sky. The ocean stretched before him, a restless expanse of silvery blue that shimmered under starlight. How many of those beautiful lights were dying stars, destructive forces eroding all life in their nearest circle. There was an odd comfort in the night sky. So beautiful from far away, so scary up close.  

The tickling persisted, pulling Marco’s thoughts back to his immediate predicament. He tried again to move, but his body remained stubbornly stuck. A slow realization dawned: he was encased in wet sand, buried upright.  

He groaned, rolling his eyes. This was truly a school trip.  

A soft warmth spread through the sand around him. Marco didn’t have to see the face of the figure crouched beside him, he could guess without risking a look. It would only hurt his heart. So of course he did it anyway.

Ace grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dark. "You look adorable," he said, his voice rich with amusement. "Like a pineapple."  

Marco blinked at him, unimpressed. "I didn’t even know pineapples were considered cute."  He’d always considered them odd kinds of fruit. Almost devil fruit looking.

Ace shrugged, the grin widening. "They’re odd, but they grow on you."  

Marco exhaled through his nose, shooting Ace a pointed look. "So this is what I get for treating this trip like a vacation?"  

"Seems like it," Ace replied, leaning back on his heels. But there was a light laughter hidden in his undertone.  

For a moment, they both fell silent. This tiny precious moment, feeling so much like all the tiny ones before it, shared between the two of them. Marco was not ready to let it go. 

Ace’s gaze drifted out to the sea, his expression calm but not entirely at ease. Marco recognized the subtle tension in his posture, the way his shoulders remained just a fraction too tight. He had seen Ace truly relax before, and this wasn’t it.  

Marco hated the way it gnawed at him—this aching, helpless feeling of wanting to fix something he couldn’t name. Two weeks ago, Ace had returned from a mission looking more dead than alive, brushing off his injuries with a casual shrug and a grin. Marco knew Ace too well to believe it. He knew Ace didn’t value his own life the way he should. He never came back from any of his solo missions looking half as bad, but when he took his devision the med would account he took every chance to shield and protect them. And it was without a doubt visible on Ace skin and beneath.

Trying to distract himself, Marco broke the silence, his voice dry. "Quite an effort for a little talk, don’t you think?" 

How absurd, that from Ace perspective he was little more than a talking head, sticking out of the sand next to him. 

Ace’s grin softened, his soft grey eyes locking onto Marco’s with startling clarity. "It’s what you get for avoiding me."  

The words landed with the force of a cannonball— calm, direct, unyielding. There was no accusation in his tone, just the quiet statement of a fact. Once again Ace was braver than him in every way. Just like that he had broken the seal. And yet Marco felt he wasn’t ready to hear the end of it. 

He huffed in response, unable to muster a denial. "So this is what it takes to corner me, huh?" He tugged weakly at his sand-encased arms, still too tired to put up much of a fight.  

Ace’s smile didn’t falter. "You don’t make it easy."  

Another pause settled between them, heavy with unspoken words. Marco wasn’t sure if it was the night’s exhaustion or Ace’s disarming calm, but he found himself unable to dodge the inevitable.  

"You don’t deny it, then?" Ace asked quietly.  

Marco sighed, tilting his head back to look at the stars. "That would be lying," he admitted. "And I do not want to lie to you." You’re the last person I want to lie to, Ace.  

Ace shifted his posture, drawing his knees close to his chest, wrapping his arms them as if to secure them in place, his face partially obscured as he stared out at the water. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost fragile. "I had a feeling. But I still hoped I was just being overly dramatic."  

Fuck.

The words punched through Marco’s defenses, raw and vulnerable. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the sharp pang in his chest.

"Thanks for telling me the truth tho. And sorry for forcing this conversation on you.”

" You have no reason to apologize," he said, his voice softer now.  

Ace turned to him then. "I’m afraid I’m getting on your nerves, aren’t I?"  

Marco remained silent, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He had no idea how to answer without making things worse.  He had sworn not to lie to Ace. Of course he wasn’t going on his nerves. Marco was going on Marco’s nerves. But it was hard to wrap in words that would make Ace understand, without…

Marco swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. "No, Ace," he said finally. "You’re not getting on my nerves. Ever."  
God how he hated his sleep deprived brain, not fully awake to do anything but repeat Ace’ words. He wished he could use his powers to sober up and feel alive. He’d not been prepared for this conversation, not for it to happen now. And it went terribly, from what he could tell. 

Ace tilted his head, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and skepticism. The silence that followed stretched taut between them, weighted with all the words Marco couldn’t bring himself to say.  

Ace broke it first, his voice lighter this time, though there was still a tension in his posture. "Well, that’s good. I’d hate to think I went to all this trouble just to annoy you."  

Marco’s lips twitched into a faint smile despite himself. "Trouble" was certainly one way to describe burying someone in wet sand.  

Ace leaned back, his arms draped loosely over his knees as he gazed out at the sea. The firelight danced across his face, its flickering glow catching the faint shadows under his eyes. Marco knew those shadows well; he’d spent enough sleepless nights staring at his own reflection to recognize them in someone else. 

So many of them spent together. He had started to like being sleepless to the point of self-inducing. One time he had 20 cups of coffee to stay away and be sleepless with Ace. He missed him, while he was still standing next to him. It was stupid to do that. But he did it. Ace had turned him stupid. 

And Ace had been burning the candle at both ends for weeks now—throwing himself into missions, shielding his men, taking risks that left Marco sick with worry. He thought of the younger man’s smile, how it could light up a room, even now, when Marco could see the cracks underneath.  

"You’ve been overdoing it," Marco said softly, his tone edged with concern.  

Ace turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Says the guy who hasn’t slept since the last time we had a properly stocked coffee supply?"  

So Ace had been watching him.

Marco exhaled sharply, the closest he could manage to a laugh in his current state. "Touché."  

For a moment, it felt easy again— like it used to. Before Marco had started pulling away. Before every glance and every conversation had felt like walking a tightrope. But Ace wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.   

"I need to ask you something," Ace said, his tone quieter now, serious in a way that sent a flicker of unease through Marco’s chest.  

Marco gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Go on."  

Ace hesitated, his gaze dropping to the sand. He absently dragged a hand through it, fingers tracing idle patterns as though searching for the right words. "Maybe I should get you out of your sandy grave first. Which by the way wasn’t my idea before you get very angry as soon as you’re able to move again."

He was clearly dreading this conversating as well, given he was trying to put it off. Even if it was just for another second. 

"It’s fine, actually quite relaxing. Like a spa treatment," he joked, hinting at a previous discussion between them.

Ace chuckled. Marco liked to imagine they both thought about all the tipsy drunk commanders coming together to play a kindergarden level of prank on their first. Although he came to appreciate it. With his body buried in sand, he had no body language. All he needed to keep under control was his face, and that was doable.

The light atmosphere was cristalizing into the fresh night air. It was inevitable. Ace would have to ask his question. Marco would have to answer. 

"I can feel you heating up the sand around me, tho." It felt like a hug and Marco almost teared up. "Thanks," he concluded softly.

Ace didn’t respond nor turn to look at him, but he knew that he’d heard Marco’s words. He was just preparing for the ones he wanted to lay on this tongue next.

"It’s about that night," Ace said finally, his voice measured. "The night of the commander initiation party."  

Marco stiffened, his chest tightening. He’d been dreading this.  

"I know I might have crossed a line," Ace continued, his voice quieter now. "Showing up in your room like that. Laying all my insecurities on you. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, and I just… worry. Did I make you uncomfortable?"  

Marco’s heart sank. The vulnerability in Ace’s voice was like a knife twisting in his chest. He wanted to deny it, to tell Ace he’d done nothing wrong…

"You didn’t make me uncomfortable," Marco said carefully, his words slow and deliberate.  

"I have one question left to ask you. I won’t bother you with any follow ups. You can respond as much or little as you like. I will take whatever you have to say." 

Marco faltered, his throat tightening. This was getting more serious by the minute. Suddenly Ace added warmth to the sand, made him feel sweaty. All that he wished for, was a chance to absorb whatever weighed down on Ace into his healing flames. All of it. All of Ace’ grief- it would be in good company.

"Please go on."

"Is it related to my secret? I can’t shake the feeling you’ve been avoiding me since - and with hightened endeavor. I feel it must be that. I won’t blame you in any way."

Marco hated himself for complicating things to the point Ace arrived at this conclusion. All he wanted was to be that person again, that would provide him with comfort, enough to share what he was most afraid of. Selfishly he also wanted this for himself. Wanted to be with Ace when he had a bad day, when he had a good day, when he had the most boring ordinary day and needed something to happen, needed company, needed to be. 

He had spent weeks crafting excuses, rationalizing his distance. But sitting here, buried in sand and unable to move, he couldn’t hide from the truth any longer.  

"No." Marco said finally, his voice quiet. "As I told you that night: In no way does any of it change my perception of you. It won’t ever matter to me."  

Marco remembered that night. This hot, messy feeling setteling in his chest. It had truly started to get bad that night. Never had he felt so heavy, his father, their entire ship with crew, they were just a small indent, compared to the weight on his chest. All that collected grief. It had been his mistake. Betraying the trust with stupid feelings. Ace clearly didn’t remember, he was too drunk.  

Marco let out a breath, forcing himself to meet Ace’s gaze. It was pretty transparent. Felt like he could sink deep down and reach grounds within his emotional world. He could basically read Ace’ mind. If it wasn’t about anything he did or said, it had to be about him, as a person. 

"It’s also not that I don’t like you," he added, allowing his voice to get soft. So soft, that it accurately reflected how he truly felt. He wanted to tll Ace so many things. All of which were to cheesy to actually put out there, even if it was night.   

Marco hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. How could he explain it? How could he put into words the overwhelming realization that he cared for Ace in ways that went far beyond friendship?  

Ace shifted, the sand crunching softly under him. "Thank you for clearing that up, Marco. I appreciate it." 

Marco felt like reaching out, pleading with Ace to not leave him like that. The thing he feared had come true. He’d made it worse. Somehow he’d made it worse, although he didn’t understand it.

"Are you sure, that you are fine like that?"

Marco nodded and the sand commented on it by ruffling loudly. He couldn’t have uttered another word. Not without bursting into sudden tears. He himself was surprised how sudden it had swept over him. The moment he got vulnerable, followed by the moment Ace got up to leave him. 

Marco just watched and felt the warm sand turn cold, as Ace turned away. Desperatly trying to form a sentence that would keep him from leaving.

Chapter Text

-Months earlier-

The Moby Dick was a ship with a name with certain homoerotic undertones. That much was certain. 

Just as certain as the fact that its deck seemed perpetually filled with unnervingly attractive — and, Marco was only now realizing — chronically half-naked men. Including their so-called father. Hell, including Marco himself!

It was Ace who had finally driven this realization home.  

Izou, ever one for sharp quips, referred to the ship as “the floating wood with Many Dicks.” Marco had objected at the time, reminding his brother that this was a pirate ship, not parship. But now, looking at it from a rather non-sober angle, alone on deck, Marco wasn’t so sure.  

Well, not entirely alone.  

Ace giggled right into his left ear, sending a shiver race down Marco’s spine. Totally normal. Absolutely, he told himself. Human ears were just sensitive. It could’ve been anyone — anyone — and he’d have the same reaction. Definitely. The nile was river in Egypt and their ship had never floated there.  

Just two soul- crewmates! - haunting the ship at ungodly hours, as victims of nightmare-plagued sleep. They shared a suffering, a rare instance of condition, that Marco could do little to fix despite his medical expertise.  

“What?” Marco asked, feeling like he’d found a way to ease it. Helping each other through their sleepless nights had become somewhat of an unspoken promise between them. Sitting together, nursing drinks, talking under the blanket of stars — it felt like the closest thing to a cure.  

It was only when they parted ways to try and sleep again that his nerves spiked, obliterating any chance of rest or sleep hormoes, that had lured him to his cabin on false pretence.  

“Oh, I was just thinkin’,” Ace slurred, clearly a little drunk. Marco suppressed a grin. Their new recruit wasn’t handling the drinking as well as the others, though that wasn’t much of a surprise. Nothing could prepare one for the lavish, relentless parties aboard the Moby Dick.  

With a crew of 1600 men, there was always a reason to celebrate. Statistically speaking, Marco figured it was someone’s birthday — or, more likely, multiple people’s birthdays — every single day. And frankly, Marco believed nobody could or should even try to liver up to that.  

“What? Playing hard to get now?” Marco teased, taking a sip of his drink. It was actually just applejuice. “What were you thinking about?”  

Ace’s lips pulled into a lopsided grin, his expression one of pure mischief. “Jus’ that your eyes are blue, and the night sky’s dark blue. So I figured I should watch the day sky with you instead — then your eyes and the sky would match.”  

Marco snorted, nearly choking on his apple juice. "Oh yeah? And what would you match?"  

Ace furrowed his brow into a mountin chain on his forehead. His seriousness utterly endearing. “Ah, easy. I’d match the sun!”  

He lit himself on fire without missing a beat, his flames licking at the air as though to prove his point.  

Marco couldn’t help but smile, even as he conjured his own blue flames to cool the wooden deck beneath them. No sense in letting Ace set the ship ablaze at three in the morning. The firelight danced softly, crackling like the faintest whisper. For a brief moment, Marco wondered if Ace could control its volume.  

“No offense,” Marco said, his tone dry, “but I think the sun’s a little hotter than your fire.”  

“So what? And the sky’s a little cooler than your flames,” Ace shot back with a defiant smirk. “It’s about the look of it.”  

Marco snorted again, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. You win.”  

Ace stopped to burn. It was a weird sentence to think, Marco mused even like it went through is head. Like pulling a switch, a sudden extinguish. “What’s my prize, then?”  

Of course, Ace would ask that. He was cheeky and unapologetic, a combination that had both irritated and charmed Marco since the day they’d met.  

Marco’s first encounter with Ace had been nothing short of spectacular. The kid had cursed him out at least a dozen times in their first five minutes, rattling off increasingly creative ways for Marco to "fuck off" when the commander didn’t immediately leave him alone.  

It hadn’t worked.  

Marco, unfazed, kept showing up daily for his dose of insults, amused by Ace’s sheer stubbornness. By the time Ace ran out of ideas and begrudgingly let Marco stick around, they’d somehow fallen into a strange but enjoyable rhythm.  

When Ace officially joined the crew, he underwent a transformation that caught Marco completely off guard. He was still very funny, but suddenly also charming - even polite. But most of all, how Ace was suddenly always there.  

Marco couldn’t say he minded. In fact, he found it endearing. He’d liked Ace since the moment the man hit triple digits in his “fuck-off” manual.  

“You’re getting apple juice,” Marco declared with mock seriousness, swiping Ace’s mug and replacing it with his own glass.  

Ace pouted — an absolutely devastating expression,  his lips pursing in a way that was so ridiculously cute it made Marco’s chest ache. But he courageously pretended not to take notice. 

"Marco, do you dance?"  

The question caught Marco completely off guard, he nearly choked on the words he’d been about to say, turning to see Ace extend a hand for him. Saying no felt impossible - not that he wanted to refuse.  

He shook his head, taking Ace’s hand anyway. "Absolutely not."  

For a moment, they stood there, side by side under the sprawling night sky. The stars felt impossibly close, scattered in dazzling clusters Marco hadn’t noticed before tonight. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, as if they could shield him from the vulnerability threatening to creep in.  

"My mother danced," he admitted softly, glancing at Ace out of the corner of his eye. "At least, I think she did. I have this vague memory of her teaching us one dance. It was simple — something for us kids, I think."  

To his surprise, Ace’s hand remained outstretched, his eyes wide with curiosity.  

Marco hesitated before offering his own hand in return. Their fingers brushed briefly before settling together, Ace’s hand warm and steady in his own. They stood like that for a moment, an arm’s length apart, gazing at each other as if the rest of the world had fallen away.  

"Did I ever hear about her before?" Ace asked quietly.  

Marco shook his head. Not even Dr. Maya, their psychologist. He barely spoke of them, even to himself. He was just as surprised as Ace, that be chose to bring her up this moment.

"It just crossed my mind," Marco said with a nervous chuckle. "Don’t know if I’ll even remember the steps after all this time."  

Ace stepped closer, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "That’s okay. You’ll lead, even if you don’t know what you’re doing. I’ll never know."  

Marco huffed a small laugh and moved his hand to the middle of Ace’s back, the way his mother had shown them long ago. "Alright. I think it starts with a step to the right, then I twirl you one way, then the other, and…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I think I’m supposed to lift you at the end?"  

Ace burst out laughing, his voice warm and rich in the quiet night.  

"Never mind," Marco said, a grin creeping onto his face. "I’m guessing it was just a dance she made up for us kids to enjoy."  

"I like it," Ace said, his laughter fading into a soft smile.  

Marco smirked. "Admit it. You just want me to lift you."  

Ace’s grin turned shameless. "I never denied it, Marco."  

Their laughter mingled, bright and easy. Marco never grew tired of how easy it was to be with Ace. From moment to moment they were in perfect sync as they nagivated from lighthearted goofing to quieter moments and back. Similar to dancing.

"Alright, here we go!" Marco declared before Ace could change his mind. He marched to the right, then the left, twirling Ace clumsily in one direction and then the other. Ace stumbled, more from surprise and drunkenness than the steps themselves.  

Finally, Marco lifted him, twirling once before spinning around himself. Ace’s laughter spilled out in delighted bursts, and Marco couldn’t help but join in.  

"I see why that dance was popular with you as a kid," Ace said, still chuckling.  

"Older brother duties," Marco replied with a shrug, setting Ace down.  

Ace’s brow lifted in surprise. "Wait — you had siblings? Since when?"  

Marco shook his head, amused by Ace’s shock. "It’s not like I’ve got bounty posters of them to show around."  

"Surely you could still mention them," Ace teased. "Especially when someone’s talked your ear off about their brothers for hours."  

Marco laughed, but crossing his arms again. "I’ll think about it."  

He absolutely didn’t, didn’t intend to spoil the mood. So he just thought about all the cute stories Ace had shared about Sabo and Luffy. And Marine Admiral Garp - one hell of a family and he really wanted Ace to take him as his plus one on their next family gathering.

Ace snorted, then reached out to unfold Marco’s arms, taking his hands instead. He tugged him gently toward the middle of the deck.  

"What are you—?"  

"Don’t want to risk dropping you into the ocean," Ace said matter-of-factly, flashing a grin.  

"Wait, what?" 

"I’m worried we’ll topple over," Ace said, his tone teasing as he added, "You’re taller, after all."  

Marco instinctively held one arm across his chest again, but Ace caught his other hand, pulling him closer. Marco wasn’t sure why he followed so easily, but something about Ace’s bright, unguarded grin made resistance feel futile.  

"I’ll revive your favorite childhood dance for you," Ace said, his expression pure determination.  

Marco snorted, shaking his head. "I’m too heavy for you to lift."  

Ace shot him a look, half challenge, half incredulous disbelief. "If I can’t lift you, I don’t deserve a spot on this ship."  

With that, Ace placed a hand firmly at Marco’s waist. It felt natural, like they’d done this a hundred times before. Together, they stumbled through the clumsy steps, tripping over each other and bursting into laughter. When Ace finally lifted Marco, it was surprisingly effortless — but rather than setting him down gracefully, Ace purposefully toppled them both to the deck.  

Their laughter rang out into the quiet night, wild and unrestrained. Marco quickly rolled off Ace, sprawling beside him on the wood.  

Even after their laughter faded, they stayed as they were, lying side by side on the deck and staring up at the stars. They’d done this countless times by now, and Marco always cherished it more than he cared to admit.  

Before Ace, his sleepless nights had been solitary affairs. Whether he stayed in his cabin or wandered the ship, the silence always seemed heavier than the darkness. His sadness had aged with him, settling into something quieter, less volatile — but no less painful. It lingered like a shadow, a sad grown up ghost that visited him nightly.  

"Reason I never talk about them is..." Marco hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "I’m about to kill the mood."  

Ace turned his head toward him, smiling faintly. "Then we’ll dance on its grave."  

Marco grinned despite himself. Ace had that effect on him, effortlessly cutting through his hesitation with a humor that never felt forced. It was another reason Marco liked him so much — Ace wasn’t easily shocked. He was easy to talk to, as if nothing Marco could say would ever scare him away.  

"The reason is..." Marco began again, his voice quieter this time. "They’re all dead."  

Silence fell between them.  

Marco turned his head slightly, watching Ace’s profile as he absorbed the words.  

He drew a deep breath before replying, his voice low and sincere. "I had a hunch." He shifted closer, his gaze softening as it met Marco’s. "I’m so sorry, Marco."  

Marco shrugged lightly, the motion meant to downplay the weight of his words. "I hardly remember them. I was young."  

"Doesn’t matter," Ace said, his voice quiet but firm. "You’re never too young to feel the consequences of something. Even if you don’t understand them at the time, the feelings were always there."  

Marco stared at him, taken off guard by the unexpected wisdom in Ace’s words. He wanted to ask what had given Ace such insight, what experiences had shaped that understanding. But he didn’t. Ace had never pried into Marco’s past, and Marco wouldn’t push into his. Not yet. Not clumesly like that. 

"If you want," Ace added, his tone lightening just enough to soften the moment, "you can tell me everything you remember about them. If you don’t..." He smiled faintly. "That’d be sad for them, but fine with me."  

Marco hummed. "Another time. For now... I’ve got another prize for you."  

Ace sat up, raising an eyebrow. "That’s a rough transition."  

Marco felt heat creep up his neck. Of course Ace would notice him fumbling to change the subject. He wasn’t subtle, and Ace was too sharp to let it slide. Marco laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.  

"It’s about risking my life for you," he said, trying to sound casual.  

"Well, it must be good, then," Ace replied, his grin turning impish. "What are you trying to do, impress me?"  

Marco chuckled. "If I wanted to impress you, I’d pull a magic trick. You’re drunk enough to think the thumb one is genius."  

Ace pouted, his cheeks turning red as his giggles betrayed him. He wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t press further. Marco was grateful for that.

The truth was, Marco was scared — scared of saying too much, of unloading emotional baggage that neither of them was ready to handle. But the fact that Ace didn’t push... It only made Marco like him more.  

One day, Marco promised himself. Next time, he’d tell Ace the truth when fear got the better of him.  

"Alright, here’s the plan," Marco announced, standing and brushing sand from his pants. "We’re breaking into the kitchen for an early breakfast."  

Ace’s face lit up with delight and he gave Marco a gleeful thumbs up. "Okay!" Then, with mock seriousness, he added, "But I can’t help with the cooking."  

"Oh, I know," Marco mumbled under his breath.  

Unfortunately for him, Ace caught it. "What? Why? Wait — what did Thatch say about me? Did he complain?"  

"Of course he did," Marco replied dryly, leading them below deck. "The fact that you even have to ask means you haven’t spent enough time with him yet. Thatch snitches about everything to everyone. Sometimes I find out what Thatch thought about our last disagreement through crewmates discussing it in the hallways. Other times, it becomes a betting pool at the not-so-secret casino nights. They take stakes on who’s going to win our next argument."  

Ace burst out laughing as they entered the ship’s lower levels, the sound bouncing off the narrow walls.  

The kitchen was, as expected, closed. It would remain so until at least 7 a.m., since the crew didn’t stumble out of bed until far later in the morning. Pirates, as a rule, weren’t morning people.  

Except for the Heart Pirates. Marco shuddered at the memory of their 6 a.m. breakfasts during his brief time aboard their yellow submarine. Great crew, but that habit had been a culture shock.  

Breaking into the kitchen was laughably easy — no one really cared if the late-night wanderers helped themselves. Marco quickly set about preparing something to sober Ace up. The kid had a shift in the kitchen soon, and hungover Ace was a disaster waiting to happen.  

Not that he was much better sober.  

Ace had been pestering Marco relentlessly about joining his division, but Marco was skeptical. Ace was as much help in treating the sick and wounded as Marco would be cutting bacon with a plastic spoon.  
  

"But he praised your enthusiasm," Marco said over his shoulder as they stepped into the kitchen. It was only half a lie. Thatch had mentioned Ace’s enthusiasm — specifically how it seemed boundless, when it came to completely ruining every dish he touched. But Marco decided the second half of Thatch’s statement could wait for neverday.  

Ace chuckled, hopping onto one of the long counters. Marco winced internally, knowing Thatch would lose his mind if he saw this. Ace carried himself as if he owned places, every single one of them, he stepped into, always at ease, always brimming with confidence.  

Marco admired that, despite his uncertainty. Ace was a polished actor, with lots of experience in portraying composed exteriors.  

"It’s fine, Marco," Ace said with a breezy grin. "I know I’m terrible. So I’ll just watch and cheer for you."  

Marco raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "You’re not planning to help the first commander?"  

"To hell with the ‘first commander’ crap. Off duty, no titles. You said it yourself, remember? No special treatment. I’ll serve as decoration."  

Marco snorted, turning back to rummage through the cabinets in search of a pan. "Decoration?"  

"Yep," Ace said smugly, leaning back against the magnetic knife rack behind him. His legs dangled lazily, swinging just above the counter’s edge.  

Marco frowned, half a thought forming in the back of his mind about asking Ace to move. But Ace was fire — literally — and nothing short of the apocalypse could seem to scar him. Still, for someone who got hurt as often as he did, Ace’s good looks remained annoyingly unscathed. Not even dark circles or drunken stupors seemed to diminish him.  

"Well," Ace drawled, his grin widening as Marco lingered in thought, "if you’re just gonna stare at the decoration all night, we’ll starve."  

That snapped Marco out of his reverie. Right. Cooking.  

"Maybe the kitchen-acquainted decoration could help the extra pair of hands find the pans and utensils?" Marco suggested dryly.  

Ace tilted his head from side to side, considering. "Hmm. I don’t know. Do decorations usually do that? I thought they just sit around looking pretty."  

With that, Ace stretched out on the counter, one leg bent, his head propped up on his hand, posing as if for a cheesy portrait. His grin turned downright cheeky, and Marco — suddenly unsure where to focus — chose the safety of Ace’s infuriatingly smug expression.  

"You’re right," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "Hey, how often do you think decorations get fed compared to kitchen hands?"  

Ace groaned playfully but slid off the counter, muttering under his breath as he opened cabinets and handed Marco the items he needed.  

"I’ve never seen you cook," Ace said, his voice tinged with curiosity.  

"It’s not exactly standard practice in my division," Marco replied, setting a pan on the stove. "I don’t know why we haven’t established frying some sunny-side-ups mid-surgery."  

Ace rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter. "Be serious. Do you even know what you’re doing? At least I had to cook for myself my whole life, while you’ve been getting handed food for the last... what? Ten years?"  

"Fair point," Marco admitted with a smirk. He rarely had reason to cook on the Moby Dick — there was simply no need.  

"Alright, kitchen chef," he teased, his tone soft. "You wanna mix these pancakes?"  

Marco held out the bowl, but Ace recoiled, shaking his head vehemently. "Absolutely not. It’s way more fun being the bystander who gets to complain."  

"Careful with the complaints, or you might end up the bystander who gets no food."  

Ace laughed, seeming carefree as ever. Maybe he knew Marco could never bring himself to leave him hungry. It seemed he had also burned off a good portion of alcohol by setting himself on fire earlier. 

The night was warm, the kitchen was practically airless and Marco could feel sweat beading on his brow, heat radiating not just from the stove but from Ace, whose very presence seemed to raise the temperature in the room. Without a second thought, Marco tugged off his shirt and tossed it onto the counter behind him.  

Ace’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. "You see? A real kitchen chef would never do that. They put on clothes to cook — not take them off." He grinned, feigning exaggerated pity. "It’s fine, though. I used to mix those up too."  

Marco snorted at the mental image of Ace misinterpreting Thatch’s instructions to "get dressed for the kitchen" by stripping down instead.  

"What a lucky man I am," Marco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "to have you share such profound wisdom with me."  

But Ace wasn’t even listening anymore. His gaze was fixed on Marco’s back, and before Marco could question it, Ace closed the distance in one big, sudden leap. He was so close that Marco nearly stepped back out of reflex, but before he could move, Ace’s hand came down on his lower back with a loud slap.  

Marco almost squeaked in surprise, but luckily managed to bite it back. Emberrassed, he shot Ace an annoyed glare instead. What the hell did he think he was doing?  

"Mosquito," Ace whispered, his fingers lingering on Marco’s bare skin.  

The touch shouldn’t have lingered. It should’ve been nothing, a fleeting slap to shoo away an insect, but Marco felt the goosebumps radiating outward from the point of contact. Worse, Ace had to feel them too.  

Ace’s fingers weren’t cold, not in the slightest. They were warm — so much warmer than Marco had anticipated. He had always been aware of the ambient heat that seemed to radiate from Ace’s body, but this was different. Marco was fairly certain Ace had never touched his bare skin before.  

It was a perfectly normal reaction, he told himself. Warmth could cause goosebumps just as much as cold. Everyone knew that. Anyone who’d ever stepped under a hot shower knew that. He knew that — he was a doctor, after all. His body was reacting entirely within the norm when it came to Ace - that was his professional conviction.  

"Massages."  

Ace blinked, his eyes widening as he stammered, "W-what?"  

Marco smirked, realizing he’d managed to throw Ace off - a certain satisfation came with that. "I’ll allow you in my division occasionally. For massages. Your hands are like a hot stone treatment — but cheaper."  

Ace’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. "Maybe Pops should open up another division."  

Hearing Ace say "Pops" still felt strange. It had taken him time to say it naturally, without hesitation or the dip in volume that made it sound like a secret.  

"A new division under my lead," Ace added.  

Marco’s eyebrows shot up so high they were about to great his hairline. 

"The spa division."   

Marco snorted. "Grooming and wellness for physical and mental well-being, is it?"  

"Exactly," Ace said with a grin, undeterred. "Sub-commander Ace, at your service."  

Marco chuckled, shaking his head.  

Ace’s smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes. "And you’d get to see me at work. Wouldn’t that just brighten your days?"  

"Wow," Marco deadpanned. "I didn’t peg you as the stalking type when we first met, Mr. Portgas."  

Ace rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. Hardly anyone ever called him by his last name, but Marco liked it. He himself hadn’t had a last name until he’d taken on Pops’ — and now, being called "Mr. Newgate" always brought a sense of pride.  

Ace gestured toward the pan, his hand finally leaving Marco’s back. "I think your pancake’s burning."  

Marco blinked, momentarily disoriented. He’d completely  forgotten about the cooking thanks to the mosquito incident — or, more accurately, the Ace incident. He was used to being sleep deprived and easily distracted, but tonight it was really bad for some reason. "Shit."  

Ace snickered, leaning back against the counter. "Weird. I didn’t peg you as the clumsy type when I first met you, Mr. Por—Mr. Newgate."  

The casual slip sent Marco’s heart into a strange, awkward stumble. Ace mixing up their last names shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have caused a hitch in his chest or the odd rhythm that followed. His pulse took a few confused beats before settling again, but Marco was suddenly acutely aware of himself. What was he doing here? Or moreover, what was he experiencing?  

He frowned, he was 34 — this wasn’t an age thing. Maybe he really should get a second opinion on his health.  

"Soooo," Ace drawled, his grin widening, "your place or mine?"  

What a question.  

They always went to Marco’s room.  

…

Of course, Ace had gotten his way. Marco had been deep in conversation with Steve, their cardiologist, when they were interrupted.    

The double-swinging doors were practical, meant for rushing patients in and out of the infirmary. But their visitor managed to use them for maximum dramatic effect. The sun behind him cast his silhouette across the floor, the shadow stretching to Marco and Steve’s feet.  

Surprised, Marco glanced down.  

The shadow had no business looking that good. Shadows were supposed to be vague and shapeless, not sharp-edged and elegant, with arms raised theatrically overhead and wild curls framing its head like a crown.  

Ace strode in like he owned the place. If a random bystander had been watching, they’d probably have assumed he was their boss coming to check on his subordinates.  

And honestly? Marco wouldn’t be surprised if Ace did somehow charm his way to Vice Captain one day. With his charisma — and how much Whitebeard already doted on him — it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.  

Then again, Marco thought wryly, it was about as likely as him randomly being turned into a pineapple plushie, only to be gifted to a spoiled brat who’d abandon him at a playground. For which Pineapple-Plushie Marco would somehow be held responsible and locked in a private jail for rich people’s discarded toys.  

Marco sighed. He really needed to stop adding such ridiculous scenarios to his mental list of unlikely-but-technically-possible disasters.  

"What did you tell Pops?" Marco asked, resigned.  

Ace’s grin stretched ear to ear, his soft grey eyes sparkling. He clasped his hands behind his back like he was holding state secrets. "I can’t tell you all my tricks, Marco," he said gravely, furrowing his brow. "Otherwise, they won’t work on you." He winked. "And I wouldn’t want to risk that."  

Marco rolled his eyes. Ace was a flirt; nothing new there. But next to him, Steve looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.  

Ace noticed, and his grin softened into something more polite. He gave a small, courteous bow. "I’m Ace," he said. "New recruit. Tried to kill Pops for a hundred days straight. Maybe you’ve heard of me."  

Marco raised an eyebrow. Including the attempted patricide in his introduction was certainly a choice.  

But Steve beamed. "Oh, I have! Good to have you on this side of things now, Ace."  

They exchanged smiles, and Marco felt as if they had unsubscribed him from their conversation. How could Ace garner sympathy when talking like that. And Steve was even blushing! Unbelievable. Wherever Ace went, he charmed the crew. It was as if being enamored with him was a rite of passage.  

"So, you’re here to—" Marco began.  

"—relieve some tensions!" Ace cut in smoothly.  

Marco nodded, though inwardly he was shaking his head. How had Ace done that? Marco had repeatedly told Whitebeard that Ace wasn’t a good fit for his division, and yet here he was.  

When Steve excused himself, Marco turned to Ace with a frown. "You should know, I strictly separate work and personal life."  

"Meaning I’m your personal life now?"  

Marco froze. The question sent a heat wave straight to his cheeks, and he responded far too quickly: "What would you consider our nights together?"  

He realized his mistake the second the words left his mouth. His face burned hotter as Ace’s grin widened.  

"Part of business," Ace said with mock seriousness. "From here on out, it’s all about keeping in with the boss, right?" He winked, entirely unfazed.  

Marco exhaled sharply, trying to regain his composure. Daytime Ace always had this unshakable confidence, a charm that made him seem untouchable. At night, though, he was different — softer, more approachable. Marco liked that version of him better. This Ace, the one standing in front of him now, was almost intimidating. Not best grounds to start a superior - subordinate kind of relationship. 

Just as Ace turned to leave, a brilliant idea struck Marco.  

"Why don’t you check in with Dr. Maya?" he said, keeping his tone casual. "Her office is down the hall, to the left. Room 125."  

Ace saluted dramatically. "Will do!" He strode off with the same confidence he’d entered with, radiating a persuasivness that only he could pull off.  

Marco watched him go, his gaze trailing Ace until he disappeared into Dr. Maya’s office.  

"Marco?"  

He nearly jumped. Nurse Liz stood behind him, looking concerned. "Sorry," she said. "I’ve been saying your name for like a minute, but you didn’t hear me."  

Marco nodded distractedly, chalking it up to stress. He and Ace were friends, and separating work from his personal life was important to Marco. Especially when all his friends and family were pirates constantly risking their lives. It was no wonder he had nightmares. He didn’t need to consulte Dr. Maya to confirm that.  

The rest of the day blurred together. Surgery after surgery, clean-up, paperwork — by the time Marco finally headed to his office, all he wanted was to finish one last report and crawl into bed. He had intended to keep an closer eye on their new hotstone, but his schedule didn’t allow for it. Not once, acutally.  

Yawning, he reached for the light switch, already imagining the comfort of his pillow. His hand hovered over the switch as he froze.  

The room was dark, but he could clearly make out the silhouette of a man sitting at his desk.  

The pull-switch clacked softly, the sound Marco always found oddly satisfying. And his desk lamp bathed the room in warm golden light. 

"Hey," Ace whispered, though the desk length between them didn’t warrant it.  

Marco’s heart gave one disoriented thump.  

Chapter Text

"Hey," Ace whispered, though Marco stood a good desk-length away.  

Normally, Marco didn’t measure things in desk-lengths. It just seemed relevant because Ace was sitting on his desk, and the desk was the only thing separating them. Marco knew the exact distance between the door and that desk because it had been burned into his memory for all the wrong reasons.  

The workspace used to be shared and had two desks, side by side, and whenever Marco forgot, he’d ram straight into the other one. That wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the stupid knob underneath, meant for hanging a business bag or something equally absurd. Who expected a business bag holder on a pirate ship? Marco’s upper leg had been perpetually bruised, phoenix healing powers or not. After running into it too many times a day, he’d given up and simply accepted the blue patch on his leg as a new reality.  

"Hey," Marco replied at normal volume.  

"Shh!" Ace hissed immediately, waving his arms in alarm as though Marco had shouted.  

"What? What’s going on?" Marco frowned, unsure whether Ace wanted him to come closer — which he would not do while Ace was perched on his desk — or to leave entirely.  

Ace gestured frantically again, and Marco sighed, shutting the door behind him. Leaning against it, he folded his arms across his chest and gave Ace a tired look.  

"Marco, you want my hand to fall off? Will you come over here or what?"

"You’re sitting on my desk." 

Ace blinked, puzzled. He glanced down at himself, even lifting one leg and then the other, like a confused dog checking for mud. "What? No papers. I wouldn’t sit on your papers."  

"You’re sitting on my desk," Marco repeated, voice flat.  

"But I’m not sitting at your desk!" Ace’s face lit up like he’d just solved a riddle, clearly expecting some sort of approval. "I thought that would be offensive, you know? As a subordinate, I shouldn’t sit in my boss’s chair, right?"  

Marco snorted, unable to suppress a smirk. "Your logic is something else, huh?" 

Ace hopped off the desk, and Marco felt a flicker of relief. Still, he stayed firmly by the doorframe, his arms crossed like a shield.  

It had been a long, grueling day. The Moby Dick had docked at the island Marco and Ace had visited the previous night, but as usual, their crew couldn’t handle downtime.  

Whenever the ship anchored, the crewmates somehow managed to injure themselves doing the most mundane activities. One guy hadn’t even made it to land — he’d jumped off the ship, sprained his ankle, and had to be carried back aboard. Another had lost his temper over a carnival duck-fishing game and smashed the booth without remembering to use his Haki, ending up with the worst splinters Marco had ever seen.  

When not inventing bizarre ways to get hurt, the crew would seek duels to cure their boredom. By the time they found willing challengers, they were usually blackout drunk, resulting in stories like the time this dude, Mike, managed to knock himself out. Not exactly the kind of tale Mike would pass down to his grandkids — but perfect material for Marco’s own endless arsenal of anecdotes.  

"I wanted to stand, Marco," Ace said, snapping him back to the present. "Really, I did. But you didn’t come over, so I waited. Even tried to join a surgery, but apparently, being a hot stone doesn’t qualify me for that." He huffed indignantly. "How do they know the patient wouldn’t want to wake up feeling relaxed, huh?" 

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose, barely stifling a yawn. When the desk was starting to look cozy, it was a bad sign. "Taji said you did a great job today," he said, trying to focus. "I didn’t know you could hot-stone thirty people in an hour."  

"Thirty-two, actually," Ace corrected, laughing at himself. Finally stepping away from Marco’s desk, he began walking toward him.  

Marco’s muscles tensed instinctively. A part of him wanted to sprint to the desk and sit down, as if claiming it would keep Ace at bay. Maybe he was just possessive about his workspace. Or maybe he was dreading the possibility of Ace shoving another desk in here, forcing him to relive the leg-bruising nightmare all over again.  

"So," Marco said, his tone calm despite his thoughts racing, "you wanted to speak to the commander?" 

"I wanted to speak to Marco." Ace leaned in, one arm braced against the doorframe just above Marco’s head. His closeness was enough to make Marco tilt his head down slightly, the fatigue in his bones doing little to keep his guard in place. "Seen him?" 

Marco gave him a weak smile, worn down by exhaustion, and replied simply, "No."  

Ace huffed dramatically. "Well, I *was* going to fill Marco in on some hot gossip, I’m sure he’d love to know of. But since he’s nowhere to be found, and it would be unprofessional to tell the division commander instead, I guess I better—" He gestured toward the door.  

Marco’s brow arched. "Where would you even get gossip from? You were here the entire day."  

Ace glanced at his nails nonchalantly, then flicked his gaze back to Marco with a casual smirk. "I know, right? Who would’ve thought hot stones are like the hairdressers of pain treatments." He frowned for a moment as if reevaluating his statement, then added, "Well, apart from painkiller meds, maybe."  

Marco laughed softly. "Painkillers? They don’t lead to gossip material — they just get people to spout a bunch of ridiculous nonsense. Nothing worth sharing. But hold onto those stories for Marco, okay? I’m afraid he can’t lend you his ear tonight."  

Ace raised an eyebrow. "It’s past midnight."  

"Or tonight," Marco amended with a yawn.  

"The great thing about stories is that they don’t run away," Ace said with a shrug. "But storytellers might."  

Marco snorted. "Somehow, I’m not too worried about that. My storyteller is so eager to share, he waits for hours in my office. Doesn’t exactly scream flight risk."  

Ace shrugged again, this time with a playful pout. "You never know. What if we have a fallout?"  

"A fallout? Between now and tomorrow morning?" Marco shook his head, grinning. "I doubt it. I plan to be asleep during that time, so you’d have to argue with yourself."  

"Or Sleeping Beauty," Ace shot back. He was already halfway through the door but paused to turn back around. His confidence faltered, just for a moment, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Anyway, I won’t go anywhere. Well, I’ll obviously go to my bed now, but since you’re not coming with me, the chances of a fallout are slim. And, um, I totally lost my thought of train. Train of thought. Right. Sleep well. Goodnight."  

"Goodni—" Marco started, but Ace was already gone.  

For a moment, Marco stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway before sinking into his chair.  

Ironically, he didn’t feel tired anymore. Ace’s sudden stumble at the door, the way his perfectly composed mask cracked for just a second — it was adorable. Enough to chase away the exhaustion that had clung to Marco all day.  

He missed “nighttime Ace.”  

“Daylight Ace” was great, of course. Funny, cocky, confident, always up for a bit of banter. He was impossible not to like — Ace made sure of it. But “nighttime Ace” felt like a different person entirely. He was rawer, less guarded, and Marco couldn’t help but be drawn to him.  

With “daylight Ace,” it was all easy smiles and charm, like a performance he’d perfected over time. And while Marco didn’t dislike that version of him, it felt… incomplete. Too lighthearted, too easy. “Nighttime Ace” made Marco feel like they shared something deeper, something unspoken that went beyond their playful repartee.  

Izou would have laughed at him if he could see this. Marco, sitting here, thinking about Ace and his odd stories like they were worth dwelling on.  

Marco had never cared about gossip. In fact, he was so bad at gossip, Izou had replaced him as a conversation partner with a potted plant named “Darco.” It was a running joke among the crew, though Izou swore Darco was “a better listener.” And Thatch didn’t count — he was more of a gossip originator than a conversationalist.  

Ace’s “gossip,” though, was always bafflingly random.  

Yesterday, Ace had excitedly told Marco that Nurse Liz made the best chili jam in the East Blue. Marco wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he would’ve preferred her to be the best at mixing chili paste for muscle pain.  

Another time, Ace had gushed about Nurses Taji and Emily being in a “secret relationship” — despite the fact that they were the longest-running couple on the Moby Dick and even had a framed certificate to prove it in their shared quarters. Marco knew, he’d seen it hanging at the wall. 

Ace had even thought that Izou and Thatch dating was juicy news, as if it wasn’t obvious to literally everyone.  

Marco doubted any of it even qualified as gossip. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Ace that. Izou probably would, though, and Marco wasn’t about to volunteer as the messenger and get shot for it.  

…

Ace had been working in Marco’s division for a few days when Marco casually mentioned it to Whitebeard. The reaction was not what he’d expected.  

Whitebeard’s eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise flashing across his face. "He’s with the first division?"  

"Yes?" Marco replied, already sensing this conversation wasn’t going to go as planned.  

Whitebeard laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed through the room. "That kid," he rumbled, shaking his head with amusement. His laughter grew louder, and Marco found himself more confused than amused.  

"I don’t see what’s so funny," Marco said after a moment.  

Whitebeard wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "He always gets what he wants, huh?"  

Marco huffed, crossing his arms. "What he wants is to be a hot stone."  

That comment brought Whitebeard’s laughter to an abrupt halt, replaced by a look of utter bewilderment. The next several minutes were spent untangling Marco’s offhand remark until the conversation was back on track.  

Eventually, Whitebeard leaned back with a thoughtful expression and shared that he hadn’t appointed Ace to the first division.

"I didn’t assign him anywhere," Whitebeard clarified. "There’s something I want him to do, when he’s ready. But he isn’t."  

Marco’s curiosity was piqued, but no matter how much he prodded, Whitebeard remained tight-lipped. All he would say was that Ace’s current "mission" was to explore the ship and figure out where he wanted to be.  

Whitebeard’s gaze softened, a knowing look creeping into his eyes. "And I see all he wants right now is to be with you."  

Marco frowned. Something in Pops gaze was conveying a message he couldn’t comprehend intellectually.

He also couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Ace. Not when it was so clear that he’d chosen Marco’s division purely as an excuse to be around him.  

"Still," Marco said with a sigh, "I’ll chase him out of the medical quarter today."  

Whitebeard’s expression turned into a mild frown. "But if he likes it, Marco, can’t you let him stay a bit longer?"  

Marco gave his father a pointed look.  

"Fine," Whitebeard relented with a dramatic sigh. "Fire him from the first division if you must. But let him stay with you."  

"You’re too soft," Marco replied, shaking his head. "Good thing you have me."  

Whitebeard pouted, his massive frame making the gesture almost comically childlike. "Maybe I just see potential where you’re blind to it."  

Marco rolled his eyes. "Pops, Ace can’t stay. Last night, I watched him accidentally set himself on fire when he got too excited." He paused, letting the words sink in before adding dryly, "Unfortunately,  the toupee the old Taji likes to wear is highly flammable."  

Whitebeard barked a laugh, but Marco wasn’t finished.  

"Ace will find his place, but it will be somewhere else I fear." Somewhere far away from any toupees.

…

"Marco."  

The quiet voice startled Marco so badly that he nearly jumped out of his seat. He’d been deeply engrossed in his book — it had just started getting interesting — when Ace’s voice cut through the silence.  

"What happened?" Marco asked, alarmed, as he glanced over his shoulder. He found Ace calmly perched on the backrest of his armchair. That alone was jump-worthy.  

Marco had given some thought to Ace’s unique habit of getting unusually close when he spoke to people. It seemed to work for him. Somehow, Ace had already charmed half the ship with his unorthodox approach.  

"Nothing," Ace said, folding his arms across his chest. He leaned closer, looking down at Marco with a smirk. It was a new experience for Marco, who was usually a good head taller. "You really like it here, huh?" 

Marco shrugged. Of course Ace would ask — he had yet to see Ace in the same room as a book.  

"Quietest spot on the entire ship," Marco replied. It wasn’t completely unused — some crewmates came to pick up or return books — but it was rarely occupied. "If I didn’t have the medical gift of being the phoenix, I bet I’d have ended up here."  

Ace blinked, glancing around at the towering shelves of books that loomed over them on all sides. “But… this isn’t even a division.”  

Marco chuckled at the prospect of a “library division.” "Exactly," he said, trying to stifle his laughter. "That’s why I’d choose it."  

"Don’t you like being a division commander?" Ace asked. There was something in his tone far more intrigued than general curiosity would ring.  

"I do. I like it a lot." Marco sighed, leaning back. "But I also like books. And peace. Being a doctor means worrying all the time, and it’s hard to take my mind off work, especially alone in my room at night."  

He glanced toward the clock, only to realize his view was blocked by the massive brown shelves. "What time is it, anyway?" 

"Around midnight," Ace answered.  

"Midnight?!" Marco groaned, running a hand down his face.  

Ace chuckled. "What’s with that reaction? Got a date to get to?"

"We were supposed to meet at eleven," Marco muttered, covering his face with his hands.  

Ace smirked. "So what? I came to find you, didn’t I?" He paused, then added with a faint grin, "Though I’ll admit, I was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me after you fired me from your command." 

Marco laughed softly. "Avoiding you? That would be impossible."

He meant it both as a tease and as a truth. Ace had a way of finding him no matter where he went. Lately, though, the dynamic had shifted — Marco had been the one initiating their meetings. It felt like they’d traded roles without realizing it.  

"If anyone could do it, it’d be you,” Ace quipped. “Sometimes you sneak up on me so quietly, I get these little internal jumpscares."  

Marco raised both eyebrows, surprised. Ace had never looked startled or anything less than collected whenever Marco approached him.  

"Though now that I know your favorite place on the ship, it’d be harder to avoid me," Ace added with a smirk.  

And just like that, Ace had picked up on it. This was Marco’s favorite place — a refuge of peace and quiet. It didn’t feel invasive, though. Ace knowing these things felt… natural. Easy.  

Marco realized that Ace probably knew him better than anyone else on the ship. Marco didn’t have many secrets left to share with him, but it didn’t bother him. Ace made him want to share.  

This week, however, had been exhausting. Marco had been running himself ragged. Just the other day, he’d poured coffee into his mug with shaking hands and used his phoenix powers to keep himself awake — an irony that wasn’t lost on him. He could force himself to stay conscious but not to fall asleep.  

Ace, though, seemed to be having an even rougher time.  

The memory of Monday resurfaced sharply. Marco had stumbled upon Ace at their usual spot on deck crying, a raw and desperate kind of weeping that had made Marco instinctively retreat, shocked and unsure of what to do. He’d spent that night in his cabin, torn between wanting to comfort Ace and knowing he should give him space to air out his emotions. Marco had always hated when people interrupted him mid-breakdown with soothing efforts, when he felt he hadn’t cried it all out. But it hadn’t made staying away any easier.  

Instead, Marco had spent the rest of the week sticking close to Ace — waiting for him at breakfast, even at risk of running late for work. Staying late for dinner, askig him to eat together each day and even preemptively suggesting late-night meetups on the deck. Anything to let Ace know he wasn’t alone. These few hours in the library were the first real break Marco had taken from thinking about that night.  

"It scared me for real, seeing you here," Marco admitted, finally voicing one of his many concerns. "Thought something was wrong with Pops."  

"Hey! I can read. I do read."  

Marco laughed, relieved that Ace seemed to be in good spirits. "Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way."  

Ace waved off the apology. "I was just teasing. I don’t usually read — I don’t have the… calm within myself, I guess? If that makes sense. Reading feels too quiet."  

Marco thought, that that made a lot of sense.

"Maybe you’ve just been reading the wrong kinds of books. What do you like?"  

Ace was quiet for a moment, his tone unexpectedly vulnerable when he finally answered. "Stories about second chances."  

The answer hit Marco harder than he expected. It made perfect sense — Ace never seemed comfortable with stillness or quiet. And with those words, Marco felt like he’d been handed a piece of a larger puzzle, one that might eventually help him understand the sleepless nights, the restless energy, and the ache behind Ace’s smile.  

…

Marco started feeling a little better when Ace settled in the second division. It was a natural conclusion. Ace excelled at navigation, far beyond what Marco had seen from anyone else.

Although it was hard to reconcile someone as social as Ace choosing to be alone for so long on the seas. But clearly, his journey hadn’t dulled his charisma. Ace had won over a ship of 1600 men with ease.  

Standing at the central window of the crow’s nest, Marco took in a deep breath of crisp, open air. Ace had declared this his favorite place on the ship, and Marco could see why. The breeze was clean and invigorating, the altitude lending a sense of freedom. It reminded him of flying, though less physically demanding. The air felt abundant here, almost personal, as if it were all his to claim.  

The view was just as stunning. The sun was melting into the horizon in shades of orange, red, and deep pink, its reflection shimmering on the water below.  

Marco folded his arms, allowing himself a small smile. Romantic, for a setting. Not that their usual under-the-stars routine was any less so — though Ace would miss all of it if he didn’t show up soon.  

Marco was happy for Ace, who seemed to have finally found his place on the ship, welcomed and content among his division. But he missed him. Maybe it was just Marco’s struggle with change, he had never liked it and rarely adapted well. Still, it was strange. For someone who he’d spent so little time with at work, Ace’s absence now felt glaring.  

Unbelievable. Had Ace forgotten about him?  

Marco leaned against the mast, exhaustion tugging at him. His body ached from too many naps on hard wooden surfaces, and as his eyes drifted shut, he resolved to rest for just a moment.  

"Oh! He’s here. And sleeping?" Ace’s voice broke the quiet, soft and filled with surprise. "I should’ve hurried up." 

Marco heard the distinct clink of something being placed down — a tray, judging by the smell of food that followed. His stomach growled in angry protest, reminding him of the dinner he’d completely forgotten about.  

Ace went quiet, and Marco felt a mischievous urge to feign sleep a little longer. Maybe Ace would start talking to himself some more. But the silence stretched, broken only by Ace’s heavy sigh. Not the kind of sigh appropriate for running late — this one carried a weight that felt far heavier, like the entire Moby Dick was pressing down on him.  

Marco could hear Ace’s soft footsteps moving toward the window. Even without cracking an eye open, he could just imagine Ace staring out, his shoulders slouched in that familiar way. Marco knew this posture well — Ace lost in thought, gazing out at the sea with a melancholy that seemed too big for his age.  

If Ace didn’t even touch the food he brought, Marco thought, it had to be serious. Hungry Ace reminded Marco of that hoggish bird bird Izou used to keep — a creature that picked body parts when it was hungry, with a specific aim at eyes. Vicious being. Izou had adored it with all his heart. Similarly Ace was terrifying if not fed on time. They’d joked that Ace must’ve been starving when he first tried to kill Whitebeard, relentless in his attempts.  

But thinking about it now, Marco realized he’d never asked Ace why he’d tried so hard. Something about those attacks had always felt… off. But he was never able to put his finger on it.  

Cautiously Marco opened just one of his eyes to scand the rooom. Like he’d suspected Ace had his back towards him. Bare, broad shoulders, framed by the fading light. And there, between his shoulder blades, was a fresh tattoo in dark blue.  

Marco’s breath caught, his cover blown with a harsh cough.  

Ace turned, startled.  

Marco’s eyes locked on the tattoo — their symbol, the mark of Whitebeard’s crew. The emblem meant Ace was officially one of them.  

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Ace had found his division, had been with them long enough to earn it. But Marco hadn’t expected this moment, hadn’t realized how much it would mean to him. Shouldn’t he have been there for it?  

As if the tattoo weren’t enough, Ace had apparently abandoned the yellow shirt he usually wore. Marco had never seen his back before, muscles shifting as he moved, freckled like every spot on Ace body apparently was. It was a back — just a back. But somehow, Marco’s heart was racing as if it weren’t.  

His thoughts scrambled to rationalize the feeling. Of course, Ace was handsome — beyond handsome — and Marco liked men. It wasn’t strange to feel attraction. It had been a long time since Marco had felt this kind of attraction, he must’ve forgotten how strong its draw could be.  

When Ace turned to face him, for a moment, Marco had hope. He’d seen Ace’s front countless times before. That yellow shirt had never been much of a barrier — it wasn’t like Ace buttoned it up to his neck — but somehow, it had kept Marco from staring.  

"You’re not really sleeping," Ace said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.  

Marco shook his head, trying to sound playful despite his racing thoughts. "I could’ve been, with how long you made me wait."  

The intended tone fell flat, his voice sounding weird, almost as if he meant the accusation.  

Ace smiled nontheless, the sunlight framing his face in a golden glow. It was almost unfair. As if Ace wasn’t stunning enough already, the sun seemed determined to show him off. Marco tore his gaze away, forcing himself to breathe evenly. He’d always known Ace was handsome. It was obvious and he had been in possession of eyes this whole time. So why was it suddenly so hard to stop thinking about it?  

Awkwardly, Marco coughed and pushed himself up. Sitting on the floor while looking at Ace from below certainly wasn’t helping clear his mind. As he stood, his eyes caught on something nestled in Ace’s hair — a small leaf, likely picked up on one of Ace’s solo missions. The stubborn thing had probably clung on through fire, wind, and Ace’s relentless energy.  

"I got us something to eat," Ace said, his tone mockingly accusatory. "Since you forbid me from bringing food to your favorite place." He emphasized the word as if personally offended. "At my favorite place, though? Picnics are always allowed - as they should be." 

Marco wasn’t fully listening. His gaze lingered on the leaf, his thoughts spiraling into something ridiculous about just reaching up and—  

"Hello? What are you looking at?" Ace waved a hand in front of him. "Are you that into sunsets?"  

Marco smiled faintly, taking a step forward, closing the already tight distance between them in the cramped crow’s nest. Ace tilted his head, his mouth snapping shut as he looked up.  

Carefully, Marco raised both hands, placing them over Ace’s shoulders, he had no idea why. He tilted his head slightly, studying the way the leaf nestled among Ace’s curls. Ace didn’t move, his gaze locked on Marco’s face.  

Marco could feel the tension, the heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. The air between them felt impossibly thick, his chest tightening. Why had he even… oh. The leaf.  

Using one hand, Marco plucked it free with a careful precision that made the action feel far more significant than it was. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his brain refused to cooperate. Instead, he simply held up the leaf in silent explanation before taking a quick step back.  

Both of them exhaled at the same time, breaking the unspoken tension in the room.

Awkward. Had he just made a mistake? If not he came really close. 

Marco made a mental note to never get that close to Ace again. +He frowned to himself. He’d need to be more careful or he might start… liking Ace.  

The thought alone felt foreign. Marco wasn’t prone to crushes — at most, he’d find someone attractive and leave it at that. Maybe even sleep with them, though *never* a crewmate. But this was different. This wasn’t fleeting admiration. His hand brushed over his chest, as if physically checking his heartbeat might explain why Ace’s presence affected him so strongly.  

It was just excitement. That had to be it. The thought of Ace’s lips — entertained for just for a moment, a fleeting second — had been exciting. That didn’t mean anything. He was just… out of practice. Too long since he’d been this close to someone he found good-liking in this striking way that was far and few between.  

"You okay? Did I hurt you or pull some of your hair?" he asked feeling awkward.  

Ace looked at him bewildered, though his expression quickly shifted into a grin. “Marco,” he said, shaking his head fondly. “Why are you like this?”  

Marco had no answer for that.  

Ace crouched next to the tray of food on the floor between them, then sat cross-legged across from Marco. "Did you swallow your tongue?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "Was I too late to rescue it from your appetite?" 

Marco snorted softly, picking up his chopsticks. Despite his stomach growling earlier, his appetite seemed to have vanished. His body still demanded food or it’d feast on Marco’s gullet, but the thought of eating felt strangely distant.  

"Why am I like what?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation back to something manageable.  

Ace grinned, leaning over the tray, his face suddenly much closer to Marco’s. "You’re cluelessly sweet."  

Marco froze. Sweet? Sweet?

"Why, though?" he mumbled, not intending it as a question.  

But Ace answered anyway, as if the words had been waiting for an opening. "You’re a very gentle person."  

Only Ace would think that was a satisfying answer.  

Ace surprised him by lowering his gaze, his voice softening as he continued: "When I was little, there was this doctor in our village. He wasn’t really a doctor-doctor, you know? I think he just made a claim, and everyone went along with it. But he was terrifying. He always made us cry. And in typical kid logic, I decided all doctors had to be mean."  

It caught Marco off guard. Ace rarely volunteered details about his past. Marco stayed quiet, watching as Ace frowned, his gaze fixed on the spoon lying on the tray. Once Ace started talking, he tended to speak quickly, almost like he couldn’t stop.  

It made Marco feel… special. Like he was the only person Ace trusted enough to let the words spill out.  

"On topic," Marco began softly, careful with his words. "Will you allow me to treat your wound?"  

Ace’s gaze snapped up from the tray to Marco’s eyes, a flicker of recognition — the look of someone who’d been found out. "What wound?" 

Marco nodded toward Ace’s upper left leg. Before Ace could protest, he added, "I can feel it. I don’t know exactly how it works, it’s something that started after I ate the Devil Fruit. I guess it comes with the phoenix powers." 

Ace just stared at him. "Are you saying you can feel it every time I—" 

"Every time you didn’t tell anyone you were hurt? Yes, I knew."

Ace folded his arms across his chest, but not casually. It was the posture of someone cornered, exposed. Marco immediately felt a pang of guilt, even though he had no control over sensing Ace’s injuries.  

"It’s not like I go digging," Marco explained gently. "I can feel when someone’s hurt and usually get a sense of how bad it is. But I don’t actively use my powers to pinpoint injuries unless it’s necessary." He offered an apologetic smile. "I did notice a pattern, though — of you not telling me. Or anyone, for that matter."

Ace said nothing, his silence guarded.  

"Maybe you could try casting those assumptions aside," Marco continued carefully. "And trust me. Trust me to take care of it."

The silence stretched, a moment heavy enough that Marco debated saying more. But he decided to wait Ace out. He’d always been curious why Ace avoided getting his wounds treated, especially when they’d built so much trust between them.  

Finally, Ace broke the silence. "It’s nothing to worry about. I just thought you shouldn’t waste your powers on it."  

Marco smiled softly. "If you don’t want me to, then I won’t."  

That seemed to catch Ace off guard. His eyes shot up to meet Marco’s, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other. Marco normally avoided holding eye contact for too long — it felt too intimate, too vulnerable, as though he were handing over some part of himself. Meanwhile all he got from staring was a pair of eyes and flickers of emotion. 

But with Ace, it felt different. His eyes weren’t just pretty, but full of untold thoughts and emotions. They didn’t feel invasive. They felt comforting.  

"I could just treat you like a regular doctor," Marco offered. "No powers. Like everyone else in the division would." He hesitated, then added, "I get that the healing thing might seem… a bit scary."  

Marco knew little about eye contact, but he did register that theirs got a lot more intense as Ace answered quietly: "I’d like to try both."

Ace had taken off his pants and was sitting obediently on the treatment bench Marco had gestured to. If they’d been in the cramped crow’s nest, this situation might have been far more difficult for Marco to handle. Ace was essentially naked, perched on the elevated bench, his skin a composition of freckles.  

But this was a professional moment, one of countless similar situations Marco faced daily. He easily pushed his personal feelings aside.  

Ace didn’t flinch as Marco carefully cleaned the wound on his upper leg. It wasn’t tragic, just as Ace had said, but it ran deep enough to warrant proper care. The fact it hadn’t bled heavily was sheer luck. Marco frowned at the half-hearted attempt Ace had made to disinfect it himself.  

This wasn’t just about fixing an injury — it was about principle. Marco was a doctor, and he felt it when Ace got hurt. Knowing Ace often chose to endure his pain alone rather than asking for help struck a nerve. It wasn’t Ace’s fault, it was just how he’d learned to live. But that didn’t mean Marco was okay with it.  

"When I was little, I always wanted to be a teacher," Marco said, his voice light as he worked. He felt Ace’s eyes dart toward him, like he had not spent the last few minutes feigning disinterest by looking around the room. As if he wanted Marco to know, that he was relaxed enough to not watch over him. 

"I loved drawing maps. Geography was my favorite subject," Marco continued. "I actually couldn’t stand the sight of blood." 

Ace huffed a laugh. "And now you want to lecture me about unnecessary suffering?"  

Marco chuckled. "I know. I’ve come a long way. Obviously, I got over the blood thing." He decided not to share the grueling experiences that had forced him to become desensitized. "Helping others gave me purpose. But when I first gained my phoenix powers, using them almost cost me my life."  

Ace blinked. "I didn’t think that was possible. Aren’t you kind of… immortal?"  

"Only if you heal yourself," Marco explained. "At the time, I wasn’t using my powers for me. I thought my patients needed them more, because well - they did." He glanced up, meeting Ace’s gaze as he finished cleaning the wound. His hand lingered lightly on Ace’s leg, a quiet point of connection.  

"Then I treated Pops," Marco added.  

Ace’s eyebrows shot up. "Pops was a patient of yours?" 

Marco nodded. "I was 17. He’d lost his crew and gotten badly injured. It took me weeks to patch him up." His lips quirked into a fond smile. "You know what he said to me the first time he woke up and saw me?" 

Ace tilted his head, intrigued.  

"‘You look awful.’"  

Ace laughed, and the sound made Marco’s chest feel a little lighter.  

"This is a lesson about accepting help, isn’t it?" Ace teased.  

"Maybe," Marco admitted. "But it’s still true. It took me years to realize that Pops — and everyone on this ship — wanted me to stay healthy. That gave me a reason to want it, too."  

Ace studied him for a long moment. "You always seem like someone who has it all figured out. Healthy mindset, perfect balance."

Marco snorted. "Apart from the insomnia? I’ve subscribed myself to the expert Dr. Maya. But I’m a terrible patient."

"Therapy?" Ace asked, curiosity laced in his tone.  

Marco nodded. "It’s not fun. I don’t enjoy it. Not sure you’re supposed to, though."

He looked up to find Ace already staring at him. He tried to smile, but it came out weaker than he intended.  

"So Pops took you in when you were just 17?" Ace asked, his voice softer, tinged with something deeper.  

"You could say he saved me from myself," Marco replied, shooting Ace a brief glance before looking away again. He didn’t want to press, though something in the comment seemed to strike a chord with Ace.  

"Hm." 

Marco rolled over to the cabinet, fumbling with utensils he didn’t even need. The silence felt heavy, and for some reason, he was suddenly nervous. He trusted Ace — trusted their ability to have serious conversations — but this topic was one he’d rather leave untouched.  

"So… were you, I mean, who did you…" Marco trailed off, unsure how to even frame his question.  

He turned his chair to face Ace, leaning back against the cabinet with his arms folded, exhaling slowly. The physical distance helped, as did Ace’s calm demeanor. The way Ace was looking at him, open, trusting, and patient, made Marco feel safe enough to answer.  

"At the time, I was mindlessly stumbling through life," Marco admitted, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. Memories of that time flooded back, sharp and bittersweet. "I had no idea what to do with myself, or my powers. Once you can feel other people’s pain, it’s hard to just… look the other way, you know? But I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. The powers did all the healing, not me. Inside, I was a mess—rough and lost, hardly possessig an ability to help anyone."  

Ace nodded slowly, leaning back on his hands against the treatment couch. His stillness was uncharacteristic; Marco was used to seeing him constantly moving, fidgeting, dangling his legs whenever they weren’t touching the ground. The quiet steadiness of this moment felt different, but not unwelcome.  

"When I felt Pops’ pain," Marco continued, "I knew he wasn’t on the island — he was out on sea somewhere. So, I flew to him. He was alone. He’d gone off alone to fight, like he used to back then." Marco shook his head. "I brought him back and treated him."  

Ace tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his face. "Did you like him?"  

Marco chuckled softly. "While he was unconscious, he was kind of nice."  

Ace snorted.  

"When he woke up, though, I wasn’t sure what to think of him. But he won me over pretty quickly — I wasn’t particularly hard to get." 

Ace smiled warmly. "I bet you were cute."  

Marco laughed. "I was a hot mess. Who you’re talking to now? It took a lot of work to get here."  

"I bet you were always kind," Ace persisted.  

Marco raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"  

Ace shrugged. "You can’t hide it. People treat being nice like it’s some kind of weakness — like it doesn’t matter. But I think it’s the best thing to be." He hesitated, his voice softening. "When I was a kid, I used to wonder if I was kind. If someone would look back on their time with me and think, ‘Yeah, Ace is a good person.’ Or even just, ‘Ace is kind. He treated me with kindness.’"  

Marco blinked, surprised. "That’s some grown-up thinking for a kid."  

Ace shrugged again, his expression unreadable. "I just wondered. I guess… I was lacking feedback. I really wanted people to see me that way, though. Safe to be around."  

The words settled over Marco like a blanket, heavy and warm. Safe. That’s exactly how Marco felt in Ace’s presence — if he ignored the heatwaves Ace could also stir up. Marco quickly pushed that thought aside, trying not to dwell on how little Ace was currently wearing, in both clothing and emotional armor.  

The moment stretched in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Marco smiled faintly. This felt like enough personal information for one day.  

"Ready for the magic?" he asked, wiggling his fingers as blue flames danced and tangled around them, their glow soft and mesmerizing.  

Ace’s eyes widened as he leaned closer, captivated. "It really does look like magic." He watched intently as Marco’s hand settled over the wound on his leg. "Doesn’t even hurt." 

Marco smiled, his heart lifting at Ace’s awed expression.  

Ace looked up suddenly, his voice quiet but certain. "By the way, I think you are. Safe."  

Their eyes met, and Marco wanted to respond, to tell Ace that he was safe too. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, he lowered his gaze, carefully lifting his hand from Ace’s leg to reveal a fresh layer of skin. The wound was gone, the flesh neatly woven together, with barely a trace left behind.  

"How’d I do? Did I pass?" Marco teased, changing the subject.  

Ace laughed. "What? Were you being tested?"  

"Will you come by more often now?" Marco asked, his tone lighter, almost giddy. "Visit me at work? I’d benefit from that, too."  

"What, you’ll charge me?" Ace shot back, laughing.  

Marco grinned. "I’d get to see you more. And I’d save up until you owe me big, then I’d cash in."  

Ace shook his head, still laughing. "You’re ridiculous, Marco. You don’t need to bribe me to help you or do something for you. But now that I know your plan, I’ll make sure I’m expensive."  

Marco’s laughter mingled with Ace’s, the lightheartedness filling the room. For a moment, everything felt simple.  

"I’m sure you’re worth your price," Marco said without thinking, his voice soft.  

The words shifted the atmosphere again, turning the playful energy into something more tender. Marco’s heart fluttered with a warmth he couldn’t quite contain. 

Somehow it made him want to get up and brush a strand of Ace hair out of his face, as he leaned over him. Made him want to treat even the smallest cuts and wounds. Marco shook his head trying to cut the imagine of his hands on Ace body out of his mind. 

Ace froze slightly, his hands gripping the edges of the treatment couch. Marco noticed it immediately, just as he’d picked up on the other small ways Ace masked his tension.  

"You’re so different," Marco said, smiling softly.  

"Not like the others?" Ace asked, his tone teasing but cautious.  

Marco shook his head, smiling. "No, I mean… compared to yourself."  

Ace stiffened. "How can I be different from myself?"  

"There’s the intimidatingly charming daytime Ace," Marco said carefully. “And then there’s the nighttime Ace. He has a totally different feeling to him. More…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Open.”  

Ace didn’t interrupt or make a joke to deflect. He sat quietly, waiting.  

"I don’t mean it in a bad way," Marco added. "On the contrary. I really like both. But especially nighttime Ace."  

"It’s not that it’s about nighttime," Ace said slowly.  

Marco tilted his head. "Oh?" 

"It’s when I talk to you."  

"Oh." 

Chapter Text

Marco sat down for what he hoped would be a normal, civilized breakfast. His plan was simple: half-listen to Izou and Thatch’s endless stream of flirtatious jabs and light-hearted bickering over breakfast eggs. It was an oddly comforting daily routine for him. Afterward, he’d head to his division, wrap up the last bit of paperwork, and start his shift early.  

Naturally, his morning plans didn’t work out.  

When Marco sat down, Izou and Thatch were unnervingly quiet. They weren’t bickering, touching, or exchanging smirks over their cups of tea — just sitting there, peaceful and suspicious as hell. Marco, determined to cling to his vision of a normal breakfast, greeted them with his nicest morning smile and dug into his rice.  

He managed two mouthfuls before Izou spoke. "How lovely of you to show up, Marco."  

Marco nodded, ignoring the subtle jab as he reached for the coffee pot. The mug in his hand felt like an extension of his body, as it did every morning. As a doctor, he knew better than to cover his water intake in coffee. As a person? He didn’t care.  

"Izou was starting to worry about you," Thatch chimed in, tone light but clearly going somewhere. 

Marco was tempted to shot him an annoyed glare. That traitor! He had been muche more docile before he started dating Izou.

"We thought you were dead!" Izou added dramatically.  

Marco chuckled, deciding it was better to let the laughter out than try and stifle it. "If that’s what you call ‘a little,’ what happens when you actually worry about me? Didn’t that escalate quickly?"  

Izou leaned in with a sly grin. "You mean like the time spent with your new little flame?" 

"Ace is not—" Marco began, a flicker of irritation creeping into his voice, but Izou cut him off with a wave of his hand.  

"He’s a fire Logia - is what I meant," Izou said, though his smirk suggested otherwise.  

"Sure," Marco muttered, taking another sip of coffee.  

"You even broke into the kitchen," Thatch huffed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. He radiated mock disappointment, a perfect foil to Izou, who was practically sprawled across the table in amusement.  

"How do you know that?" Marco asked, narrowing his eyes.  

"I don’t," Thatch replied smugly. "But thanks for confirming my suspicion. One more time and I’m telling on you." 

"What? I used to break into the kitchen all the time," Marco said defensively.  

"You stopped years ago," Thatch shot back.  

"Because eating alone wasn’t much fun." Not that this breakfast together was particularily enjoyable right now.  

Izou grinned. "Aw, see? That’s what I wanted when I first watched “The Breakfast Club”. Well, that and some hot kitchen-counter sex. Life’s full of disappointments, isn’t it?" 

Marco gave him a flat look. "Can we speed this up? What are you two trying to say?"

"Nothing, honey," Izou said innocently, though his tone dripped with mischief. "Thatch just doesn’t like you breaking into the kitchen without telling him."  

"Oh, so you’d rather I break into your room? At night, too?" Marco retorted. "Because I’d rather starve than risk walking in on you two again."  

"All I’m saying," Thatch continued with a dramatic wave of his hand, "is to use some room spray, okay? If the entire kitchen smells like pancakes, the crew will demand some. And frankly, I’m running out of flour. Plus, I hate fulfilling extra wishes. This is a pirate ship, not a cruise vacation for entitled assholes with too much money and no environmental conscience!"  

Izou leaned in conspiratorially, whispering to Marco. "He feels strongly about those cruise ships, you know. His dark past."  

Marco nodded, filing the information away. Thatch had once mentioned working on a cruise ship, but he hadn’t realized the mere thought of it could send him on such an impassioned rant. "Sure. Room spray. Got it."  

He was about to leave, eager to escape the escalating theatrics, but of course, the conversation didn’t end there.  

"Oh, Marco?" 

He turned back around, already bracing himself.  

"Pops wants to talk to you. About Ace." 

Marco froze mid-step. So that was today’s cause of their weird antics. They always do this, he thought with exasperation. Drop the most important piece of news casually at the very end. "Why?"

Izou and Thatch exchanged one of their infamous knowing looks.  

"Pops is going to appoint Ace as second division commander," Izou said, his voice carrying just enough weight to make Marco pause.  

Marco stared at them. What?!  

This early? Pops must have already made up his mind about Ace. Marco exhaled a little, tension easing. So, it wasn’t just him who had been won over by the new recruit’s charm. Apparently, Pops (and probably the whole damn crew) was part of the unofficial Ace Fan Club.  

Of course. Ace was endlessly likable. He felt a sigh of relief coming on. That was good news.

But Izou and Thatch were still watching him with those sly smiles, like they were sharing some inside joke at his expense.  

"What?" Marco asked, narrowing his eyes.  

"You didn’t know about it?" Izou asked, feigning innocence.  

"Of course I knew," Marco said, huffing slightly. "You think the first division commander would be the last to hear?"  

He was lying through his teeth. And internally, he was appalled. How had he not known?!  

"You’ve been around Pops less these days," Thatch pointed out.  

Marco shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "What can I say? Work has been very demanding."  

He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were teasing him, and it wasn’t sitting well. Teasing him… about Ace? But why?  

Sure, he’d spent a lot of time with Ace. Okay, more than a lot of time. But what was the big deal? He always went out of his way to help new recruits settle in. That was just part of his job.  

And if, lately, the list of recruits he’d personally assisted began and ended with Ace? Well, that wasn’t entirely unusual. He already spent most of his time with three people out of the 1600-strong crew: Pops, Izou, and Thatch. All he’d done was add Ace to that circle.  

Right?  

Marco glanced back at Izou and Thatch, who were watching him with thinly veiled amusement. He didn’t feel like challenging them tough, as the realization hit him: if Izou asked him to name just one of the other new recruits from the past eight months, he wouldn’t be able to. Not one.  

"I’ll get to that conversation right now," Marco said abruptly, forcing a laugh. "Can’t believe Pops would be so formal about this when he already knows my opinion on it." 

He wasn’t entirely sure if he was fooling anyone.  

These days, even when Marco was physically present, his thoughts were elsewhere.  

Mostly on Ace.  

Thoughts about Ace, thoughts about the fact that he was thinking about Ace, and then more thoughts to justify all the other thoughts about Ace. It was a tangled mess of circular reasoning, and Marco was starting to feel like Ace had set up camp in his head.  

But even his overactive imagination couldn’t conjure this.

"Join my bowling team."  

Marco frowned, blinking up at Ace, who was standing next to his seat with an impossibly sweet smile and his hands clasped in a pleading gesture.  

"Please."  

Marco glanced from Ace’s hands to his face and back again. "What?"  

"I’ve already assembled the worst sportsmen in the history of throwing stuff to knock other stuff down. You’re just what we’re missing," Ace said with absolute sincerity.  

"How rude," Izou chimed in, not even pausing as he cut into his breakfast. "Marco, you shouldn’t take on such insulting offers. He’s clearly using you so the others feel better about themselves."  

Marco shot Izou an annoyed look - deep down though he had to suppress a smile. Izou had amazing comical timing. If anyone was insulting him, it was Izou - and he couldn’t ever truly be mad. And besides, Marco would die to join Ace’s stupid bowling team.  

Not that he was going to say that out loud.  

Admittedly, two seconds ago, Marco hadn’t cared about bowling at all. He still didn’t, technically. But the idea of spending an evening with Ace — watching him bumble through the chaos of trying to keep a bowling game on track aboard the Moby Dick — was strangely appealing.  

Not that it wouldn’t be a disaster. Marco could already picture it: someone would try to use haki on the ball, someone else would get offended, and before long, the game would dissolve into either a full-on battle or everyone sprawled out drunk on the floor. Possibly both.  

Still, wasn’t that the fun of it?  

Marco vividly remembered why they’d canceled bingo nights — an elderly nurse had bitten the old chef on the butt with her dentures. He’d never forget the sight of her snarling gums exposed, yelling about being cheated out of her win.  

"You should shut up," Marco said, aiming the comment at Izou. "I have no dignity to defend when it comes to gameplay. Totally suck at it." He turned to Ace. "You sure that’s what you need?" 

Ace shrugged, his smile impossibly warm. "I just want us to have fun."  

"Oh, please!" Izou interjected, barely pausing between bites of food. "Where’s the ethics of competitive gameplay? What about the thrill of crushing your opponent?"  

Both Marco and Ace stared at him, unimpressed.  

“Coming from a commander of all crewmates!" Izou huffed, shaking his head dramatically.  

Marco finally budged, allowing himself a grin, although something about the word commander stung. Ace was smoothly brushing it off, but Marco couldn’t shake the nagging thought: I was the last to know, wasn’t I? Maybe Izou wasn’t entirely wrong—Marco hadn’t been the most present first division commander lately.  

Marco stood, clearing his throat. "On topic, I’ll have to go now." He turned to Ace, his tone softening. "But I’ll see you at bowling night. Just knock on my door."  

As Marco walked away, he caught Ace’s voice trailing after him, switching targets to Izou.  

"Oh, come on! In a team full of failures, think of how easily you’d stand out! You could be our hero — the one who leads us to victory. Your name in immortality! The underdogs need a mighty leader!"  

Marco shook his head, grinning to himself. Ace didn’t hold back when it came to big promises, ego-stroking, or begging. And it was ridiculously effective.  

…

It was a nightmare. And the worst part? Marco was awake. 

Just seconds ago, he’d walked into the commanders’ shared bathroom in an excellent mood. Tonight was the night — the event everyone had been waiting for. He had been waiting for. Ace’s inauguration as second division commander.  

Marco blinked, trying to ground himself. Yes, it was tonight. It couldn’t have been — surely, he hadn’t missed it. How drunk would he have to be for—  

His thoughts halted as he locked eyes with Vista.  

Vista, who was staring at him with a bewildered look that snapped Marco out of his daze.  

"Marco, you alright?" Vista asked cautiously.  

Marco nodded, though he still couldn’t quite form words. His gaze darted to the wet black hair that wasn’t Vista’s, plastered against a freckled back Marco had never seen here before. Never seen this much of before.  

And Ace was turning around.  

So was Marco.  

Desperation had him staring at his own reflection in the mirror across the room, as if trying to reassure himself. His wide, stunned eyes stared back. He was standing in the middle of the bathroom’s entryway like a misplaced prop, frozen between the showers to his right, the dressing room to his left the door behind him and the mirrors and sinks ahead.  

The bathroom itself was usually a sanctuary for Marco - a peaceful, quiet composition of eep blue tiles, patterned like the sea at night under lantern light. All the moody blues mixed with some warm gold and orange tones, that never failed to sooth him. He loved it here. Loved his routine. And he just felt like a rock had hit his sanctuary. 

This was not soothing.  

He almost would’ve have turned left, headed straight for the dressing room as planned, undressed and walking into the shower room - unaware of the naked man in there! Marco shuddered in embarrassment. He could have walked out there completely undressed and unsuspecting!  

For a brief second, Marco’s eyes flicked back toward the shower. Yep. Ace was still there. Still very naked.  

Marco felt trapped, standing in the middle of the room like a fool, doing absolutely nothing. He couldn’t just keep standing there, but every movement felt like it would draw attention.  

What is wrong with me? Marco thought, rubbing his face as he decided his best option was the flight ahead, approaching the sinks to splash some cold water on himself.  

The icy water helped, but not enough. He looked up just in time to see a steaming, wet Ace walk past him in the mirror. And of course, Ace wasn’t using a towel like a normal person — he was steaming the water off with his heat.  

Marco didn’t know why that irritated him so much, but it did. It wasn’t just the steaming; it was everything. He didn’t understand what had shifted between walking in and now. Normally, seeing Ace — even just catching his smile — filled Marco with warmth, an adrenaline rush of positive emotion.  

Now? He felt like his skin didn’t fit right.  

Marco was about to splash more water on his face when Ace appeared beside him.  

"Hey, good to see you!" 

Marco nearly jumped, saved only by the warm hand Ace rested on his upper back — a sweet, casual gesture that made Marco’s brain short-circuit.  

"Y-you too," Marco stammered, his voice embarrassingly shaky.  

Ace didn’t seem to notice, grinning as he pointed at his hair. "Thanks to Izou, I figured out how to fix my hair using my heat."

Marco gave a small, tight smile. "Sounds lovely."  

Ace laughed, the sound soft and easy. He looked deeply relaxed, a rare sight. His grin was wide, his chest held high with confidence. Marco had never seen him this genuinly cheerful during the day. It was like Ace had finally shed some invisible weight.  

"It was lovely," Ace said, his voice dipping into a conspiratorial tone. "Until Izou borrowed my fingers to curl his hair. Can you believe Thatch broke his curlers because he thought the box would make the perfect beef roulade warmer?"  

Marco shook his head, smiling despite himself.  

"Sorry," Ace said, softer now. "You’ve probably just woken up."  

"Pretty much," Marco admitted, his smile faintly apologetic.  

"Are you always this out of it? You stood in the middle of the room for minutes." 

Marco nodded again, his ears burning as Ace laughed. The warm hand on his back moved gently in a small, absent-minded stroke.  

"See you tonight!" Ace said brightly as he stepped away.  

"No — I’ll see you!" Marco called after him, relieved he’d finally managed a sentence without tripping over his words. Even if the was the lamest thing he’d put on his tongue. 

Marco was thinking about that moment as he let the water stream down his body, closing his eyes for the first time in what felt like weeks. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? The solution was simple: get up at 3 a.m., and the bathroom was completely his. No chaos, no interruptions. Just peace.  

Amazing. 

"Marco!"  

He gasped so hard it felt like his lungs were trying to suck in something harder than air. Concrete, maybe. It’s 3 a.m. and my similes are falling apart, he thought bitterly. "Good god!"  

"Finally, someone willing to call me by my real name," Izou said smoothly.  

Marco spun around, ready to smack that smug smile off Izou’s face. How dare he scare the living shit out of me when it’s obvious I’m alone, not expecting anyone, and finally relaxing for once? 

But as Marco turned, he nearly screamed for a second time. Izou was standing right in front of him — less than an arm’s length away.  

"Good to see you," Izou said cheerfully, as if Marco wasn’t dripping wet and completely naked. "Glad to confirm you’re actually alive, seeing as we hardly meet these days."  

Marco stared, his anger simmering back to the surface. Izou? Here? At 3 a.m.? For what?  

"Izou," Marco began, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. Normally, he had enough inner zen to tolerate Izou’s antics. He’d seen him go through countless passion projects, from dramatic matchmaking schemes to short-lived obsessions like that ridiculous sand collection, that he grew bored of within weeks and then held a funeral scene on deck. 

Marco almost smiled at the memory of the Sand Debacle: Sprinkling the sand into the sea with so much pathos you’d think he was scattering ashes had been a bad idea, as the wind had turned, and the sand ended up in everyone’s eyes, mouths, and hair. It had haunted the ship for *weeks.*  

Marco’s near-smile disappeared as he focused back on Izou.  

"Is this going to be a sand kind of thing?" Marco asked dryly.  

"A what now?" Izou raised an eyebrow. "Marco, are you drunk? Because if you’re hitting on me, you’re doing a terrible job. Worse than I expected." 

 "You are the one barging into my shower at 3 a.m.!"  

Izou sighed, clearly unfazed. "That’s because I just had a heartbreaking talk with Ace."  

Marco felt as though he’d been slapped across the face. Stupidly blinking he commented: "Uh-huh."  

"And I know you shower at 3 a.m. Also, for the record, the sand thing was Thatch. I can’t believe you’d lump me in with him, of all people. As if I’d waste my time on such useless, unalive crap like sand!”  

Marco remembered now. But it was just all the more reason why those two worked so well together. Izou’s free time was usually well spent watching “Golden Girls” reruns or meddling with other people’s feelings as a self-appointed matchmaker.  

"Moving on," Marco said, exasperated. "What’s your point?"  

Izou stared at him, expression unreadable. "You tell me."  

They blinked at each other for a long, silent moment before Marco sighed heavily. He was worn out, tired as hell, he felt lonely and all he wanted was a hot shower and to crawl back into bed in hopes for a little more sleep. 

"Ace, I get. You’ve known him a year, and you like to take things slow. Fine. But me?! We’ve known each other for close to two decades Marco! We grew up together. And now? No breakfast chats, no conversations, no nothing. You’re avoiding me."  

For the first time that night, Marco really looked at Izou. Not with an angry glare or preoccupied with his own tired thoughts, but with the intent to see. And to his surprise, Izou genuinely seemed upset. Not teasing, not dramatic for the sake of it — he was hurt.  

"Pardon?" Marco murmured, reaching behind him to turn off the faucet. The water stopped with a soft hiss, leaving the room eerily quiet. Marco sighed again, sitting down on the wet floor, arms resting on his knees.  

This was going to take a while.  

Ace and Izou had talked. Now Izou was mad. That meant something wasn’t right. Was Ace upset with him too? Was Ace mad? Marco pulled his legs closer, suddenly feeling exposed.  

It was ridiculous, really. He and Izou had shared this shower room for years. Yet now, sitting here naked on the wet tiles with Izou staring him down, Marco felt vulnerable in a way he couldn’t quite explain.  

Izou crossed his legs as he sat down, clearly unbothered by the wet floor. It had to be serious if he was willing to ruin his clothes.  

"I just ran into Ace," Izou began, and Marco immediately felt his stomach knot. "He was sitting on deck, staring at the stars. He was very upset. I’m sure he wouldn’t like me telling you this, but… he was crying."  

Marco winced. The words hit hard.  

"Oh," Izou said, narrowing his eyes. "I see you’re not surprised."  

Marco shook his head, his voice low. "I’m not. I’ve seen Ace cry a lot of times."  

"Huh." Izou looked stunned, blinking rapidly. "Well, I didn’t know that, so I was pretty shocked. I thought something awful had happened. He wasn’t up for talking, just muttered something about you and hurried off."  

"Something?" Marco’s voice cracked slightly. He coughed to clear it. "C-could you be a little more specific?"  

Izou arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "No, I can’t, Marco. Have I not made it clear how upset Ace was? All I understood was your name and I can see for myself, that you’ve been acting weird." 

Izou’s voice grew sharper. "And I’ve also been mad at you for a while. But I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you because you’re never around. Where the hell are you? You haven’t been in your bed for the past few nights!"  

Marco stared down at his knees, avoiding Izou’s piercing gaze. He couldn’t tell him the truth. Not all of it. "I’m sorry," he murmured weakly. "It’s just work and—"  

"Don’t you dare bullshit me."  

Marco sighed deeply. "Was Ace more… sad? Or angry?"  

Izou shrugged, opening his mouth to respond, when he suddenly hesitated. 
"Ohhhhh." His face lit up as a realization struck him. "Wait a minute! Is this what’s behind your empty sheets and your 3 a.m. showers?"  

Marco groaned, rubbing his temples. Izou was so far off, and explaining just how far would not be fun.  

He took a deep breath. "You know that I don’t sleep well. Turns out Ace is the same. That’s how he… started talking. We’d meet on deck. Sit together. Talk. Share things. Pretty much since he’s joined."  

Marco hesitated, then added quietly, "But now I’m avoiding him. I just… I hope he’s angry because he noticed. Not sad."  

"How cute is that?" Izou’s grin was wide, heartfelt. He lived for things like this. Marco often clowned him for being a romantic at heart, but Izou genuinely meant well.  

"Why are you avoiding him?" Izou asked, leaning closer. "Wait. Is that why you’re avoiding breakfast with us?"  

Marco nodded. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed this conversation until now. The weight of carrying it all alone had been exhausting.  

Still, there was a reason he hadn’t approached Izou earlier.  

Izou wouldn’t just suggest that Marco address his feelings; he’d lovingly force him to. And while Marco knew that was the right thing, he hadn’t been ready to face the emotions or the responsibility that came with them.  

Not that he felt ready now. But maybe readiness was a myth.  

"I’m avoiding everything to do with Ace," Marco admitted.  

"That sounds exhausting," Izou said flatly.  

Good god, exactly! "It is."  

"So why are you avoiding him? Ohhhhh," Izou drawled, eyes narrowing. "He got too close."  

Marco smiled faintly. It was too late already to deny, so taking another deep breath, he allowed himself to word it out loud: "I like him."

It was just true. Marco had tried his all, to live a life in denial. To force ignorance. He couldn’t. At the end of each day, he spent his nights thinking about all the small ways in which he’d tried to get closer to Ace.   

Izou’s eyes widened, and Marco could practically see the effort it took for him to hold back the words I knew it! 

In all their years together, since… , in the last decade Marco had only shown romantic interest in one other person. That man had been the universe’s cruel reminder. He forced himself to look at the memories surfacing. They were why he’d sworn off those feelings for good.  

Not that Izou hadn’t tried to reignite them. Countless times.  

He’d suggested men, women, even a tree. When none of that worked, Izou had taken credit for “sparking” Marco’s love of books. Though that wasn’t true, Marco let Izou take the credit for the joy it brought him.  

"So does Ace like you back?" Izou asked, excitement creeping into his tone. "Oh, wait. You’re avoiding him… that can mean both things."  

"No."  

Izou frowned, as if Marco was hard to believe. Confusion flickered across his face before realization set in. Then his frown turned into a glare. "You didn’t even tell him."  

"Of course not. And you know why."  

Izou’s frustration melted into a smile. "This is great news!"  

And just like that, Marco was reminded of the reason he’d avoided coming to Izou.  

"Please tell me you’ll talk to him," Izou said, voice soft but insistent.  

Marco shook his head firmly. "No need for that. Next time I talk to him, my heart won’t flutter and stutter."  

Izou rolled his eyes dramatically. "Is that why you shower in the middle of the night?"  

Marco hesitated, weighing whether or not to answer truthfully. He took a breath, his voice quieter as he began.  

"The day of his inauguration party… I didn’t expect him to be in the bathroom, obviously. When I saw him, it… it hurt." His voice faltered before steadying. "It was the first time I was ever not happy to see Ace. Normally, every time I ran into him — unexpected or not — I’d be over the moon. I’d have to justify to myself why each of those meetings meant so much. You know I’m a doctor, Izou. I knew those reactions weren’t ordinary. But denial was easy. Safer. I told myself it was harmless if, privately, I liked him a little more than he liked me. I could deal with that." 

Marco’s fingers fidgeted, twisting together as he continued. "But after that day, after seeing him like that… something shifted. I started to feel uncomfortable."  

Izou’s smile softened, fading into something gentler, more serious.  

"It was fine before," Marco murmured. "Just a little crush. I wanted to believe it would go away."  

That wasn’t the whole truth, though. Marco had clung to that belief for another 24 hours. But after Ace inauguration party, he’d known better.  

Izou nodded slowly, the glimmer of excitement in his eyes replaced by an uncharacteristic stillness. He didn’t press Marco, didn’t offer an immediate solution. And that, more than anything, hurt. Izou never gave up on Marco’s feelings.  

Which meant he truly thought this was hopeless.  

"Your situation really sucks," Izou said, breaking the silence. "And I respect your decision either way, Marco. I know you fear I’d push you. But I have been there with you and I have witnessed your…," Izou swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.

Mental breakdown, Marco filled in.

"I believe that you… It’s been so long. I hope it won’t stay with you forever - genuinely. I’m a bit shocked to learn it’s still…," Izou was pausing again. 

Even though the uncharacteristic stutter was not much like Izou, talking with his oldest friend on board, comforted Marco in a way he hadn’t considered before. 

Something inside Marco softened, unraveling like the threads of a worn tapestry. Resistance, self-composure — call it what you want — was melting away. Before he realized it, he was sobbing. His body betrayed him, trembling as tears spilled over, and he suddenly found himself in Izou’s arms.  

The mention of his breakdown alone was enough to fling him back into it, dragging him to a place he’d fought so hard to escape. It was why he avoided anything tethered to those emotions, they threatened to pull him under, to expell him to his own personal hell, one he had once feared to never escape again.  

"I didn’t want this to happen, Izou." His voice cracked under the weight of his anguish. "I didn’t want to hurt him — Ace, of all people. Not because of my own pain." 

His breaths came heavy, uneven, the tears making his chest ache. "I thought — I *thought* I was past this point. That I’d grown past being capable of this. But then again…" He swallowed, words trembling on the tip of his tongue, like glass shards he feared to let loose.  

"…I’ve never fallen in love again."  

Izou’s arms tightened around him, a protective gesture. Marco realized with a pang that he was sitting on Izou’s lap — just like he had years ago, when the pain was fresh, when loss wasn’t something he could push aside. It was painfully familiar, and yet, a comfort of sorts. Izou stroked his hair with the same gentle rhythm he used back then, it was the only thing he could offer.  

"Couldn’t you just tell Ace?" Izou’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, but Marco still flinched at the suggestion.  

"I can’t. I won’t tell Ace how I feel," he said, a fierce determination breaking through the despair, though it was shaky at best.  

Izou sighed, his breath ruffling Marco’s hair. "But what’s the damage, really?"  

Marco hiccupped through another sob, unable to answer, and Izou — perhaps recognizing the futility — dropped the subject with a small shake of his head.  

"Then at least tell him why you’ve been like this," Izou urged after a moment, his tone gentler now. "Tell him you’re scared. Scared because of the losses you’ve been through. Tell him about her. You don’t have to explain everything, but just give him something."  

Marco squeezed his eyes shut.

"You can’t avoid Ace forever. Not unless you’re planning to lock yourself in your office for the rest of eternity." 

Guilty. Marco’s obedient nod all but confessed it.  

Izou’s expression softened further. "And for what it’s worth? I’m proud of you."  

Marco blinked, caught off guard. "Proud? For what?"  

"Normally, in this kind of situation, you’d just keep going — denial full steam ahead — until I had to be the one to break your feelings to you."  

Marco didn’t know how to respond to that. But of course, Izou wasn’t done.  

"Also," Izou continued in a strict tone, "you’re going to have to tell Ace something. You can’t isolate yourself from the crew forever. And he’s probably already noticed you’re avoiding him specifically."  

That was another reason Marco had been avoiding everyone. It felt wrong to single Ace out, even unintentionally.  

Marco sighed, his voice soft but honest. "I’m working on it."  

Izou tilted his head knowingly. "Well, at the very least, let him know you need time for yourself. Or — and I’m offering out of the goodness of my heart here — authorize me to feed him a lie. Something like, ‘Once every five years, Marco retreats into his room for eight months and no one sees him.’" 

Marco let out a laugh despite himself. "That sounds like a ghost story."  

Izou grinned, his usual spark returning. "That was the vibe I was going for!"  

"Thanks, Izou." Marco gave him a small smile, one filled with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. "I’ll take you up on it if I can’t come up with anything better."  
 

…

Just a few days later Marco found himself standing outside Whitebeard’s quarters, his fist hovering in hesitation before knocking. After his talk with Izou, he’d felt a brief, fragile sense of relief. Confidence, even. But that had crumbled under the weight of two weeks of avoidance.  

It hurt.  

Every time he looked away from Ace’s searching gaze, every time he got up to avoid sitting too close, every time he stared at the floor to avoid meeting those eyes — it all hurt. Even physically from the that time he couldn’t avoid it and was running into the commander’s bathroom with his eyes closed like some bumbling idiot.  

Now he was left with a heavy, dull ache that made everything feel worse.  

"Marco!" Whitebeard’s booming voice startled him from his thoughts, as welcoming as ever. He sounded delighted — almost too delighted.

But maybe that stemmed from the fact that it had been weeks since Marco had shown up for his father. Their last long talk had been before Ace was officially appointed commander, when Whitebeard had summoned him.  

At the time, Marco had assumed it was to get his opinion on Ace’s promotion. He’d been wrong.  

The real reason Marco had been the last to learn of Ace’s new position was that Pops had thought Marco to be the driving force behind it. Second division commander was the role Whitebeard had initially offered Ace when they first discussed his place on the ship — a position Ace had turned down. Whitebeard, though disagreeing with Ace’s reasons, had respected his choice and waited for him to come around. Ace eventually did, faster than Pops had expected.  

But when Marco had pressed for details — asking in vain why Ace had refused at first and why he’d suddenly changed his mind — Whitebeard had simply smiled and relayed Ace’s one-word answer.  

Marco.  

Marco stepped inside cautiously, blinking in surprise when he saw Ace already seated across from their father. His heart gave a painful thud in his chest.  

"Hey, um, you called me over? I actually have—"  

"No!" Whitebeard cut him off with a dramatic flourish. "If you tell me you’ve got paperwork to do, son, you can turn around and get lost already!"  

Marco froze, flabbergasted, as Pops crossed his arms. He seemed tempted to try a pout even.  

"If you can’t even make time for your father after spending over two months buried in your office, I’m questioning our bond."  

Marco remained rooted in place, speechless. Out of all the moments in a year, Whitebeard had to pick this one to embarrass them both. And in front of Ace, no less!  

At least now Ace knew Marco had been ghosting their father too. Maybe he wouldn’t take the avoidance too personally. Though Marco still needed to come up with a decent excuse. Preferably one that didn’t require him to lie.  

"Pops—" Marco began, attempting damage control.  

"I’m missing my first son," Whitebeard interrupted, his words striking a deep chord.  

Marco felt his throat tighten. He’d missed Pops too. His father’s presence was a source of comfort, like a heavy blanket grounding him during the worst of nights.  

When Marco… after her death, he used to sneak into Pop’s quarters and listen to his snores until he felt safe enough to sleep. Whitebeard, despite being a morning person, had always stayed in bed late on those nights. Marco knew he must have noticed but never said a word, sparing Marco the embarrassment. He had been 20. A full grown adult. A pirate. Not yet first devision commander but… it was simply embarrassing. 

They’d laughed about it later, as their bond had even grown stronger. Marco wasn’t technically Pops’ first “son,” but he’d been the first to call him “father.” It had been a joke at the time, one that had left the entire dinner table dead silent. Marco had briefly considered jumping ship before the captain made him walk the plank for disrespect.  

"It’s just… peaceful times mean a lot of stupid injuries," Marco tried weakly.  

"Oh, so it’s *my* fault now?" Whitebeard huffed, but the pout gave way to a smile as he gestured for Marco to sit.  

Marco hesitated before taking the seat, stealing a quick glance at Ace. He was visibly uncomfortable, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes at their exchange. That vanished as soon as Ace caught Marco’s gaze, his expression hardening into something unreadable.  

Marco’s stomach sank. He’d been so busy avoiding Ace, that he’d been able to avoid Ace’s feelings about it as well. With one look he was pretty much filled in.  

"So," Marco said, forcing his tone to sound casual, "what’s this meeting about?"  

Pops leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the suspense. "Ace has been with us for a while now. But as you said, the ship’s been very busy doing essentially *nothing.* And that’s not how I want things to go."  

Marco nodded carefully.  

"So we’re going to war!" Whitebeard announced with a mischievous glint in his eye.  

Marco’s heart lurched. He shot a panicked glance at Ace, who stared stoically ahead, betraying nothing. The thought of Ace in war made Marco’s chest tighten unbearably.  

Then Whitebeard sighed, his grin widening. "That was a joke."  

Marco let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  

"You’re both so tense," Whitebeard attested, shaking his head. "I don’t know what’s going on in your divisions, but you’re both suspended."  

"What?" Marco and Ace blurted in unison, exchanging shocked looks.  

"I hope you’re joking again," Marco said weakly.  

"Nope."  

Marco’s mouth went dry. He knew he hadn’t been the best commander lately — between sleepless nights, zoning out at work, and now avoiding Ace — but the division was in excellent condition. Surely Pops hadn’t noticed…

"You, and all 16 other commanders, are suspended for two weeks!" Whitebeard declared, throwing his massive arms in the air.  

Ace laughed first, recovering quickly as always. Marco, on the other hand, felt tricked. He’d barely caught up with his work, only to be told it didn’t matter.  

"A… special operation?" Marco ventured hopefully.  

Pops grinned. "A vacation!"  

Marco gulped. A vacation with Ace. Him, Ace, his *feelings* for Ace, and fifteen nosy commanders who would absolutely sniff him out like bloodhounds. He could see a fun new game come on, called “Who can find out Marco first?” Nothing less but his dignity on the line.

Chapter Text

»Izou, is that really necessary, Izou?« Marco pleaded, but Izou had already pushed him and closed the curtains. Marco sighed, but felt immediate remorse when he realized his sigh could be interpreted a certain way.

So he just stood there feeling extra unfortunate in the glowing built-in cabin lighting. It wasn’t even the bad blueish one, that made you look dead and sick, but warm and glowy - it just made things so much worse for him. Marco gulped, wholly unready to turn around and face his cabin mate — Ace.

If he didn't know any better, he would've taken this as one of Izou's attempts to get them hot for each other. However, after their shower talk, he just took it as a pretty bad attempt to get them talking, or more specifically, to get Marco to talk to Ace. His methods however remained the same, demonstrating that Izou’s strongest game was setting people up for anything but talks. As if it was helpful to a conversation to undress together!

Marco felt so guilty about his behavior towards Ace he could hardly stand being in the same room - the spacious communal spaces on board the Moby Dick; those were more like convention halls in comparison their little dressing room.

»I have 15 commanders and 6 cabins. Just be thankful I'm not cramming yours with a third person, Marco.«

»Oh, why not? I'd love to join Marco and A — ouch! Why are you hitting me?« Clearly, Thatch was about to ruin Izou's plans. At least it made Marco smile for a moment, lessening the burden he felt.

He dared to turn around from facing the purple velour curtain to Ace, who stood behind him.

Of course, Ace's face and posture didn't give any clue to this situation being far from comfortable. But the way he was standing there still made him seem utterly lost. Perhaps Marco just projected his own feelings, perhaps he could simply read Ace better after he had studied him closely, back when he was still in denial about his racing heartbeat.

»I feel the need to apologize for Izou. At times, you wouldn't think he's actually the older one«, he purposefully raised his voice at the last bit for Izou to hear.

»I'm only 9 months older than you, Marco! Don't make me out to be in need of a walker any moment now!«

Marco allowed himself a weak smile towards Ace. »Well, in the name of the man who doesn't need a walker, but a lesson on the concept of shame, I apologize.«

Ace shrugged. »You don't have to. It's fine.«

His response sent an actual shudder down Marco's spine. He was ice cold, but Marco knew Ace to be fuming hot with anger beneath the composed surface he presented. And that he probably knew, that Marco knew him better. He gulped. This was harsh, but he fully deserved it.

Ace turned around and began undressing, so Marco decided it would be best to turn to the curtain and do the same. How on earth did Izou think this would make things better? And he hadn't even informed Marco of his plans! Well, fair enough, Marco would've never walked into the store if he had known the outcome.

Outside their cabin, he could hear Izou's angrily whispered attempts to get rid of Thatch. He tried to listen, as their bickering was a comforting background noise that Marco was accustomed to.

Another factor adding to the ridiculousness of the situation was the outfits Izou forced them to try. Ace was studying himself in the mirror, his expression far from convinced. Either Izou was just getting his revenge for something upsetting they did to him, or it was intentional, supposed to get them to bond and replace awkward silence with laughter.

None of which changed the fact that Ace was wearing a stereotypical pirate costume with a stuffed parrot on his shoulder. Marco couldn't help but think about the irony of his Zoan bird fruit and the lifeless bird on Ace's shoulder. Just for a second he felt a chuckle arise in his chest. That was intentional on Izou’s part. Their eyes met in the mirror, and for a second, Marco believed they might have had the same thought. But Ace quickly looked the other way and Marco had to admit that it felt terrible.

He didn't even bother to look at himself; he was dressed as a jester. Very amusing of Izou. The pirate, his lifeless bird, and the jester. »And how does this contribute to the image of the Whitebeard pirates?«

»If you're done, come out!«

It was crazy, but they both actually obeyed without protest. Perhaps they both knew the quickest way out of this situation was with a pained smile and in silent despair. Preferably with booze. Izou had forgotten the key element of his plan, but then again, they weren't brides shopping for their big day, so it would be hard to justify why they should get wasted while trying on clothes. Then again, Izou somehow justified them sharing a cabin. Izou was capable of justifying anything.

»See, this is supposed to show you how your normal sense of fashion appears to the average man, knowledgeable in attire.«

Normally, Ace wouldn't have stood for Izou saying such things about the way he dressed, but he appeared absentminded. Just nodding while staring at the wall.

»Now we'll try some things that might actually suit you.«

Back in the cabin, they undressed and dressed in silence, just as they had before. It would've helped if the others were actually around, filling the silence with their chatter and curses aimed at Izou. As soon as Marco thought that, he heard loud protests outside the cabins, then Izou's voice: »Because you can't go around representing the Whitebeard pirates like that. And as commanders, no less! We're not a ragtag crew. Quit with the complaints and choose your cabin mates. Quickly, or do you want me to pair you up? You might end up in one with me and Thatch, huh?«

The threat seemed to be working wonders. Finally, conversations filled the space formally only filled out by the sound of Marco's pounding heart. It was so loud he was genuinely afraid Ace could hear it, especially since they stood so close. They even bumped into each other as they both tried to remove their pants simultaneously.

When Marco turned to look in the mirror, he regretted ever wishing for Izou's serious attempts at styling them.

Ace still had his back to Marco, appearing puzzled by his outfit, which to be fair, was not your typical men's wear. The silky red fabric was fastened around Ace's neck, covering his chest but leaving his entire back — and therefore the tattoo Ace had ditched his shirt for — exposed. And Izou had given him mid waist red leather pants. Marco had to admit, Ace had never looked so hot, and Ace was "of fire," after all. Tailored perfectly to complement his Logia powers.

Equally fashion-forward and neck-focused was his own top: a dark blue long-sleeved fitted mesh top, that crossed at his chest, basically baring all of his belly and chest, right where his tattoo sat. The pyramid cut was perfect as if it was made for this purpose and not pulled from a rag by Izou. And it glittered. His pants were simple, dress pants so wide legged they resembled a skirt. It was pretty, but why anyone would go through so much trouble to still wear so little fabric was a concept Marco could not comprehend.

Undeniably, though, it looked fancy, fitting with his sparkly blue fire and showcased his entire tattoo. It seemed Izou had chosen these looks with that specific intention.

Ace was still emitting sighs of frustration, and Marco stole the 20th glance. Not only did Ace look stunning, but it would be very easy for Marco to assist and put an end to his suffering.

He hesitated one moment longer before he decided to propose just that: »Would you like— I mean, I can reach much better. Here, let me…«

He took the buttery fabric from Ace's desperate fingers, which were shaking with frustration. Then, he carefully fastened the two buttons. Even with a better reach, like Marco's, it was still tricky. Instead of a buttonhole, there was only a piece of thread through which he had to fumble the two tiny slippery smooth buttons. He tried be extra careful as pulling in any capacity put him at risk of strangeling Ace. 

When Ace turned around even his face had acclimated to his outfit’s colors. Marco couldn't tell if he felt embarrassed or perhaps was angry that Marco had helped him. But he soon seemed to forget about him alltogether as he was turning and looking at himself in the mirror, clearly really into this fit.

Izou was pleased as well when they stepped outside. He added more and more details to both of them until Ace wore stringy pearl earrings and a lopsided studded leather belt. And somehow he had convined Marco to sport a sparkly dainty golden chain around his waist, but he had remained stubborn when Izou suggest to pierce his ears on the spot for the perfect pair he’d found him. Looking at his brother, Marco knew it would take his all to convince Izou, that he didn’t need the look he had so carefully put together.

Besides that thought, Marco was busy sneaking glances at Ace, who looked so gorgeous he could join a glam rock band without auditioning. 

Izou sent them back in. They both sighed in unison as they undressed.
»Somehow this is very exhausting«, Ace said.

It startled Marco so much that he was speaking to him that he almost didn't reply within an appropriate timeframe. »Yes! Yes, I mean I don’t know how Izou calls it his favorite hobby.«

»He’s good at it though. I mean these are far from practical, but also far from looking bad.«

Marco had to agree, especially when the next outfit felt much less over the top. It was a loose button-down made of thin, shimmery fabric — absolutely see-through, but undoubtedly by design. The pants were once again dress pants, with a wide leg but much less skirt-like than the previous pair, meant to be worn high-waisted, as Izou had clearly instructed both of them.

Looking in the mirror, Marco realized why: they were wearing the same look, just in different colors. With sheer willpower, Marco prevented the red blood cells from having a special get-together in his cheeks.

»Oh, you buttoned yours wrong. We wouldn’t want to anger the boss.« Ace had approached him, carefully unbuttoning the lower buttons. »If you start from the other end, we'll be done with them faster«, he suggested.

Marco dutifully started unbuttoning his shirt, though he wasn't very successful; his fingers were shaking too hard. Of course they were. Ace was essentially helping him undress, even if it was with the intent of having him properly dressed. However, Marco's heart rate didn't care; all it wanted to do was race.

How was he supposed to ever move past this moment? Mentally, he cursed Izou while simultaneously feeling elated. He wasn't even capable of feeling anything beyond the pounding of his heart and the rush of adrenaline. He didn't have the mental capacity to be upset as well. Though he'd have ample time to make up for it later, in bed, when he wouldn't be able to close his eyes without seeing Ace — smiling that endearing smile while suggesting they should get him undressed together. Nothing had changed. Marco still wished for Ace to feel as he did, so bad, it was painful.

»Here, I started buttoning it correctly. Oh, and you have to tuck it into your pants,« Ace pointed at himself. Indeed, his shirt was tucked into the waistline. It looked very good — again. It also looked like they were coordinating their outfits deliberately, like a couple's look.

But it had worked. Ace had spoken to him, and Marco had responded with words. Hopefully, this would make it easier to tell him something, anything. If only Marco could finally make up his mind about what that would be.

To Marco's surprise, Ace didn't object at all and simply purchased everything Izou had chosen for him. And because he didn't want to disturb this newfound peace, he just went along with it. Perhaps he could wear that mesh thing like a scarf for christmas. The pants would probably be great in warmer climates; they could even work as work attire. Marco was sure Izou would despise all of these accommodations. And that was a plus in his book.

For the remainder of the day, they explored the town and engaged in activities that the other commanders enjoyed. 

They visited a flower shop to find some new friends for Vista's impressive potted plant collection — each plant had a name. They went to a history museum for Jozu, Rakuyo, and Haruta. They also went to the carnival, which everyone enjoyed with the exception of him and Izou. And it reminded Marco why they had become close friends in the first place. Although both Izou and he could be quite social, it was at events with loud noise and rowdy activities that they easily grew bored and irritated. The music was terrible, but it was still somewhat amusing to watch Namur teach the much larger Blenheim and Fossa a group dance.

They decided to conclude the day and headed to dinner, an experience that Thatch and Ace both enjoyed for vastly different reasons: one for his love of learning, chatting, and dissecting cuisines, and the other for his love of indulging on anything but the plate. Amused Marco watched as he debated with himself if Ace dream dinner would include edible plates.

The following morning, before departing, they even attended church, as Speed Jiru claimed it that to be his favorite hobby. Marco had no idea he knew so little about some of the other commanders.

They were now on their way to the final destination: a remote island with a beautiful beach and no population, ensuring no conflicts or missions to distract them from spending time together.

For Marco, this only intensified the pressure. He knew that meant no one excuse left, to put off his talk with Ace.

Chapter Text

"Stay another second."  

Ace froze, his hand already gripping the doorknob. The cold brass felt sharp against his palm, anchoring him just enough to stop from slipping out into the night. He was ready to leave his daily attempt behind, to let the weight of everything and today’s failure close in on him again.  

"I’m tired." 

"I know, Ace." Whitebeard’s voice was soft, deceptively gentle, carrying the kind of understanding Ace felt he didn’t deserve.  

A wave of heat surged through him, raw and angry, ready to explode in the old man’s face. His chest tightened as though the words burning inside him might tear free and consume them both. *What do you know? How could you possibly know?* Instead of screaming, he forced himself to stay quiet, fingers tightening on the doorknob. Without turning fully, he glanced over his shoulder, fixing his gaze somewhere on the wooden floor to his right, unwilling to meet Whitebeard’s eyes.  

"How could you, when that was a lie?" His voice came out steady, sharp with the obviousness of the fact.  

Whitebeard said nothing. The silence more challenging than any words he could’ve chosen to retort. It filled the space between them, daring Ace to speak in quiet disbelief, to crack open the feelings he was desperately trying to hold together.  

He turned sharply, his movements betraying the calm mask he tried to wear. His anger was plain now, carved into his expression, and he let Whitebeard see it. What was the point of hiding anymore? This man wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.  

Cleary Whitebeard didn’t have to try and trick anyone for decades. His blank expression enough to keep secrets, his deep comforting voice enough to pry the secrets of others from their hands.

"I know what you’re doing here, Portgas D. Ace," Whitebeard said at last, his voice steady and low. He was eyeing Ace, almost lazily, as though there was no real interest behind his words and Ace could see right through it. 

Cleary Whitebeard didn’t have to try and trick anyone for decades. His blank expression - enough to keep secrets - his deep comforting voice  - enough to pry the secrets of others from their hands.  

Ace bristled, anger flaring brighter. "But you’re not going to help me, are you?" His arms folded across his chest, his voice cold and challenging.  

Whitebeard sighed, a heavy sound that weighed down the air in the room. "I believe I can. Just not in the way you’d like me to."  

Ace let out a bitter laugh, frustration spilling over. He turned on his heels again, glaring at the empty floorboards.  

"Wait." 

Whitebeard’s rising from his chair sent vibrations through the floorboards, a reminder of his massive presence. Any moment he would summon a worried Marco, scared for their father. Like a fool. They were all fools, buying into his act. All but Whitebeard.

 For a moment, Ace was reminded that man could easily tank this ship with everyone on it, if he wasn’t careful with his own strength.  

"I won’t fulfill your wish, kid," Whitebeard said, his tone unyielding. "Ever."

But he’d probably let Ace go, if he pleaded. It was his only chance, he’d made a terrible mistake seeking out Whitebeard for his plan. He needed to leave. But Ace knew that the moment he’d sink on his knees and ask something, anything - even if it was to leave - he’d be taken in. He’d stay.

 Whitebeard continued, softer, almost pleading with Ace: "But you can tell me something and I’ll let you go." Whitebeard paused.

"Why?"  

Ace sighed and let himself collapse to the floor, his back pressing against the door. The thin wood felt like a frail barrier between himself and the world outside. Not enough to keep contain their conversation safely within.

"Tell Marco to leave."  

Whitebeard grunted, almost amused, but his voice carried authority as he loudly proclaimed, "Consider him gone."  

The presence on the other side of the door faded, and Ace exhaled.  

"Since we both know why I’m here," he began, his voice quiet now, almost resigned, "I assume you want to know the origins of my wish." 

Whitebeard remained silent, waiting.  

"I’ve realized I’ve been wrong all my life," Ace said bitterly. His hands clenched into fists. "I thought I was a demon’s child. I thought I wasn’t. I’ve lived like life was a game of back and forth, trying to prove something — anything. But maybe the truth is: I am just a demon out of my own volition."  

Whitebeard regarded him quietly, his gaze steady and searching. Finally, he said, "I’ve heard about your early years out there."  

Ace’s eyes snapped shut as if the words had struck him. His voice was tight when he replied, "It was one stupid decision."  

And then, as if to sever the thread of connection growing between them, before Whitebeard could respond to his guilt in any way. Ace blurted out, "Roger is my father."  

Whitebeard’s expression didn’t shift, looking only mildly interested in that.

"It’s not by coincidence, then," he concluded. "That you come to me to die."  

Ace shook his head, his voice firm, “No.”  

…

The wood panel in front of Marco’s room squeaked, and not quietly like a well-behaved wood panel might. It was more akin to a guard dog, ready to alert the entire ship to an intruder. Ace silently cursed it, wishing he could bribe the stubborn lumber with treats to buy its silence. But lumber was incorruptible.  

He froze, closing his eyes and wishing he could just melt into the darkness of the commander’s quarters.  

"Ace!"  

Izou’s sharp hiss from further down the hallway startled him. He hurried to his door, seeking refuge in where warm light spilled into the corridor. He darted inside before any more wood could betray him.  

With a sigh of relief, Ace collapsed onto Izou’s silk-covered bed, almost landing on Thatch in the process. Not that Thatch seemed to mind; he lazily tossed a leg over Ace’s torso as if that were a completely normal arrangement. Ace allowed it — it felt like a fair trade for having survived that treacherous hallway.  

"How did it go?" Izou’s voice carried that signature mix of curiosity and mischief, and he hung over the footboard with eager anticipation.  

The room screamed purple luxury, all velour and silk, as far from the Moby Dick’s wooden interiors as one could imagine. Even Pops’s quarters, felt subdued in comparison to Izou’s little palace of comfort.  

Ace glanced at Izou’s glowing face, and his stomach sank. He looked far too expectant, the kind of expectant that ignored reality in favor of a more pleasing fantasy.  

"Not too well," Ace admitted, his lips pulling into a cartoonishly sad curve. He hated how his face betrayed him, always transforming into something straight out of a comedy strip when he was truly upset. He’d sad-faced like a little half moon since childhood. 

Izou arched a suspicious eyebrow. "How bad could it have been? I just heard you sneak out of Marco’s room!" His eyebrows wiggled suggestively. "I assume you weren’t just sleeping!"  

Ace winced and pressed his knuckles into his temples. "I’m afraid that’s exactly what I did." 

Izou’s dramatic slump over the footboard said everything his words didn’t. For a moment, the three sat there in a tableau of awkwardness: Ace sprawled on the bed with Thatch still draped over him, and Izou facedown in the sheets - a still life of failure.  

Eventually, Izou lifted his head just enough to mumble something into the fabric. "Youf nafcofefy afain?”  

What?? Ace blinked. What was nafofefy? Narcolepsy? 

"I think so. I don’t remember how it happened, but… well, when I woke up, it was pretty obvious I’d passed out." He winced. "I’m sorry."  

Izou rolled off the footboard and neatly onto the bed before assuming a graceful seated position, nose scrunched in thought. "It’s okay," he finally declared, tapping Ace’s nose playfully. "Don’t worry, hun. I’ve still got plenty of ideas." 

That was precisely what worried Ace. 

How long would it take to agree on a plan he was willing to execute? He might’ve done a marvellous job hiding it, but Ace still had this tiny thing called shame and he wasn’t eager to poke it. 

He wanted to allow Marco space. He wasn’t in a hurry to force them together. Ace quite enjoyed their interactions that one could clearly interpret as flirting. But consulting Izou and Thatch was calming him nonetheless. Ever since he’d realized how he felt, it had been hard to keep quiet.

"Let’s not dwell on this. We’re probably expecting a little too much from Marco, anyways." Izou hesitated before adding with a knowing edge: "As far as fair warnings go: Marco might not be easy. You should consider if you really want him-"

"I do," Ace interrupted, his voice firm. 
 
And he meant it. Marco had a way of grounding him, soothing the chaos inside him in ways no one else could. He didn’t just calm Ace; he made Ace laugh, made him feel seen, made talking about anything but this so simple. Marco was everything Ace admired, everything Ace wanted.  

Izou exchanged a glance with Thatch, their smiles softening.  

Their conspiratorial meetings together started to feel just a bit too much like parental scheming, and their approving looks only added to the illusion. Tonight was no exception; they both stared at him fondly, as if he were some future son-in-law worth vetting.  

"Well," Izou began hesitantly, "Marco has his reasons. I’m not sure how far you’re filled in," his tone grew serious, and Ace’s chest tightened. "He’s probably scared of his feelings — of getting hurt or hurting you."  

Izou paused, as if weighing his words. “And Marco being Marco, he’s overthinking everything. Your rank, his rank, your standing on the crew. He’s probably convincing himself he’d mess things up for you, take advantage of his rank… He’s the king of guilt."  

Ace’s swallowed the flash of anger rising in his throat. "Thanks for the heads-up," he muttered. "Good thing I didn’t actually tell him, huh? That would’ve been embarrassing."  

Izou shrugged lightly, his usual flamboyant energy tempered for the moment. "I don’t know, Ace. Marco’s been melting at record speed around you. Give it time."

Ace swallowed hard. Waiting for Marco was not easy, but he knew he could. Of course he could, thinking about those pale blue eyes, usually so uninterested, growing soft while laying on him.

Of course, he’d also considered the possibility of rejection — it was always a fair 50-50. Who could say if Marco valued their shared moments the same way Ace did? Ace cherished every second, every laugh, every quiet talk under the stars. But what if, for Marco, it was just… nice? Nice wasn’t the same as love.

Not that Ace truly cared. He could handle nice. Yes, rejection would hurt — probably for a while, if unlucky forever. He’d might have to avoid Marco for a moment, at least until the sting dulled. But Ace was confident that Marco would never revoke their friendship. That wasn’t the man Ace had come to know over these eight months. Marco’s warmth, his unwavering kindness, wouldn’t let that happen.

He clung to that thought, even as he imagined forcing himself to focus during their talks — to avoid staring at Marco’s lips or fantasiz… A vivid memory of Marco, adorably disoriented in the shower that morning, made Ace’s heart lurch all over again. His excitement, the thunderous beat of his heart — it was unfair how deeply Marco had a hold on him.

Maybe, Ace mused unserious, rejection would be a blessing in disguise. Maybe they were no match after all… 

Except Ace doubted that. He had absorbed every word Marco ever directed his way, carefully stored in his memory to replay during sleepless nights. Marco’s voice was a constant in his mind, a soothing balm against restless thoughts. He hated how much of tonight’s talk felt lost to him, drowned out by the alcohol he’d foolishly consumed before trying to steam it off. Narcolepsy had gotten the better of him again - somehow it liked drunk Ace and to steal his memories.

"Now tell me, little firefly," Izou teased, snapping him out of his spiral, "what exactly did you do?"

Ace groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I tried to talk. I even announced at the party, loudly and a bit drunkenly, that I had something important to tell him."

Izou nodded approvingly. Step one: commit to the confession while courageously drunk.  

"Then I steamed off the booze because I couldn’t do it while drunk."

Another nod. Step two: ensure you could be taken at your word. 

"We went to his room. That was my first mistake, because it gave me opportunity to panic and flee. But I told myself, no, I was going to ask him to kiss me. I was determined. Then… I made an even worse mistake — I looked into his eyes."

"What did you say?" Izou asked, leaning forward in anticipation.

Ace peeled his hands away and stared miserably at the ceiling. "I said, ‘Marco, I really have something important to ask you.’"

Izou nodded encouragingly. "So far, so good. And then?"

Ace groaned louder this time, slapping his hands over his eyes. "He asked me what it was, and I panicked. You should’ve seen his eyes, Izou! They were blue. Soft. Too blue and too soft. How can blue be this… It was completely unfair!" He sighed, resigned. "So I told him about Roger instead."

"Who’s Roger?" Izou echoed, his face folding into a rare display of genuine confusion. "Don’t tell he’s your ex."

Ace sighed again. It was as good a time as any to tell them. He’d been meaning to anyway. "Yeah. The Roger thing," he mumbeled.

He slapped Thatch’s leg — or tried to. Thatch didn’t budge. He resorted to smacking his butt until the chef finally stirred, grumbling. "Thatch, you need to sit up for this one, I’m only going to explain once and you can’t miss it. Or I’m not answering your lovely husband."

Thatch groaned but complied, looking comically disheveled. Ace almost found it endearing. Thatch and Izou were a cute pair — and the reason why Ace had agreed to trust Izou. To a certain extent. He’d always trust basic human intellect more. Just because something had worked on Thatch - who cleary didn’t favor basic human intellect - that didn’t garantue it would work on Marco.  

With both their attentions fixed on him, Ace spilled everything. Gol D. Roger being his father. Growning up hating the man, hating himself, questioning whether he was doomed to carry Roger’s legacy. He didn’t tell them about the other thing. About his guilt. Most days, he still didn’t know if he wanted to trust himself. Today of all days, when he’d accepted the lead of the second division, was not a good time to reheat these fears. 

It was Marco, who had changed something in him — made him feel seen in a way that didn’t terrify him, even when the rest of him still felt like a tangled mess. Seeing himself through Marco’s eyes made Ace realize why Pops had offered him the role, despite knowing.

He finished his story with a small, trembling plea: "Please don’t hate me now."

Izou and Thatch exchanged a glance, stunned for words, if even just that brief moment. It was oddly facilitating. 

Who would’ve thought it could be so easy to shut them up? All It took was being the pirate king’s secret son. If only the crew had known.  

Then Izou smiled warmly. "Of course we don’t hate you, dear. And why would we?"

"Yeah, I’ve let you cuddle my leg," Thatch added with a grin. "We’re not going back now."

Ace blinked. "Was that… an honor?"

Izou slapped Thatch playfully. "Can’t you be serious for one second?"  

But their banter, their easy warmth — it soothed Ace more than words ever could. They weren’t treating him differently, weren’t pulling away. If anything, they seemed closer, even protective. Ace felt lighter, another weight lifted off his shoulds. Only 1595 more crew to go.

"Your ancestry isn’t important on this ship," Izou said softly. "We all choose each other here. That’s what matters. And might I add, that you, Ace, are one of the best family members we’ve chosen, at least in my humble opinion."

They all shared a grin at the “humble” part. Even Izou himself.

With a smirk, Thatch added: "But you can talk about your past, you know. Talking out your demons is important, at least Dr. Maya says so. And she has that stitched on a pillow, so it must be worth something."

Ace smiled faintly, apparently Dr. Maya was very busy. Treating almost everyone he’d had a closer conversation with. He himself had hovered outside her door countless times before, but he’d always chickened out. 

Sometimes it was Marco’s fault, for assuming Ace had come to see him, to get a minor injury treated, or to hot stone someone. 

"How did Marco take it?" Izou asked gently.

"Pretty well," Ace said, his voice softening. "Actually, he looked like he was expecting something more. I think he thought I’d say, ‘just kidding.’ But he wasn’t flustered or anything. Just… waiting."

Ace didn’t elaborate, though he knew why. Marco had been waiting for the full truth. And that truth wasn’t just about Roger — it was about why Ace had come to Whitebeard in the first place. But Ace wasn’t ready to tell him. Not yet. 

"He said, it wouldn’t change a thing and something about this not defining who I am and will be. Told me about how Pops gave him his lastname and that it was the nicest present he ever… you guys do know that story, right?"

 Both nodded to confirm, which relieved Ace. Unimaginable, had he just shared a betrusted secret with them. But Marco had told him in a way that suggested it wasn’t his first time. Like when a telling was so cohesive and well-articulated that you could be almost certain it had been told a lot of times before, and that those tellings rounded it up to this polished version. 

"So you shared an intimate moment. Diffrent from what I had in mind, but worth much more than you might think."

"Actually it felt right to tell him before anyway. It just so suddenly hit me that I shouldn’t try, without Marco having the whole picture. Otherwise I might’ve been tempted to hide it, which is obviously bad."

Thatch agreed. "Minor details, when purpesfully hidden away, can turn into something very grave."

He was much wiser than Ace had thought, although in his defense Thatch totally played up the dumb himbo persona on deck. 

"Don’t worry, honey. Things seem to be going great!"

…

‘Yeah,’ Ace thought as he watched Izou laugh at something Marco had said, his brother’s sharp fan flicking through the air with flair. Things were going terrific.

The bitter irony hit like a punch to the gut. He was still reeling from last night — Marco’s words crashing through him like the waves against the Moby Dick, his funny pineapple head offering none of the comforting sweetness one might expect from a fruit.

Ace sighed deeply, his gaze wandering aimlessly. He’d never look at pineapples the same way again. Never.

He’d prepared for many outcomes. But not for Marco to confirm his worst fears outright.

"Hey, you a little hungover today?" Thatch’s warm smile came with an offering: a lukewarm glass of water.

Ace grimaced at the sight of it. Warm water was an abomination, but Thatch swore by it. Resigned, Ace downed it in one go, cringing harder than he would after taking a bad shot of rum. For something so ordinary, warm water managed to feel infinitely more disgusting when heated.

"I confronted Marco yesterday," Ace mumbled.

"Oh?" Thatch leaned in, clearly intrigued. "How’d that go?"

Ace shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "Good, I guess? If you count Marco straight-up admitting he’s been avoiding me as a good thing. He didn’t even sugarcoat it. Just laid it all out there like it was nothing."

"You sound upset."

"Of course I’m upset! I wanted him to tell me I was imagining it! That I was just getting in my own head!" Ace flopped forward onto the table, dramatically wringing his hands. "He could’ve lied! Just put a little effort, a little lie - out of human decency! - to make me feel better. Is that so much to ask?"

"That isn’t Marco," Thatch pointed out, caringly patting Ace’s head. "And you know it would’ve hurt even more if he lied."

Ace sighed again, his face smushed against the table. "I know."

"I know you know." Thatch’s voice was laced with a grin as he ruffled Ace’s hair. 

"Damn you, Marco!" He was dramatically shaking his clenched fist, then pounding it on the table, making Ace head hurt in the process. "Hey, should I accidentally", Thatch winked excessivly, "drop some chili flakes in his dinner later? He despises spicy food.”

Ace gave the cook a weak, lopsided grin. "You’d do that for me?"

"For you? I’m honored to!" Thatch winked at Ace as he stood up. "Oh, they’re coming over! If you want to act like you just told a hilarious joke, I could spit my coffee in his face. Really throw him off his game."

Ace waved him off, laughing softly despite himself. "Thanks, but let’s not go overboard."

Marco had not comitted a crime. He was just an ass.

"Right," Thatch said conspiratorially. "Play it cool. Kill him with kindness." Then, louder, he called out, "Marco!"

The sudden burst of enthusiasm was met with suspicion. Marco raised a single eyebrow at Thatch as he approached the table but sat down without comment. A rare mercy.

Unbelievable. Today, of all days, Marco decided not to avoid him. Not only that, but he chose to sit next to Ace. Sure, they only had one table here, but it was long. Marco could’ve easily chosen a seat at the far end. Yet here he was, sitting within arm’s reach.

Ace buried his head in his arms, feigning disinterest. He wasn’t about to give Marco the satisfaction of acknowledgment — not when Marco had been dodging him for weeks and had admitted to it. He wasn’t required to put on an innocent act around Marco and chilli flakes. 

Besides, Ace had bigger things on his mind, like how he’d forgotten to tell Thatch to sprinkle chili on his plate too. Ace loved spicy food. If Marco couldn’t appreciate it, that was his loss.

Which led him to the conclusion that, perhaps, Marco simply had poor taste overall.

"All this sun!" Izou exclaimed, fanning himself as though warding off a personal affront. "It’s absolutely brutal for the skin. Did you know it ages you by—"

"Don’t kill my mood this early in the morning, Izou," Jozu interrupted gruffly, effectively cutting the conversation short.

Ace decided to lean into his fallback plan: pretend he’d fallen victim to one of his narcolepsy episodes. It was an excellent excuse to avoid awkward situations, a pirate's equivalent of those dramatic fainting spells corseted women supposedly practiced in olden days.  

He let his breathing even out, his head tucked into the crook of his arm. Maybe if he stayed like this long enough, the rest of breakfast would pass without anyone noticing him. A man could hope.

…

Marco was leaning over him, the disheveled strands of his hair casting soft shadows over his face. The faint blue half-moons under his eyes didn’t make him look tired — instead, they seemed to highlight the piercing blue of his gaze. The clinical light shouldn’t have suited anyone, yet it only accentuated the sharp, elegant lines of Marco’s face.

Ace couldn’t tear his eyes away. He noticed how Marco’s chest muscles shifted as he moved closer, slow and deliberate, the kind of movement that sent a thrill rushing through him. Ace leaned back instinctively, not to escape but to prolong the tension, the game between them. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out every sound except the steady rhythm of his shallow breathing.

Marco’s left hand rested on his thigh, fingers splayed and warm against his skin. They weren’t wearing much — pants and the tattoos that marked their bodies. The proximity was electric, and every fiber of Ace’s being was attuned to Marco’s presence. He felt as though he was teetering on the edge of madness, the ache of want sharpening with every breath.

Marco’s gentle eyes were blown wide and staring at him with an intent, something that Ace could only interpret as lust. He felt breathless.

"Marco…" Ace whispered, his voice barely audible. His gaze flicked to Marco’s lips, parted and tantalizingly close. All he wanted — needed — was to close the distance, to taste the fire he was certain would spark between them. 

"Say my name again," Marco murmured, his tone soft but laced with command.

"Marco," Ace breathed, leaning in, their faces mere inches apart.

And then: "Ace?" 

The voice was different.

Ace suddenly felt a soft nudge against his arm.

 Groggily, he opened his eyes, only to be met by the blazing sunlight. Ace blinked, the dream fading like smoke, leaving behind a racing pulse and a heat that lingered low in his body. Damn it. It was unbearably hot, the kind of heat that made you feel like even your shadow might burst into flames.

"Well, now we know being a fire Logia doesn’t come with SPF," Izou commented dryly.

Ace sat up, wincing at the rude awakening. It was the same day — the day after Marco had admitted, outright, that he was avoiding Ace specifically. The thought hit Ace like a punch to the gut. Was it really just about him? Had Marco been avoiding everyone else purely as collateral damage? Why? Ace hadn’t done anything wrong! He felt this anger spark inside of him, even more so after that confusing hot dream.

He groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. The morning had already been spent hunting, as Atmos and Kingdew had suggested. Thatch had cooked a feast out of their spoils, but of course, they’d brought back far more than anyone could eat. That was the result of sending sixteen commanders out to hunt together.

The afternoon had been dedicated to Marco’s wish for a peaceful day at the beach. That wish had lasted all of thirty minutes before the noise began to rise, water fights broke out, and makeshift rafts were constructed to stage naval battles. 

Ace’s eyes found Marco sitting alone under the shade of a tree, his head hanging between his legs as though he’d given up entirely. He looked so small, so utterly done with everyone. Marco needed quiet, that much was clear, and despite being Ace wanted to give it to him. One look at the man and he softened - well, parts of him. 

Had Marco not been so adamantly distant, Ace might have suggested a small escape into the woods, just the two of them. He could have told Marco a story while he closed his eyes and relaxed. No book was needed; Ace would make one up if it meant Marco could find some peace.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Not when Marco had made it so clear that he didn’t want to be around Ace. The worst part was that Ace’s feelings didn’t seem to care at all. Not seeing Marco hurt in ways he hadn’t anticipated. If only he knew why Marco had changed his mind — what he had done wrong — maybe he could fix it.

Regret gnawed at Ace in a way he hadn’t felt before. He wasn’t one to dwell on missed chances, always plunging headfirst into life without looking back. But now, he couldn’t stop replaying every lost opportunity to tell Marco how he felt. It was almost obsessive.

The library, where they’d sat across from each other in those ridiculously comfortable armchairs. Or the times Ace had perched himself on the backrest of Marco’s chair, insisting they read his book together. He hadn’t paid attention to the story, of course — how could he, when Marco’s hair smelled so fresh, his shoulder felt so solid beneath Ace’s hand, and his presence was so maddeningly intoxicating? He got lucky Marco wasn’t one to discuss the book’s content afterwards.

Then there were the nights they spent together on deck, talking beneath the stars. The breakfasts in Marco’s room, the moments in the crow’s nest — all those quiet, intimate times that Ace now realized had been golden opportunities. And he’d squandered every single one.

Now it was too late. Either Marco had figured out how he felt and was pulling away because of it, or he still didn’t know. Ace wasn’t sure which possibility was worse. If Marco knew and wanted nothing to do with him, then talking about it wouldn’t change a thing. If he didn’t know, well, Ace could still contain his feelings — for Marco’s sake. 

Marco didn’t deserve to be burdened with his feelings.

Ace could sit in his own chair in the library, stand at his own window at the crow’s nest, drink from his own cup in the morning. Keeping his distance and his feelings contained wouldn’t pose a problem. 

For the briefest moment, Ace had wondered if Marco avoided him because of who he was — because Ace was gay. But the thought seemed laughable. Marco adored Thatch and Izou, who were practically insufferable with their public displays of affection. Never ending doting, banter and sexual chemistry that could turn into sex at any point. It was then on everyone else to run and give them privacy, even if that meant losing access to one’s own bedroom for a while. 

Marco was the only one able to tolerate it. Not even Ace could - he was too jealous.

No, the truth was worse. Their conversation last night had been awful, full of distance and thought-out answers that felt rehearsed. Marco hadn’t spoken with his usual candid warmth. He was too careful, too reserved, as though every word was filtered through layers of hesitation.

If Ace asked Marco how he felt right now, he imagined Marco would respond with something like: "Currently, all our brain cells are busy processing your question. Your inquiry is important to us. Please hold while we formulate an answer."

Cue terrible elevator music. 

The worst part of it all was that Ace had been so confident. Completely, unshakably confident. He’d made sure to gauge Marco’s feelings the moment he became aware of his own, analyzing every glance, every smile, every subtle shift in Marco’s tone or demeanor. From Ace’s perspective, Marco had seemed totally into him. 

Heck, even Izou and Thatch had agreed, encouraging him to pursue Marco with all the certainty of seasoned matchmakers. How could they all have been so terribly wrong?

Ace couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that Marco had somehow known what Ace really intended to say that night at his commander’s party. It was the only explanation for Marco’s sudden disappearance, like he’d been swallowed up by the ship itself, fading into the background of their lives.

"Don’t break your head trying to understand it," Izou said, breaking Ace from his spiraling thoughts. His tone was softer than usual, though his eyes still held that sharpness that seemed to see straight through Ace.

"I feel like I missed my chance to ever tell Marco," Ace admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that he already knows, and that’s why he’s been…"

He trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought. Izou’s face shifted into something complicated — sympathy and hesitation wrapped together. Then, with a surprising air of certainty, Izou said, "He’s wholly unaware of your feelings, Ace. Trust me."

Ace blinked.

It wasn’t lost on him that both he and Marco seemed to turn to the same people for advice. They trusted the same circle: Izou, Thatch and Pops? Ace had considered talking to Whitebeard, but the idea always felt… off. 

What place did love or sexual desires have in a conversation with the man he saw as their father? Wouldn’t it feel weird from Whitebeard’s perspective? More than that, what if Whitebeard didn’t think Ace was good enough for Marco? It was no secret that Marco was special to him. Marco had been the one to turn Whitebeard from a captain into a father, the foundation on which their family had been built. Ace couldn’t imagine Whitebeard in any other role, and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down.

"Couldn’t I just talk to Marco?" Ace asked, his voice laced with frustration. "Even now?"

Izou tilted his head, regarding him carefully. "You can push, and Marco will move. But Ace, in all likelihood, it’ll be away from you."

Ace exhaled sharply, leaning back into the plush cushions of Izou’s makeshift beachbed. He hated hearing it, even though he knew Izou was right. Sitting around doing nothing — it wasn’t in his nature. The waiting was eating him alive.

"Marco has to deal with himself," Izou said, his voice sharp-edged, as if he wanted to let Ace know he was annoyed with the first commander as well. That he was working on it. "This is less about you than you think."

Ace let out another sigh, running his hands through his hair. "Thanks, Izou. Though I hate that you can only tell me half the story."

Izou offered a small, bittersweet smile. "I know. Me too." 

…

Ace had looked over his shoulder multiple times before sneaking away. He realized it had been in vain as could feel the lingering coolness of Marco’s blue flames pressing against his back, the odd sensation seeping through his body, trying to envelope the growing turmoil in his stomach.

It didn’t help.

As much as Ace hated it, the nausea surged again, and he gagged, retching for the third time in as many minutes. Now with Marco watching him — probably with that worried expression Ace could feel it, even without turning around.

When the spasms subsided for a moment, Ace used the brief reprieve to rasp out, "Just let me be."

Marco didn’t move. Ace turned just enough to confirm what he already knew: Marco was still there, his gaze steady and full of concern. Perhaps even worse, than he’d imagined, because a certain layer of guilt shimmered through the outerly displayed frown.

"You’ve got nothing left to throw up," Marco said, his voice both clinical and impossibly gentle, like he was stating a universal truth. "Your stomach’s fine."

Ace huffed. "I know." His voice carried a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "I burned everything in my stomach. I can’t be sick. So can you leave me? Please."

"Have you felt like this before?" Marco asked, the worry in his tone replaced by the calm efficiency Ace had come to recognize as Marco’s doctor mode.

Ace nodded, avoiding his gaze. He wasn’t good at keeping things to himself — especially when they weighed him down. His body always betrayed him, finding its own ways to force things he’d rather burried out.

"Can I?" Marco asked softly, raising his hand. Blue flames flickered faintly around his fingers, more gentle than fire had any right to be. "Just to make sure."

Ace hesitated. It was hard to say no when Marco’s voice dipped into that soft, familiar register. The same tone he used at night when he called Ace’s name, steady and serious, wrapping his name in warmth. He’d do anything to hear Marco say his silly name like that.

And he knew he wouldn’t get him to leave him like that. Not without soothing his worry.

"Sure," Ace said, trying not to sound like he was giving in too easily. He stole a glance at him, wondering what the fuck was going on. He avoided Ace entirely, yet acted as if they were closer than ever. 

Marco’s hand settled lightly on his chest, the flames cool against Ace’s skin. Marco looked at him then, not at his hand, and Ace felt his resolve weaken under the weight of Marco’s gaze. He wanted to look away — needed to — but he couldn’t. Those blue eyes, intense and filled with something Ace couldn’t name, held him in place. 

The world narrowed to Marco’s hand on his chest, Marco’s eyes searching his face, Ace’s heartbeat so loud that it drowned out everything else.  

"H-How long does this take?" Ace stammered, more to break the silence than anything else.

In the dim light, Ace thought he saw color flush over Marco’s cheeks, but it could’ve been a shadow of a moving brench just as good.

"A few minutes," Marco said, his voice quieter than before.

Ace tried to respond, but the nausea surged again, cutting him off. He doubled over with a groan. Marco’s hand shifted to his back, pressing gently, steadying him as the blue flames spread soothing cold along his spine.

"It’ll work this way too," Marco said. "Maybe I can help calm it down a bit."

To Ace’s surprise, the cramps eased. The tension in his stomach unwound like a knot slowly coming undone. He managed a shaky breath, glancing over his shoulder.

"I didn’t know your powers could do that," Ace said, the words sharper than he intended. It wasn’t an accusation, but it sounded close enough.

Marco’s lips quirked in a small, sheepish smile. "A recent discovery."

That caught Ace’s attention. He knew it was possible to discover new quirks of a devil fruit, even if one was a user for many years. In Marco’s case over two decades. He’d learnt that from Marco.

"Apart for being the best tempered hot stone on the entire Grand Line, is there anything else advantagous about your powers?"

Ace raised an eyebrow. "You mean for attacks?"

"No. More like a party trick. Something useful, something fun, something absurd."

Ace thought for a moment, watching the cast of his dancing flames on Marco’s face. Every pit of exposed skin, was set on fire individually, turning Ace into a hundred candles sticks. Looking like a walking nest of fireflys. "Well, I don’t need a heater in the winter. That’s a perk."

Marco snorted. "I’d make an excellent Hades for Halloween, thanks to the blue fire."

Ace tilted his head. "Never heard of him. Is he a pirate?"

Marco shook his head, laughing softly. "Not quite."

Ace grinned, leaning back. "I’ve thought about starting smoking. You know, because I wouldn’t need a lighter." To demonstrate, he flicked his thumb, producing a small, steady flame.

Marco rolled his eyes. "Your party trick is ruining your health? Please don’t ever play birthdays."

Ace huffed, feigning indignation. "Fine. I can steam off alcohol, and I’m immune to food poisoning… mostly. I can burn it out."

"Not bad," Marco admitted, nodding appreciatively. "I can heal eggs when they crack."

Ace blinked. "Seriously?"

Marco chuckled. "Yeah. Once I broke a whole pallet of them. Figured I’d try it out. Thatch would’ve called me a murderer otherwise."

Ace burst out laughing. "What about other foods? Can you revive those?"

"Not unless you’re asking me to turn meat back into the animal it came from," Marco deadpanned, though his lips twitched with amusement.

They had been so carefree around each other, joking, laughing, touching like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Ace remembered demonstrating for Marco how well he could produce heat waves, mimicking the ebb and flow of water, even if he had no practical use for it. It was just an excuse to hold Marco’s hands, to let him feel the heat rolling from his palm to his fingertips.

A cheap trick, Ace thought now, but at the time, it had made him stupidly happy. Like he was back to being a kid with a stupid crush. That was when Ace realized this wasn’t just about wanting to sleep with Marco. Sure, whenever Marco groaned, Ace’s brain short-circuited with inappropriate thoughts, but it was more than that. He was falling - deeply, stupidly falling.

"Are the results in, doc?" Ace asked with a tired smile, trying to mask his vulnerability with humor. Marco had soothed his nausea, leaving him bone-tired, and Ace could feel the exhaustion in every corner of his body. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure the nausea would come roaring back as soon as Marco’s hand left his back.

“Hmm. Not yet,” Marco murmured, his tone soft but distant.

Ace straightened up slowly, deciding there was no point in staying hunched over like a fool. His stomach was calm now, and Marco’s hand hadn’t moved, still resting lightly against his back. They stood close — closer than Ace should let them — but he didn’t want to pull away. It felt almost like a hug, which was awful because it only made him want that more. Instead, he stared past Marco into the dark, silent woods. This remote island was supposed to be a retreat, a relaxing escape, but neither of them seemed at ease.

In the low light, finally close enough, Ace stole a glance at Marco’ face. His skin was pale, looked thin like paper, like he could tear right through it an reveal flesh underneath. His cheeks hollowed slightly in a way that made his usual sharp features seem fragile. The shadows under his eyes made contrasted with the faint redness around the edges. His hair clung to his damp forehead, little pearls of sweat reflected the soft casts of moonlight in glittering effects. There was a heaviness to him, not just tired; more like he’d been fighting his own body to keep standing. Marco wasn’t sick. But damn, he looked it.  

"Ace," Marco began hesitantly, "about our conversation—"

"It’s okay," Ace cut him off. Not because it actually was okay. He just couldn’t bear to hear Marco out. Not now. Not when the edges of his pain were still raw. If Marco wasn’t relieved after their talk, it almost felt like Ace pain was in vain. "Maybe… leave me a few days to digest this before you tell me anything else."

He  look at Marco, didn’t want to learn what he felt. Whatever expression he might wear on his face. It was firm boundary, one he needed right now. He wasn’t ready to hear more. Not with more than a week left of this cursed vacation, where they’d inevitably keep running into each other — even in the woods, even when Ace just wanted to puke his emotions out in peace.

"Sure," Marco said finally, his voice quieter, almost apologetic. "I simply feel horrible for how our talk went. It’s all entirely on me. There’s so much I need to tell you, but… I still struggle to figure out how."

Ace exhaled heavily. "I’m really not ready to talk about it today."

Marco looked stricken for a moment, like he’d realized how  how even the slightest push was too much right now, while Ace was unwell and vulnerable. Guilt flickered across his face before Marco nodded, more to himself than to Ace. "You’re right." 

Silence settled between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Finally, Marco spoke again. "Your stomach’s fine now. I think the calming effect should last a few hours…"

Ace turned to him slightly, catching the edge of Marco’s expression. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, his emotions barely held in check.

"Ace…" Marco’s voice was essentially molten, gooey like chocolate - just his name, and it sent Ace’s heart racing. He wanted to close the distance, wanted to grab Marco by the shoulders and pull him into a kiss. It wasn’t fair — Marco probably didn’t even know what he was doing to him.

"I won’t try to talk. I promise," Marco said, his words trembling with sincerity. "But… please wake me if it wears off. I hate seeing you like this. I care for you, deeply."

The words sent Ace’s thoughts spinning. The way Marco said them, the weight in his voice — it wasn’t rejection, was it? Could it be that this really wasn’t about Ace, despite the distance Marco had put between them? Was it really possible Marco’s struggles had little to do with him?

Hope flared in Ace’s chest, battling with the doubt that had nestled there. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the ache that still lingered in his stomach. The yearning for someone who didn’t even seem to want to sit at the same breakfast table still clawing at him.

Marco turned to leave, walking a few steps before pausing. He looked over his shoulder, his expression unreadable, and said something so simple yet so piercing it made Ace’s breath catch.

"After every interaction… I always think to myself: Ace has treated me with kindness."

It was almost as if Marco was telling him: You’re everything you’ve hoped to be.

…

The nausea had subsided, thankfully, and Ace managed to avoid returning to Marco for help. He was certain Marco would have felt it if he hadn’t recovered and sneaking away felt better than risking another vulnerable moment. When had he become the kind of person who avoided things like this?

Ace had told Thatch about it later. Thatch wasn’t like Izou; he didn’t read Marco as well or know him as deeply, but he was more willing to talk around the edges of things.

"I can’t explain Marco to you," Thatch admitted, leaning back against the tree they were sheltering under. "But I can tell you something, in the most general terms. Izou knows Marco from before he became the man we all know now."

Ace had figured as much. Thatch had joined the crew only five years ago, and compared to Marco and Izou, he was practically new.

"He joined with survivors’ guilt," Thatch continued, his voice quieter now. "He wasn’t lying when he told you he used to be a mess. Izou remembers it well. There was a time when Marco was young, and he fell in love for the first time. Back then, he was like you described yourself — when you thought you inherited a demon soul and that it was going to be the end of you. Marco carried something like that too, a sense of doom about himself. According to Izou, it was tragic. But he clawed his way out of it, when he found that aside from gifiting healing to others, he could also receive it. He’s been alone for over a decade by choice."

Thatch’s words stuck with Ace more than he wanted to admit. He didn’t press for more. He respected that Thatch had already told him what was generally known about Marco on ship, and it was wrong to dig deeper behind Marco’s back. All that was in good conscience had been shared. 

Instead, they shifted the conversation to their own pasts, and Ace found himself enjoying those talks more and more. Similar to Marco, Thatch had a calmth about him - at least he had while they were on serious topics. Talking to him felt effortless, someone who understood without much explanation Ace own cursed feelings towards himself.

…

A week into their “vacation,” someone suggested a gaming night. Ace wasn’t sure whose idea it was — probably Blenheim or Curiel, the two biggest cheats on the ship — but the card table quickly filled up. Everyone knew playing with them was generally a bad idea, since they played dirty. Yet they still managed to lure fools in every time, who believed they could outsmart them.

Blenheim and Curiel were not the smartest people on deck. But they were simply the best at playing dirty.

Ace wasn’t paying attention to the game. He had no illusions about winning, and his focus kept drifting to Marco. The first commander sat just an arm’s length away, and though they weren’t talking, Ace felt Marco’s gaze flick to him now and then. They were almost taking turns looking at each other, neither willing to admit it.

It had been the right decision not to let Marco say more that night in the woods. Their silence had spoken volumes, though: Ace’s sudden stomachache wasn’t physical, and they both knew it. Since then, Marco had started to ease off his avoidance, little by little. He wasn’t seeking Ace out, not exactly, but he wasn’t running from him either. They could share a space again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

Of course, the good mood didn’t last. After about an hour, the skies opened up, and within moments, everyone and everything — including the card deck — was soaking wet. The rain came down so hard it felt like the air had been replaced by water.

Hours later, it was still pouring, and morale was low.

"Before we overreact—"

"Oh, I think we’re more at risk of underreacting," Izou interrupted, his makeup streaked and wild from the deluge.

"All I’m saying is, maybe it’s not worth building a shelter if the rain’s going to stop before we finish," Curiel argued.

"Which it would’ve been, if we’d started hours ago!"

"Hey," Marco cut in, the authority of a first commander in his voice. The effect was immediate — everyone stopped the argueing and turned to him. The rising tension subsided with ease. "Why don’t we make this quick? We’ve got Ace with us." He smiled at Ace, his expression light and untroubled. "Let’s trust his judgment."

Ace’s heart stuttered at the unexpected attention. He knew Marco was all business, smooth and professional, but that didn’t stop a pink hue creeping up his cheeks. The rain made it less obvious, thankfully.

Everyone was looking at him now, waiting.

"Well," Ace began, trying to focus despite Marco’s gaze, "the cloud pattern and the wind suggest this isn’t going to let up anytime soon. I can’t say for certain without a better vantage point, though. I’d need a mountain or something higher than the trees."

Marco nodded thoughtfully. "Would it help to see the storm from above?"

Ace blinked, startled. "Yes, definitely."

"Good," Marco said simply. "Let’s not waste time."

Without hesitation, Marco turned into his phoenix form, the brilliant blue flames blazing against the gray sky. He gestured with a wing for Ace to climb on.

Ace coudln’t be shy about it, he was gripping Marco’s feathers with all his strength to not fall of his back. The world became a blur of rain and wind as they ascended, until finally they broke through the clouds into a quiet, moonlit expanse. It was breathtaking, but Ace’s focus remained on the storm below. 

A waste of effort. Even Marco, with limited knowledge, could’ve interpreted what they saw.

For such a dark sky, it painted an oddly clear picture.

Still Marco asked his opinion and Ace was glad Pheonixes didn’t come with an extra set of eyes at their backs or Marco could’ve seen the effects of his words in real time.

"We’ll definetly build a shelter."

…

“If you don’t kill me, I’ll put an end to your reign. Possibly your entire crew.” 

Whitebeard looked at him, unflinching, his expression unreadable save for the faint glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. “I see you’re not trying to threaten me, son.” His tone completely devoid of sarcasm. 

Ace hissed through his teeth, his fists trembling at his sides. The stubborn old man didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to hear the truth. "Why are you so persistent?" 

"You’re trying to waste yourself. Because you’re so caught up in false narratives about yourself. If you don’t stop, they’ll become self-fulfilling prophecies." 

Ace clenched his jaw. "So you want to go down together?" 

"I’m not afraid of the depths of the seas, Ace," Whitebeard said simply, his words like a quiet wave breaking against the storm raging inside Ace. 

Ace felt his blood boiling, a deep frustration surging through him. This man. This stubborn, impossible man. He got the urge to grab Whitebeard, violently shake him into his right mind. "Why would you take me in? Out of pity? Why appoint a man like me as a commander?"

Whitebeard’s eyes landed on his small frame, shaking with emotions. "Today, you didn’t try to die."

Ace froze. He hadn’t even noticed it. Hadn’t noticed that tonight, for the first time, he’d not come to “take Whitebeard’s head”. He just stood there, frozen, his anger burning itsel out in the quiet of Edward’s presence.

It was true and Ace knew further resistence was wasted energy. 

He would stay. 

Even if he felt like he was going insane. Insane with anger at Whitebeard. For all the gifts, Ace had not asked to receive:

Hope. Love. Acceptance. Belonging.

Chapter Text

"So you’re not asking me. You’ve decided."  

Marco nodded.  

Whitebeard smiled faintly. "Izou has a way of knowing exactly how to steer you, son." He shook his head, his expression caught between exasperation and fondness.  

Marco gave a rueful smile. It wasn’t surprising to hear Izou had been involved. "He came up with the vacation idea, didn’t he?"  

Their eyes met, and there was no need for words. Pops’ knowing look said it all.  

"I’m glad you’re taking time off, Marco. It’s long overdue. But…" Whitebeard leaned back slightly, his massive presence filling the space. "I can’t hide my concern for your well-being. You’ve carried the weight of this crew for so long and lately… it seems like something has been pulling you under."  

Marco swallowed and nodded. Pops always had a way of seeing straight through him, but it never felt like an intrusion.  

"I have to admit, I’m curious. What’s been going on between you and Ace? Did you two have a falling out?"  

Marco glanced down, breaking eye contact. He’d never been good at this, remembered clearly how he’d not told Pops about… her.  

The one time he had gone behind his father’s back - a time he still felt immense guilt for - and the stupid shit he’d done. Though it was never “stupid enough” to warrant real consequences until. Not until it was.  

When he looked back up, Pops’ gaze was waiting for him. Calm, patient, offering him a chance to open up without pressure. Just like back then.  

But Marco hadn’t taken that chance last time. He’d stayed quiet, let his silence build until it dragged others into their chaos. All that he put the crew through just for his foolish actions, caused by his love for a woman from a rival crew.  

"I’m… trying to put things back in place," Marco said carefully, his voice quieter than usual.  

Whitebeard studied him, his expression softening. "You know, I hate seeing you like this, son. Every time, I’m reminded you grew 17 years without me. I’m a late father to yours."  

"I’m so—"  

"Don’t apologize," Whitebeard interrupted gently. "There’s no need. I just hope that, when you’re ready, you’ll come to me again — like you did back then. And maybe this time, I can offer you a proper bed instead of wooden planks. We wouldn’t have to keep the silence about it."  

Marco sighed, the weight in his chest easing ever so slightly. 

…

Just as Marco had planned, they’d returned from their trip without him telling Ace anything.  

The interaction he’d dreaded for weeks, the one he’d pushed off again and again, now seemed harder to avoid than ever. Ironically, once he’d decided to face it, Marco had started feeling better — so much better that he now wanted nothing more than to get it out his chest.  

But Ace had asked for space. That night in the woods, when Marco had found him bent over the bushes, sick and miserable, Ace had practically pleaded with him. " Not tonight. Please." Marco had heard the strain in his voice, seen the rawness in his face.  

And he’d concluded that it was better to talk on the ship, anyway. It was big enough for Ace to avoid him if he needed to. Big enough for them to retreat to their corners if things got awkward or uncomfortable, which Marco feared they might.  

Still, something had snapped in Marco that night. Seeing Ace like that — so vulnerable, so clearly in pain of no organical source — it had snapped Marco out of his spiral. He’d already resolved to stop avoiding Ace after their confrontation the night before, but this was different. The sight of Ace bent over, clutching his stomach, had yanked Marco out of his own past and back into the present. Back to reality.  

Wondering what the fuck he was doing.

He’d made a promise to himself that night, and to keep it, he’d started knocking on Dr. Maya’s door every other day. Journaling. Writing down every thought, every emotion, even the twisted and tangled stuff that he couldn’t make sense of - anything to help them do something about him. 

Dr. Maya refused to call it “fixing” him, reminding him gently, "You’re not your own enemy, Marco. Your mind isn’t trying to torment you — it’s wired to keep you safe. But sometimes, the ways it does stop working for us as we grow. As adults, we can adapt better options to choose." 

Sometimes, Marco almost believed her. Sitting in her yellow corduroy chair, fingers busy running somewhere. Like tracing absent patterns on the velvety fabric or scratching pilling from his shorts or picking at the buttons on his shirt — shirts he still wasn’t used to wearing. He’d debated  among himself and showing up shirtless, the way he usually roamed the ship, seemed inappropriate. Even if they were pirates.  

"It’s just… I thought I was done with this," Marco confessed one day, his voice tired. "We’ve been here before. It felt like it was over. Like I’d moved on."  

Dr. Maya smiled gently, her eyes holding that familiar spark of understanding mixed with quiet disbelief. A sign that she was already reaching back to build her argument.  

"Your brain doesn’t work like that," she said. "Think of your life as a book. You can close a chapter and move on, but if something reminds you of it, like a keyword, your brain might check the register and flip back to that page. It’s why we're so easily thrown back. What you’re feeling are emotional flashbacks, it’s not just mental."  

The analogy made sense, but it didn’t feel comforting. How could therapy be so fragile, feel so unsustainable?

Dr. Maya didn’t waver. "The point is, Marco, you’ve already moved forward. You are multiple chapters ahead, with all you’ve lived and learnt, you could hardly be flung back to exactly the same place. You’re not at the mercy of those memories, even if it feels like you are. You’ve grown since then. And that growth will help you confront this in a way you couldn’t before." 

It was true, he realized. The pain hadn’t consumed him like it once had. Seeing Ace that night had shaken him, was enough to break his flashback-spell. Even if it was extreme measures, it had set a part of him free - the left side of his brain, which had gained freedom to think clearly again. 

"It doesn’t have to be like the first time you were confronted with this. And I personally don’t think it will be."

Marco sighed, his fingers brushing over the armrest of the chair. "I think I am handling it better this time," he admitted. 

The worst was already wearing off, only this fear latched onto him, its claws deep in the flesh of Marco’s stomach, feasting on every wary thought that flickered inside him for a moment too long. It was getting stronger this way, demanding more time out of his day. 

But he wasn’t curled up on the bathroom floor - he had been. But only for one day, for one cry. 

"But it still threw me off. Like… Badly," he mumbled, still under the impression. Still filled with guilt til the crown. 

"That’s why it’s good we’re talking now," Dr. Maya said firmly. "Before you make any hasty decisions about Ace. It’s about protecting the both of you. If you trigger yourself, others, Ace included, might suffer." 

A knot formed in his stomach. Mouth ready to respond and remind her, he’d already done that.

"You’ve come a long way, Marco. Let’s make sure you don’t undo that progress." Her smile was cutting sharper than any insult could have, she was the definition of killing someone with kindness. At times it took every ounce of him, not to storm out, because he couldn’t handle all the vulnerability. It was as if her words conjured up this massive canyon and the floor was made of spider webs. He could hang in there, but Marco was far from relaxed.  

He nodded, nonetheless appreciating her easing his guilt about keeping Ace at a distance. It was something he couldn’t yet forgive himself for, not when Ace hadn’t. Not when he had yet to take any action to mend things. 

Dr. Maya liked reminding him that Ace gained nothing from his nightly self-hatred spirals. Marco had to admit she was armed with solid arguments. 

"You need to ask yourself one thing before you speak to Ace," Dr. Maya continued. "What is it you hope to gain? Not just for him. Apart from easing Ace pain and fears - important and needed — but what about you? What do you expect from this conversation?”  

Marco shrugged, looking away. "Nothing," he said, but the word rang hollow. He didn’t want nor expect anything of Ace. It was the whole point of the conversation. It was everything he expected himself to transmit.

What Marco truly wanted would not be made into Ace’ problem. 

"Everyone holds expectations, Marco," she countered gently. "It’s human. Even if you don’t realize it, your mind is constantly relaying past moments and already crafting possibilities for the future ones. What matters is recognizing them before you act. Usually we take notice, when we’re facing the consequences. Either we’re pleased or we’re confronted with the opposite. You inevitably will set yourself up for disappointment - and other uncomfortable emotions." 

And so, Marco had found his biggest task. To sift through the tangle of thoughts and feelings. 

Until he had found his answer. 

…

Slowly, they began to pick up where they had left it. Marco volunteered to deliver Ace food to the crow’s nest whenever he was on a late shift. Ace never missed out on food — it was one of his great loves — but Marco knew he liked that shift. "There’s something about watching the sun drown itself in the ocean," Ace had once said. "It’s calming."  

Marco didn’t bring enough for two, but he’d included extra desserts, and Ace offered to share. So they sat together, watching the sun slip into the horizon, silent but not entirely uncomfortable. It was awkward, yes. It was painful in its own quiet way. Marco’s heart panicked now and then, but he pushed through, breathing slowly until the rhythm eased.  

Ace started visiting the library again, returning books he’d borrowed before… before Marco had pulled back. One day he asked for another recommendation, and Marco suggested “The Girl Who Drank the Moon”. While sorting through the shelves, placing “Where the Wild Things Are” and “The Little Prince” back in their spots. Marco found a sticky note forgotten in the latter. Its edges were soft, worn from countless page-turns, and a few of the pages still clung together lightly where the glue of notes had been pressed between them, leaving a sticky film. Proof that the book had been beloved by its reader.  

One night, when the nightmares wouldn’t leave him, Marco had found Ace sitting out on the rain-soaked deck. He was just outside of shelter, his hands held up as if trying to catch the droplets in his palms.  

Marco approached cautiously, and Ace looked up at him, offering a small, tired smile. “Sit?” he asked, tilting his head toward the wet deck beside him.  

Marco hesitated only for a moment before sitting down, letting the rain soak through his clothes. “The Girl Who Drank the Moon” lay nearby, just under the shelter’s cover, safe and dry, open somewhere in the middle.  

Meeting Ace like that, it reminded Marco of that night so much -  of the first time they’d stumbled upon each other on the deck. Back then, he hadn’t known it would be the start of something — how much Ace would come to mean to him. Not that it had felt insignificant even then. Maybe he’d known all along that Ace was going to be someone special.  

The ship rocked lazily, faint creaks punctuating the vast, starless sky. Marco wandered the deck, seeking solace in the cool night air, hoping it might quiet the restlessness within him.

Lost in thought, he nearly missed the figure standing on the railing. Still as a statue, but radiating heat, that gave him away.  

Portgas D. Ace — the man who had spent three relentless months trying to kill his father — stood steady, his gaze fixed on the pitch-black sea below. His arms were extended over the edge, fingers splayed as though reaching for something in the waves’ angry churn. The waves were fuming as if in anger of being torn apart by their ship. 

It was a strange sight.  

Marco paused, feeling like an intruder, yet unable to look away. Ace could be unpredictable. Just as he considered leaving, Ace suddenly fell backward. He just let himself fall on his back, barely turning to fire, barely catching his own fall. No fire, no frantic arm flailing — just a calculated drop. 

The soundless surrender to gravity startled Marco. He had never seen a person falling on their back like that, so calm, without any panic. Ace landed flat against the wooden deck, still as another plank, his eyes pinned to the sky as if it held answers only he could see. He looked like a man wrestling with something vast and consuming.  

When Marco shifted his weight, the soft crunch of a loose plank jolted Ace upright. His whole body coming alive with waryness and tension, like a stray animal caught under a stranger’s gaze — ready to defend itself.  

Marco hesitated, caught between giving Ace his space and staying, because somehow, he wanted to. He leaned against the mast instead, letting the silence stretch between them, unbroken but for the ship’s gentle groans.  

Ace’s dark eyes flicked toward him, sharp but uncertain. Marco met them evenly, offering no threat, no intrusion. Still, neither spoke.  

Finally, Marco sighed, breaking the stalemate. "Rough night?"  

Ace’s gaze slid back to the waves. "Nothing unusual," he muttered, the heat gone from his voice. This wasn’t the Ace Marco had grown accustomed to — the brash, sharp-tongued firebrand who burned so brightly it held him at arm’s length.  

Marco stepped closer and sank onto the deck, leaving a considerate space between them. "This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you," he said, his voice light.  

Ace’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. "Don’t get used to it," he said, rubbing his knees. His posture was defensive, his discomfort evident, but he stayed.  

Marco tilted his head, studying him. Ace’s shoulders were drawn tight, his usual sharpness dulled by something heavier.  

When Ace glanced at him again, his expression teetered on annoyance, but it lacked real bite. "What? Worried I’ll try to set the ship on fire again?"  

"No," Marco replied, his tone relaxed, true to his feeling. "I think you’ve set enough fires for one lifetime."  

Ace blinked, his mouth snapping shut. Surprise ran through his eyes and over his mouth. He didn’t argue. Simply turned back to the horizon, where the dark sky met the even darker sea, melting into a seamless void.  

His words could’ve easily set Ace alight with anger, but it seemed they were interpreted the way he’d intended. Which quite frankly, surprised Marco. Ace wasn’t shy to bite on anything to set himself ablaze.

They sat like that for a while, in the thickening quiet, with countless topics up between them, none of them leaned forward to pick one. Marco let it linger - the unspokenness. Ace wasn’t the type to be prodded into speaking, and Marco wasn’t the type to push.  

Finally, Marco spoke, his voice tinted with a faint vulnerable note. One Ace could pick up or leave. "I come out here when I can’t sleep," he said, trusting the weight of his body onto his palms as he leaned on them. "The ocean at night — there’s something special about it. The smallest noise feels so loud, like it’s echoing forever. It’s strange, isn’t it? On a ship this size."

He paused before he continued. "You almost feel small. And somehow, feeling small, it breaks a share of your burden, like a burden is something only besetting the grown ones."  

Ace’s voice, when it came, was soft, almost swallowed by the night. "Or it makes you realize how small you are in comparison to how much you’ve already lost."  

Marco didn’t answer. He tilted his head up, letting the silence settle again. The words hung between them, unspoken context in salty air. What could he say to that? The stars offered no answers, the sea no solace to such a feeling.  

When Ace finally rose, he hesitated, his silhouette framed against the infinite black. "Thanks for… sitting with me," he muttered before disappearing into the shadows.  

He sounded almost reluctant, as usual when he had something nice to utter. But that day Marco didn’t buy into it. Ace was making his decision, he could feel it.

Marco stayed long after, the salt air biting his skin. He listened to the waves and thought about how someone could carry so much and still keep moving.  

Most of all he knew: He wanted Ace to decide in favor of them.

…

A few days ago, it had almost been the right time to tell Ace. Almost.  But then Izou, of all people, had stumbled in and interrupted them.  

"Marco?"  

Ace had extended his arm, showing a nasty, deep cut that ran the length of it. "Could you help me?"  

Marco felt a wave of dizziness — not from the alcohol he’d ingested and that he was now rapidly healing off, but from the fact that Ace, for the first time since the rift between them, had come to him for help.  

After he leaned in to examine the wound, he realized it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Still, it needed careful cleaning for any glass splinters before he could mend it with his phoenix powers. Ace sat unnaturally still during the entire lengthy procedure, saying little, his dark eyes watching Marco with a quiet attentiveness. There was no bravado, no pretense of being unaffected.  

"Did something happen?" Marco finally asked, breaking the tense silence.  

Ace looked down, visibly abashed. "I know it looks bad. But it was an accident. I swear." He paused, as though bracing himself. "I’ve been seeing Dr. Maya, so I wouldn’t—" He cut himself off, then added quickly, "You think she’s scary at times?"  

Marco almost chuckled. "She has her moments," he admitted. Though for him, it wasn’t her presence that intimidated him but the way her insights seemed to strip him bare. Always siding with Marco’s vulnerable parts over his critical reason.

"Um, anyway. We were playing cards. Rakuyo tried to cheat Blenheim, which pissed him off enough to smash the table. Unfortunately, it was glass, and I had my arms resting on it. I was… distracted, and turned to fire a beat too late. Half the damage was already done."  

"You don’t have to justify yourself," Marco began, but stopped himself mid-sentence as realization struck. Ace wasn’t just explaining the accident, he was trying to reassure Marco. Telling Marco for Marco. So his mind would find peace. 

"Thank you," Marco said softly.  

Ace shrugged, his shoulders tense. "I know I don’t exactly give off the most stable impression. I don’t want anyone worrying about me. As a division commander."  

Ace didn’t want to worry Pops. The subtext was clear: don’t tell him.  

Marco sighed, his fingers pressing gently against Ace’s newly healed skin. Beneath his touch, he felt the unsteady rhythm of Ace’s heartbeat, racing too fast. "I’ll think about it," he replied, trying to balance his instinct to protect with his trust in Ace.  

"He… Pops will misunderstand, Marco. Let me talk to him myself."  

Marco nodded reluctantly. Ace had proven he could face difficult conversations, no matter how much they pained him. Marco owed him this trust.  

"Thanks for coming to me," he added after a beat. "I know it must’ve taken… a lot of courage."  

Ace took a deep breath, his lips twitching into a small, fleeting smile. "Sure. Well, I gave some of your advice a second thought, and… not all of it seemed that bad."  

"Please take care of yourself," Marco said, his voice coming out heavier than he intended. It was as if Ace listened once, and he wanted to offer more advice to keep him safe. He wanted to say more, offer more, but he was in no position to.  

"Won’t you… be missed at the party?" Ace asked, tilting his head slightly. His curls followed, some strands falling in his face, black and shiney. For a moment his question felt as if Ace was stealing Marco, keeping him to himself.

Marco quickly averted his gaze to laugh. "Me? As if anyone notices."  

Ace huffed, crossing his arms. Marco had seen him staring at his newly healed arm for a bit, as if expecting the wound to break open again. "You have no idea."  

"What? They miss how I stand in a corner looking unamused?"  

Ace grinned, his expression softening in a way Marco hadn’t seen in weeks. He was about to speak, and for the first time, the tension between them seemed to lift. Marco could feel the lightness return.  

And then Izou stumbled in. Half-supported by Thatch, he barely made it a few steps before promptly covering the floor in new, drunken colors.  

Later, once sober, Izou had gotten pretty mad with himself for causing the interruption, and with Marco for sending Ace away to look after him.  

But to Marco it was fine. It had been a night with too much vulnerability from Ace’ side anyways.

…

Luckily there was a reason to party everyday. And if void of legitimacy, they made it up.

The ship hummed with life, laughter, and the low murmur of voices as the party spilled across the open deck. Ace’s laughter carried on the breeze, distinct and clear, cutting through the noise. Marco felt it like a thread tugging at his attention, pulling him toward the sound.  

The party was one of the quieter, more laid-back affairs, where food shared the spotlight with drink. Marco appreciated these more than the chaotic nights fueled by reckless drinking games. He also knew Ace would be wherever the food was.  

Unfortunately, the first euphoria of making his decision had since faded, been replaced by old gnawing worry, a habit Marco’s brain didn’t tire of. Mind dizzy with what-if-scenarios. What if this goes wrong? What if I hurt him worse than I already have?

It wasn’t Ace’s trust that scared him most — and the weight of what he was about to do. The depth of Ace’s trust in Marco was what made the thought of betraying it unbearable. And yet, wasn’t withholding this truth already a betrayal of sorts?  

Marco knew if he didn’t follow through, while they seemed to slowly get back on terms, he was at risk of luring himself into a false fantasy. One where he could sit next to Ace on deck when both of them were sleepless and talk the night away without pause. 

What he felt was a whole deal different from wanting to get into someone’s pants. Marco wanted to hand Ace his bundle of emotions and past hurt and trust him with it. Like Ace had done. Impossible to ignore.

"Are you staring at my cocktail, or spacing out again?"  

Marco blinked, startled out of his thoughts. Izou had taken the seat next to him, a delicate glass in hand. Thatch’s handiwork, no doubt—an intricate concoction with swirling colors that screamed Izou’s name.   

"A little bit of both," Marco replied lazily, his gaze returning to the water. 
 
They both looked at the scenery before them. The sun had long set, a fresh breeze whistled its way across deck and the dark of the night was swallowing light and colors until it was full. The reflection of their lanterns got caught in the sea, little orange specs and golden-yellow balls of warmth shimmering in blue curls. It reminded him of both Ace and his powers, interlaced.   

 "I’ve been watching you, you know," Izou said, his tone light but probing.  

Marco raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away from the horizon. "Oh? And what’s the verdict?"  

"All you’ve done since I came out here is sit and stare. You’re not even drinking. You’re waiting."  

Marco sighed, his shoulders sagging. "For a moment," he admitted.  

"For Ace?"  

Marco shook his head faintly. "He’s already here, somewhere over there." His left hand drew vague circles toward the crowd, where he’d seen Ace with Haruta and Pops. "I’m waiting for a chance to talk. Waiting for a moment when he’s alone."  

Izou leaned back, sipping his drink. "You’ve been ‘waiting for the right moment’ for weeks, Marco. Haven’t you realized yet? It’s a myth." 

Marco huffed a small laugh despite himself. "I figured as much. But it wouldn’t be the right thing to ask him to a talk in front of others that could raise questions later."  

Izou gave him a sly smile, patting his knee. "Proud of you, brother. I’ll get going now — I wouldn’t forgive myself, stealing another moment from you."  

And with that, Izou disappeared into the crowd, blending in so seamlessly that Marco lost sight of him almost immediately. If Izou had been the one he was crushing on, he’d be doomed — not only because of Thatch but because the man was as slippery as an eel.  

Suddenly worried, Marco’s gaze instinctively sought Ace again, finding him easily this time. He was laughing, gesturing animatedly as Pops watched him with a warm smile. Ace’s presence was magnetic, pulling Marco’s focus as effortlessly as the moon tugs at the tide.  

But Ace was never alone. That was the problem. He was just too popular. All of Marco’s internal monologue had been right about one thing: this was an Ace fanclub ship. Approaching him meant drawing attention.  

With a resigned sigh, Marco stood. It was going to be a long night, and by the end of it, Ace would probably be too drunk for a serious conversation. He needed a plan — and even if he disliked admitting it, Izou was the one person who could help. Just that he had conveniently disappeared. 

The one sole night Izou had chosen to wear all black! It was as if the stars he loved so much hat plotted against him. Was it because they were essentially balls of fire? All drawn to Ace, none there to care for him? 

Marco entered the dimly lit hallway heading towards the kitchen. Where there was food, there was Thatch. And where there was Thatch, there was Izou. 

"Marco?"  

He nearly jumped into his phoenix, startled by the voice calling his name softly from behind. Even with the fright wearing off, his heart thundered in his chest - it was Ace. Ace standing right next to him, way closer than he’d been in months.  

"Done partying already?" Ace asked with a small smile.  

Marco gulped, his throat suddenly dry. "I… could ask you the same," he managed.  

Ace tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "I’m just bringing Pops this." He held up a giant plate, laden with food. Marco hadn’t even noticed it before — he’d been that consumed by his own thoughts.  

Ace gave him another small smile, but his body was already turning slightly as if ready to leave.

This was it. Marco’s moment. He couldn’t let it slip away. He needed to stop Ace. 

"I…," he started, hurrying the first word out. Like a foot in the door, just to keep Ace in place for another moment. Then he took a deep breath, steadying his voice. "I’ve been meaning to talk to you." 

Ace looked surprised but only for a moment. "Should I come to your room?"  

The question sent a surge of chaotic heat twisting through Marco’s gut. The feeling bundled and twindeled around itself, forming into an ugly creature of panic, ready to claw up his throat and steal his tongue. He pressed a hand to his middle, a subconscious attempt to ground himself.  

"No," he said firmly, his voice reflecting accurately how he felt - determined. "I’ll come to yours."

Chapter Text

"Should I come to your room?"  

"No, I’ll come to yours."
  
He caught Ace by surprise, so much so, that for a moment he didn’t even conceal the slip of face, before he schooled his expression back into something neutral. It was unconventional, to invite oneself to a talk in someone else’s room, Marco knew that. And the first time he’d ever enter Ace’s rooms, on top of that. 

Ace had always seemed to favor the shared hammocks on deck even after taking command. He’d once joked that the room felt “too big,” and Marco hadn’t pressed. Yet Marco could fill out entire nights, wondering what Ace’s private quarters might look like.  

Would it be sparse, like someone unwilling to plant roots? Like a hotel room? Ready to be left behind and house the next person with ease? Or would it be brimming with the life Ace carried everywhere he went — a tangle of small chaos and hidden comforts? The thought of Ace living as if he could pack up and leave at any moment unnerved Marco. It wasn’t an unreasonable fear. Ace had spent so long convincing himself he didn’t belong anywhere. It had been a internal power struggle, to convince himself he belonged with them. 

But now, Marco had a reason to see for himself. He felt weird inviting hismelf to Ace room like that, too. Yet he felt he didn’t have the luxery of choice.  

Marco didn’t only want - no - he needed the chance to get up and leave after he’d said his part. It was easier than guiding Ace out of his room.

He lingered in his room for a moment after Ace left, pacing to shake off the weight settling in his chest. He’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, but it wasn’t until now that the reality hit him. It wasn’t just Ace he feared for — he feared his own ability to say what he needed to without hurting him. 

Ace saw a brother in him, he’d called him that, for fucks sake! It was clear as day, they were in separate locations - Marco on a relationship, Ace in a brotherhood.

After fifteen minutes had passed, Marco stepped into the hall.  

The corridor was dim and quiet, the ship’s gentle sway amplified by the stillness of the hour. Flickering torches cast long shadows interrrupting the deep blue of the night. They offered the sensation of something alive, fighting it. Marco’s footsteps were soft as he made his way down, each step tightening the knot of nerves in his stomach. The tension had reached him sooner than he was able to get inside Ace room. 

He passed the familiar doors, glancing at the golden insignias that marked them. Thatch’s room, with its tiny chef’s hat, tempted him with its promise of warmth and an easy out.  

Across from Thatch’s door was Ace’s. 

They were in no particular order. Not like his and Ace’s were the first because of their divisions. Marco was wedged between Speed Jiru, who was a pleasant neighbor who called in early nights and Curiel, who liked to craft projects far into the night. 

Marco stopped. The second division’s insignia stared back at him, his name carved in the wood below. Portgas D. Ace.  

He drew a deep breath, standing there for a moment longer than necessary. The words he’d rehearsed churned in his mind. He didn’t want Ace to feel cornered - if he told him, he’d do it in the least burdensome way. Marco had promised himself that. Dr. Maya had told him to lighten up a bit, but he couldn’t. 

Marco had lived long enough to understand that it was possible not to act on one’s feelings — even if they were an overwhelming, magnetic pull. He knew they’d fade eventually, or at least lose their edge. But he was also old enough to know that “eventually” was a maddeningly vague promise, one without a timeline. Waiting them out had proven to be a mistake, a torturous plan with no end in sight. Tonight, he’d decided, it was time to put an end to it.

At first, he’d convinced himself it was just a passing crush, something fleeting and harmless. But that illusion had crumbled, replaced by something far more undeniable. Denial had turned into reluctant acceptance — a decision to let the feelings exist, no matter how much space they demanded. Maybe, he reasoned, he had to climb to the peak of them before they could finally settle.

He suspected, though, that the peak in question was called “love.”

He didn’t need to tell Ace that, though.

Marco knocked softly and immediately heard Ace call from within:  "Just come in, Marco."  

The memory of that night flashed before his eyes. The night Ace had insisted he had something important to share, when he’d finally learnt about Roger, the trauma Ace grew with so deeply woven into the very person Ace had become.  

"That’s a special kind of burden," Marco had murmured, gulping heavily as he tried to choose the right words — something between comfort and understanding. "You don’t have to make it look so easy."  

He’d wanted to ask Ace to lower some of that load onto him, to let Marco carry even a fraction of it. They could share it until it wasn’t pressing him into the earth like a second force of gravity. 

Now, as Marco opened the door, he was struck by the sheer chaos within Ace’s room. Not chaos in its natural state — this was chaos that someone had attempted, and failed, to tame. Papers and candles were scattered everywhere, the walls practically wallpapered with loosely attached notes. The desk, windowsill, in fixtures on the wall, on the floor, and even In Ace’s bed.  

If Marco had worried about the implications of entering Ace’s room, those thoughts were quickly extinguished. There was no space to sit on the bed anyway. No space was left for sexual intimacy — it felt more like stepping into Ace’s psyche, laid bare in ink and wax.  

"Sorry," Ace mumbled, his cheeks glazed a deep cherry red as he gathered a handful of papers, the faint rustling breaking the silence. All covered in a pretty and neat handwriting, that Marco wouldn’t have associated with Ace, clearly standing out agains the scattered mess. "This is embarrassing. I write a lot… It helps clear my head. But it’s, uh… well, embarrassing. Did I mention embarrassing?" 

He chuckled nervously, as he collected a few burning candles from his bed. Marco exhaled softly in relief, the thought of a mid-conversation inferno vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.  

Ace turned back toward him, still awkward, still shuffling papers in his hands. Marco, still standing by the door, not doing an ounce better in terms of natural posture. His hand still wound tight around the handle, not feeling ready to let it go. Entering Ace’s room felt more intrusive than he’d prepared for, like he was wading through someone’s unspoken thoughts.  

Ace didn’t seem much more at ease, patting a spot on the freshly folded blanket of his bed right next to himself - gesturing for Marco to sit. Marco decided it was time. He had to close the door.

When it clicked, the sound was unnervingly final, severing them from the outside world. Marco had never been so acutely aware of everything beyond the room—never before had he longed for it to spill into the safety of four walls. But now, those same walls felt stifling. Suddenly, he was the one trapped in someone else’s bedroom. With a bed.
And he was grateful, at least, that he had put himself in this postion and not Ace.
He turned around, completely ignoring Ace’s invitation, deciding on his desk chair instead. While it seemed the spot Ace collected his clothes it was the least awkward choice.

Carefully, he stepped through the narrow aisle of scattered papers, mindful not to tear a single one of Ace’s thoughts. The only free path lead right up to the bed, so it was out of question to follow.

Marco had promised himself — never, not even in the wildest daydreams of reciprocated feelings — would he confess to Ace on a bed. His feelings deserved to be offered as a sincere compliment, not as something tainted by the awkwardness of a creepy work superior lounging in Ace’s sheets, forcing him to navigate the uncomfortable task of a polite rejection.

He repeated his mantra in his head like a lifeline: This isn’t about me. It’s about honesty—for Ace.

Marco inhaled deeply. He was prepared. He had his answer - what he wanted. He wanted to close the distance between them, not in one sweeping move but slowly, with honesty and care.  

He hoped his words wouldn’t widen the fragile bridge between them but strengthen it over time. Marco could live with nights spent side by side in the quiet, as they once had, even if it was only ever platonic.  

Carefully, Marco picked up Ace’s clothes, searching for a place to set them down. His eyes roamed the room, but it seemed there was no spot safe from fire.  

"Oh, um — please. I’m sorry," Ace said, quickly snatching them from Marco’s fingers and tossing them carelessly behind him onto the bed.  

Marco’s gaze followed them into the crumpled heap, his fingers twitching from habit, aching to fold and organize them neatly.

One thing was certain: Ace’s sense of organization would’ve driven him mad had they dated.  

Without speaking, Marco sat down at the desk chair, finally daring to look at Ace. For the first time since watching him fold the blanket, Marco really took in the sight of him. Ace sat perched at the edge of his bed frame, looking almost frightened and visibly uncomfortable.  

The corners of Marco’s mouth tugged downward as his heart sank. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed impossible not to make Ace uncomfortable around him. Ace looked braced for impact, preparing for a difficult conversation. His unease was palpable. Marco’s chest tightened at the memory of their last talk on the island — the night of the pineapple head. The night of the sick woods - Ace plea. Marco swallowed hard and closed his eyes, reminding himself: It’s of no use to Ace if you spiral into self-hatred now.

He couldn’t help wondering what was going through Ace’s mind. Was he worried Marco was about to critique his leadership style or division management? Did he fear Marco harbored resentment because of his father? Or was it something else entirely, some worry Marco couldn’t begin to imagine because their distance had left so much left to learn about Ace?  

Ace’s hands were rubbing up and down his thighs, a nervous motion that caught Marco’s attention. When their gazes locked, Ace broke the silence again.  

"So… it’s that kind of conversation, hm?" Ace said, his voice light but uncertain. "The kind where you have to sit all the way at my desk chair and take big breaths." 

Marco didn’t respond right away, and Ace’s lips twitched with nervous energy.  

"Did I do something wrong?" Ace asked after a beat, his voice quieter now, tinged with hesitation.  

Marco shook his head immediately. Finally — a question he could answer without fear of misstep. "You’re doing amazing." 

Ace blinked, clearly taken aback. His cheeks, which had momentarily retreated to a pale strawberry hue in his anxious anticipation, deepened back to a full cherry red. Marco’s chest ached at how utterly endearing he looked in that moment. 

Another time and he might’ve used his chance to shower Ace in praise, without need of exaggeration. Ace succeded all of their expectations as a commander - and Marco’s as a human being.

He realized how quiet he’d been since asking Ace for a talk. First he asked and then left the poor man to converse with himself. 

Clearing his throat, Marco finally began: "Ace… like you’ve already guessed, I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry you had to be the one to bring it up. I should’ve told you. I’m even more sorry you noticed — however expecting otherwise was insulting to your intelligence."  

Surprise flashed across Ace face. Even in the dim candlelight, Marco could see the way the flames reflected, dancing in Ace’s pupils. His wide lips curved into a small, hesitant smile, as if he wanted to say something to deflect.  

Damn, Marco thought, this atmosphere is too romantic. The soft candlelight flickering against the walls, the shadows playing across Ace’s freckled face — it was almost too perfect, as though Ace had unknowingly set the stage for this moment. 

Another silent nod of gratitude to himself for choosing Ace’s room. The lighting alone would have undone him. In his room, what options would he have had? The bedside lamp would feel too intimate, candles downright ridiculous — sending the wrong message, as if he were expecting something. And the harsh glare of the deck light? That would cast the whole thing in the unflattering drama of an interrogation scene.

He cleared his throat again, trying to ground himself. "Do you remember our talks? From before you joined the crew, and the months after?"  

"Yes," Ace face lit up with a bright, genuine smile, the kind that made Marco think of the stars scattered across his cheeks, disguised as freckles. "I… really miss those." 

Pang. There it was again — that heavy, suffocating feeling tightening around Marco’s heart. He wished, more than anything, that they could return to them. 

"And… I know it must’ve been weird how I just cut you off," Marco began, his voice thinned by guilt, "after everything."  

The corners of Ace’s mouth twitched downward for the briefest of moments, the movement so quick that Marco might have missed it if he wasn’t watching so closely.  

"I’m here to finally tell you why. I’m sorry it took me so long. I know it’s a lame excuse, and I don’t expect you to consider it, but…" He looked down at his hands, knotted together like they were trying to be each other’s lifeline. Too back they were both attached to his body. "It’s not easy for me." 

He needed a short break, his tongue felt knotted. "I’m not telling you this because I expect anything. I just… I want you to stop looking for a mistake on your end. There isn’t one. This is a me-problem."  

Marco forced a shaky breath, his fingers loosening slightly as he made himself look Ace in the eye.

"Wow, I sound really cheap. You must excuse that I talk forever not saying much."

 Those grey eyes had always been an anchor for him, but now they felt like an ocean — vast and unyielding. 

"I know my feelings for you have grown into something… inappropriate." He winced at his own words. "I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, so I chose not to tell you. Especially when in the early stages it was just attraction and- You don’t actually need to know, do you?" 

Forcefully he unclasped his hands.  

"T-this hasn’t happened to me in a long time," he admitted. “I thought I could just wait it out. I’m a fool." He tried a lopsided grin. "But it only got worse. And I was reminded of why I’ve been so afraid of liking someone in the first place. I… I started projecting that fear onto our friendship. And I didn’t know how to deal with it." His voice broke slightly, but he pushed through. "Eventually, I realized that there’s nothing I can do except accept the way I feel for you. I just hope you don’t see me in a bad light because of it."  

Ace still hadn’t moved nor reacted, and he noticed how still Ace sat, perched on the edge of the bed like a statue carved from tension. Like he’d frozen onto the linen and wood.

"I know how much trust you put into me as a person. Hell knows how much pride I took in it, too. I was aware that liking you this much yet keeping quiet, was akin to betrayal."

 Marco swallowed hard. Froozen Ace stared, was the polar opposite of who he knew Ace to be.  

"It’s because you’re such a… wonderful person," Marco continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. "Every time I spend time with you, it never seems to be enough. Every story you tell, I never want it to end. Every time I sit next to you it could be on needles and even without phoenix powers I couldn’t care…," he suddenly stopped. Startled himself by his own words. He hadn’t ment to confess with emphazis. "And after I admitted my feelings to myself, every time you opened up to me, it just made me feel worse — because I was keeping this from you when you made yourself so vulnerable.”  

Marco’s voice trembled as he forced the words out. "You trusted me. You made me feel… safe. And I was hiding this from you the whole time."  

He paused, gathering himself. It felt like he’d just let a dam burst, and now he was wading through the flood of his own emotions. He’d loved to look up and see how Ace would react to that. Telling him he was safe, felt more impactful, more romantic than saying the words “I like you” out loud. 

"I love our talks," he said finally. "I’ve never had the desire to invite anyone in like that before. To let someone see the version of me that isn’t… strong or collected. But you allow me to feel soft, since I’m safe. And I want to thank you for that." 

Now that he’d started singing praises, Marco had to hold back, or he’d never stop. He’d thank him for his compassion, for the quiet warmth he radiated, for the way he made every room feel a little safer. For his soft black curls, and for every word that left his mouth.

"You don’t owe me anything, Ace. I just needed to say this. I’m sorry for how I handled things. Sorry for everything. I should’ve done better. I should’ve…" He trailed off, exhaling heavily. "I think that’s all. You can… you can say something now, if you want."  

Ace didn’t.  

Marco, hesitant and unsure, glanced up at him. Ace’s expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed somewhere to Marco’s left, it pierced into the legs of his desk.  
 
"Or not. That’s totally fine. I can just… go and…" Marco trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "Um, I didn’t think about what to do after telling you, to be completely transparent here."

Ace’s eyes darted from the desk leg to Marco’s face. The sudden shift pinned Marco in place, as he felt Ace’s gaze trailing all over his skin — his forehead, cheeks, chin, mouth. Marco was sure his face was alight in red heat wherever Ace’s eyes lingered.

He decided he preferred it when Ace had been staring at the desk leg. That had, at least, left room for an escape plan. Now? He was stuck. Ace’s attention felt too tangible, too present, anchoring him in the chair.

Lacking a better option, Marco attempted a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry?"

Ace’s expression didn’t change at first. Slowly, like he was piecing together a puzzle, Ace stood. Marco felt an urge to do the same — to stand, to match him — but his legs betrayed him. They were worse than pudding — like the structural integrity of his bones had been replaced with waterlogged jelly.  

Great. Now he was the one frozen in place on a piece of wood, staring up at Ace as if rooted by some unseen force. Meanwhile, Ace’s frown deepened as though he were sifting through memories, recollecting all the signs he might have missed.  

Marco squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the storm of self-consciousness roaring through his chest. He couldn’t bear the thought of Ace feeling cornered — or worse, realizing just how close they’d gotten without knowing what Marco had been hiding.  

His thoughts flickered, unbidden, to the last time they’d been alone together in a bedroom.  

The inauguration party. Marco’s arms around the small of Ace’s waist. The startling realization that even Firefist Ace was just a human being. Fragile in his own way. Just a soul in body composed of the same bones, flesh and blood. 

As vulnerable as anyone.  

He snapped out of it when Ace suddenly lifted his head, staring at Marco like he just realized that he was still sitting there.  

Like he’d fallen asleep and found Marco in his room, was an unexpected visitor, very unbelonging.  

Marco knew his cheeks were flushed terribly, his pupils likely wide with feelings, looking guilty. And he cursed his himself for not leaving the room when he’d had the chance. For his legs now seemed utterly useless at carrying him away.  

And then Ace moved. He took a few deliberate steps toward Marco, stopping just short of him.  

Marco instinctively leaned back, giving Ace as much space as he could. He cursed himself again — what happened to leaving immediately, Marco? 

Ace stood there, frowning down at him. The intensity in his gaze was unreadable. It made Marco feel small, like a kid awaiting scolding from a disappointed parent.  

Even worse, Marco realized it was too late to stand now. If he did, if he did it would be flushed against Ace’s chest, invading his personal space. Close enough to get burned by Ace heat. Close enough for Ace to feel his heart, hammering wildly against his ribs like it was part of some revolutionary uprising against the restrictions of bone and sense.  

Marco realized he was at the mercy of whatever Ace was going to say or do.

Both of them stilled. Ace’s gaze darted toward the wall to Marco’s right, fixing on one of the many notes scattered there, as if it held answers to unspoken questions. 

Marco didn’t dare breathe, though his lungs screamed for it. Would Ace reach forward to show him something? 

Ace’s eyes fastened back on Marco — intense, piercing in a way they’d never been before. 

And again, without any warning sign of what was coming, Ace stood over him and slowly, deliberately, sank down onto Marco’s lap.  

Marco could only watch in disbelief as Ace moved closer, his face lowering to Marco’s level, until there was barely a book’s length of space between them.  

Ace straddled him effortlessly, placing his legs on either side of Marco’s thighs before he could comprehend. Though he sat on near Marco’s knees, his presence felt impossibly close. And yet, Marco barely felt his weight, as if his body wanted to pretend against this.  

Marco blinked, wanting to pinch himself. His first instinct was to protest, but his body betrayed him, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, defeated by the same curse that had claimed his legs earlier. 

Ace didn’t seem similarly afflicted. His arms moved with precision, rising to rest on Marco’s shoulders. His fingertips brushed the back of Marco’s neck, framing him like they might close the space entirely. His head tilted slightly to one side, a gesture so casual and so Ace that Marco couldn’t help but think of the crows nest. 

The day Marco had nealry lost control over his feelings, when he picked the leaf out of Ace hair. They’d been in a smiliar position.

That memory felt distant now. And yet, his heart raced just as wildly. That day it had been Marco with the arms on Ace shoulders and he knew that he could stop himself. Today he felt at mercy of Ace with no idea where he wanted to go.

Ace studied him with skeptical eyes, his brow furrowing slightly as if weighing something. Then one of Ace’s hands left Marco’s shoulder. Every motion felt slow, deliberate, and Marco followed it closely, his attention utterly captivated. The complete opposite of Ace that day, when he’d let Marco treat his wound, trying to play it cool. Marco couldn’t, not even if he’d wanted to.  

Ace’s palm hovered in the air between them for a moment before it landed lightly on Marco’s chest, right on top of the tattoo.  

"So… how fast does your heart beat?" Ace whispered.  

Marco swallowed hard.  

He wasn’t sure what Ace was doing. He wasn’t even sure if Ace fully understood what Marco had confessed.  

Marco thought he’d made himself clear. Hadn’t he told Ace he wanted to kiss him? And not platonically. 

But he was also unsure if he really wanted to protest this, at it seemed no difference between loving Ace up close or from afar. Both hurt in their own ways, both creating this terrible want. 

It hit him. Love. He’d thought it. 

Ace reached for one of Marco’s hands — fingers that had been limp and forgotten by their owner — his palm wrapping around Marco’s wrist. Warm touch guiding him through the charged air between them. Marco followed as if in a trance, unable to resist, until Ace placed Marco’s hand on his own bare chest.  

Marco nearly gasped. His fingers were greeted by heat, almost burning, almost smoldering. Way hotter than Marco had imagined and way hotter than he remembered. But his skin was also buttery soft beneath Marco’s hand. He could touch it all, feel it all, burning softness and every tiny shift of muscle beneath the surface, every ripple and resistance.  

Ace heart was racing, going as fast as Marco’s.

For a moment, Marco thought it had to be his own pulse he felt. But lifting his thumb, confirmed the opposite. Ace’s unsteady heartbeat thudded beneath his palm, just as wild, just as hard.  

Marco tried to touch Ace with care, deliberately, his fingers brushing lightly against the heat of Ace’s chest. He didn’t dare let his mind wander, afraid that if he lost focus, the rest of his body might betray him.  

He drew a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, hoping Ace wouldn’t hear the strain in it.  

And he cursed Ace, just a little. Affecting him so badly, all by sitting close, wearing so little, touching so chaste. Did he have to create an atmosphere so thick with tension that Marco felt like he might choke on it? Did Ace know what he was doing? 

Did he still know what he was doing? Because Marco felt he had lost himself to wanting this. He could easily do one thing wrong and break this tender moment. Just the fact he feared this moment could end, was enough to confirm his worst fears. He was fucked.

"Does this feel like a beating heart to you?" Ace whispered.  

His gaze locked with Marco’s, dark eyes searching, probing. It was as if he was asking Marco to understand something, to see beyond what he was saying.  

Marco tried for a joke, his voice shaky. "Would be pretty bad if not, right?"  

The attempt did nothing to ease the tension. Not at all.  

If anything, it broke whatever fragile spell had kept the last of Marco grounded. The staring, the heat, the closeness, fingers on naked skiin — it all hit him at once, a tidal wave of sensation and realization. 

With one sentence. Thud. Marco became acutely aware of Ace’s fingers still pressing lightly into his chest. Of his own fingers barely grazing Ace’s impossibly warm skin. Of Ace leaning in, closer and closer, so close, his face hovered just above Marco’s. The wooden backrest of the chair dug carrying half of his weight, uncomfortably hitting right under Marco’s shoulder blades. He had barely noticed. Until now. 

It was as if his body had just caught up to the situation. His brain speed-dialed his heart to inform it: This is not your average elevated heart rate moment. No, this moment worhty of battle mode heartbeats.  

Ace was sitting in his lap.  

On him.

He had draped his legs over Marco’s lap, his knees brushing the sides of the chair. His weight, though light, was grounding, impossible to ignore.  

"Does this feel like a beating heart to you?" Ace asked again, his voice low and deliberate, his eyes still holding a message Marco couldn’t grasp.  

Marco felt dizzy. His heart was pounding like it was on the verge of exploding. He swore he could feel both their heartbeats, thudding in tandem, indistinguishable from one another. 

Was Ace trying to teach him something? To make a point about feelings and heartbeats? Whatever it was, it wasn’t helping Marco feel any less sure.  

Every inch Ace leaned closer, Marco was more certain of his feelings.  

Like he’d heard his thoughts, Ace came closer, his face inches from Marco’s, and Marco’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. It wasn’t a warning - that even with both heart and brain trying so hard - he couldn’t….  

"Marco," Ace said his name perfectly. 

Soft.

Fond.

Marco winced, biting his tongue to keep him from begging Ace to say it again. He never wanted his name said any other way. Exactly like Ace did, it was perfect.

"Why would my heart beat like that?" Ace asked, his voice cutting through the thick haze in Marco’s mind.  

Marco gulped nervously, words escaping him entirely.  

What was Ace trying to say? Was he proving something? Trying to make Marco understand why this moment — this proximity — was significant? Saying that fast heartrates were normal if you sat on each other? What next? Fast heartrates were normal if you had sex with each other? 

"I am not a doctor," Marco muttered, his voice strained.  

A lie.  

"Well, not for someone literally made of fire, at least."  

Ace laughed softly, his warm breath brushing against Marco’s lips. His forehead was so close it might as well have been touching Marco’s.  

"I’m not a doctor for anyone," Ace replied, impossibly calm.

True.

"Especially not for ancient zoan birds… for that matter. " He smirked.  

Marco couldn’t help but hang on every word. Ace’s voice was whispering secrets, like a campfire tale shared late at night, when every pause and inflection mattered.  

"But I do know one thing," Ace continued. Was his tone taking on a teasing edge?  

Marco’s breath caught as he waited for Ace to deliver his verdict, his pulse hammering with anticipation.  

"I’m pretty sure what they say about bird brains is true."  

Ace chuckled lightly, his smile playful yet tinged with something unreadable. In his eyes Marco caught one emotion he could easily read - Ace was amused.  

"It’s the only explanation as to why, a smart and capable man as you, Marco, could be so completely oblivious to what I’m doing right now.”  

The words hit Marco like a wave, each one sinking in with slow, deliberate intent. Ace spoke each word pointedly, as if he feared Marco would miss them otherwise.

Very smart.

He would’ve.  

Marco blinked, his mouth opening slightly as Ace’s fingers moved lightly over his chest, trailing warmth in their wake.  

Ace face was impossibly close, and Marco found his gaze locked on the corners of Ace’s lips. They curled into a playful, knowing smile, sending his thoughts into a tailspin.  

Marco was a dumb fool, who knew nothing. Just one thing: Whatever it was Ace as doing - he wasn’t prepared for it. 

Then Ace whispered the next words like they were a secret meant only for Marco. His name said so perfectly soft again that his heartbeat reacted with praise. 

Ace could get him to agree to a lot of things as long as he mad use of it.  

"Can I?" he asked. 

Marco blinked again.

His brain had just completely emptied itself.

Because it if wasn’t fucking with Marco, Ace had said:  

"I want to kiss you, Marco."  

Chapter Text

Marco’s confession was this quiet, vulnerable admission of feelings. It hung in the air between them, feeling far too heavy for words alone. Ace almost felt bad for him — Marco, usually so composed, clearly expected shock, disbelief and rejection. But if Marco wanted to be vulnerable, Ace refused to let him strip down alone.

Before he even thought it through, Ace climbed onto Marco’s lap, his knees bracketing Marco’s thighs. If Marco wanted to bare his soul like this, raw and uncertain, then Ace would meet him there.

And it wasn’t just Marco’s words — his entire body gave him away. The tremor in his fingers where they pressed against Ace’s chest, the pleading softness in his blue eyes, the faint furrow of his brows like he was bracing for something he didn’t know how to face.

Ace felt his own heart pounding, hammering against his ribs like it wanted to be heard, louder and faster than he could ever remember. 

Marco’s palm was still pressed against Ace’s bare skin, his touch warm and wide, like he was trying to anchor himself.

Yet for all his effort, Marco looked lost, like he couldn’t believe any of what happened, his lips slightly parted as though he’d forgotten what words were. 

Ace leaned in just enough to catch his gaze fully, his voice low as he teased, "Does this feel like a beating heart to you?" 

His thumb brushed lightly over Marco’s tattooed chest.

Marco gulped, the movement of his Adam’s apple stark in the dim light. "Would be pretty bad if not, right?"

His voice was unsteady, the cracks betraying his usual calm.

Ace couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. He secretly loved every moment of this. 

"Marco," he murmured, savoring the sound of his name, "why would my heart beat like that?"

Marco mumbled something nonsensical about not being a doctor for fire and Ace decided to put him out of his misery. For Marco was clearly incapable of piecing it together himself, even if the answer was staring him right in the face. Marco wasn’t stupid just too reluctant to believe, to trust what was right in front of him. 

And there was certain thrill to it, seeing Marco like this: disarmed, unsure, unraveled in a way  he’d never seen him before. There was a spark of satisfaction, knowing that it was Ace who could do such a thing to him.

Why in hell’s name are so cute, Marco.

Leaning closer, their foreheads nearly brushing, Ace lowered his voice to a warm, intimate murmur. "I want to kiss you, Marco."

Marco had taken on statue form before, but now he froze entirely, his breath hitched in his chest. Ace could almost see the wheels turning in his head the push and pull of disbelief and hope tangling together. 

"Can I?" Ace asked, softer this time.

When Marco finally looked at him, his eyes were stripped bare of the careful walls Ace had come to know.

And he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he surprised Ace by closing the distance between them in a single breath. Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss - more a brush than a true kiss, hesitant and shy, as though Marco feared misstepping.

But Ace wasn’t shy. Not here, not with Marco. He tilted his head, carefully lowering his lips on Marco’s, both their mouths already soft and open, awaiting the kiss.

Marco’s lips were beyond soft, so warm and smooth it felt like he’d kissed them for hours already, in sync, as if they knew’d rehearsed a choreography. Marco’s lips parted slightly, and Ace caught his bottom lip, tugging lightly before letting it go. 

All he could think about was how he never wanted to break away or do anything else than kiss Marco. Kiss Marco, and hear Marco say his name, maybe listen to his voice as he drifted off to sleep. 

The concept of time was lost on Ace, he had no idea how long they’d kissed each other, despite trying to savor every moment. Focusing on nothing but Marco, doing just that, felt like it transported Ace to another dimension.

His tongue flicked against Marco’s lips, all without his doing, as if his body was deciding on its own. Yet Marco responded without hesitation, opening to him and Ace heart leaped at the way Marco reacted to him, so willing, so trusting. 

His tense muscles had melted beneath Ace’s body the longer their kiss continued. His hands were attentativ, his heartrate quick, but even then he retained this quiet steadiness that made Ace feel grounded whenever he was in his presence. 

It was intoxicating. Possibly the perfect proof Ace needed to confirm a rising suspicions of trust kink.

Their tongues brushed briefly before retreating, a fleeting but electrifying contact.

Marco let out the faintest sound — a soft, involuntary hum — and a jolt of heat shoot through Ace, as if Marco’s voice had permeated through skin and traveled down to Ace’s very core.

His own breath hitched and Ace allowed for it to spill into their kiss. Exhaling into Marco’s opened mouth, so clearly aroused, broke a certain spell that had kept them in check. The careful rhythm they had built together shattered into something more urgent. 

A moment too glossamar, destroyed by one sharp inhale. 

With a small groan, Marco’s hands slid up Ace’s sides, firm but controlled. Ace threw his head back, rolling his hips forward in an unmistakable movement, that was sending a rush of heat down his own spine. Marco’s heartbeat quickened to a race under Ace’s fingertips, and for a fleeting moment, Ace thought they might lose control entirely.

Ace pulled back just enough to look at him, his hand leaving Marco’s chest to trail upward. 

Marco’s eyes tracked the movement as if he wouldn’t want to miss a second of it, until Ace’s hand disappeared from his view, brushing against his neck. Ace thumb traced along Marco’s Adam’s apple, lingering at the hollow of his throat.

Marco didn’t move. His gaze was pinned on Ace’s face. Despite looking somewhat hypnothized, his posture was open and still, his surrender complete. It wasn’t submission but that trust that sent another unanticapted thrill through Ace. 

This wasn’t much like the Marco Ace knew. Calm yet closed off - that was Marco’s thing. But right now… Marco was a deliberate show of trust. 

He was irresistible.

Smiling, Ace pressed his body against Marco’s their lips caught in a kiss that exploded with a hunger that wound tight around Ace’s chest. Marco’s hands found Ace’s legs, fingers brushing the backs of his knees before moving up, cupping his thighs and pulling him closer with light, but insistent pressure.

Ace was all too willing to follow the suggestion, eagerly shifting higher on Marco’s lap. A small, breathy sound escaped him — a whimper more than a moan — and heat rushed to his face. It was the most embarrasing sound he’d ever uttered - not that Marco seemed to share the sentiment. His expression melted into something so tender it made Ace’s heart ache.

Marco pulled back just slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips as he pressed another sweet kiss to Ace’s mouth.

Ace grinned, resting his forehead against Marco’s. Realizing that they had managed to practically assume a half-lying position on his desk chair. Which was an admirable accomplishement. 

"I knew it," he said, his voice light but full of relief. "I knew you liked me."

Marco groaned, letting his head fall back behind the chair. "Of course you did."

Ace laughed softly, sliding his hands to frame Marco’s face and coaxing him back into another kiss. His whole body felt alive, every nerve thrumming with the need to feel him more. 

Their kisses deepened, grew messier, their breaths mingling, coming in shorter as they pressed together closer and closer. Not leaving room for any thought.

Again, Ace was losing attention to sensation. Was caught up in thinking about absoluetly nothing, not even how much he enjoyed this. Half a second between each kiss, when their lips parted until they met again: he didn’t want this to end  - ever.

He had no idea, how much time had passed, but when his brain checked in again, it was because Marco had shifted beneath him. Instinctively, Ace slid higher on his lap. High enough to feel how hard Marco was, high enough that Marco could feel how hard Ace was. The sensation pooled heat low - low - in his stomach. 

Restraint was slipping through Ace’s fingers, every ounce of composure pressed out of his body at once, giving way to that need that simmered below the surface.

Apparently it had the opposite effect on Marco. His hands came to Ace’s chest and applying a gentle but firm pressure, he cleared some distance between their chests.

"Ace," he said, his voice breathless but surprisingly steady.

Ace knew he loved the way Marco said his name, while also aware, that he would still hate whatever message Marco was about to attach to it.

"We can’t," Marco said, his gaze soft but resolute. "You’ve had alcohol."

"And so did you." Ace tilted his head, his grin mischievous. He had tasted it from Marco’s tongue. "Though I could use another kiss to double-check…"

"That’s another argument to stop here," Marco replied with a chuckle, his hand once again, carefully pushing Ace away. A faint, slightly pained smile had taken control of his lips.

"So we’re too drunk to continue kissing but not too drunk for confessions?" Ace raised a brow, leaning back slightly as if to make space for Marco’s logic to unfold.

Marco groaned, the sound low and pained. "I just needed a little help to tell you…"

"Exactly! This is entirely on you," Ace shot back, packing his playful accusation with all the mock outrage accompanied by an ear-to-ear grin. "You’re unbelievable, Marco."

Unbeliveably cute, even when you reject me.

Despite his teasing, Ace stood up, wanting to grant Marco all the space he could need right now. He still shook his head dramatically, feigning exasperation. "I can’t believe you. May I remind you: this was your poorly crafted plan!"

Marco huffed and his exaggerated exhale sent a strand of hair flying from his face. "I couldn’t have predicted we’d end up like this."

Ace imitated the huff with theatrical flair. "I can’t believe you didn’t see this coming."

Marco just shrugged in a helpless gesture. His thoughts seemed to wander elsewhere.

"I think I need to change my stance on pineapples. Cute? They’re the dumb kind of fruit." 

Marco gave a weak smile. "Well, in a pineapple’s defense, they only have to taste good."

Marco seemed to be catching up less on the words they exchanged currently and more on the reality of what had just happened. His cheeks blooming a vivid pink.

As if he could be any cuter. 

Ace felt a flicker of heat crawl up his own neck. His breath became just a tad bit heavier to draw and he exhaled a shaky breath. Marco was right. Holy fuck, they had just kissed. They had just touched. They had almost- 

Ace mentally slammed the brakes. Enough, he’d set his thoughts on fire trying to go through the events in this heated atmosphere. Instead he allowed his grin to grow even wider. "Getting shy now?" he teased, his voice dipping lower, softer. Teasing Marco was an opportunity he couldn’t let slide.

"Just a little," Marco admitted freely, his voice quieter, the usual calm overtaken by a rare, vulnerable shyness.

Ace flopped onto his bed, taking a few steadying breaths while facing the ceiling. The same wooden blanks as always. With a completely different dynamic beneath it, one in which Marco had confessed feelings for Ace. One in which the next thing they’d do was to talk about the big question. What now?

Ace couldn’t lie to himself. He was nervous.

He sat up, patting the spot next to him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "If I’m no longer allowed on your lap, I fear you’ll have to come to my bed after all."

Still a little breathless, they settled side by side on the bed. Ace felt like his whole body was vibrating with energy, Marco’s presence amplifying every beat of his racing heart. Knowing that Marco liked him — really liked him — was almost too much.

He let out a long, slow exhale, trying to steady himself. Maybe Marco had a point. This was already overwhelming in the best way possible. Adding anything more, adding sex, tonight might just send Ace over the edge. God, how bad Ace wanted to test his theory. How bad he wanted to add sex to this. 

Marco looked like he was similarily fighting for composure. He was a bit hunched, his hands resting on his knees, fingers fidgeting as though searching for stability.

He’d just sat down next to Ace, breathing in and opening his mouth to say something, when a knock on the cabin door sent Ace on his feet. A bit annoyed, but also a bit relieved at the distraction Ace flung the door open to find Thatch standing there.

"Ace! There you are," Thatch said, peering past him into the room. "Oh, sorry. Were you sleeping already... in those shorts? Doesn’t look too comfortable."

Right it was still early, when he and Marco had disappeared from the party. 

Ace grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe, unable to resist the urge. 

"I usually sleep naked," he replied, loud enough for Marco to overhear. He would’ve paid good money for a devil fruit that would’ve allowed him to grow a second set of eyes at the back of his head, just to see his reaction.

"But I must’ve fallen asleep like that," he added a heart renching yawn, "Actually, the first time in months I’ve felt knocked out so well…" 

Wink-wink.

Thatch’s expression perfectly encapsulated what Ace was aiming for. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, it seemed he’d completely forgotten about the reason of his visit. "Oh, don’t let me keep you. Sleep well, Ace." 

When Thatch made a move to hug him, Ace reacted within the blink of an eye, hugging him into the hallway. He must’ve grown super senses, or something. But Ace knew, if Thatch saw Marco on Ace’s bed right now, it would be game over.

After a brief, awkward exchange, Thatch left, and Ace slipped back into the room, leaning against the closed door.

"You usually sleep naked?" Marco inquired with a raised brow. 

Ace shrugged, nonchalantly, while flopping back onto his bed. "Saying that always has the desired effect."
 
The silence returned around them. It was awkward. There was no denying it.

Ace cleared his throat first, his usual confidence faltering under Marco’s quiet gaze. "So,… Marco? You do want to kiss me again, right?"

Marco blinked as though pulled from deep thought. "Very much so."

Relief flooded through Ace, and he grinned. "Good. Because I wasn’t sure if you were regretting it already."

Marco sighed, grinning excusingly, as his hands reached out for Ace. "Not regretting. Just... thinking."

"Uh-oh." Ace smirked, carefully moving closer to sit in front of Marco. "Thinking sounds dangerous."

Marco huffed out a small laugh, as he got a hold of one of Ace’s hands. He took it into his possession as if he was really happy to see it. "I want to repeat this as often as possible." 

He lowered his head, pressing a warm kiss on the soft skin between Ace thumb and index finger. It was sweet. Barely lifting his mouth he dragged it in wet kisses upwards Ace finger. And it was no longer sweet. When he took Ace finger in his mouth they both drew a heavy breath and Marco quickly pulled back, muttering a small apology under his breath. He looked guinely surprised by his own actions.

Ace just sat there, fully perplexed himself, hand still mid-air. That naked sleeping remark might’ve worked better than intended.

Marco cleared his throat, visibly trying to recompose. "But, um, I see we agree that it’s best to leave Thatch and Izou out of it for now?"

What a change of subject. But Ace wasn’t going to torment Marco, so he just let it slide and did him the favor to play along.

Groaning, he threw his head back. "Oh, absolutely. If they find out, everyone finds out. I’ve never told 1,600 people about my love life before."

"Good for you," Marco deadpanned, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

For another moment, silence took them back in. It wasn’t heavy anymore, but it wasn’t exactly light either. Ace could sense Marco building up to something, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"You’re holding something back," he attested, more calmly than he felt.

Marco sighed and reached for Ace’s hands, this time, lacing their fingers together. But for a moment Ace had to think back to the finger kissing. 

Marco’s eyes met Ace’s with a mix of trepidation and resolve. "That’s how I should’ve told you about my feelings, huh?"

Ace smiled faintly. "Maybe. I wouldn’t have minded if you’d let me figure it out by showing yourself, though."

As they both cracked a smile, Ace already felt a bit better. 

"I feel like I wasted so much time talking earlier. There’s so much more you need to know, Ace. It’s not fair to keep it from you."

Ace tilted his head. "Like the fact that you like me? I’m pretty sure I got the memo."

Marco huffed a quiet laugh. "That part, yes. But there’s more."

"You really didn’t prepare for this outcome - me liking you, huh?"

Marco grinned faintly, shaking his head. "I really didn’t, Ace."

Ace chest tightened a bit. "Have you decided whether to be happy or scared yet?"

Marco didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled Ace gently onto his lap, their faces inches apart. "Happy. Very happy. And mildly scared."

"What are you scared of?" Ace whispered, pressing his forehead against Marco’s.

Marco’s hands rested on Ace’s hips, his thumbs brushing soothing circles against his sides. "Scared of how much you’ll mess with my feelings. Scared of the way I feel every time you come back from a mission looking like you’ve been through hell. Scared of how I’ll handle waiting for you, not knowing… how you’ll come back."

Ace’s breath caught. He hadn’t realized that his recklessness weighed on him so much. "There’s an explanation for that…"

"I’m sure there is," Marco said quietly. "And I hope we can talk about it. I just feel like I have a lot of making up to do."

Ace leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "You could start right now."

Marco smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I owe you an explanation, Ace. For everything. The way I avoided you, the way I handled this..."

Ace tilted his head. "Handled this? You mean the weeks of stone-cold silence, followed by confessing your feelings out of the blue?"

Marco winced, his expression caught between amusement and guilt. "Exactly."

"Well, I’m not mad about how it ended." Ace grinned, but his teasing softened when he noticed the way Marco’s shoulders tensed. He reached out, resting both hands on them, soothing over and brushing down his arms. "Hey. You can tell me. I want to know."

"I thought keeping my distance was the safest thing to do — for both of us. But you didn’t seem too keen and I cleary don’t want to myself."

"I’m sorry," Marco added, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the way I handled this. For making you feel like I didn’t care."

"You know what?" Ace said lightheartedly. "I think you’re overestimating how mad I could stay at someone who kisses me like that."

Marco huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

"I’ve closed myself off from love for years," Marco admitted, his tone measured. "Izou tried everything to change that - as you can imagine - but I didn’t think I could care for someone like this. Not after…"

Marco hesitated, his gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. "I was a fool, Ace. I thought I could protect everyone close to me, that I’d never lose anyone. But I was wrong."

Ace didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t. Instead, he slid his hands up Marco’s shoulders, grounding him as Marco continued, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

"I fear losing control. Especially over other people’s mortalities. I was convinced that there was no way for me to handle a romantic relationship again."

He looked into Ace eyes. "I just want you to have the full picture. But I wouldn’t… I kissed you because I promised myself not to hurt you, Ace. I’ll have to reconsider that belief."

Ace smiled. "I know. You made me reconsider some of my long-standing beliefs as well."

They had ended the night after Ace hands ran down Marco’s shoulders and Marco’s hands ran up Ace thighs. Both broke the kiss at the same time to stare at each other with matching expressiongs of longing and restraint.

"Ace…," Marco had started, his voice hoarse.
 
"I didn’t think it would be this hard." Ace said with no shame about the double-meaning in his words.

…

Ace sighed, sinking deeper into his chair, as if to hide from her. Knowing fully well, that Dr. Maya’s caring gaze burned deeper into his soul as if she’d shot him a harsh look.

Unintentionally scary, that’s what she was. All that emotional wisdom. 

Dr. Maya and he had figured out, that Ace’s greatest problem was Ace. Dr. Maya furiously refuted that claim whenever Ace brought it up, but he didn’t believe in dressing it up in prettier words, when this was the truth of the matter. 

"You need to stop thinking about yourself as your own greatest enemy, Ace."

He chuckled. "You’re telling me to undo a lifetime of self-blaming, Doc."

During their first therapy session, Ace had still tried to pick up a guard, slouching down in her chair like a misbehaved teenager, acting in ways he’d long outgrown. It was embarrassing to think back to, but Dr. Maya hadn’t asked him to for nothing.

Ace remembered how she just watched him with calm curiosity, and how bad it had messed with him, that she was so perfectly relaxed, when he felt the opposite way.

He’d since learned, that that was normal for therapy sessions.

Dr. Maya didn’t pressure him and that only made Ace fidget more. The silence between them left too much room for all the thoughts he usually drowned out with action.

Finally, she tiled her head, her smile faint and warm. "What’s on your mind, Ace?"

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "That’s a loaded question."

To his surprise, Dr. Maya chuckled softly. "That’s why I asked it."

Baffled, he stared at her. He hadn’t known it was allowed to giggle during therapy.

"Let’s start smaller. How are you feeling today?" She was back to her professional tone, sounding honestly intrigued. 

Ace didn’t like that much attention on his feelings. He shrugged, darting his eyes towards the window, where ceiling-high, half-transparent curtains blocked the outside view. But they didn’t prevent the warm sunlight from filtering into the room and paint long quaders on the floor. One of which reached to Ace’s feet.

"I’m fine." The lie escaped him before he could do something about it. He winced immediatly. "Actually… no. I’m not fine. I keep saying that without meaning it, because I don’t want to be a burden. I feel that I just… keep going, you know?"

"I do," she said gently. 

Baffeling him yet again. The sincerity in her tone threw him. How could she know? She hadn’t spent a single session in his thoughts yet.

"What’s fueling these feelings? What makes you feel you can’t stop? Not even for a moment to acknowledge how you’re really feeling?"

Ouch! Was therapy supposed to hurt like that? Ace took a deep breath.

"A… a lot of things. I don’t even know where to start," he tried to evade her looks. Maybe she could read it from his mind, given how hard she’d just hit that first nail on that head. "I… have never been seen through so fast."

His admission earned him a genuine smile. "Oh, I am far from seeing through you, Ace. All I do is make an educated guess. Which I have to do more often when people are still warming up to the idea of talking with me."

He nodded, feeling better with the knowledge it wasn’t just him, who struggled with it.

"Let’s start with what brought you here today, then," she prompted. "What made you decide to come see me?"

"Marco," Ace admitted without hesitation. "I… I’m going to just state it flat out, okay?" 

He took a deep breath. 

"I developed feelings for him. That’s not really a problem… I mean he’s avoiding me, so I can’t make it a problem. It’s… he’s just my excuse to finally do something, I guess. I have known about my struggles all my life. I think… I’m depressed. And maybe other stuff, too."

He glanced down, his thumbs brushing anxiously against each other. "I’m scared I already did something to hurt Marco, and I don’t even know what. I’m totally oblivious, like always. I need you to help me figure this out. Help me stop hurting people. I can’t control it."

Dr. Maya opened her mouth, then closed it thoughtfully, her brow furrowing slightly. Ace shifted under her gaze, nerves prickling under his skin.

"What do you feel you’re not in control over, Ace?" she asked finally. "Your actions? Your feelings? Or something else?"

Ace shrugged, his voice smaller than before. "I don’t know. Hurting others. I’ve… made mistakes that cost lives. People trusted me and then… - they are all dead. I selfishly accepted that this crew likes me. But I don’t want to mess it up again. And I think Marco’s withdrawal really made me realize how scared I am of… myself."

Dr. Maya leaned forwards in her seat. "It seems Marco’s actions caused you a lot of pain, too."

Ace stiffened, eyes widening. "No, he just-"

"Caused old wounds to re-open?"

Hot damn. Ace was sweating. An almost foreign sensation for someone who was fire.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the fear of losing Marco has connected you to past pain. Loss, guilt, regret." Her tone was calm but firm. "But can you be certain that Marco’s avoidance was in response to something you did?"

"I don’t see another explanation." His fingers tangeled in his lap.

Dr. Maya hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair. "We can go through every interaction you’ve had with Marco if you’d like. But I have a feeling you won’t be able to pinpoint what you think you did wrong."

Great, was she telling him, that she couldn’t help with that?

“Sometimes we assume responsibility because it’s easier than facing the unknown. I’m not saying you didn’t make mistakes in the past, Ace. Or in the present. But you’re blaming yourself, because you seem to think that you have to. Not because you have evidence.”

He opened his mouth to disagree, but he couldn’t. There was a lump in his throat, blocking the way.

"Tell me if you think I’m wrong. You should always be honest with me. But I believe you are blinded by your beliefs about yourself. You assume you’re a bad person because, deep down, you already believe that about yourself."

She didn’t even wait until she hit him with the final argument. "Do you believe that Marco’s actions are meant to punish you? Or does his avoidance perhaps have less to do with you, than you want to believe?"

So in conclusion, Dr. Maya wasn’t a witch, but her ability to uncover layers in Ace, he’d never noticed, was suspiciously efficent.

"So, I gather that this new development with Marco scares you?"

She was the one exception to their promise of secrecy, that Ace had made. He needed to. 

Right now, he was euphoric and wanted nothing but to dive headfirst into this emerging relationship. When that was not the responsible thing to do. And Ace wanted to be responsible with Marco’s feelings.

He gulped. "I… don’t think so?"

Dr. Maya smiled. "You know, Ace, you’re the fastest adapting patient I have ever had."

He tried a small probing smile in return. That was a compliment, wasn’t it? "So I’m a good patient?"

Dr. Maya laughed. "You’re not getting graded here."

"Good," Ace quipped, smirking. "But if I were, I’d be the ace of the class, right?"

They both laughed together. Because, as Ace had learnt, it was indeed allowed to laugh in therapy.

"You have done an incredible job, pulling my head out of that sea of self-pity," he admitted. "And those old fears."

Dr. Maya nodded. "I’m glad, you see it that way." But she didn’t fall for Ace’s flattery. "If you’re not scared by your feelings. Are you scared that Marco might retreat again?"

Ace blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. "No. But now that you mention it, it is starting to scare me, Doc."

She chuckled at his tone, easily catching that he was teasing her. Ace liked that a lot about her. She knew how to hit the right tones. Switching between light-hearted and professional in moments if needed.

"I think," he admitted after a pause, "I’m still mainly scared of myself."

Dr. Maya nodded. "I see. You’re worried about hurting Marco?"

"And to worry him." Ace combed through his hair, exhaling heavily, with sagging shoulders. "Maybe we’re not a great match. You know with how my missions usually go and then Marco’s biggest fear is losing someone. He’s not dumb. He knows, I would rather lose my own life than someone under my command."

Dr. Maya nodded again. She made a quick note. Then she looked at him, as if she expected him to continue. 

"Um… I was finished."

She set aside her writing, to lean forward in her chair, folding her tattooed hands. "Ace, do you feel responsible for Marco’s emotions?"

Ace hesitated. "I mean… isn’t that inevitable?"

"Yes," she said carefully. "Partially responsible, is what both of you are. But you need to define clear boundaries, Ace. Marco is an adult. Who’s in therapy, too. He’ll handle his own emotions. You can’t do that for him and you can’t shelter him either. Your job is to communicate. And trust him to take care of himself, to make his own decision whether or not we can handle being in love with you."

Ace blinked. What a strange idea. 

"There need to be boundaries to your responsibility, or you’re at risk of overstepping."

He’d never thought about it like that. The idea of hurting Marco unintentionally, while trying to protect him, made him wince. Great, Dr. Maya was planting a whole new world of worries today. No wonder Marco was so good with that, he’d seen her longer. Was this Ace fate?

"I don’t feel like I’ve been super careful…," he muttered, thinking back to how in response to Marco’s confession he’d left the poor man hanging - and had sat in his lap and… 

"I almost impulsively slept with him. Right then and there," he admitted with heated cheeks. He wasn’t embarassaed to discuss sex with Dr. Maya, rather his own impulsiveness.

"But you didn’t," Dr. Maya reminded him.

"Because Marco stopped it."

"Sounds like the boundary-setting works," Dr. Maya attested. "And you agree in hindsight that was the better impulse?"

Ace nodded. No matter how much he’d wanted to add sex to their dynamic, it would’ve been too much for both of them.

Dr. Maya tilted her head to one side, then the other. Oh no. Ace knew, that meant she was gearing up for the real questions, ready to peel him open.

"Why do you think, you wanted to sleep with Marco, in what you yourself in hindsight describe as impulsive and not the best decision-making?"

Ace shrugged, his arms crossing over his chest. "I mean… have you seen Marco?" 

Dr. Maya didn’t really react. The smile that played on her lips just gained an edge of amusement. "Attraction then?"

Ace sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to play a guessing game to which she seemed to have long found the answers. "What do you think?"

Dr. Maya leaned back, like she often did when presenting Ace with a theory, as if she wanted to give him all the space to consider it and not feel attacked. "Considering everything… I believe that you might have been scared."

"Scared?" Ace frowned. "Of what?"

"Of the emotional commitment that’s attached to kissing a man who’s confessed his feelings for you. Feelings that you reciprocate. Maybe you wanted to hurry into physicalities because you like to jump to action impulsivly to conceal your worries. That’s a pattern I noticed in you, using action to avoid sitting with emotions."

She was definitely right about that, but… "Isn’t that counter-intuitive? If I’m scared of emotional stuff, why would I jump into something even more intimate?"

Dr. Maya shook her head. "Not neccessarily. Not when you think of it as a defense mechanism."

She let that sink in for a moment before she continued. “You told me you were pretty sure, that Marco likes you. Yet… even with that certainty, you never tried anything. For months.”

Ace frowned. Now that she mentioned it, it was out of character for someone who was as impulsive as he.

"And when he started avoiding you, you doubted a lot of things, but not so much that Marco felt something for you. But suddenly, you were ready to confess it to him, even if you think it was out of spite. And then you also explained to me in detail how fine it would be for you, if the two of you stay platonic friends… almost as if that thought relieved you a little."

Ace was baffeled. This was kinda unfair, wasn’t it? Using information from other sessions to get the greater picture on him. How audacious! “You’re pulling receipts on me now?” 

He sank deep into his chair, feeling reminded of their first session. He knew when he wanted to curl into himself, Dr. Maya had poked a sore spot.

"So… I’m trying to sabotage this?"

Dr. Maya looked at him wide-eyed. "Ace you are here right now, I don’t think that…" she trailed off, then smiled at him warmly. "Look, this is not about sabotage, but fear. Fear that Marco might change his mind. Fear that if you give him your vulnerabilities he might still in the end decide against you. Fear that he’d decide against you because of your fears. Those are pretty normal worries."

Ace tried to nod along. Oh god, was he not ready for this? "So I don’t have to… end this, do I?" He asked with an undertone that made him wince. 

"Why should you?"

"I’m here… Isn’t that a bad sign? I just don’t want to hurt Marco."

"And that should be your proof," Dr. Maya said gently. "You’re here because you care a lot. It’s not a sign of unreadiness, but of responsibility. It’s the mature thing to do."

Ace gave her a lopsided grin. "Meaning it’s something we’d both expect Marco do to."

Dr. Maya didn’t really answer him, but her grin was enough.

"Ace, you know our end goal, is that you are being less harsh on yourself. And I will remind you of it, even after we reach that point."

Ace swallowed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyesockets. This was the kind of comment that could make him cry in an instant. This feeling — this rush of relief when someone reminded him he wasn’t a bad person — it was almost unbearable. 

Talking to Pops had a similar effect on him. Pops, who like Dr. Maya knew everything about Ace, but they both accepted him, both saw him as a kind person. Both still trusted him, or at least Pops, did, Dr. Maya didn’t really have to rely on him more than anyone else from crew.

"I think…” began hesitantly, voice muffled behind his hands. “That I’m really scared to tell Marco. He’s gonna worry himself sick, isn’t he?"

Dr. Maya tilted her head slightly, her silence prompting him to continue.

"You know, the thing about me wanting to end my own life, when we met."

Chapter Text

Since they’d agreed to keep their budding relationship under wraps, their time together was frustratingly limited. Crew had picked up a new favorite pastime - limbo night - which resulted in countless injuries. No matter their combined efforts, the crew proved capable of injuring themselves.

And that meant, mismatched schedule. Which made Ace ache for Marco. Public moments were all they had, forcing them to act normal when every fiber of Ace’s being wanted to steal looks, touches, and kisses.

He had to make do with the little things - Marco’s hand on the low of his back, guiding him through the crowded deck… He’d hastily withdrawn them, when their father approached, as if burned.

Even if those were just a few stolen minutes here and there, it was all worth it.

Today, however, he was running late.

And run there he did. 

By the time he jogged into the mess hall, most of the crew was wrapping up their meals. Scanning the room, his spirits lifted when he spotted Marco and Izou still seated at a table near the back. 

The spot on the bench next to Marco was blessedly empty.

Ace coudln’t afford wasting precious time by getting in line. Instead, he stopped by the nearest table of half-asleep crewmates and gestured at their trays. “You done? I’ll take these to the trash for you!”

Three tired groans signaled their approval.

As he made his way over, Ace balanced 3 plates until all leftovers accumulated on one, he slammed his plate down and slid into the open spot.

"Good morning!"

Izou massaged his temples. "Louder, please. Your screaming hasn’t made my hangover implode quite yet."

Ace grinned. "Don’t tell me you were at limbo night?" He reached over, plucking a strawberry off Marco’s tray.

Marco was staring at him, groggy expression, before mumbling a distracted "Morning." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and Ace seized the moment to snag a pancake and a sip of his coffee.

The conversation around him — Izou recounting the chaos of limbo night — faded into the background. Sitting next to him, Ace couldn’t look directly at Marco but the proximity had its perks. Ace made a point of shifting in his seat often, brushing against Marco just enough to feel the spark of connection, while offering the occasional "Really?" and "Oh god no". As if he paid attention to anything besides Marco’s good looks.
 
When Thatch joined them, Ace seized the opportunity to lean in closer to Marco, lowering his voice to a murmur meant for only him.

"I’m not here for the food you know," he whispered, his grin positively devilish as his hand slid under the table, coming to rest on Marco’s thigh. "But I saw something on the menu that peaked my interest."

Marco froze, his eyes snapping to Ace in warning.

Ace’s fingers traced idle circles on the bare skin of his thigh where Marco’s shorts had ridden up. A strange thrill coiled in his chest, he knew he was pushing it. And yet he couldn’t help it. 

Maybe he could blame exhaustion, maybe Marco not pulling away either. A small, irrational part of Ace wanted to test how far Marco would let this go, before he’d snap back into caution.

His fingers twitched against the table, his breath barely audible as his lips parted — no doubt to plead with Ace to stop. 

But instead of shoving Ace’s hand away, Marco exhaled slowly and - just for a moment - pressed his thigh into Ace’s touch. His gaze flicked onto him, unreadable, and Ace felt his own heartbeat spike.

W-was Marco indulging his antics?

That was new.

Then someone’s hand landed on his back with a loud smack. 

Thatch startled them both. "You’re so quiet today, Ace. What’re you scheming?"

Ace forced a sheepish grin as Thatch leaned closer, inspecting the sad remnants of leftovers Ace had stolen from the other table.

"And what is that?" Thatch gestured at the tray, scandalized. "No, no! That’s inexcusable. I’ll fix this."

Before Ace could protest, Thatch whisked away the sorry tray, promising to return with a proper breakfast. His stomach growled loudly, that traitor.

But Ace decided to make use of the situation to retreat his hand, leaning in with intention to whisper something cocky, how easy it was to rile Marco up - but Marco was still looking at him. Not flustered, not scolding - it was that look Ace couldn’t read.

A knowing expression, something warm. Something that heated Ace’s cheeks.

The only good thing about night shifts was, that for some reason Ace found it a lot easier to pass out on his bed during the day. Something about the light flitering through the window, the familiar footsteps, the background hum of life - made him feel safe.

Nights were too dead to sleep in peace.

Still, no amount of daylight napping compared to a good night’s sleep. Not that Ace was ever blessed in that regard. 

He dragged his heavy-feeling body in sluggish movements across deck, woken up the grumble of his stomach, that signaled it had to be well past lunchtime.

He quickly noticed he wasn’t the only one running on fumes. For all its sunshine, these waters were deceptive. Bright calm days were followed up by raging sea nights that felt like there was a personal vendetta against their ship. Sleep had become luxury.

Including for Marco.

Ace’s heart skipped as he spotted him standing nearby, deep in conversation with Taji. 

His feet stirred him forward before he could think twice, his arm already halfway up in greeting, when he hesitated. Was he too eager?

"Ace?"

"Hey, Taji!" Ace called, pushing his usual grin as he approached. "That new toupee really brings out your eyes."

Helping Taji pick out a new one was the least he could’ve done after he’d burned the old one. It was an accident. Looking at Taji, honestly, Ace had done him a favor. 

"Thanks, Ace. You were right about the cut, too."

Ace waved it off like it was nothing. Damn well knowing, he’d saved the man from looking like a walking coconut. One fruit-inspired hairstyle was enough for this crew, Ace mused, his eyes drifting back to Marco. 

His hair was growing out, less of a pineapple crown and mure ruffled bird’s nest. Ace almost missed the sillyness of it. Good service toning down some of Marco’s hotness - for the tiniest teeniest bit. 

"Ah," Ace said, flashing Marco a crooked grin as if he’d just noticed him. "I’ve got some pressing Commander Business to discuss with you, Mr. First."

Marco’s expression succeeded in perfect neutrality. Playing it off so well that Ace almost got offended.

They slipped into the shadows of an inexplicable banana pile. Ace barely refrained from reaching out immediately, waiting instead for Marco to scan the area. 

When he leaned in his breath was warm against Ace’s ear. "I feel like I’m losing my mind not being able to touch you."

Ace’s pulse quickened. Not entertaining the thought of thinking, Ace caught Marco’s hand, pressing it flat against his own chest. 

"See what you do to me," he whispered, his voice dripping with mischief.

A callback to the night of confession and wide-eyed, nervous gulps. Although Marco today, looked like a completely different person. His fingers flexed deliberately against Ace’s chest, pressing down as if he was claiming the space Ace had given him. 

The fingertips of his other hand ghosted over Ace’s jaw, tilting his chin up just slightly. His palm still rested against Ace’s chest, holding him there.

He wasn’t leading this, Ace realized. 

Marco’s lips hovered just above his own, close enough that Ace could feel the whisper of breath exchanged between them. Close enough that if anyone was going to close the distance it would have to be Marco-

"You two planning mutiny over there?" Haruta stood there, with 3 bananas in each hand, eyes squinting with suspicion.

Ace’s stomach pretzeled itself in a flurry of panic, before he realized that from where Haruta was standing he couldn’t have seen or heard anything suspicious.

Marco turned around, face expressionless, a banana in hand, as if that’s all he’d been after.

"Wanna join our little Commander Meeting? We were just discussing who to sacrifice to Jozu’s couple ceramics class. We were going to draw between the two of us, but since you’re here now, we’d squeeze you in."

Haruta paled, looking like he wanted to throw the bananas and bolt. "No thanks." 

The lie hurried him off without another word, and Ace bit back a laugh. 

With a heavy sigh they left the shadows around the banana piles, that no longer provided them with a private, romantic sancuatry.

Maybe it was for the better, before they could do something stupid and stumble into a pile, that would send yellow fruit flying across the ship.

Before they could part ways Ace reached out, catching the hem of Marco’s shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin beneath. 

Marco’s gaze flickered down, then back up at Ace with purpose. Making Ace feel as if he’d done something far more intimate beneath the lingering touch. He’d expected a half-hearted attempt to swat him away, wide-eyed and flustered. 

But Marco instead curled his fingers around his wrist, grounding Ace’s touch. And he stepped closer.

Ace stomach twisted back into the pretzel.

"You’re so patient," he murmured, soothing over the dryness in his throat. His tone landed on teasing but was backed by real admiration. "It’s infuriating."

He wasn’t lying. Marco’s reactions did something to him. Like a mirror Marco reflected all of his teasing back on Ace himself, while looking barely affected himself.

Ace withdrew his fingers, expecting Marco to let him go first. But he didn’t. 

Marco’s grip slipped from his wrist almost reluctantly and then - he followed the loss with a step forward, into Ace’s space. Like it was natural. "Are you making it a mission to test me?"

He barely caught himself to respond within an acceptable timeframe. "Gotta find pleasure somewhere if fate keeps us apart."

Marco smirked knowingly. "Keep pushing, Ace. See how far that gets you."

…

At some point, they’d decided to start writing each other if they couldn’t talk daily. To Ace it was a strange new habit. Even though his room was covered in his inner motions, he struggeled pressing his thoughts on paper if that meant Marco would read it. Writing allowed for far too much overthinking..

The king of overthinking reported back with the opposite effect. Writing to Marco felt easierl almost effortless.  And the more Ace read his replies, the calmer he felt. The less he fed the anxiety, the smaller its speaking portions.

Oddly enough the letters connected him to Marco, as if he was sitting next to Ace. They were grounding like their late-night talks. He could imagine his soft whisper in the written lines, some laced with shyness, a tone that Ace was still adapting to. The first Commander wasn’t one to whisper shyly, not around crew.

As Ace wrote, he found himself guessing which passages would make Marco snort, roll his eyes or smile that small, content smile - the one that flushed Ace’s cheeks pink. Nothing flashy, just a soft little smile full of quiet emotions - and yet it felt so good to receive. 

Ace couldn’t imagine handling that look in public. When Marco looked at him like that he was at risk of igniting into a wildfire.

Their letters covered everything - except their feeling outright. With a nosy crew like theirs, the sanctitiy of mail wasn’t a given.

I want to provide you all the security, Ace. I won’t take lightly how much trust you’ve placed in me. Know I’ll spend as long as you let me making repairing the damage I caused. I know you’ll always treat me with kindness.

It had become Marco’s favorite way of confessing — to remind Ace of his kindness, how safe he made him feel. It was perfect, carried more weight than anything else and squeezes his heart in the right way.

But it left Ace with the lingering sadness, that he knew no way to repay the favor.

Ace had never written letters, but now that he’d started, the new habit gave him an idea. Swallowing the immense guilt that had held him back for a year, he sat down and started writing to his brothers.

As it turned out, he had a lot to say. Two hours later and 20 messy pages of disorganized thoughts later, Ace realized he had enough material to keep the letters coming for months.

It was overdue. But he also knew he had to be subtle or he’d summon both of them in worried flurries. 

Neither Luffy nor Sabo had heard of him in over a year. That had been intentional. Ace just didn’t have it in him to say goodbye. So he simply didn’t. Even if it was an asshole move. Now that he didn’t have to, he was glad he hadn’t tried. But it was still a coward’s move to play dead for so long. 

They’d probably heard by now - about his new crew, about the “Second Commander” thing. He should’ve invited them for his inaugration party, but he couldn’t as he feard their knowing looks of worry. He’d fallen into old patterns, the kind that could resurface any moment and blindside a certain pineapple-headed man.

But Ace wasn’t sure how to wrap this story in a way that Marco wouldn’t worry himself sick. Giving a worrier realy fodder was dangerous.

He decided to take it one step at a time.

I’ve been meaning to write you. I’ve wanted to see you. I am dying to meet you again.

The words felt like a promise, one that lit a spark of excitement. It was enough to summon Sabo, possibly Luffy if he got lucky thinking that day. But Ace promised himself to follow up it up with a proper invitation. He wanted to see them. Badly. 

With his head still half-stuck in ink and apologies, it caught Ace off-guard when a hand gently closed around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. It wasn’t the touch that startled him, but the certainty with which Marco’s thumb rubbed against his pulse, grounding.

And he realized that Marco had to have been looking at him ever since he’d entered the hallway. There was something intent in it his eyes,  as if he’d decided something Ace hadn’t caught up with yet. But he got no chance to decipher it before Marco moved.

He released Ace’s hand almost immediatly, stepping closer as if instinctive. Gone was his careful approach, throwing around glances. "Hey."

"Marco," Ace breathed, offering his wrist again, inviting the touch back.

To his surprise, Marco took him up on it, gently pinning both wrists against the wooden blanks of the hallway. Just lightly so, not with force, but with quiet claim. His gaze trailed from Ace’s hand holding the letters back to his face. "Is that for me?"

His voice was butter-soft.

Ace pulled the letter-bearing hand with free with ease - Marco wasn’t actually holding him back - and he felt almost disapointed that it went so easily. Marco was perfectly respectful and obedient, even when he was teasing Ace.

He let go, just like that and Ace hated how much he missed his touch. The cool sparkly sensation only Marco could illicite.

Fuck.

Ace swallowed the strange weight pulling his chest deciding to cover it with something playful.

"What? Have I already hit your patience-limit, Marco?"

It also hit Ace that moment, that he’d forgotten to write back. Absurd, given that once in Marco’s presence, Ace’s head cleared empty of all other thoughts. 

With his other wrist still caught Ace found himself wishing Marco would tighten his hold, that he’d hold the tension, according to the pull Ace felt between them. 

 "You shouldn’t let go so easily." Forcing himself back on familiar ground with a teasing tone, Ace freed his other hand with one deliberatly slow movement.

Marco’s eyes seized up and down his body, assessing. As if he waited for something. Ace wondered what he thought about, perhaps pressing the entirety of him into the wall? The thought of it restricted his breathing. 

But Marco didn’t. Approaching footsteps interfered with the plan, but to Ace surprise he was the one stepping away frist. Marco stayed a moment longer, before turning to leave. 

"I won’t."

…

It was Blenheim’s birthday party, celebrated in the late afternoon due to the stormy nights. For the first time in two weeks, it earned them more than a few fleeting minutes together.

Which was both agonizing and delightful.

Ace tried to keep his excitement in check, his leg bouncing under the table as he fought the urge to lean over and drown Marco in conversation. The tension between them felt thick enough to cut a piece out of and top it with whipped cream. 

"Candlelight makes everyone prettier, but that’s no excuse to turn your mouth into a flytrap, dear." 

Izou’s voice intruded on beautiful thoughts of a shared bed like a wet sock, and Ace whipped his head around to find him settling onto a pillow beside him.

Obedient, Ace snapped his mouth shut. Staring at Marco wasn’t a crime. "Uh… thanks for the heads-up."

"Someone had to stop you before the drooling started."

Ace laughed, earning an uncharacteristically surprised look from Izou.

"What’s going on?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "None of you have been bothering me with your emotional catastrophes lately. It’s unnerving."

Ace’s gaze dropped to his hands. He felt guilty for keeping Izou out of the lopp, and he feared he couldn’t pull of a convincing lie. "Marco explained why things got… weird between us. I guess I hit a nerve."

"Aaaaaand?" Izou’s tone was like a blade pressed lightly against his throat.

Ace adapted a wide-eyed air of perfect innocence. "And what?"

Izou bit his own lip, looking like he nearly spilled Marco’s secret. And Ace almost wanted him to. Just for a chance to discuss his inner turmoil. No emotional catastrophes? If only Izou knew.

 He snapped his mouth shut to stare Ace down like a wolf sniffing out prey. "What happened to sticking it to him? Telling him you like him?"

Ah, he was trying it this way. Smart.

Ace shrugged. "I couldn’t stay mad at him after he explained himself. I think… I just want things to go back to normal first."

Glancing at his brother, red and ready to explode, Ace fought the corners of his mouth from betraying his amusement. If he started grinning, there’d be no explaining it away.

Izou huffed in exasperation. "Sure, real platonic. That’s exactly how it’ll be if you keep undressing him with your eyes every time he looks away."

Ace froze mid-breath, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I—I have not!" The words sputtered out. Way too fast. Way too forceful.

Izou arched a brow. 

"Right," he said, tapping his fan against his chin. "That was a very normal reaction."

“Oh, I hope it’s consensual undressing,” the booming voice that echoed through the mark of Ace’s bones was proof that karma was alive and well. Not Pops!

His stomach was flip-floping, it had seen far too much action lately. Bravely, Ace took a gulp, smiling as if everything was fine. It had to be.

If he’d been warm before, now he was positively burning. His entire body flushed, glowing from neck to toes like a piece of charred coal. "N-nobody is undressing anyone!"

“With their eyes, maybe,” Izou muttered with a smirk.

Pops’ deep laugh rumbled as he crossed his arms, looking far too amused for Ace’s comfort. He forced a laugh himself, his hands restless, needing something to do-

No. 

Not this. 

Just because Ace was stupid enough, he stole a glance at Marco that very moment, Pop’s gaze following his. 

"Not that it’d make much of a difference around here. Half the crew doesn’t even bothers putting on clothes."

"Tell me about it," Izou waved his fan. "It’s like a dress-up game. You first have to cloth them up and that can take ages, finding the right pieces…"

Ace let out a nervous chuckle. Hell, what even was this conversation?!

"So, you were talking about…?"

"Thatch!" Ace blurted, before Izou could rope Pops into his love life.

Their father raised a brow. "I don’t see him around."

Izou didn’t miss a beat. "Why, Pops? You thinking of giving him a try yourself?"

The roar of laughter that followed gave Ace a blessed moment to recover. He forced a sheepish grin, chuckling along as his pulse slowly normalized. Thank fuck, this had to be the remark to kill the conversation.

Aparently this was what being in an open relationship did to people around here. Dirty jokes - with their father! Ace never wanted his relationship to become public if that was the destined future.

"Well," he said, rising a little too quickly, "I should check on the preparations for the night."

 He wasn’t lying, the horizon was already tinged with gold. Ace knew the transformation would be instant — with the last ray swallowed the sea would transform into a beast.

The waves were crazy, forceful enough to throw their ship around as if it were a mere surfboard. And it was no easy task to navigate a ship bigger than some islands as if it were one. 

The hallway was empty. 

A rare feat. The hustle and bustle of their sprawling family that Ace had loved so much, lately started to become an annoyance.

It was anything but private and- 

Oh.

Ace’s breath hitched. 

"Whoa there, hotshot," Thatch teased, steadying him with an extended hand. "You trying to knock me over, or are you just happy to see me?"

Ace was just happy Pops was not around to witness it, after that last conversation.

Marco was stepping next to Thatch and into his line of vision.

He looked like every stupid thing Ace had been trying not to think about. His lips. His hands. The way he was looking at Ace even now…

"Ace," he greeted, his voice calm, but Ace didn’t feel calm returning it. 

"Duty’s calling," he hurried to explain.

Directed at Thatch, he added the first excuse he could think of. "Oh, Thatch, by the way - Izou needs you."

"What for?"

Ace shrugged, his grin wide and mischievous. "Something about a demonstration for Pops."

Thatch furrowed his brows, but didn’t ask anything further. He started walking. Marco lingered.

This very the moment one of them had to come up with another excuse for him to stay back. But Ace mind was uncooperative. 

But Marco tore his eyes from him and followed after Thatch - that traitor!

Ace continued down the hallway, almost confused until he heard his footsteps running after him just a few moments later.

When Marco’s hand caught his wrist, Ace didn’t hestitate.

He spun on his heal, pressing Marco into the wall, lips hovering just inches from his.

"Hey."

Marco’s breath caught - not because of the impact. 

He looked fine, relaxed, but Ace had his fingers on Marco’s chest, he could feel his heartrate going a bit faster underneath, he could see his pupils blown just a bit wider. 

Footsteps. Then muffled voices. Not now.

"Ace, not here." 

Not when Marco finally reacted to him. Breathy and with cheeks dusted pink. Fuck, Ace liked seeing him like this. Liked him reacting.

The voices sounded clearer now. It was impossible to stop. Ace had to test it.

He pushed closer. Let his lips ghost over Marco’s. "Go on, First Commander," he whispered. "Kiss me."

The rational part of Ace’s brain told him to back off, that this was reckless and anyone rounding the corner would see him pressing Marco into the wall like a desperate idiot. 

Marco’s fingers curled into his sides, his gaze fixed on Ace’s mouth, head already tilted at the right angle. 

The voices were too close now. Ace registered the first words being spoken, they’d be in sight in a matter of seconds.

Shit, Marco. This game only worked because he usually didn’t get caught up. He was the responsible one. Leaning in wasn’t responsible.

Ace had enough time to think a quick fuckfuckfuck before Marco moved.

With a sigh, he broke free from Ace’s grip, before Ace understood he pivoted them, grabing Ace by the shoulder and turning them. With enough oblivion it would look as if they were in the middle of a serious work-related conversation. Marco’s mouth so close to Ace’s ear confirmed the unusally fast pace of his breath.

"Not here." He whispered again.

And just in time, for the voices from down the hall had reached them.

Without Ace noticing Marco had stepped in front of him, blokcing the hallway view with his body and shiedling Ace. 

The crewmembers hurried past them, quick hellos thrown against walls until they were out of sight. And Marco immediatly released him.

Before he realized it, Ace had turned to hurry off as well. Marco’s stuttering breath, that dangerous scene barely broken in time to save them - Marco had looked lke he might have given in! For some reason it freaked Ace out.

The rhythm of the sea echoed faintly in the dim light, shadows danced along the wooden walls, flickering as the lanterns swayed gently overhead. Ace’s boots tapped softly against the planks, making his way to the crow’s nest. 

Volunteering for the shift had been a strategic move, a chance for privacy. The sharp breathless moments, the unbearable tension, Ace felt like he and Marco were one spark away from eventually setting the whole ship ablaze.

He was still turning over Marco’s whispered “not here” in his mind, when the man himself appeared, rounding the corner. This time they were both alone.

Ace’s heart skipped a beat. Of course Marco had to look this good in the low light.
 
Feeling playful, Ace leaned against the wall, one hand propped on his hip. "What are the odds? Crossing paths again. You following me, First Commander?"

Marco’s lips twitched. "I could ask the same, Second Commander."

Ace pushed off the wall, stepping closer with a teasing grin. "Maybe fate just wants us in the same hallway tonight."

He reached out, deliberately slow, letting his fingers comb through a loose strand of Marco’s hair. "We really need to stop meeting like this," he murmured, his voice low. "Been meaning to tell you that."

Marco raised a brow, but his eyes had wandered over Ace’s shoulder, scanning the corridor behind him.

Ace sighed dramatically, his finger trailed down Marco’s chest. "You’re cute when you’re paranoid." His grin only growing as he stepped even closer, testing the space between them. He couldn’t help it — Marco’s reactions were addictive and he’d been frugal with them lately. 

Without a word in response, Marco placed his hand flat against Ace’s chest, the warmth of his palm spread instantly through Ace’s skin. But before he could process the gesture, Marco pushed forward.

Ace stumbled back under the pressure, his boots skidding slightly on the wooden planks as Marco guided him with clear, unhurried steps.

Ace barely had time to register the rush of heat pooling in his stomach before his back met the wall with a soft thud. The warmth feeling sunk deep into his chest.

Marco stepped into his space without faltering, his hand still pressing against Ace’s chest, pinning him gently but unmistakably in place.

The faint glow of the lantern light caught in his eyes, there was a sharp edge to his sweet look.

"You really don’t listen, do you?" he murmured, his voice pitched just above a whisper. 

Ace couldn’t resist the cocky. So that was what Marco wanted to play, huh? He pressed against Marco’s hold just slightly. "Wouldn’t be half as fun if I did."

Marco didn’t huff, didn’t smile back, his eyes were unshaken, set on Ace’s lips.

Ace breath stuttered despite himself. Wait-

Marco leaned in, his movements fluid as his nose brushed Ace’s cheek, the warmth of his breath against Ace’s ear. Ace tipped his head slightly, anticipation tightening in his chest, the proximity making his skin hum with electricity.

Marco’s voice was velvet-soft but firm, as he murmured, "Not here."

As he pulled back, his lips hovered maddeningly close before retreating just out of reach.

Ace groaned softly. This wasn’t just playful revenge. 

Marco was demonstrating something, making a point.

"Goodnight, Ace," he murmured, like Ace was the one who needed sending off to bed. He tilted his head, watching Ace’s reaction for a heartbeat longer.

Then, just like that, he turned on his heel and walked away, calmly. Not a glance back, not a single misplaced step.

Ace, meanwhile, was still pressed against the wall, blinking at the empty hallway like a fool.

What the fuck?

Ace let out a breathless huff, his hand pressing to his chest where Marco’s touch lingered like a brand. Shaking his head, he he ran the other hand through his hair, groaning.

"Smooth, Ace," he muttered to himself. His pulse still hammering.

Alright. Okay. So that just happened.

His lips tingled with the ghost of a kiss that never landed.

He groaned, throwing his head back against the wall. 

…

Ace only noticed Marco, when he was already right behind him. 

A hand curled around his wrist and before his mind could catch up, Marco spun him effortlessly.

The warm brush of knuckles over his cheek was featherlight. And so tender.

Marco’s gaze was nothing but soft. Too soft. It threatened to liquify Ace, melting him into Marco if he wasn’t careful.

The ship lurched, tilting with a heavy groan of the wood, and Marco stumbled into him. His other arm slipped around Ace’s waist, pulling him flush. 

Ace latched onto that distraction like a lifeline. "Well finally this ship is helping the matter." 

He threw his grin like a shield, hoping to allivate the pressure building in his chest. 

Marco chuckled. 

But he didn’t step back.

Still holding Ace.

And his mind tripped over itself, scrambling for the next move, the next excape, the next thing to say- 

Marco kissed him. 

Ace had been expecting it. He’d been waiting for it - finally! A moment to themselves.

The pads of Marco’s thumbs skimmed over Ace’s ribs, slow and unhurried. A soft drag against overheated skin. In a gesture that wasn’t meant to tease, but feel him. 

Ace leaned in, wanting more, deeper, closer- 

And yet, he felt like something was holding him back on a tight leash. 

And he didn’t understand why.

Marco hummed against his lips, sending a thrill of joy through Ace’s chest, at the sound. This was fine. Good. He was worrying over nothing.

"You’re lips are so soft," Marco mumbled in between kisses.

"You taste good," Ace replied. 

Marco laughed, leaning back. "I brought you dinner."

"You talking about yourself, or are you for real?"

"I would never joke with food around you - I don’t have a death wish."

Peng. 

Right, his secret. The guilt.

Contrasting with Marco’s grounding hands on his bare skin. 

The heat between them was impossible to ignore, dizzying.

All Ace wanted was to lean in, let Marco pull him into a deep kiss full of unspoken things, to melt into his soft embrace. He wanted to let himself feel this. 

So badly. 

So why in the hell, was it not working?

Ace shuddered without intent, earning another chuckle from Marco.

"Don’t tell me you’re cold?" 

His voice teased, but Marco’s fingers had already started threading into Ace’s hair, softly.

Ace shivered again, unable to stop reacting. This was not good. Similar to the hallway earlier today. Ace felt he was losing control subjected to Marco’s small gestures. Even without Marco trying to. 

"I might be if you offer to come closer and warm me," he grinned, with a fake-chattering of teeth. Joking was a safe option.

However even joking, opened the door for talking, for getting serious. But if Ace kissed Marco instead, he wasn’t sure if he could pull away before he lost control in that.

Marco smiled, pressing even closer.

Ace fingers clenched where they rested on the cooling sensation of his hips. 

A little too hard. 

He knew that. 

It registered in Marco’s face as well. 

Ace could feel his own warmth on his skin, seeping into Marco too easily. As if Ace was boarding him.

He needed a second, to breathe and to think-

The ship groaned again. Heavy, wood-shifting creaks.

Ace jumped.

Meanwhile Marco didn’t even blink. But his gaze flickered, gaining an amused tinge, the kind that revealed deeper adoration. A kind that clearly demonstrated he was aware, that Ace was acting silly and loving every second of it.

God, he was a mess.

Looking for an escape, his gaze searched for answers past Marco, and found the pitch-black sky. 

"Um, Marco. I do have a job here, and I think I should-"

Marco hummed like that was a cute suggestion, his lips on Ace’s neck. 

Ace knew he was insane to stop this.

Marco’s fingers grazed lower over the back pockets of his shorts. Who the hell would stop that? It asked superhuman strength. 

Ace sighed, arousal slipping into his voice before he realized it. 

"You’re distracting, Marco." It sounded half-pleading.

This relaxed new version of Marco simply tilted his head, studying Ace’s face with an openness that caused his heart to flip. Again reacting in ways Ace couldn’t predict.

This new Marco was impossibly cute, radiating infectious delight with every breath. 

And Ace felt envious. 

As if they’d traded roles. 

As if he’d become bewitched with the ‘Marco-Curse’ of overthinking and hesitation.

 Admittedly, Ace had been oddly nervous about this moment - their first time alone since the kiss!

About what Marco might say, about what he might feel.

Seeing him now, almost liberated, as if something inside of him had unraveled into this uninhibited, serene version of him… one whose touch seemed effortless and who brightened the mood with ease. 

Ace felt untethered.

To his own misfortune, Marco’s calm did not spread to him. Quite the opposite, his nerves grew worse with Marco’s certainty.

His voice snapped Ace back. 

"Okay, what do you want me to do for you?" His sweet gaze had taken a suggestive glint. 

Ace groaned, slumping just slightly against his hold. "Oh when you say it like that…"

Marco laughed, perfectly carefree. 

Ace ached with it.

Gone was the worry that had pulled on the corner’s of Marco’s lips. Lips that lingered on his for a quick, sweet kiss. "How I missed you."

A mass migration of butterflies, all set into motion at once. His stomach was shaken again.

Easy to impress, when it never had been.

Fuck. 

Marco’s words did something to him. The warmth of them settled inside his chest, his stomach, as if Marco had placed them there on purpose. 

Ace felt like he’d forgotten how that worked since gaining his fire powers. Gaining warmth outside of them.

Still, Marco wasn’t pressing. 

Instead, he offered a joke, as if he’d read Ace’s mind. 

Giving space.

Marco said and did these things as if they weren’t a big deal. But they were. 

Backed by big feelings. Ace could tell that.

"How can I help you?" Marco asked again, and this time, his tone was earnest. 

Ace hesitated. "Don’t," he said quietly. 

He shifted, allowing his eyes to flee for a second before forcing himself back into Marco’s gaze. 

"Just stay with me."

Marco smiled. And then, finally, he moved away. Hopped onto the desk, legs crossed, chin propped up on his elbow, creating a distance that did not feel alienating.

Ace should’ve felt relieved. 

But that lasted all of a second. 

Because now that Marco wasn’t touching him anymore, it was all Ace wanted. 

So Ace followed. 

Unable, maybe unwilling, to resist brushing his lips against Marco’s. 

"How the hell did we ever talk without this?"

Marco chuckled.

"How did we not touch each other constantly?" 

Ace’s hand trailed down Marco’s shoulder, across his bare chest. The contact sent his thoughts scattering. 

"Oh. That’s why. I forget what I want to say when I touch you."

Marco smiled, lifting Ace’s fingers to his mouth, kissing them. He was watching Ace, he was reacting, just in ways he’d not seen before, because he’d not been able to pay attention to anything but his screaming thoughts. 

Perhaps Marco was getting inevitable to escape. Even just staying close like now, felt raw. Open.

Marco hadn’t seemed too affected by anything Ace had done yet. Expect for now. This moment, when Ace had followed after him, seeking his touch. The way he was looking at him, Ace could’ve shivered again.

His lips looked so soft, warm and inviting. 

And they were, so sure, not just kissing him back.

Staying. 

Ace had spent the last years alone on the open seas, always leaving at the slightest attachments. Never had he considered himself to be in need of conversation. But in one exceptionally daring thought, he realized - maybe he hadn’t enjoyed anybody’s company as much as Marco’s. 

Maybe… ever?

And never in his life had he felt as shy as he did tonight. Except maybe the day he’d met Luffy. But by god, at 7 years-old he’d been better at hiding it. 29 and he was making a fool out of himself.

The world had gone quiet, even the ocean had pacified. Ace leaned into Marco’s chest. 

He sat between is legs, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns over his arms, that wrapped securily around his chest. 

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe impuslivity. But the words fell out of his mouth with little assistance. 

"I missed talking to you the most."

The admission was unpracticed. 

Ace deemed himself an expert in shameless flirting, but this kind of quiet honesty was new. He wasn’t sure he was doing it right.

Marco’s voice softened. For the first time this night he sounded a bit startled, almost as if Ace admission affected him worse than all the teasing. 

"Yeah?"

"Yes." Ace affirmed, because the dark gave him the confidence to. "You’re my favorite person to talk to."

"I missed talking to you the most too, Ace."

"Really?" His heartbeat seemed very invested in Marco’s answers. "Writing didn’t feel the same?"

Ace craned his neck in time to catch the flicker of surprise passing his face before Marco settled back into something knowing. Like he’d figured Ace out.

Marco looked as if he’d just taken a glance inside the deepest depths of Ace and his instincts demanded him to ruin it.

7 year-old Ace proposed being mean and calling Marco a “poo-poo”, which was stupid even for that age. 29 year-old Ace wanted to slide his hand where his lower back pressed against Marco’s lap, which was out of question.

It was his task to drown both poor proposals in more of what they feared most: Vulnerability. 

 "I was scared," he admitted. "Since you didn’t expect me to reciprocate your feelings… that you might not want us to lean into this."

Ace felt his insides twist, incredulous at his own actions. But he felt better, admits the heated cheeks and adrenalin rush. A little better.

Marco’s arms wound tighter around him, warm and grounding. Ace allowed himself relax into it. Just a little.

It was unfair, how Marco had become this steady thing -the same Marco who’d run, overthought, held back.  

Now, it was Ace who felt like he might come apart if he let himself feel too much at once.

Maybe Marco could tell, because his fingers traced slow, steady circles against Ace’s ribs. I’ve got you, the touch seemed to say.

Ace wanted to believe it.

Still, part of him feared he’d dragged Marco into his own impulsivity - and another part feared the opposite. 

That Marco was certain. 

That Marco wanted this. Wanted Ace.

"Not expecting you to reciprocate is one thing. But not hoping for it? Ace, that was impossible." 

Marco sighed.

"What worried me most before confessing wasn’t rejection. It was losing what we already had. I didn’t want you to second-guess every touch, every glance. I wanted to keep our ease."

Ace swallowed hard. His heart thundered backwards against Marco’s chest. Enough of an answer.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Ease.

"You shouldn’t have to worry about me, Ace. I know it took me too long and I hurt you. But before I went into our talk I thought about my reasons. Aside from assuring you how much you mean to me…"

A quiet pause.

"I wanted you back."

Right.

Their talks!

It dumbfounded Ace. 

He’d said it himself, he’d missed their talks. 

He’d been vulnerable with Marco from a very early start. He had never meant to, but something about him, was irrisitable, someone to belong to and be.

Marco’s voice had been his anchor. Many many nights. Low, quiet, a steady presence in the dark. He’d spent so many nights talking to it. 

It was safe. 

Dr. Maya had a point, when she’d suggested Ace had been hurt. Way more than he admitted. Allowed himself to feel. All his fear about Marco changing his mind - could it be? Was that projection?

Marco’s voice pulled him back. 

"I believed I could not have what my heart wanted. So I reasoned that if you’d be fine with it, I would rather talk to you with this sad pull, than not talk to you with this sad pull."

Ace exhaled sharply, staring ahead as Marco’s voice filled the space around them. He had fucking done this before. Countless times.

Marco continued. "I figured I was breaking my own heart. As long as you’d be my friend, nothing is broken, Ace."

As Marco inhaled, breathing in his scent, Ace had realized how deep he’d sunken into his arms, while he’d sunken into realization about himself.

His shoulders had relaxed, his heartbeat evened out. Still a bit tense, but not in the same way.

He could just stay. Listen.

"You don’t have to fear hurting me, if you ever decide you don’t like me this much. I want you to know that."

His grip tightened around Ace’s waist, as if he feared, Ace would make good on his offer right away. He could feel his throat close up. Was Marco real? If Marco ever changed his mind, it would break Ace’s heart. And he wouldn’t be able to benevolant about it.

That’s what this had been about. He was scared!

But… Marco, was still Marco. 

Doing terrible, scary, emotionally mature things, like trusting Ace with his feelings. 

Ace swallowed hard. "I thought about similar things - about a distance at which you’d feel comfortable, in case you didn’t want me this close," he mumbled, not ready to share his thoughts yet.

Not when it directly concerned Marco.

"I want you this close," Marco murmered. "And closer."

There were so many things Ace wanted to ask Marco, but the words seemed stuck, caught on invisible hooks in his throat.

Marco’s voice softened. "Ace…" 

It was like a magnet pulling Ace.

A pause. Then, carefully: "Do you want to know what exactly made me run away?"

Ace opened his mouth - ready to joke, deflect, find a way out. 

What was that advice on fears? 

Do it scared?

Ace opened his mouth. He was sure Dr. Maya had put it in gentler terms but in essence…

He nodded.

Marco let out a slow breath, drawing Ace against his chest. This time it felt like he was grounding himself through the hug. 

Something in the way he held Ace, was less intentional as well. It further helped Ace to calm. Maybe through all his calm, Ace had forgotten that Marco was a human, too. He’d felt like he had to put on an act, because Marco’s certainty was so unexpected. 

It almost felt unearned to Ace, as if he hadn’t done anything to gain his trust.

"So… I was 18 when I met Selecesti," Marco grimaced, Ace could hear it from his voice. The discomfort. "Tell me if, you know, you don’t want to hear about a past relationship…"

Relieved, Ace felt something inside of him unknot, ever so slightly. All hail hesitation.

"Please, go on," he urged softly. "You don’t really think I expect you to have no life prior to me?"

Marco giving Ace a part of himself, with no expectation in return? That, too, was familiar.

Ace had spent so many nights listening to Marco like this. Had leaned on him like this, in ways he hadn’t even registered before. He’d trusted Marco with some of the scariest parts of himself.

It had never scared him before. It didn’t have to now.

"Selecesti… she was… well, she was rival crew. There was some serious conflict between our crews… so naturally we crossed paths quiet a bit. I don’t know it was…"

"Hot?" Ace helped with a small smile. This time joking for Marco’s comfort, not his.

"Hm, yes, a little bit?" Marco’s entire body had tensed up, where his arms had feld like liquid winding around Ace perfectly and skintight, they now felt like long square objects, bendable only in gap-leaving ways. 

"Well, first, we caused a lot of troubles. For our crews and ourselves. Pops… was surprisingly calm about it, I think I felt worse about going behind his back than he did?" Marco sighed. 

Ace had a hard time imagining that. Young ruthless Marco - so young and so madly in love that he’d lied to and troubled their father.

"Selecesti… she…" Marco took a big breath in "one day she got wounded in battle. I… made it just in time to witness her death. I felt her skin run cold in my arms…" He shivered a bit, as he hurried the words out. 

Ace swallowed the sharp exhale he felt. Instead of forcing comforting words, he didn’t believe in, Ace opted to warming his body against Marco’s. Marco pressed his face into Ace’s hair. 

"Before that, I arrogantly assumed that I was forever freed from that pain named grief. That I had nothing to fear, no one to lose."

Ace knew that arrogance all to well. Knew the moment it shattered. 

He swallowed his own grief, staring up at the dawning sky. 

"My whole world came crashing down. I started my worrying habits. Clung to crew, slept in front of Pop’s room, tried everything to get a break from this pain. This despair was maybe worse than the pain itself. There was no thing in this world distracting enough, no moment funny enough, no place secure enough…" 

Ace nodded. A deep, unspoken understanding that he felt between them. They both knew, that Ace knew. Even if Marco had no idea, why. How.

"I don’t remember how I got better. I guess it had something to do with Dr. Maya joining our crew. And, clicheé ahoi, with time."

Ace exhaled slowly.

"I want to do everything in my power to keep you from ever feeling that way again," he whispered. 

And he meant it with all his heart.

But even as he said it, something coiled tight in his chest. Because he knew that promises like that weren’t real. That Marco knew that as well.

That’s how they’d both ended here.

Marco didn’t respond with words, but Ace could feel his heartrate evening out against his back. 

Ace pressed his lips together, swallowing down the other words, the ones he wasn’t ready to say: I just don’t know if I can protect you from me.

Chapter Text

-Ace-

When Ace returned to the library, he was soaked in seawater and a terrible mood. A towel from the commander showers had to assist the drying process as his powers were temporarily obstructed. It had been that kind of an evening for Ace, when all he’d wanted for the end of his day was to spend a few tranquil hours in the library… though perhaps not entirely tranquil.

For a moment he thought back to the situation right before the sea had interrupted their moment. His back pressed against a book shelf, Marco’s hands inching his shorts higher, teasingly… His own fingers beneath the collar of Marco’s shirt. Marco had looked so good. So damn good. 

Instead of getting more of that, Ace had spent the night with Sima. Sima was nice, but Ace wasn’t interested in her fingers, so there was little fault on her end, for his boundless dissapointment. 

What made the interaction so special, was that Ace had been able to enjoy it, without his head clocking in, remindimg him to be scared of his feelings.

The victory felt fragile. He’d managed earlier, but coming back here — where he’d almost let Marco touch him the way he wanted — was something else entirely. It had taken brainpower to parley with himself and he wasn’t sure he had enough left to win another round.
 
When he finally made it back to the library, Ace wore one of the outfits Izou had styled for them - the couple look, the one that was more library casual. He still wondered where the hell he was supposed to go in red leather pants and a sparkly top? Marco’s bed was not an option, because Izou could’ve not expected Ace to possess the patience to peel it off. It was fire, but too uncomfortable for most of their pirate life activities. 

Wearing a shirt for once felt odd enough. Even if it was a sheer touch of nothing that clung to his damp skin in multiple places. Ace had tried wearing the dress pants without it and quickly determined he looked even more ridiculous, than it felt to wear a shirt. Had it been up to him, he’d just returned naked, but he feared that that could cause some substantial rumors about the nature of his and Marco’s… friendship.

The library was quiet, the kind of silence that amplified the soft rustle of pages. Strolling between the tall shelves, Ace found Marco exactly where he expected: seated at his desk near the back, bathed in the warm glow of a lantern.

Technically it was just a desk, with no ownership. Realistically, it was Marco’s. He was basically after-work volunteering as their librarian.

Earlier Ace had surprised him. He’d been so lost in his own world of books, words and order, that Ace had to draw his attention with a low chuckle or Marco would’ve walked right past him. He was adorable.

Ace slowed his steps, deliberately squeaking across the floorboards once or twice to announce his presence. He could’ve sneaked up on Marco, but he didn’t want to startle him tonight, he wanted to continue where they’d left it off earlier. Quietly, he leaned over Marco’s shoulder, his mouth hovering just beside his ear.

 "What are you reading?" 

His wet hair fell forward in curling strands, brushing against Marco’s neck. He imagined that the dampness left a cooling sensation against cozy warm skin. It was rare for Ace to be the “colder” one.

Marco smiled warmly. Obviously he’d been expecting Ace back. "Nothing."

"Oh no, please." 

Ace swung his leg over the cushioned back of Marco’s armchair, perching on the backrest like it was a seating area. His bare feet dangled beside Marco’s arm, resting on the armrest. Marco’s eyes flicked up, a quiet flicker of surprise in them before it all melted into something fond.

Ace grinned to himself. Making Marco happy, was getting increasingly easier. Maybe he should’ve gone for the leather outfit after all - but then again, it would’ve taken forever to take off. 

"Don’t let me interrupt. Finish the chatper."

Not that Marco seemed parcticularily interested. His eyes weren’t on the book - they were on him. Ace could feel his gaze, tracing the places where the sheer fabric clung to his muscles, damp spots where it met his skin. 

Ace smirked to himself. Izou had been right. Of course, he had been. Izou knew Marco forever. 

And because Marco was still not reading, Ace leaned forward, letting his hand wander down the length of Marco’s arm. A featherlight touch, to test his reaction. Less bold, than Ace usually went about it.

Marco didn’t ignore it.

He held perfectly still, following along as Ace traced the line of his wrist, then his knuckles, his fingers ghosting over Marco’s own. Then as if entirely innocent, Ace followed the shape of Marco’s fingers right to the page he had been pretending to read, skimming his thumb over the liness Marco’s hand bad been resting on. 

"What’s that about?" he murmured, fully aware that he had Marco’s full attention. "Landscape descriptions?"

"Meadowland." Marco exhaled, like he’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe. "And yes, that’s… pretty much what it is about. A very quiet book. It would drive you insane."

Ace smiled.

Just like you. 

And because Marco was right and patience wasn’t his strong suit, Ace leaned in again. This time betraying his own words with a series of soft, fleeting kisses along the back of Marco’s neck. Another test. A tease. 

His lips ghosted over soft skin and Marco’s breath hitched, barely audible. But Ace felt it. Encouraged, he pressed the kisses in with more intent. Trailing higher until his tongue flicked along the edge of Marco’s ear slowly. Deliberatly.

Marco let out a low, involuntary sound and something deep inside Ace flared at the sound. Heat curled through him, one of those fire explosions. (Oddly similar to the feeling when Ace had first set his own guts on fire.)

No hestitation, no scrambling thoughts. Just want.

"What happened to finishing the chapter?" Marco murmured, voice so thick, the playful lilt cracked under the weight of breathlessness.

"I got bored." Ace grinned against his skin, utterly shameless.

It was thrilling and he was sure they both felt it, this euphoric sensation of ease and genuine enjoyment. The one, that Marco was radiating since Ace had kissed him.

Marco turned trying for a glare, but he was already smiling. Seeing that made Ace happy. It was as simple as that. 

"I’ll personally take care of your entertainment then." 

Ace barely registered the words. Because Marco’s eyes had lowered to his mouth.

It was all the invitation that Ace needed. 

He plucked the book from Marco’s hands, setting it face-down on the desk. And then, he kissed him.

This time it wasn’t fleeting. Much different than before. Slow and controlled, but barely so. Ace felt so high on tension, like if either of them pulled away too soon, he might snap.

But most importantly, this wasn’t cut short by nerves, panic and his instinct to hide. 

It was them, uninterrupted.

Marco exhaled through his nose, a quiet, pleased sound, his fingers threading through Ace’s damp hair, drawing him in without urgency.

And Ace felt himself unravel. 

There it was. The quick rush of panic crashing through him. But instead of fighting it off, Ace let it in. It burned through him with twice the dose of adrenaline, and he decided that it didn’t feel too bad.

The kiss deepened naturally, an easy slide of lips, warm and wanting. Marco’s were so perfectly soft. Like broken-in shoes, kissed-in lips. Slipping against his own, open and inviting.

The content sigh Marco let out only pulled Ace deeper into their moment. His hands skimmed up, resting at Ace’s hips in a way that wasn’t meant to hold him in place, but feel that he was there.

There was an intimacy to this kiss, that caught Ace off guard. They hadn’t kissed like this before. Both with the intensity of finally kissing the person they had wanted for far longer than either of them had been willing to admit. 

Ace felt it, in the way Marco sighed into the kiss, in the way he leaned into every touch like it was a relief, like it was home. 

And suddenly something in Ace ached with the realization that Marco had been waiting for this. Not the physical closeness, but all of it. The intimacy. Emotionally. Something that didn’t come from touching a bunch of bones and organs wrapped in a fleshy suit with one’s befingered limbs. 

Marco was holding him with so much intent and care, that it felt more vulnerable than any secret Ace could give.

And he didn’t pull away. 

Didn’t want to pull away.

Ace realized, belatedly, that Marco left him in full control of the situation. He could pull back, if he wanted. He could set the pace. Could stop.

Ace didn’t want to stop.

So he gave Marco more. 

Let himself be in the moment, feel the way Marco’s fingers dug into his skin, everywhere they dragged, not shy. Clearly wanting to feel Ace.

His own fingers curled around Marco’s neck, slipping in his hair, seeking warmth.

A warmth that Marco readily gave.

Ace was aware that it chipped away at the walls, that had built lively cities around him. Stone by stone. City by city. 

But it didn’t feel like losing anything, because Marco would heal whatever fell away. Would replace it with pieces of himself. 

He knew, Marco would readily give himself. 

His little acts of trust - the calm, the unwavering certainty, the way he’d given Ace space to freak out and pull some intimacy avoiding bullshit… His unguarded gaze, the way he was always ready for a talk, if Ace was… 

Those were all pieces of himself that Marco was giving, offered without hesitation.

Right now, Ace wanted all of them.

The intensity should have scared him. And it had. But the more he allowed it, the more he felt… safe. 

Their breaths had gotten so loud that hey teetered on the edge of moaning. 

"Marco?"

That wasn’t Ace voice. 

That was- 

Pops! 

The moment shattered into a million little pieces, as they scrambled apart like guilty teenagers. The warmth, the ease, the quiet shared surrender - all yanked back into place like a snapped rubber band. All his pieces returned to their owner - and Ace didn’t even want them!

Like a child he wanted to whine and stomp his feet at this injustice. Two gooseberrys in one evening!

He was losing the moment! One that had him feel ready to give parts of himself to Marco. Was that going to happen again anytime soon?

Ace barely made it onto his own feet before their father rounded the corner and he felt dizzy. The adrenaline surged through him as he straigtened his shirt and threw back the hair that clung to his face.

And not a moment too early, as Pops approached the desk. At which Marco, ever the old professional, had picked the book back up as though nothing had happened. But Ace noticed, the slight tremor in his fingers as he turned a page. 

All he wanted was the chance to ask into this raw moment, what Marco had felt. If he’d felt things at the same intensity. If he wasn’t afraid at all? Ace feared that he ironically might lose the guts to ask later.

"Ace," Pop’s voice carried that warm, affectionate tone Ace never quite knew how to handle. "I’ve never seen you here."

Why did everyone feel the need to rub that in? It wasn’t like Ace had ever met them at the library either. But now that he and Marco were in desperate need of a little privacy they all suddenly decided they were behind on their yearly book-read goals?

"And I’ve never seen you in a shirt." Pop’s gaze switched between the two of them. Ace all dressed up like he had wandered into the wrong event entirely, Marco shirtless. "And I have never seen you without one."

Marco shrugged casually. He was playing it off with a coolness that bordered on suspicious. Marco wasn’t that cool - and Ace would’ve like to point that out, but he opted for a warning look given their situation.

"Well, I just wanted to bring back some books and ask for recommendations. But, um, you go first, son."

It took Ace a moment to realize he was addressed. Especially since he’d mentally clogged out of the conversation to imagine what it would be like telling Pops… he’d never had a parent to introduce someone to. Technically… he didn’t now either. Pops knew Marco longer. If anyone introduced anyone it was… Pops who had set them up. 

"Oh? Me? Um, no, it’s fine. We were just talking a bit about…"

"Meadowlands," Marco interjected smoothly, with his voice a touch higher than usual. 

"Uh, yeah." 

They did not sound convincing. 

Not in the slightest. 

Ace tried a smile to help Pops over that obvious fact. "Lots of landscapes."

"Isn’t that the one about the same garden through the seasons?" 

"Yeah." Ace nodded, feeling the awkwardness of their interaction. It was like they were waving a bedazzled flag under a thousand spotlights, too reflective to ignore.

"I’ll go and look around by myself for a bit."

It was as if Pop’s didn’t want Ace to leave. Perhaps, because he was trying to find out what this weird energy was about. "Marco’s fantastic at recommending books. I think he’d know you well enough to pick something you like."

Ace didn’t hesitate, this was a rare chance to be honest and therefore act less cardbord. "Actually, he did already." 

He also couldn’t help the warm smile from growing on his lips, thinking about all the intent Marco had put behind those books. That he’d predicted with perfect precision which ones Ace would love, which ones would console him. That still made his heart ache in this weird way, he couldn’t quite place yet.

Probably fear, probably sadness. That Ace had missed out on that kind of care and feelings until now. That he’d been preventing it and he would’ve sabotaged it again, had Marco not seen through him.

At least Ace was pretty sure that Marco had. 

He’d demonstrated the ability to read Ace with the books before. Which meant, that Ace had allowed him to. The knowledge of which helped him keep calm. 

"Hmmm. Well then." Pop’s finally seemed satisfied, as if he could smell this was the first real answer, he’d been given the entire conversation. 

And Ace took the opportunity to duck away and flee the scene, his heart still pounding.

Ace had not picked a book for himself. Not since he’d been a child and chosen them based on the coolest covers. That hadn’t been the best measures - sometimes it landed him something aweseome, but more often than not, they turned out to be boring as hell. Maybe one of the reasons it had been such a gamble, was the way Ace acquired them - not by renting them at a library, or buying them at a store, but by stealing them from rich people’s homes. People like Sabo’s parents. 

One time he’d taken a book wrapped in black leather, embossed with snakes and fruit. A total mislead - by far the dullest read he’d ever had. Sabo’s father was big in the socks trade and that was his accounting. A truly unfascinating industry for anyone without a foot kink.

Now, roaming through the library shelves, Ace made a point to avoid books with those three traits. He wasn’t sure if he should just leave, but he wasn’t in the mood to. He felt wired and plugged in. He wanted more time with Marco before he could even begin to think about sleep. 

Meanwhile he moved further out of earshot. Ace suspected that it was not truly books their father sought at this hour. Clearly, he’d come to see Marco. And perhaps, seeing Ace there, he’d rightfully concluded they shared the reason. 

Time would tell how much Pop’s understood from their odd presentation. But Ace knew he’d picked up about the strange twists and turns of their bond over the past months.

Trying to keep busy for as long as his impatience allowed, Ace eventually opted for "Aggregation of Devil Fruits". They were familiar. Having spent the earlier hours of this evening pressed spine against spine. 

Then he slowely made his way back to the desk, trying to look anything but impatient.

 It was empty, Marco and Pops must’ve wandered off somewhere between the shelves. For all he could tell, Marco most likely treated this little reading project as serious business. Ace couldn’t stiffle an affectionate grin. 

That man was truly something else. If he had not looked so cute - and honestly hot - sitting shirtless at his desk, with a pair of glasses low on his nose, Ace might’ve been annoyed at waiting. But Marco made it impossible.

He hovered near the desk, internally debating on taking a seat and while he waited. But he feared their father would accompany Marco upon his return and Ace would rather not do anything suggestive in front of Pops. He had not reached Izou and Thatch’s level of unbothered, nor was he confident that he ever wanted to.

At times the crew left their own parties to leave the space to Thatch and Izou, as they simply didn’t care about anyone besides them, when they were getting it on.

Ace picked a green velvet Chesterfield chair nearby, curling his leags beneath him. He soon realized that, the devil fruit book had been an awful choice. It was so scientific that he yearned for a dictionary at every second sentence. 

Instead of concentrating he thought about Marco’s hands on his body and his hands on Marco… How he’d guided Ace hands, made him touch where he liked. It had been so sexy and unexpected. But then with that incident…

Given the hushed atmosphere and the fact that it was the librarian himself Ace wanted to kiss, he felt it fitting to simply extend a hand for Marco without saying a single word. Marco didn’t need a second invite, he followed the suggestion with no hesitation into Ace’s embrace. Their bodies collided in a wordless exchange of heated kisses, each one a release of pent-up frustration and longing. 

Their hands roamed eagerly, Marco’s fingers exploring the contours of Ace’s sides and thighs, inching his shorts higher, teasingly.

Ace slipped his fingers beneath the collar of Marco’s open shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. The shirt didn’t believe in a shared space, slipping away, falling from Marco’s shoulders and Ace needed a minute to adjust his gaze over his bare shoulders. They looked much broader now that nothing was visially narrowing them in.

His fingers lingered with the pooling fabric at Marco’s wasteline, when suddenly a small sizzling sound drew his attention from Marco’s bare chest. A small flame licked out his index finger, leaving a singed mark that contrasted with the purple fabric. The little flame flickered out immediatly, but Marco’s favorite shirt was ruined. 

Marco threw his head back, laughing, then he tilted Ace chin up with a playful nudge. "Are we perhaps a little too distracted?"

Ace’s guilt about the ruined shirt melted away with Marco’s kisses along his neck. Igniting trails of Ace’s fire that he licked away like they were edible. For a moment Ace questioned if they tasted like him.

Meanwhile Marco took control of Ace’s hands, guiding them over his own body, every touch even more electric because it was wanted. Desire shivered through Ace when they reached his waistband again and Marco left Ace fingers all to themselves. Not thinking twice he slipped one beneath the fabric, tugging suggestively.

Ace was ready to lose some of the shorts in this room, but instead they both lost their footing as a sudden jolt sent them crashing apart, books tumbling from the shelves around them.

The sea had horrible timing.

Enough with that. 

Ace feared that these thin dress pants wouldn’t help much at hiding his desires. So he really shouldn’t risk it. Not with Pops around.

Pops. How long had it been since they had had the time for a real conversation. It wasn’t only the relationship with Marco that had suffered from all the late-night shifts. Ace had mostly visited Pop’s in the evenings, like a tradition that had begun with his poor act of “murderous intentions”. 

When the quietness of the library finally allowed for their voices to carry over the shelves he didn’t hesitate to listen into their conversation. This was the world’s second dullest book, so he really wasn’t to blame for it.

"How long do you think Ace is going to pretend he’s reading that boring book?"

Well, it seemed that he’d tuned into their conversation at the right time. Eavesdropping lost all guilt the moment the subject was him.

"It’s nice to see the two of you together," Pops said. "I reckon the internal commander struggles are dealt with then?"

"Sorta," Marco replied, his tone light but evasive. Ace could imagine the little scrunch of his nose that often accompanied his noncommittal responses. Adorable.

If he did it with Ace, Ace was sure he’d do it in front of Pops too. 

"Sorta?" Pops’ laugh rumbled softly. "He’s certainly not staying here to talk to me."

"You don’t know that."

Pops didn’t argue, simply wishing them both goodnight as he left. "Don’t stay up too late talking about gardens."

Ace had no idea if he’d meant for it to sound so knowing. 

He didn’t move, still holding the book as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. The room fell silent save for the soft sound of Marco turning a page.

Unnerved, Ace glanced up, catching Marco’s serene expression as he read. Was this man seriously this calm?

"Found it!"

Ace nearly jumped out of his seat. Clearly, he wasn’t as calm about surprises as Marco was. But he was already proud he no longer torched a campfire-radius around himself whenever he got jumpy.

It was Taji, waving some medical book. 

Marco nodded professionally, but with a pointed glare in place. "Try not to jumpscare the other vistors next time, please."

Taji’s sheepish glance landed on Ace, who was clutching his book like a shield. As if he expected it to protect him, not even that it would do for. They exchanged nods - regretful on Taji’s side, generous on his -  before Taji left, leaving Ace to sink back into the chair with a sigh.

Since when was the library so alive with people?

"Do you like your choice?" Marco asked, barely above a whisper. He somehow managed to sound casual, like they’d not go back to exchanging pieces of their hearts.

But it wasn’t a play either, he sounded genuinely interested.

Ace made a noncommittal noise, picking up the book again to skim a sentence. Yes, he could’ve admitted that it was boring, but…

Aggregation of logia users in correlation with their enviroment. 

Uh-huh. 

The words blurred together, his focus unraveling. His pride wouldn’t let him admit defeat just yet, though. He knew Marco would enjoy teasing him for it. And who was he to deny him that?

The first passage started on moderate climates. Who wanted to hear about the boring shit first? This book had terrible suspense building! The extreme heat or the extreme bitter cold, those were topics to start a new paragraph with. 

A soft rustling sound drew his attention. 

Somewhere to his left, Marco shifted. The soft scuff of shoes against the floor suggested that Marco was taking his off. 

Ace stretched out his own legs, rolling his ankles absentmindedly. They weren’t that comfortable to sit on anyways-

Warm hands settled on his thighs.

Ace head snapped up just in time to catch the sight of Marco sinking to his knees in front of him. His presence close, close enough to steal bits of Ace breath. 

Slowly, agonizingly, Marco’s fingers inched upward, dragging heat along his skin even through the fabric. Meanwhile Marco’s blue eyes never broke contact with his, staring intently.  

When his fingers reached Ace’s hips, he paused, tilting his head just slightly and resting his temple against his own forearm.

The movement was so natural, so affectionate and cute, that it wrecked Ace. The softness in Marco’s expression, the way he looked up at him through pale eyelashes, this knowing smile that pulled at his lips…

"I-I thought you were reading," Ace stammered, and damn it, his voice cracked a bit.

Marco hummed, his smile deepening like he heard it. "You’re far more enticing."

Before Ace could formulate a response, Marco’s fingers curled at his hips. Just slightly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to him.

"Please, don’t let me interrupt you," Marco whispered the words, casually. "Finish that chapter. I’ll entertain myself."

Of course Ace didn’t pick up that stupid book again, instead he watched as Marco slowly unbottoned his pants, eyes still locked on his face, reading every reaction.

Ace let his eyes flutter shut, just for a second to confirm his approval.

And then of course, when Marco had started to undress him, another crew member suddenly decided to remember that the library existed. 

If only Pop’s hadn’t been so damn merciful, saving every stray soul with a complex past.

But then, Ace supposed, if he’d been just he slighest bit pickier, Ace wouldn’t be here either. 

-Marco-

It insulted Marco. Just a little bit. 

"You really didn’t expect to run into me?" he asked. But he kept it playful with raised brow. All about the small consoling efforts. "Here? In the first devision?"

The last thing Marco wanted was to startle Ace in front of others. 

Ace teasing him was different, he liked getting a rise out of him, playing with the effect he had on Marco. Liked his dumbfounded expressions, like the one before their first kiss.

What made this different, was that Ace was truly scared and Marco didn’t play with that. 

"Uh, I-" Ace gestured vaguely behind him, hair flying as he pivoted hard, disappearing down the corridor before he had to try ending his sentence.

Marco sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t alone in the corridor, couldn’t exactly let his disappointment show in a grumpy pout.

Still, he was getting ridiculous — this need to touch Ace whenever they met, to sneak in a brush of hands or a passing press of fingers. It was instinct at this point.

Marco decided to wait in front of Ace’s room, ignoring whoever glanced at him in the commander’s hallway. He was quipped with a lie in case anyone dared to ask. 

Mentally, he’d been running the question into the ground, round and round in circles. How do I approach Ace. 

If he acted too soon, Ace would only feel cornered. But given that he’d seemed a little better, Marco had decided to give it a try, instead of worrying about it.

Ace eyes went wide at the sight of Marco in his doorframe. 

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Ace nodded, and that was all Marco had waited for. He pulling Ace into his own room in a kiss, that he’d been waiting all day for.

They barely made it to the bed, kissing their way through a dimly lit room. Somehow along the way, Ace ignited some of the candles and Marco miraculously managed to trip over one at the right moment, and before he knew it, they were tumbling onto the mattress together. 

Ace weight settled against him, hot and solid, and Marco allowed himself to steal only two more kisses, before pulling back.

He didn’t.

Ace’ hair was so soft between his fingers and he smelled like fire and sea air, something distinctly Ace. Marco’s hands smoothed down his back, slow and indulgent, memorizing the shape of him. Just a moment longer, he told himself. Just one more kiss.

Ace kissed him back just as deep, pressing closer, as if that was possible, like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Something about the way he gave into their kiss today made Marco’s chest feel tight, but in a good way. 

Somewhere between one breath and the next, Marco lost track of how many times he’d told himself one more kiss.

He wasn’t sure how long he would’ve kept going if Ace hadn’t pulled back first.

His hand pressed Marco down into his pillows, the fingers curled like he might change his mind and drag Marco back in. 

His eyes were dark, breath still uneven. "Are you here to seduce me in my own bed?"

Marco hummed, stealing another kiss, because he could, because Ace was still close enough to take. 

Behind his expression, fidgeted a nervousness. Or maybe it was simply Marco’s knowledge that gave him the impression. 

"Among other things… Mostly, I wanted to see you. And maybe ask a question or two." He opted to give his intentions right away.

Ace groaned lightly. "I feared so." He started shifting, like he might get up, but Marco caught his hand before he could escape.

"Why should you?"

Ace laughed. "Marco, are you trying to have a serious conversation or trying for something else?"

Marco’s hands smoothed over Ace’s hips, trying his best to convince. "It’s not the kind of conversation that requires you leaving my lap…"

Ace smiled. And to Marco’s surprise he stayed. His arms settled more comfortably over Marco’s shoulders, fingers playing idly with the short strands of his hair.

There was something about the moment - Ace letting himself be close, letting Marco hold him while knowing he wanted to ask something that made him nervous - Marco wanted to savor it. He couldn’t help it. He brushed his knuckles along Ace’s jaw.

His heart ached at the thought of destroying this tender moment. Possibly destroying it.

"I’ve noticed that you’ve been acting," he said finally, pitching his voice the softest he could. 

Ace seemed to wait for an adjective, but that was it. Ace had been acting. It wasn’t unusual, but it was alarming that he performed even when they were alone.

Marco knew why. Ace had been avoiding him. "I just wanted to ask if you’re okay?"

Ace rolled his eyes without losing the openness in them. "I was freaking out, Marco."

Marco chuckled. "Right." Despite the lighthearted tone, his hand soothed down Ace’s back in slow circles.

"I’m sorry. I’ve been acting so stupid."

"You’re allowed to freak out." Marco tilted his head, brushing a small strand of hair out of Ace’s face. "If anything, I feel bad that it happens now. That’s why I told you, you can pull back if you need to. I’ve freaked out plenty, with no regards to anyone. Meanwhile it seems that you are trying to do it in a way that-" He hesitated. "Like you’re hiding and trying not to hurt me."

Ace snorted. "You love to project, huh? I hate to break it to you, but my intentions aren’t that selfless. I am not you."

Marco huffed a quiet laugh, this time because he could tell that Ace wasn’t deflecting to avoid the conversation. He was teasing Marco - in the middle of a serious conversation. His heart was enraptured enough to skip a beat.

"I…" Ace inhaled sharply. "Am scared."

Marco tilted his head. "Would it help more if I told you I’m scared too, or if I told you I’m not?"

Ace studied his face. "Which one is true?"

"…I’m sorry, I’m not."

Ace’s eyes grew wide, incredulous, before he laughed, shoving at Marco’s shoulder. "Why are you so calm? It makes me nervous, Marco."

It sounded accusatory, in a playful way, but Marco realized there was some truth to it. "I make you nervous?"

Ace groaned, shoving his hands over his face. "Past tense? Marco, you’re doing it right now."

Marco’s heart stuttered for a second. Fuck. Ace when he was like this, so open and unfiltered, it made Marco feel more than he knew what to do with.

"I didn’t mean to, I-"

"I know," Ace interrupted, lowering his hands, his expression unreadable for a moment. "I know you wouldn’t intentionally mess with my head. But you being so different…"

"Different?"

Ace shifted, almost helplessly shrugging. "…You were so hesitant and oblivious. Then suddenly you’re so decisive and you want me close. Yes, you’re generally calm, but I didn’t think that’s how you were going to be with me and-"

"I made it worse?"

Ace hesitated. As if he debated denying it. But then he nodded. 

Well, damn. 

That explained a lot. 

From Ace’s perspective, he’d lead their first kiss, that entire moment in his bedroom, on his chair. 

Marco swallowed hard, trying to pass the memory of Ace’s desk chair. How he liked it. Treasured it. 

When Marco didn’t react now, like he had on that chair - flustered and breathless - Ace must’ve felt totally thrown off. 

He couldn’t help grinning. 

Ace was quick to notice. "What?" he asked, squinting at him.

"I just think it’s really funny, that you - of all people - think that I am unpredictable."

Ace huffed. "Are you poking fun at me?" But he was smiling. "I didn’t expect you to wait in front of my room, for example."

Marco let his grin soften. "I wanted to see you."

Ace swallowed. "And I like that. I just…," he groaned instead of finishing the sentence. 

He didn’t have to. 

I’m scared. 

That’s what he’d meant.

Marco exhaled slowly. "The last thing I want is for you to be scared. Especially not of me."

Ace’s lips parted, like he hadn’t expected Marco to say it so plainly. All Marco wanted to do was kiss him again. 

Instead he forced himself to ask, "What would you want to do?"

"Sleep with you." Ace hadn’t even paused.

Marco choked on the surprised chuckle. 

Ace gulped, his eyes traveling to the ceiling.

Marco smirked, but he didn’t comment.

Ace scowled. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"Deeply."

Dragging his hands down his face, Ace groaned. But it lacked real exasperation.

Marco watched him fondly. "Ace."

He peeked between his fingers. "What?"

Marco leaned in, brushing a faint kiss against his lips. "And why are you scared to sleep with me?"

"Because I don’t want to ruin this."

"Don’t worry, I won’t let you."

Ace shot him a look, but the tension in his shoulders eased.

Marco couldn’t resist kissing him again and when Ace opened his mouth for him, it took all his composure to let his lips go. "You know I’m still the same person, right?"

Ace swallowed. "You feel the same."

"I promise, I am." Marco smiled. "So… we’re a pretty messy match, huh?"

Ace laughed, the last of that fidgety uncalm washed away. "It lowkey hurt my pride, that you were so unaffected by my teasing. I thought you were smitten with me, Marco."

Marco grinned, flipping them easily, pressing Ace into the warm sheets.

It happened effortlessly, Ace moved with him instead of against, pliant beneath his hands. Marco barely registered the way his heart slammed against his ribs - Ace was showing him trust.

He gulped, his hands skimmed over the solid warmth of Ace sprawled out below him. For a second he just took him in. The soft rise and fall of Ace breath, the way he seemed to wait for Marco to act, as if he’d go along with his decision.

Ace’s eyes flicked up to meet his, dark with something that Marco was almost afraid to name. He’d sworn to take things slow, promised himself to be careful with this, but he couldn’t deny that his fingers pressed into Ace skin just a little tighter.

He felt reckless. Lightheaded. 

Ace was letting him. And Marco wanted to drown in it.

"You’re thrilling to be around, fun, intelligent, insightful, so damn pretty and sexy - near irrisistible." He’d decided to murmur at least half of what he was thinking.

Ace smirked, clearly satisfied with the compliments. "Near?"

"I don’t enjoy seeing you scared. That’s your ‘near’."

Marco was relieved to see some of this euphoric glow he felt, reflect in Ace’s eyes. A glittering attestment, that they would be alright. 

Chapter Text

-Marco-

Marco was up early. As usual. 

An endless cycle of early shifts had left his sleep schedule in shambles. He yawned, leaning heavily against the counter, his mug in hand. The rich aroma of coffee as a comfort in his haze of exhaustion. 

Marco could sense he had a bad shift ahead. But all he could think about was Ace. Ace was on the early shift today as well. Which meant that-

Oh fuck.

Marco cursed under his breath as coffee overflowed from the machine, spilling across the counter. In his half-asleep state, he’d misjudged the timing. He scrambled for tissues, muttering, Thatch will kill me if I mess up his holy kitchen.

Not that he was at high risk. 

The ship was quiet, nobody else would be awake at this ungodly hour unless duty forced it. Marco sighed as he placed the mug back under the machine, jabbing the buttons with tired impatience. 

He contemplated sneaking into the first division to hook himself up to an IV, just a little boost, when warmth suddenly pressed into his back. Arms wrapped firmly around his torso, one hooking across his chest, while the other slid lower, pressing possessively over his stomach. Marco knew that handwriting. Entirely Ace.

While he pressed himself against Marco, Ace’s fingers dragged downward in slow, unmistakable intent, digging into every spot of soft flesh belly.

“Morning,” his voice was low and dry from sleep. Hot against Marco’s ear. His lips brushing the skin there, teasing.

Marco shuddered. Half-swallowing the groan that rose in his throat. 

“Good morning,” he muttered, the words stumbling out hoarse and breathless. He sunk back against Ace, letting himself be surrounded

Ace chuckled, a quiet, pleased sound, his fingers digging into Marco’s waist, gripping him there. Marco barely had time to register the way it felt to be held in place like that, before Ace lips ghosted down the side of his neck. Marco tilted his head instinctively, baring himself, offering more. Answering in gestures before his mind could even catch up. He felt drunk on sleep and the way Ace’s breath was so hot against his skin.

Ace tipped his chin back, guiding Marco where he wanted him, his other hand slipping lower, beneath Marco’s sash. Knuckle brushing over sensitive skin, achingly slow.

Marco exhaled sharply. Then they both stumbled forward, he wasn’t sure who had lost their footing, wasn’t it both of them? Then the countertop dug into his hips, but he didn’t care.

Ace lips followed him, his wet tongue a stark contrast to the dry heat of his breath and he drew his breath as audible as he’d let go of the last. Hearing Ace hum directly into his ear. He was pressing Marco forward, his hot skin a stark contrast to the cool counter. He had him pinned and Marco let him - no, wanted him to. Arousal curled in his stomach.

Ace pressed closer, his chest flush against Marco’s back, the undeniable proof of his arousal pressed against him and, fuck that sent another shudder down his spine. Realizing how much Ace wanted him. How little he was prepared to hold either of them back. A soft sound escaped him, unbidden. Ace buried a quiet laugh against his shoulder, lips fusing with skin.

He turned in Ace’s hold, no hesitation, needing to kiss him, needing to feel that more. Their lips met in a kiss that stole the heavy breaths from Ace’s buttery lips. Desperate, immediate, as if Ace had been silently willing him to do just that. Marco’s hands moved on their own, over the back pockets of Ace’s shorts, squeezing over the curve of his ass, pulling him in even tighter. 

Ace let out a quiet, satisfied groan, his fingers returning to Marco’s waist, tracing the curve of it, like he was savoring every inch. Marco felt light-headed, when Ace tangled ino the knot of his sash, tugging, untying - realizing that it was too late to stop any of this.

Their kiss fevered, Ace was seconds away from loosening the knot, Marco’s brain tried the questions he’d meant to put off, so close to feeding them to his tongue. Do you want me? And,  Fuck me against the counter.

First times were overrated anyways- the galley door swung open with a deafening thud.

They sprang apart as if scalded, yet both recovering surprisingly quick. Marco could see Ace’s reddened ears, his fast paced breath, he knew his pupils were probably blown wide, his hands felt shaky. Still, his poker face was in place and so was Ace’s. This was becoming somewhat of a routine for them.

"Hah! The Banana Thieves !” Thatch bellowed triumphantly. And he stormed into the kitchen like he was leading a charge, wielding a frying pan like a weapon.

Marco groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands, instead gripping his mug a bit tighter. The only shield he got.

For a moment, they all froze, caught in a ridiculous tableau. The absurdity of the situation helped Marco regain some of his composure.

Across from him, Ace leaned casually against the counter, as though entirely innocent. His fingers had found a whisk, and he claimed it with the air of someone ready to whip up an omelet. The only thing he was missing was a bowl. And something to whisk.

“Bananas?” Ace said, his tone as smooth as butter. “Sorry, Thatch, haven’t seen any.” 

He shrugged, opening a random cabinet with feigned nonchalance. 

“Although… I was just about to change that…” he muttered, barely loud enough to be overheard by Marco.

Marco resisted the urge to snort, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a faint twitch. Thatch didn’t seem to buy their act, but luckily his suspicion lay solely on the banana thievery.

 “Are you two the banana thieves?!” he accused, brandishing the frying pan like a sword of justice. He marched up to Marco, raising the pan under his chin.

Marco, unimpressed, and not ready to be held at pan-point so early in the morning, waved it aside with a flick of his hand. “Good morning to you, too,” he said dryly, lifting his mug as if to toast Thatch’s theatrics.

“Didn’t we drown in bananas just recently?” Ace asked, shaking a bag of flour like it held the answers to the universe. Marco wasn’t an expert in cooking, but he was sure flour didn’t need shaking before use. “What are we, monkeys? Who’s hoarding that many bananas anyway?”

Thatch’s eyes narrowed as he pointed the pan at both of them in turn. “You two are suspicious. What else are you trying to do here so early?”

Marco lifted his mug wordlessly, sipping with deliberate calm. Ace gestured grandly to the flour. “Marco’s the ship’s greatest caffeine addict, and I’m just a humble breakfast chef.”

“Breakfast chef? You?” Marco raised a brow and his voice in accordance with it.

Ace shot him a pointed glare, as if he questioned his tactics. We’re in this together, don’t forget it, bird-brain.

Marco answered with a quickly thrown glance, one that replied, Questioning your cooking makes this seem less suspicious, hotshot.

Thatch seemed to regain some posture. And some sense. He tossed the frying pan behind him with reckless abandon. The clatter echoed through the kitchen and Marco winced, his morning tolerance not built for such volumes.

“Someone’s messing with me,” Thatch grumbled, throwing his hands in the air. “All the bananas are gone. Gone! Do you know how hard it is to make banana tarts without bananas?!”

Marco would’ve been inclined to comment on Thatch’s behavior, if he didn’t prefer the thought of hiding in banana piles and kissing down Ace’s stomach… 

Too bad Ace had started cooking for his alibi.

“We just wanted early breakfast,” Marco offered, ready to end the discussion before it spiraled further.

“Oh, I am really hungry,” Ace commented dryly.

Thatch didn’t hesitate to take him seriously. With a victorious flourish, he snatched the bowl from Ace’s hands. “Fine! Sit down. I’ll make something.” 

Marco thought he heard Thatch mutter something like, “Can’t let any more ingredients disappear…” before adding with a side glance to Ace, “Or be wasted.”

Both their shoulders sank as they watched Thatch raid the pantry with the energy of someone planning a feast for fifty. Ingredients piled up, each one more unnecessary than the last. Actively ignoring their desperate refusals. Ace sat back, arms crossed, looking like a kid denied his chance to play with the toys.

Marco couldn’t recall Ace ever looking so unhappy about someone else preparing food for him — especially Thatch’s famously phenomenal creations. It was… kind of adorable, really.

Marco thought he heard him mutter something like “This crew is unhealthily obsessed with fruit.”

Ace grumpily stomped off toward his early shift, full with delicious treats that Thatch had whipped up, muttering something dark about “cursed bananas”. 

Marco took a long look at Thatch, intending to steer the conversation before Thatch could interrogate him about Ace.

“Did you do something to put him in this bad of a mood?”

Or Thatch was faster than him, pointing after Ace. 

Of course he was. He didn’t need 3 liters of caffeine to wake up, someone stealing his bananas was all it took.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault? He seemed fine, before you denied him his own atrocious breakfast creations.”

Thatch shrugged with a weak grin, but his cheeks were a bit more pinkish than usual. “Ops. I just can’t watch him do that… I really…” he let his head fall forward in dramatic fashion. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you today, or do I have to wait for the sequel to The Case of the Missing Bananas?” Marco’s tone stayed light, but he sharpened his gaze for the expected denial.

Thatch tilted his head, a half-hearted grin on his face. “What makes you think something’s bothering me? Maybe I just really like bananas.”

“Because your theatrics are dialed up to eleven today. And we both know when you’re really upset, you can’t resist the urge to direct everyone’s attention somewhere else.” 

Marco knew Thatch well enough to know he was hiding something. 

Among other things, depression. 

In someone like Thatch - the ship’s mood-maker - nobody ever suspected it. Like how people didn’t easily see the demons in Ace.

Meanwhile everything gave Marco away. And he never won a round of charades. 

“Are you okay?” He softened his tone and gaze accordingly.

Thatch returned the look with a deep sigh. Marco only now realized that he looked like a man, who had not closed his eyes for days.

“Maybe I had a little fight.”

“With Izou? How little?” Marco asked, setting his mug aside.

“Two days, actually,” Thatch admitted, his shoulders slumping as he leaned forward, pressing the heels of his palms firmly into his eye sockets.

“Two days?” Marco frowned. “That’s not little, Thatch. That’s a cold war.”

They exchanged a look of unspoken understanding. Why did I not notice? How do I only learn of this now?!

Marco indeed felt terrible.

“What happened?” he asked, leaning closer, his voice gentle but insistent. “Why haven’t you sorted it out yet? I thought your ‘reversible jellyfish’ plan was supposed to solve all conflicts forever.”

Thatch let out a weak chuckle, but his face fell quickly. “The jellyfish has been out of commission for days,” he said, his voice tinged with a vulnerability Marco rarely heard. Thatch looked really bad. Like he might even cry.

Izou and Thatch had this jellyfish plushie, it was reversible, one side was upset, the other happy. If one of them was in a generally poor mood, they communicated that through the jellyfish. It was supposed to help prevent unnecessary conflict.

It also helped in necessary conflict.

Marco shifted closer, taking one of Thatch’s hands in his. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, knowing Thatch’s boundaries well enough to avoid hugs and other obvious picks. Thatch hated to cry in front of others. No matter how little of a deal, Marco considered it to be, it wasn’t his boundary to define.

“I don’t get it,” Thatch admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t even know what I did wrong. Izou won’t tell me.” He sighed. “We haven’t communicated this poorly in years. All I want is to fix it, but Izou…”

Marco squeezed his hand again. “It’ll all be okay again.”

Thatch didn’t look convinced. He fidgeted with his free hand, running it nervously along his thigh. “He hasn’t talked to you either, has he?”

“So it can’t be about you only.” Marco tried a small smile.

Thatch snorted as if it was the most ridiculous thing Marco had ever said. His eyes flicked from their interlaced hands to Marco’s face and back. 

“If he doesn’t need you tonight… could I… get you? You know I can’t sleep without cuddles, Marco. And you know I can’t ask anyone on this ship but you. I wouldn’t want to cuddle anyone besides you.”

“Maybe it’s the way you flirt with his best man, that gets Izou riled up.” Marco flashed him another grin, knowing that Thatch did appreciate it.

“If I’m ever busy” Marco nodded in the direction that Ace had just left. “Ask Ace. He’s sure to keep you warm.”

“That kid…” Thatch’s smile grew a bit more genuine. “Something about him is so… young-spirited.”

“Childhood trauma,” Marco quipped without missing a beat.

Thatch snorted, but this time it sounded better. He paused, looking conflicted. “I don’t know, though. It feels weird asking such a favor of him.”

Marco shook his head in disbelief. From Ace he knew how close they’d gotten, especially over Marco’s panicked avoidance. 

“Ace is much softer than he lets on. - Oh, and for the record, ‘that kid’ is older than you.”

Thatch grinned, but it didn’t seem like he was really paying attention. His grin turned apologetic. “Could you…?”

“I’ll ask him for you,” Marco cut in with a knowing smirk. “If you’re too chicken to do it yourself.”

Thatch grinned wider, the light coming back to his eyes as he clucked out a few chicken noises. “Thanks, Marco.”

…

Marco heard the news in the afternoon, casually and in passing. Someone mentioned it to him.

Ace was assigned a solo mission. 

The details didn’t stick.

Marco couldn’t even remember who told him, because everything blurred together for a bit. All he remembered doing for the rest of the day was breathing. Doing his breathing exercises.

Solos missions weren’t the worst. Crew missions had Ace looking bruised afterwards. But solo missions still meant… solo. Alone.

Marco knew Ace to be a capable man. Otherwise he wouldn’t still be alive. And he knew, these feelings had little to do with Ace and a lot with trauma.

No matter how Marco tried, the rest of his day was clouded with worry. And preoccupied with thoughts about Dr. Maya. He’d neglected her entirely after their first kiss. He wondered if she could guess why.

At dinner he joined Ace and Curiel, they were discussing if they’d rather be reborn as bunnies or cats. 

Marco didn’t have to tune in much; they’d apparently decided within seconds that Marco was a bunny. He didn’t argue.

Despite his tough exterior, Curiel was a devoted animal lover. Thanks to him the rabbit population on board the ship had boomed out of control more than once. And while bunnies were aggressively cute, they were also rodents. And gnawing material was readily available on a ship, but there needed to be limits to it, or it would tank. 

Soon, Haruta and Speed Jiru joined them, and the conversation shifted to a heated debate about limbo night. Marco stayed quiet, his gaze wandering to Ace more often than he realized.

Ace excused himself first, announcing that he was going to meditate.

Meditation was a quirk the crew had come to accept from him. For a man who thrived on chaos and hated silence, Ace meditated religiously before missions. Everyone knew better than to question it.

Marco stayed a bit longer, eating in silence while the others chattered around him. But his appetite was gone and he was just waiting it out.

He finally excused himself to the library with a tired smile, leaving his tray half-full. Nobody questioned him; books and solitude were part of Marco’s routine. 

The halls were quiet as he made his way to Ace’s room. He hesitated for a moment outside the door, his hand hovering over the knob. They’d agreed on this arrangement — their little code for stolen moments of privacy. Meditation for Ace, library for Marco.

It never lasted long, apparently the crew couldn’t live if they did not look at the horizon for them and kissed their ouchie-boo-boos, or joined their limbo nights. 

Marco was half-sure Ace had meant it as code earlier.

Still, he knocked softly before slipping inside.

Ace sat on his desk chair, but not in the way anyone else would. He was squatting on top of it, balanced effortlessly, a paper in his hands.

Marco closed the door quietly, the soft click of the latch echoing in the stillness. These moments were rare — just the two of them, no distractions, no interruptions. Marco prayed the crew would leave them alone tonight. He wanted to hold Ace for a while, not saying much.

Ace crooked a half-sided grin, looking oddly scared. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Marco whispered in turn. Then, not wanting to entertain this tense atmosphere that built momentum between them, he crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around Ace. “I’ve missed you.”

He said it every time they snuck away, and every time it was true.

Ace smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to Marco’s knuckles. “Have you heard? I’m going away.”

The words were simple, but the genuine sadness in Ace’s smile was striking. Marco’s heart tightened, and he nodded with a small pout, unable to find his voice for a moment.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ace’s voice was softer than Marco was used to, carrying a rare note of uncertainty. It wasn’t often Ace let his feelings slip so plainly.

Marco nodded again, and Ace shifted in the chair, settling properly and patting his lap with a teasing grin. “Tell me what’s up?”

Confidence had taken his voice again, but Marco knew Ace was just trying to mask the vulnerability from earlier.

“I want to talk, not tell Santa my Christmas wish list.”

“That would be pointless. I heard you were a naughty boy this year.”

Marco was grateful for the chuckle, even if it was just a brief moment, it allowed himself to take a breath and think a positive thought.

With an elegant spin, Ace rose, standing up on the chair, his face towering over Marco. Before Marco could say anything, Ace stepped into his space, wrapping his arms around him in return.

Marco buried his face against Ace’s chest, the familiar warmth grounding him.

Ace chuckled lightly. “I’m not the only one enjoying my new height, I see.”

He joined the light chuckle as he lifted Ace off the chair, then loosening his grip to slowly lower him. On any other day, he might’ve lingered on how good Ace felt in his arms, how effortlessly they fit together. But not today. Today, that thought only brushed the edges of his mind, drowned out by the loud noise.

Ace rested a palm against his left cheek, and Marco leaned into the warm touch. Blue flames licked softly along Ace’s fingers, as if they meant to hold him there.

“You’re worried,” Ace attested. His voice was a shy whisper. 

“I am. It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities… It's a ‘me’ problem, Ace. And I don’t want you to worry about me worrying.”

“Why not?” Ace’s lips tilted into a small, genuine smile. “We could be a worry-circle.”

The lightness in his voice wasn’t teasing — it was warm and honest, brushing away the edges of tension as his hand drifted down to smooth over the collar of Marco’s shirt.

Marco liked this raw version of him. But he knew it was a delicate offering, Ace allowed him leaps closer than he’d ever been. “It’s something I’ll take care of. It doesn’t have to concern you.” 

Marco kissed Ace’s palm softly, letting his lips linger on his fingers. Ace shivered at the intensity, as all the while their gazes were interlaced. 

Then Ace looked away, swallowing hard. “I know that I did give you reason to worry.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. “There’s something you should know. About me. And about what I did before I joined you.”

Marco’s lips froze on Ace’s fingers.

“Sounds like we should sit down.”

Ace nodded, drawing a deep breath that seemed to help him not one bit. It was like he didn’t even notice how Marco carefully pressed him down into his pillows. His shoulders tightening instead of easing, his breathing picking up into shallow, uneven gasps.

Marco lowered himself to his knees before Ace, while he took his wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his fingertips as he murmured, “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to say anything.” 

Ace shook his head vehemently, a look of frustration crossing his face. “No, I’ll be fine. Just… give me a few minutes.”

Marco hesitated to agree, but it wasn’t like Ace, The Stubborn, would be open to reason after he’d set his mind to it. Instead he non-verbally asked for consent before sliding behind Ace on the bed and wrapping his arms around his torso. He had to be careful to avoid restricting his movement as Ace fought for control of his breathing.

Marco winced at the first contact of their skin — Ace was burning hot, almost unbearably so. But he stayed still, letting his blue flames ripple softly against Ace’s back. The faint sizzling sound of skin meeting fire filled the room, but Marco didn’t flinch. Instead, he placed one of Ace’s hands over his stomach, allowing him to feel his own breath.

“You’re okay,” Marco whispered. “Just breathe with me.”

Slowly, Ace’s breaths began to even out, the tension in his frame melting bit by bit. 

He leaned back against Marco’s chest, his sweat-dampened hair curling against his forehead in interesting round curves. Like brush strokes on an empty canvas. His head rested against Marco’s collarbone, and Marco could feel the tremble of his exhales.

Ace looked exhausted. Not surprising given that he had just had a full flashed panic attack.

They both watched the soft glow of Marco’s flames dance along Marco’s arms in front of them, illuminating the room in warm shades of blue. Ace skin was no longer dangerously hot, but it was calming to watch so Marco let the light show continue. 

Ace wasn’t dangerous for him, but apparently he could hurt Marco.

“Man, if I’d known you earlier…” Ace’s voice was hoarse, but gained a playful note. “I’d have stalked you, Marco.”

Marco raised a brow, glancing down at him.

“I’m serious,” Ace mumbled. “This blue flame healing thing works wonders for panic attacks.”

“Wonders, huh?” Marco’s voice was light, but his chest tightened at the implication. Fifteen minutes of blue flames, and Ace thought that was quick?

Marco’s gaze softened as he looked down at him. Wanting so desperately to take the burden from him, to rewind time and sit beside him through whatever hell had carved these scars.

“You shouldn’t pressure yourself. I’m not impatient like you.” The affectionate smile at the light jab was present in his tone. “Allow yourself more time to trust me. Time to heal.”

Ace huffed softly, his frustration evident. “You’re too patient.”

Marco grinned. He could picture Ace sitting across from Dr. Maya arguing about the speed of therapy, urging her to poke him more as if he could speed-run healing. 

“I really need you to know this, Marco. I needed you to know this… actually before we first kissed. Before you all accepted me. But definitely before we get any closer. Before I go on this mission.” 

Ace sounded determined. He’d set his mind on it and Marco knew there was no way to sway his opinion.

“Deuce would always…” He trailed off, cleared his throat, then pressed on, “Whenever I had a panic attack, Deuce swore by this herb mixture. He’d rub it on my wrists, temples, back of my neck. Sometimes my chest, too. It smelled earthy. I never asked what kind of herbs. I don’t think I’d get the scaling right anyway.”

Marco stayed quiet, waiting patiently for Ace to continue. His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles into Ace’s skin. His flames had subdued to a faint glow, like a calming aurora.

“Of course that was-” Ace stopped to chuckle, “that was after his original remedy had set our first ship ablaze.”

A real smile bloomed on Ace’s lips, one that reached his eyes this time, and Marco felt the corners of his own mouth lift in response. Ace was sharing a cherished memory. Tinged with affection and something bittersweet as if sad things were to come with this “Deuce”. 

“It was coconut oil,” Ace admitted, laughing under his breath. “He rubbed me head to toe in coconut oil during a panic attack, so I was extra flammable.”

Marco couldn’t help but chuckle as well. “That either ended your panic attack or sent you straight into another.”

“A little bit of both,” Ace admitted.

They sat in silence for a moment. But it grew tense, Marco could feel Ace bracing himself, his smile faltered.

“My crew all took it way lighter than I did. I mean it makes sense, I stole that ship for us. They had no idea how hard it was. I- that doesn’t really matter. But it’s a fun story.” Ace sighed, as if he had meant to say something different. 

Marco leaned in and kissed Ace’s temple gently, unable to resist. Ace felt so soft against him, not just physically but emotionally. His weight resting against Marco, the slight tremble in his frame—it all made Marco want to roll him up in a ton of blankets like a cute little burrito. 

Maybe he was getting hungry. 

“We got a bigger ship after that. They built it. And then they made Deuce throw away all the coconut oil. That’s how Deuce became the herb witch of our crew. He was like a doc starter pack. A quackster, more than a man of medicine. But…”

With another shaky breath he added: “But you remind me of Deuce. A little. He was calm, sceptical. He loved writing.” Ace shook his head, smile big now. “God, he was so silly sometimes. He’d write you out of his stories. Half of the crew - okay almost all of them - made fun of him. So his stories made little sense, because he refused to mention them and it caused huge holes in the plot.”

Despite the light-hearted anecdote, Ace's voice notably cracked. “I miss him so much… I miss all of them.”

Marco could hardly keep up with his thoughts, his mind spinning, piecing together the fragments of Ace’s past like scattered documents suddenly downloading all at once. He felt as though a wall was lowering, one brick at a time.

Ace continued, his voice soft and distant. “We used to fish late at night. We were a crew of insomniacs, living under the stars, dozing through the days. We were terrible at night-fishing, though. Cornelia always started these half-made-up shanties. They’d start out serious, like real songs, but then he’d just… completely go off track. It always made Banshee — our cook — shake with laughter until she spilled her drink. For some reason, that was everyone’s goal during those nights. Simple, stupid, and fun.”

It did sound like fun. Marco hummed softly, not wanting to comment anything on a half-told story. So he offered nothing but encouraging little hums.

“Marco…” Ace’s grip on his hand tightened, suddenly so intense it was almost painful. Marco’s gaze snapped to Ace’s trembling fingers, and he gently adjusted his hold, squeezing back in reassurance.

“I am the reason they’re all dead.” Ace's voice broke into something small, so small it was barely audible. It was as though guilt, grief, and shame had collectively strangled it.

A powerful throuple.

“What happened?” Marco asked, his voice soft, his lips brushing against Ace’s temple. He didn’t kiss, sensing it wasn’t the time, but he needed to show Ace that his affection, his presence, wouldn’t waver.

Ace’s breathing stuttered. “It was my plan,” he began, the words trembling. “I… I can’t give you the details tonight. It’s too…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “We were being hunted. An enemy crew cornered us. I thought… I thought I should draw their attention to me. So I took the Striker and lured them away. A solo mission.”

Marco stayed quiet, his flames glowing faintly to soothe.

“They didn’t care about my crew,” Ace continued, his voice brittle. “They were after Gol D. Roger’s son. I didn’t think… I didn’t…” He squeezed his eyes shut, tears slipping down his cheeks, steaming faintly as they ran.

Ace’s voice dropped lower, so quiet Marco had to lean closer to catch it. “A special troupe of their fighters went after my crew. By the time I got to the meeting spot… the ship was in flames. And my crew…” His voice cracked. “All dead.”

Marco opened his mouth but found no words. Oh, holy fuck.

Ace sucked in a shaky breath, his chest trembling against Marco’s. Marco’s flames flickered brighter for a moment, instinctively calming Ace’s escalating breaths before they could tip into another panic attack.

“That’s not your fault, Ace,” Marco said finally, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I don’t know if words can express how awfully sorry I am, but… that’s not on you.”

Ace gave a weak, watery smile, and to Marco’s surprise, it reached his eyes. “Thanks, Marco.”

His name sounded so special tonight, laced with gratitude and a weight Marco wanted to lift off Ace’s shoulders. He cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away a steaming tear, and leaned in to kiss him — soft, slow, and grounding. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Marco murmured against Ace’s lips. “What can I do to make it easier for you?”

Ace shook his head, his cheeks flushed. “I wanted you to know why I defend the crew with everything I’ve got. Even at my own risk. I wanted you to know why I’m scared of being a commander.”

He looked down at Marcos hands on his stomach covering naked skin with naked skin. “I’m sorry if I made it worse for you. I don’t want to burden you with my baggage.”

Marco’s heart squeezed painfully. “What the hell are you even talking about?” His voice was firm, but there was no anger in it—only disbelief. “I want to cut a huge piece out of your story and carry it for you, Ace. How could you even think my feelings about your trauma matter more than yours?”

He took one of Ace's hands, pressing it against his own cheek. “Thanks for your trust,” he mumbled, his voice much lower now. “I swear I won’t break it. All I care for is how you feel right now.”

Ace turned slowly in Marco’s arms, kneeling between his legs. Marco couldn’t stop himself, cupping his face with both his hands. Palms and fingers so long half of Ace disappeared underneath them, his cheeks, his ears, parts of his freckles. He was looking at Marco with these vulnerable eyes, so unlike anything he’d ever looked before.

Marco tried to pour everything he felt for Ace into one gaze.

Love.

He would find a better time to say it. When Ace had the emotional capacity to appreciate it.

Instead he leaned in to kiss him. Guiding, where he normally left all control to Ace. But he felt Ace might need a different kind of security. One that reminded him that he was cherished deeply.

“In case you’re worried. I still lo-like you the same.” Marco paused, almost stumbling upon the word ‘love’. “I still admire you. I still trust you. Actually… I admire and trust you more. Feel closer to you.”

Ace gulped. “Jesus, Marco. Could you not set the bar so high? You know someday I’ll have to say something about your trauma, and it’s already gonna suck compared to… this.”

Marco chuckled, relief coursing through him at Ace’s attempt to joke. “I want you to feel good. Tell me — how can I make you feel good?”

Ace lips twitched into a smile. “That sounds way too sexy.”

Marco rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Now?”

Ace smiled wider. “You know me too well.” 

He reached into the back pocket of his shorts, pulling out a folded strip of white paper.

“My vivre card,” he said, holding it out.

Marco stared at it, perplexed, as he took it carefully.

“I don’t think you’ll need it,” Ace said softly. “But Marco… if you’re scared, even if there’s no real reason to be — just come see me.”

Ace leaned in, brushing a kiss against his parted lips, taking the stupid expression from Marco’s face. “I’m never upset at the sight of you.”

Ace made it nearly impossible not to say the words right then. 

Marco managed a quiet, “You take my fears away.” before he could betray his own precautions.

It was the closest he dared, another iteration of telling Ace, that he was a safe person to Marco. Marco felt as if Ace knew exactly what meaning his words carried.

...

Their night ended with a little ploy. 

Coincidentally, Ace happened to be in Marco’s room to discuss some pre-mission commander business, when Thatch appeared for their cuddle-date. 

Marco mimed the work-aholic, Ace the insomniac. They mastered their roles.

Marco “explained the situation” to Ace and Ace innocently asked if he was allowed to stay the night as well. As if the thought had built spontaneously. 

Of course Thatch could never deny Ace anything and just like that, their plan worked out perfectly. 

Apart from one little snag. 

Due to an unintended arrangement, Thatch played the butter-part in their cuddle-sandwich. 

All Marco got was Ace’s arm. But he was making due with it, tiny flames sparking from his fingertips, just enough energy, that Ace could feel him there. Microdosing calmth. Meanwhile the fingertips pressing into Marco’s skin in return were perfectly tempered. 

Strangely enough, he was very content with that. It was strangely nostalgic - strange because they’d never spent their nights like that, but it reminded Marco of what he’d always wanted and once got, when he was invited to a sleepover. This feeling that there was somebody else and they cared deeply, falling asleep to that.

Ace’s breathing was the first to even out against Thatch’s shoulder. Exhausted from all the emotional stress. The way his face eased and the soft rise and fall of his chest, it was too good to fall asleep and miss. 

Thatch was the next to go, leaving Marco behind, the last one awake. Generously entertained by his rhythmic snores. Like Ace, Thatch really needed that sleep to recharge. 

Marco felt like their fate had still yet to befall him. He decided to stay awake for as long as he could, mesmerizing.

Chapter Text

-Thatch-

When Thatch woke up, it had been sitting next to him on Izou’s pillow, folded neatly yet left half-open. 

A letter.

Grinning to himself, Thatch stretched, propping himself up on one elbow, and grabbing it. His eyes skimmed the opening line.

To my dearest.

“My dearest, huh?” Thatch chuckled to himself, already imagining Izou’s smug face when Thatch would tease him about what sounded like the start of a sappy love letter.

With a satisfied sigh he sunk back into the pillow, reading on.

I’ve been thinking of you often.

His smile softened. A bit weird to say that to a man in whose company you spent most of your thinking hours, but hey, he’d take it.

I can’t help but wonder if you’ve forgotten about me.

Thatch’s grin faltered.

What?

They’d just spent last night tangled up together, talking and laughing until Izou dozed off mid-story. Everything had been fine. Had he missed something?

I miss how things used to be - your laughter, your warmth, your ambition. We still talk about you every day.

A weird feeling crept into Thatch’s stomach. Then his eyes landed on the next line.

It hurts, Izou.

Oh. 

Shit.

This letter wasn’t meant for him. 

And it wasn’t from Izou either. 

It was for  Izou!

Thatch snapped the letter shut, sitting up fully. His heart kicked up a notch, as he rubbed a hand over his tired face. Shit.

He hadn’t meant to intrude. How was he supposed to know? It wasn’t like Izou to leave something so personal out in the open and it wasn’t like Thatch to think before assuming things either.

The brief wave of guilt definitely helped shake the remaining sleep off, but by the time his daily routine kicked in, Thatch wasn’t pondering on. Until the evening, when he found the letter where he left it - sitting on his pillow.

He sat on their bed, placing it in his lap. When Izou walked in, he held it up with a playful grin. 

“Hey,” he greeted. “So… I found this on the bed this morning. ‘Dearest’, huh? I didn’t know you were getting love letters.”

Izou froze mid-step. 

His eyes flickered to the paper in Thatch’s hand, then back to his face.

“That’s not yours,” he said, his voice low and clipped. 

“I figured,” Thatch replied with an easy chuckle, hoping to smooth over whatever weird tension had just entered the room. “The start kinda threw me for a second.”

“You read it?” 

Was he imagining things now or did Izou’s voice sound sharp all of a sudden?

Thatch hesitated, suddenly uneasy. He held up both hands in defense, his grin slipping. “I didn’t mean to, babe. I assumed it was for me. It sounded really sweet. I stopped the moment I realized that-“

“Sweet?!” Izou interrupted, his voice torn between fury and disbelief. The neutral mask cracked under the anger that bubbled to the surface with force and speed Thatch could not comprehend, nor had he seen it coming. 

“I- yeah? I mean it says-“

“You don’t know what it says. You don’t know how they talk to me! How every word is a fucking trap!”

Thatch’s confusion deepened. They? “Izou, I-“

“I bet it sounded nice,” Izou spat. “Polite. Harmless. Right?”

Thatch suddenly felt like he’d stepped into a conversation that had been going on in Izou's head for hours. “I didn’t say that-“

“You didn’t have to,” Izou snapped, his hands were two white balls, trembling with each word. “Is it nice that they pretend to care to control me? You have no idea what it’s like to have your every word twisted into something that makes you out to be the villain!”

Oh really? Because this conversation sure felt like he was getting a taste of that. “That’s not fair. I told you I didn’t even read half of it! I really don’t know what we are talking about, Izou.”

“Then fucking read it.” 

Confused about the change of mind, Thatch’s eyes scanned over the rest of the letter, but his brain wasn’t absorbing the words. It sounded sad.

With love, 

Your family. 

Thatch lifted his gaze looking at Izou. “I don’t understand. What’s so wrong with it?”

Izou let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And now you’re looking at me, like I’m the one overreacting because you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” 

His hand shot out, pointing at the letter like Thatch had just pledged his allegiance to it. “Fair, huh? You want to talk about fair? So tell me, why can't you even see who you're siding with.” 

Thatch stiffened.

“I’m not siding with anyone.” His voice had dropped to an almost whisper, it was hard to even force the words over his lips.

Izou’s expression crumbled into something raw and pained, before it hardened again. “But you should,” he said, his voice breaking. “With me, Thatch.”

Thatch just blinked at him, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts. 

What was he even accused of?

First of reading the letter.

Then of not knowing it.

Now for siding with it? 

He’d prepped for some lighthearted teasing, maybe a bit of heat from Izou over how stupid he could be. But certainly not this.

Izou stared back, expressionless. He’d gone quiet. Just like Thatch, whose mind was alive with confused screams, yet drawing a blank. He felt that he should say something - anything - but the weight of Izou’s anger was paralyzing.

Izou exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Forget it,” he muttered, yanking the letter from Thatch’s hand. “Just forget it.”

And then he was gone, storming out before Thatch had the chance to understand. He stood there, perplexed, his heart pounding heavy in his chest. 

This had been a bad fight.

It felt bad. Very  bad.

Guilt clawed at his ribs, but so did frustration. 

What the fuck had they just fought about?

-Marco-

Izou had chosen the perfect time for his relationship problems. With Ace gone on his mission, Marco had no reason not to meddle. He was a worried brother, a concerned best friend. 

And he needed the distraction. 

Checking Ace’s vivre card compulsively only filled so many hours in a day. Marco forced himself down to one check per hour. Okay, maybe two… maybe more. But he drew the line at sixty times. 

Fifty-nine had to be enough.

If something happened, he’d know. He would. It was not like Ace would disappear. He wouldn’t. 

By the evening, Marco wasn’t sure if Izou had been avoiding him by pure luck or if he’d been paying so little attention to his best friend that he no longer knew his habits. That he could no longer predict him. 

By nightfall, Marco turned to the only person who might know. Marco had not sought him out earlier out of fear that even Pops wouldn’t know. And if he didn’t… 

Marco feared the wood blanks underneath his feet would break away. Metaphorically. 

Pops answered on the first knock and Marco was through the door, before he finished the invitation. Pops noticed too, raising a sceptical brow. “What’s wrong?”

Marco almost answered with the truth. The wrong truth. I’m spinning.

“Izou. Know where he is?” Usually, Marco didn’t cut to the point that fast. But he had no more time to waste.

“Izou’s left ship yesterday?” Pops sounded genuinely surprised, like Marco should’ve known. 

“You sent him on a mission?”

“No, he said he needed to do something.”

“And he didn’t happen to mention what or where?” Marco was fishing for anything, but the look on Pops’ face said there was nothing to go by. 

Pops let out a thoughtful hum, eyes narrowing. “Now should I start my own version of that worried expression that’s completely taken over your face? Or is there another reason I suddenly have a bad feeling about this?”

Marco sighed, slumping down next to him on the bed.

Pops’ bed took up most of the room—it had to, considering his size — but Marco had always wondered how the old man didn’t lose his mind in a space that small. The commanders’ quarters were the same size, but their beds were nowhere near as massive.

“I have no idea,” Marco admitted. “Didn’t think so until I couldn’t find him all day.” 

He ran a hand over his face. “I told Thatch it’d be fine. But now I’m starting to worry myself.”

“Thatch?” Pops tone sharpened. 

“They fought,” Marco explained. “Last night he spent in my bed.” 

The little detail that Ace had been there too was conveniently left out. It wasn’t the most relevant detail, for this situation. 

It was very relevant to Marco, of course.

“In your bed?” Pops looked confused.

“Did you forget? Thatch was part of the OG insomnia club before he met Izou. His sleepless nights were easily fixed by cuddles with his trusted person.”

It had been Marco, to whom Thatch had warmed up first. They’d spent a lot of their sleepless nights together, playing cards, sneaking onto nearby islands, trying every tip out of every self help book in the library to cure themselves. Until they’d given up.

Thatch had taught Marco some recipes.

Marco had taught Thatch…

Nothing.

He was not to be trusted with a surgical knife.

Pops chuckled deeply. “I forgot. That feels like such a long time ago…”

It was. 

Funny, how he had been the one to set Thatch and Izou up. Sort of. 

Not intentionally, but they interacted with each other mainly because they both liked Marco. 

That was long before Thatch became a commander.

“It seems he and Izou had a fight. Although I wonder how Thatch kept fighting when Izou left yesterday.”

They exchanged a knowing look.

If anyone could pull it off it was those two. 

“I need to find Izou,” he explained. “It bothers me that he didn’t talk to me about this at all.”

Pops nodded. “I shouldn’t have let him go that easily.”

“You don’t have to turn into helicopter dad, but maybe you could ask the basics if one of us suddenly wants to disappear.”

Pops grumbled something into his beard. 

Then he tilted his head, expression softening. “Wait a second, Marco.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask something.” He paused, giving Marco a pointed look. “It’s about you. And Ace.”

Marco gulped. “…Yes?” 

“Have things settled between you two? Izou asked me to arrange that commander excursion so you could have a talk. He seemed equally worried about you both.”

Marco nodded, not even surprised to learn it had been Izou’s idea. “Ace and I… we’re good.”

“Good.”

Marco’s hand was already on the door handle, when Pops raised his voice another time. “And your feelings for him?”

Marco froze. 

“M-my what?!”

“You like Ace.”

Marco craned his neck to stare at him. 

What more had Izou told him? 

“I…” 

There was no point denying it. 

“…I do.”

Pops nodded, lips curling into a knowing smile. “Are your feelings okay, too? Because they matter, Marco.”

Marco’s cheeks burned. 

Of all moments, Pops had chosen this to remind him of his worth? 

He pressed a hand to his heated face, groaning. “I’m good.”

Pops’ smile widened.

“You may go then.” 

-Ace-

Ace stretched out his arms, breathing in the crisp sea air. Just him and his Striker. Like it had been for years. The wind against them, towards the endless horizon. It was freedom. 

This time truly. Since he wasn’t running, since he didn’t need to escape anything. 

It felt like the first time he’d set sails. The joy. Ace remembered, not wanting to. Remembered wanting to stay with them. 

Sabo and Luffy.

A grin tugged at his lips, the thrill of it settling deep in his bones.

He almost felt guilty for how good it felt to be alone.

-Marco-

Marco’s day ticked by painfully slow. Every minute he checked the time and could hardly believe how sluggishly it dragged - snailing along geriatrically, as if time itself could feel the weight of his impatience. 

After Thatch had finally fallen asleep beside him, Marco slipped out of his room.

He had to find Izou. 

His vivre card was the only lead he got. It wasn’t much. Just a vague direction. It took him hours of flying and the whole time, Marco was reminded that the second commander would’ve probably located Izou in minutes. That thought didn’t help.

Distracing Marco off his distraction. 

But eventually he circled over an island and spotted him. 

Izou sat by a cliffside, head resting between arms and legs. 

Marco cleared his throat announcing his presence. “Izou…”

To his surprise, Izou wasn’t surprised. 

Without a word, he held out a piece of paper. Like he’d been waiting for Marco. Apparently able to read his best friend as perfectly as ever. 

Marco didn’t ask. He just took it, settling beside Izou and unfolding the weighty, expensive-feeling paper with careful fingers. His eyes jumped between words, scanning the message.

To my dearest,

I’ve been thinking about you often.

I can’t help but wonder if you’ve forgotten about me. I miss how things used to be — your laughter, your warmth, your ambition. We still talk about you every day.

He read the opening lines and immediately felt the bait — the calculated softness, the crafted warmth designed to draw Izou in.

It hurts, Izou. Losing you still feels like an open wound. The life you’ve chosen away from us. But we still trust you. We know that deep down, you’re still the same person we raised.

His jaw tightened at the shift. The way the letter moved from affection to guilt, from “I” to “we,” like a snare tightening around Izou’s neck.

The family feels the same. They all ask after you constantly. You wouldn’t believe how much they still hope. You still hold so much promise, so much potential to honor our family. It would mean everything to us to see you return to the values you were raised with.

By the time he reached the line about “honoring the family,” Marco let out a low, controlled sigh. His fingers pinched the edge of the letter, the paper trembling slightly as he fought the urge to crumple it.

You know we’ve always wanted what’s best for you. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. And we know you’ve struggled, Izou. But you don’t have to fear anything. We won’t talk of it, promise.

All we want is to see you again. You’ve loved your room, all your belongings. We kept them for you, exactly how you left them. Think about what you’ve lost. I know it must pain you, like it pains us.

He glanced up at Izou, who sat stiffly on the edge of the rock, water coiling angrily below them. The tension in his shoulders spoke volumes, trying to press him together and hold him up straight.

They were comparing losing things, possessions to losing a person. 

To losing Izou.

You can still make things right. It’s not too late to come back — to be the Izou I know you can be.

We’ll be waiting.

With love,

Your family

Marco slowly lowered the letter to his lap, feeling frozen in place and oddly numb, as if this had been geared towards him. 

Izou didn’t react right away, his posture rigid. 

“It’s just words,” he muttered, though his voice was tight. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t do that,” Marco said firmly, while using his soft tone. “Don’t downplay this. They’re trying to pull you back in.”

Izou hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Marco reached out and covered one of them with his own. 

“I know they define family as you owing them your life. You know that’s bullshit… Still, what an awful reminder.”

Izou’s breath hitched slightly, his defenses cracking. “They don’t even know me,” he said, his voice trembling.

Marco’s grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Good, they don’t deserve to.”

Izou closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back the flood of emotions. “It’s just… all that. All of their disgust, rejection and rage still dressed up in pretty words, even now when I dishonor them, they won’t break appearances. They still want me back - what for?! Humiliation?”

“I know,” Marco said softly.

“They miss my life.” Izou exhaled sharply. “Because they can no longer suck me dry to fuel theirs, is what they mean.” 

His face was flushed red, emotion burning through his usual control. 

When their eyes met, something inside him seemed to shrink. He sunk into himself. 

“I’m pathetic,” Izou muttered. “They already won. They got to me, riled me up so bad I had that awful fight. Disrupted my life. Made me question myself.”

Marco closed his eyes, empathizing with Izou’s words.

He knew. 

Had been there through countless attempts on Izou’s part to make peace, build bridges - only for them to be burned down over and over again. Lines crossed. Wounds cut open and seasoned in salt crust.

Everytime his family had found a new, cruel way to break through Izou’s defenses. 

So Izou had given up.

“Do you think I’m better than them?” Izou asked suddenly. His voice fragile, unsteady, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “How could someone good come from something so vile”

Marco smiled gently. 

“Thinking?” he scoffed. “Izou, who was by your side through everything? Who’s been secretly envying your ability to create a stable and loving bond despite your trauma? Hint - he’s got two feathered thumbs and a pineapple haircut.”

Izou’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. His eyes still glazed with unshed tears.

Marco gave his hand another reassuring squeeze. “Besides, I bet you never thought that way about Ace, did you?” 

Izou huffed. “Please. Ace’s demon-child past is of no concern to a pirate.”

They shared a small smile. Although Marco thought about the heavy story Ace had trusted him with. Izou had no idea what furthered Ace’s opinion of himself. 

Instead of dwelling on it, he pulled Izou into a grounding hug. “Let me be your crying shoulder. I haven't had the privilege in years.”

Izou scoffed, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “You’re so clingy.”

“I’ll cling to you for as long as you breathe.” Marco grinned. “That’s a promise.”

Izou sighed, but Marco knew he was just pretending to be annoyed. 

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” Marco smiled a small smile, squeezing the entirety of Izou. His efforts earned him a huff.

“I swear,” Izou muttered, “don’t you dare get cheesy on me now. I give you a pinky, and you take the arm.”

Marco chuckled. Moments like these reminded him why Izou was his favorite person.

“Well, then,” since Izou could joke again, “take a deep breath-“

“That sounds like I don’t want to hear it.”

“-and tell me what happened with Thatch.”

Marco held up the letter, but didn’t name it. Didn’t have to.

Izou sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know, Marco. I feel I did something dumb… and Thatch took the opportunity to be dumber.”

-Ace-

Ace was bored. Being alone was surprisingly boring. Even when he’d talked to almost every person he met on this mission, he still felt it.

Ace wished he’d figured out the tele snail before the mission, but they set on fire or even exploded at the slightest bit of emotion… according to Thatch they were perfectly cooked through. 

The vivre card between his fingers vibrated ever so slightly, Ace turned around with the biggest smile on his face, holding out a mango like a peace offering. 

Sabo looked the same. Older, obviously. But he looked the same. He was one of these people, who grew out of their every features throughout their adolescence and then stayed the same ever since. Golden locks, warm brown eyes, slightly crooked teeth. Way too crooked for someone from his background. 

Apparently Ace hadn’t aged out of his past self either. Or not enough to be unrecognizable, because Sabo left everything and unfortunately he also squeezed the mango to death. 

Ace slurped the juice from his fingers.

“What are you doing here?”

“Buying fruit.”

Sabo rolled his eyes. “Sure. You didn’t come to see me after your sappy letter.”

Ace shrugged, stalking ahead, towards a booth that sold something that looked like iced fruit soup. “So the revolutionary army, huh?”

Sabo shook his head. “You’re just as bad as you always were.”

“At what?”

“Smalltalk.” 

“But you are with the revolutionary army, aren’t you?”

“Yeah since we were 17.”

Ace nodded, satisfied. “See.”

“That’s over a decade, Mr. Second in Command.”

Ace ordered the fruit soup. One for him, one for Sabo. His smile slipped into something sheepish. “Yeah about that…”

“Are you ashamed of us or what?” There was no real heat behind the accusation. Sabo had those knowing eyes, teasing Ace with a cheeky grin. “We could’ve told all the cute stories of you as a kid.”

"Oh, please."

“How you were born to be second in command under my lead…”

Ace snorted, folding his arms, ready to argue. But it brought back the nice memories of their makeshift treehouse, after they’d run away, how they’d pretended it was a crow’s nest. 

No wonder that was his favorite place on the ship. 

-Marco-

Izou had tried to explain the fight to Marco.

“I feel awful, because I know I went too far. But also… Thatch is an idiot. How could he not see it? You got it immediately.”

He sighed. “Maybe we’re not so compatible after all.”

Marco shot his friend a sharp look. “Okay one - you were both triggered and speaking from the worst place. And two - utter bullshit. It took you five years to come up with that conclusion, and while you’re still triggered.” 

It wasn’t as if Marco had never thought about this himself - him and Ace. How bad they might trigger each other, how their first fight would go, what it would be about.

He tried not to worry. Not to dread.

“He said the letter was sweet!”

“The beginning,” Marco reminded him. 

“And he asked me what’s so wrong with it!”

Marco sighed. Izou was right, that was stupid of Thatch and it was hard to defend.

“I know, I know. But Thatch… he doesn’t get double-binds. The only one he understands is irony, and that’s because it’s part of his coping.”

Izou hummed lightly - progress.

“I also… might not have given him enough time to process it in peace?”

Marco nodded encouragingly. “You know Thatch is on your side, Izou.” 

Marco didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to guess how much those words must’ve stung Thatch. 

Since Izou still looked troubled, he pressed on.

“I know this triggers you. From Thatch’s perspective though, without knowing such dynamics, it might’ve read like something he’d wish for. You and I can see the manipulation immediately. But Thatch? He’s not used to it. He sees kind words and wants to believe them. Take every nice word you can get, you know? Even if it sounds insane to us, to him some of those words might be the kind of thing he always wanted to hear. The stuff that dreams are made of.”

Izou looked at him, irritated. “Which kind? Nightmares?”

Marco held up both hands. “Of course it’s not the dream. My point is - you are coming from completely different experiences with abuse. This letter is a no-brainer for you and me. But for Thatch? Who doesn’t know this dynamic - it’s not threatening. Not a red flag.”

Izou sighed. “I’m an ass.”

Marco smirked. “Well, I think Thatch does like your ass. He misses it.”

Izou gave him a weak smile. 

“It was one bad moment and running away for two days,” Marco said gently. “Yeah, it wasn’t great for Thatch, but it doesn’t make you a bad person. You literally defended me for running from Ace for weeks.”

“I barely did so in front of Ace.”

“Good!” Marco grinned. “Thanks for being a good friend. To both of us.”

Izou gave him a long look. “You seem… weirdly, at ease.”

Marco shrugged. Oh, if only Izou knew. His drama kept Marco from falling apart.

“Ace and I… we’re really good right now. I missed him like crazy. It feels incredible to talk again. We even wrote letters.” 

He felt bad for not telling Izou the entire truth. So he at least let him in on their letter writing.

Marco had secretly been hoping for one. Not expecting, just… wishing. And simultaneously dreading it. Because if Ace wrote, maybe it wouldn’t be to say he was coming back.

Izou raised an eyebrow. “Now that I’m thinking about it - don’t date. At least Thatch and I are similar personality-wise. But you and Ace? You would drive each other insane.”

“We’re not that different.”

Izou rolled his eyes. “And suddenly when I tell you not to, you want to date Ace.”

Marco didn’t reply. 

Which was, apparently, an answer in itself.

According to Izou’s eyes, going round and wide. “You’re not protesting?”

Marco sighed, gave him a lopsided grin. “Do I really have to admit the obvious?”

Izou’s jaw practically dropped. “But you- Are you serious?”  

For someone who’d tried to set them up, he had the hardest time believing it might work out.

Marco simply nodded, allowing a small smile. It was cute watching Izou’s eyes outgrow their sockets. 

“I love Ace,” he admitted, crowning his success with pure honesty.

And he didn’t say it just to make up for keeping their dating a secret - he said it because he needed to say it. Because it was true. Because he finally had to tell someone. 

He was itching to ask Izou, when Ace might be ready to hear that, too. Anytime soon?

Marco already knew the answer himself. Probably not. 

Ace was barely handling it, the way it was now. 

“Who are you?” Izou hadn’t closed his mouth in a good minute.

He tilted his head, playing dumb. “Huh?”

“Why are you not freaking out about this?” Izou demanded.

Marco shrugged, ready to offer Izou some much expected worry. “Ace won’t say it, but I know it’s gonna take time to earn his trust back. So I *am* worried. Maybe it can’t be done. Ace wouldn’t hold that over me, he’s too nice. But I fear he could suffer trying to force himself to.”

“Couldn’t you leave that decision to Ace?”

“I will.”

The control over his facial muscles slipped from Izou once again, back into a baffled stare. “What the hell happened to Marco while I was gone? Have you become enlightened or something? Did they rewire your brain?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up. Don’t try to distract from yourself. As you can tell I’m doing fine.”

And he almost believed himself, with how carefree he delivered that.

“Oh please,” Izou folded his hands under Marco’s nose in an exaggerated plea. “I need to focus on you, so I don’t focus on me. Please!”

Marco nearly laughed.

Because the truth was, he wanted to beg the same thing. 

Because no, he wasn’t fine.

-Ace-

“I’m not kidding you. This crew hasn’t quit on him. Not a single soul.” Sabo smiled. “So you have been keeping tabs on us, huh? Big softie.”

Ace rolled his eyes. But he hadn’t been cool enough to not jump from his seat when Sabo unrolled Luffy’s latest Wanted Poster. Hell, Ace wasn’t even sure when he’d last seen one of his. Not because they weren’t still being issued - his bounty kept climbing- but because he didn’t care. 

Luffy’s and Sabo’s posters though… He had those in his room, pinned up like some popstar fanboy. And he should probably consider relocating them - he’d seen Marco’s glances, the little winces. As if it made him uncomfortable to stare at Ace’s brothers while Ace tried to get into his pants.

Ace couldn’t really blame him.

God, no matter what happened, the first person Ace wanted to tell, needed to tell, was Marco. 

He shook his head, trying to shove that thought aside, grounding himself in the present, in the paper in his hands, in Luffy’s grinning face. “That boy is so goddamn lucky.”

Sabo looked at him, over his beer, eyes bemused. “Luffy? Please. That kid works for every friend he makes. He has to - he’s annoying as fuck.” He smiled fondly. “I miss him. Sometimes I go around annoying people in hopes they’ll annoy me back…” 

Catching himself, Sabo cleared his throat. “Anyway. Point being, you’re the big lucky clover.”

Ace blinked. His finger pointed back at his own chest in slow motion, like his entire body couldn’t believe what it had just heard. “Me?”

“In relationships? Hell yes, Ace.” Sabo gestured at him.  “Let’s face it, you suck. Your social game is so bad it’s actually funny. You skirt by on charm - and somehow, it works! Everyone loves you. Everyone wants to be your friend.”

Ace scowled. That was… not true? Was it? “Since when?”

Sabo laughed, sitting back, letting the moonlight cut across the scar on his face. “Always.” 

For a moment, only the distant chirping of cicadas filled the silence. And the awkward coughs of an old man sitting a few tables away.

Sabo stretched his arms over his head. “I wanted to be your friend, and you gave me zero reason to. You pinned your theft on me the day I got to the academy.”

Ace grinned, remembering that. Sabo had been just another spoiled brat. The only way he’d stood out was because he dressed like a miniature bigwig. 

“I was a little shit.”

“And you’re still proud of it.” Sabo shook his head. “I cleaned toilets for four months! That makes sixteen chilli Sundays!”

“You looked great in that uniform.” Even the cleaning crew sported the seagull logo. Doing their service for the marines and blah. 

Sabo huffed, but his smile was wide and fond.

“I never thought about it that way. That you still wanted to be my friend after that…” 

Looking back, he was damn lucky he’d pissed on the right kid’s leg that day. He could’ve pinned it on any other poor soul at the Marine Academy and his life might’ve turned out entirely different.

Sabo was right. He was lucky.

“And from what I hear, your crew forgave you for trying to kill their captain…”

“That one’s not true… but they don’t know that so… technically, yeah.”

“Whatever it is. I’m just glad you let people in.”

Ace squinted at him. “Don’t tell me you do therapy, too.”

-Marco-

Izou refused to come back to ship and halfway through the argument, Marco stopped trying. 

Thatch would survive. 

And Marco would profit as well. Not standing out as the only person on ship unable to sleep. Unable to function normally. 

Three hours into tossing and turning, they gave up. 

And while the board game they settled on seemed to do a decent job distracting Thatch, Marco found himself deeply disturbed.

“Aaaaaand you’re out.” Thatch declared, snatching one of Marco’s pieces off the board. 

Marco didn’t care about that. Not about the game.

It was silly. He was embarrassing. It was a board game. One labeled for ages six and up! Kid friendly shit. And still, yet, it was getting to him. Triggered by a fucking game. 

It was Ace. Of course. Of course, it was Ace.

Marco didn’t even want to acknowledge it. Didn’t dare entertain the thought for more than a second. But it never went away. Just persisted, lounging in the lobby of his mind, like a smug bastard sunbathing in a stripped deck chair, sipping some gaudy cocktail with a tiny little umbrella- 

What if he doesn’t come back? 

What if he decides to leave?

 -Ace-

“What’s he like?”

“Whitebeard?”

Sabo grunted. 

Ace stared at the stars, thinking. Hard to explain someone like Edward. It would’ve been easier if Sabo just met him. 

“Like… a father. But not like our fathers.”

“So, he’s nice.”

Ace nodded. Not that Sabo could see - not when they were both gazing at the night sky. Not that Sabo needed to see, to understand.

“Sounds really nice.”

“I stopped running away.”

Sabo huffed a quiet laugh. “And that means something.”

He was right. Sabo had often fought tooth and nail to stay in Ace’s life. Sometimes against Ace’s will. Against all the odds and bullshit he had pulled. He’d been such an anti-social little brat. 

And given what he’d learnt today… maybe he hadn’t changed all that much. Time and time again Ace had reverted, pushed back into old patterns.

He’d learnt to trust. His crew. Whitebeard. Marco. Their crew. Luffy. Sabo.

“I’m sorry for running from you.”

Ace heard the quiet shuffle of Sabo shifting against grass and sand, a lazy shrug even while lying down. His favorite gesture. “I know. I worried about you.”

“I feel horrible that I didn’t invite you two to my inauguration.”

Sabo smiled. “I know. I wasn’t mad, Ace. Actually I was really relieved to hear about it.”

“Luffy isn’t mad either, is he?”

Sabo laughed. “Only if he hears how much meat he missed.”

Ace grinned. “In that case, let it be known Whitebeard throws the most epic vegetarian banquets.”

Sabo laughed. “Sure, if you want him to decline every invitation now and forever.”

But Ace couldn’t quite laugh along, not fully. His tongue felt heavy with the next name, like it wanted to slip down his throat rather than be spoken 

“And Makino?”

His stomach twisted nervously as he waited for Sabo’s answer. 

“You should ask her yourself.”

“I was meaning to write to her,” he tried, but even to his own ears, he sounded like a kid, trying to make a lame excuse. He should’ve called. At the very least. No. He should’ve visited.

Sabo’s silence was loud. Ace felt his stare. “You can call Whitebeard ‘father’. Then you should be able to call her what she is. And has been for us.”

Ace gulped, closing his eyes. He knew Sabo was right. But it wasn’t that easy. “Makino doesn’t go around demanding people call her ‘mother’…”

Sabo shook his head, nudging his side. The one with the cursed tattoo. 

Probably payback for years of putting up with Ace’s worst sides. 

Ace loved that stupid tattoo. He’d pretended to be mad about it, but he never had been. Not a single fucking day. Not even the morning after he woke up, hungover and freshly printed. ASCE.

-Marco-

Emily found him in the kitchen. 

She didn’t look too pleased to see him. 

Marco licked the cream from his fingers.

It reminded him of starving. Of that time, days - or had it been weeks? - without food, finding that Devil Fruit… 

“This is really good,” he muttered, pointing at the small cakes.

“It’s for supper.”

He heard the restraint in her voice. ‘You’re-my-husband’s-boss’ restraint. Meaning she barely kept it nice. 

Not wanting to provoke, he distanced himself from the tray. But hell, it was unfair. Her baking was delicious. So much better than that bitter Devil Fruit that had saved his life. A comparison entirely unfair. But somehow eating something sweet was the only thing that calmed him now. And it felt like saving.

“Where’s Thatch.” Marco wanted to ask, but it came out different.

“Probably doing the same as you.” 

They both looked at her, surprised. Emily made a face, as if she wanted to clap her own mouth. Marco did his best to chuckle it off. 

Nervous, he sounded nervous. He’d been avoiding his own division all day. 

And apparently Emily knew. 

Which meant Taji knew. 

Which meant…

“You gonna wait for him?”

Marco nodded.

“Make yourself useful then.” She tossed him an apron.

To his misfortune, he got sent to wash potatoes. Not even trusted with peeling them.

-Ace-

“Do you… do you think I can do it?” 

Ace was almost too scared to ask someone who knew him so well. “Staying, I mean.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t.” Sabo’s voice carried his frown, without Ace needing to tear his eyes from the stars above. “Why?”

“Nothing.”

Sabo sat up. Staring down at Ace. 

Oh no, he’d picked up on something. 

Ace willed his eyes on the formation that reminded him of a certain bird. A certain bird capable of rebirth. Pretending to be perfectly casual.

“Don’t tell me-”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Who is it?”

Sabo gasped. 

Ace squeezed his eyes shut. 

“It’s the first commander.”

Hot damn.

“No!”

“You had to literally stop yourself when you talked about him. How pretty he is and how- ohhhh, that’s why you described his abs in great detail.”

“Shut up.”

“Marco the Phoenix…” Sabo’s voice had shifted. 

His tone all too familiar. That researcher tone. Like he’d be doing his homework tomorrow morning. Ace knew he would. 

“Damn, you’re not ever going to date anyone under ‘is a fucking force’, are you?”

“I’m not… dating him.”

Sabo had fully reverted to lying on his stomach, head in his hands, a big infuriating smile glued to his lips as he monitored every mirco-reaction on Ace’s face. “Your face says otherwise. Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t fucked him.”

Ace rolled onto his stomach. Met his gaze dead-on and did him the favor. “I have not.”

Only for Sabo’s face to light up even more. “Gosh, you like him that much?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ace scowled, rolling back onto his back, angered by the fact that his honesty didn’t bring the expected results.

This was what it felt like talking to someone who knew every little shit about him. Knew Ace better than he did, apparently. 

It sucked, he’d gotten too used to having his way.

“You like him enough to be scared.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sabo.”

“Oh, you’re down bad.”

“You’re drunk.” Ace grumbled, but he was smiling. 

They giggled like kids. 

Because Sabo was right. 

He was fucked.

His mind circling back. Every day. Every night. 

By the end of this mission, what Ace would’ve done most wasn’t walking. Wasn’t even breathing. 

It was thinking about him. 

And god, that drove him insane. 

That Marco hadn’t shown up. 

That by day two, Ace had started wishing for it. Secretly expecting it. 

It drove him insane to question whether or not Marco thought about him, like he did. 

Does he miss me the way I miss him?

Because goddamn, Ace wanted that. 

He wanted to be missed by Marco.

-Marco-

Marco had been degraded. Degraded in his own division!

Not that he had protested, when they’d politely asked him to do the inventory. And they all knew that Taji had just done it two days ago. They all knew he had little chance to fuck this up.

Marco was just glad, so far nobody had pressed for a reason. And he could only hope that Ace’s return would come sooner rather than later.

Before he was going to lose all respect and authority he’d once possessed.

There was a knock on the door. 

Marco checked off the mull binds on the list. Copious amounts.

Check.

“What’s it?” 

His fingers fleeting along the rolls of band aids. Counting. Ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-two.

Check. 

“I’m back.”

Chapter Text

“I’m back.”

Marco tumbled around to Ace’s soft voice. The quiet click of the door followed suit.

He looked good. 

Marco’s eyes quickly scanned over his entire presence. 

Well. 

In one piece. 

Before Marco registered how, he’d scrambled over the treatment couch and stumbled  right into Ace. All he saw was Ace, getting sharper, getting closer, as if he was zooming in on him. And then Marco’s face buried in his curls, breathing in his scent and his arms wound tight around Ace. 

Holding him with the disbelief he felt.

He was so impossibly relieved.

To see him. 

To be able to touch him. 

And he was so taken by his feelings, that he was only a little embarrassed for himself.

With some semblance of self-awareness left, Marco could tell he was acting as if Ace had returned from the dead. He could almost feel the playful roll of his eyes. 

Ace smelled like fire. So familiar. 

As he did after using his powers.

“How did the mission go? Are you hurt?” He held Ace out, an arm’s length from him, taking him in a second time. Trying to find something he could’ve missed. Using eyes where his powers would’ve been a greater help, simply because his brain didn’t work.

Didn’t work, because this was Ace.

“All went well. Until I safely made it home and nearly got squeezed to death by my…,” Ace's self-assured smile faltered, he tilted his head, “…um, pineapple?”

Marco grinned. That was intended as a joke on him, but turned into a moment of red-tinted ears for Ace.

“Your…?” he questioned, leaning into his embarrassment. “Good moment to ask what it is, that I am to you.”

He didn’t mean it and his teasing tone did well enough to get that across. But internally, Marco was still waiting, still a felt a little surge of excitement in anticipating the answer. 

Ace rolled his eyes playfully, nudging Marco’s chin lightly. “You’re the person I’ve been thinking about non-stop.”

And with that, he kissed him. 

Given his playful attitude, Ace’s kiss surprised Marco. 

Ace was kissing him with a kind of desperate relief Marco hadn’t even expected of himself. 

The big word popped up again. 

Love. 

It was getting harder not to let it slip on accident. 

Accident being, when Ace was kissing him, looking at him, touching him - simply put, when Ace existed in proximity. 

Marco felt a growing need to say it. 

“To inform you: I did sustain some minor wounds.” With those words, Ace kicked off his shorts and hopped onto the treatment couch. His feet dangled in the air, boots thunking onto the floor. “Would you treat them for me?”

What a question. 

Marco gulped, trying to keep it subtle. But the weight of this invitation was something he was sure Ace was aware of as well. No matter his easy grins and carefree attitude. 

He knew Marco too well.

Just a few months ago, he’d rather suffered in pain, then ask his help. Now he asked Marco to attend even to the small surface level cuts that covered his legs. 

Probably knowing that it meant the world to him. 

Marco leaned in, fingers already tingling with healing energy, when the widening of Ace’s eyes informed him they had company.

“Oh. Hey, Ace. You’re back! Have you hurt yourself?”

Marco stilled in his movements, before straightening, turning around with an unamused glare. “Ace has stubbed his toe, so I had to rush in to help.” 

His voice was dripping with sarcasm, referencing the many times overreactions from the crew had pulled him away from rare moments like this. Kisses interrupted by stubbed toes, talks interjected by sprained pinky fingers and that one time someone needed to burp but they’d made it sound as if they were dying with food poisoning.

Marco was starting to understand why Taji and Emily had that longest-running couple certificate framed. It was an actual achievement worthy of veneration.

With no further comment, a fiery-red face retreated from the examination room and Marco followed to close the door after them. 

The second click informed them they were alone now, no more risks of being walked in on.

It echoed in the silence. 

Marco had waited for this.

To his own surprise, he felt a sudden spike of nervous energy coiling in his guts. It was an overload of awareness. Marco was aware of Ace’s presence like a lit match was aware of oxygen. 

Unsure what would warrant greater nervousness - Ace looking uncomfortable, or Ace reacting fully comfortable - Marco turned around.

His heart skipped a beat.

Ace was reclined on the infirmary bed, legs slightly parted, arm propped back like he was trying not to seem too eager. But his eyes - his eyes were fixed on Marco. Observant. Expectant.

No, Marco decided, Ace did not look like he had to waste any further thought on the first option. 

Even bathed in the awful harsh overhead light, Ace looked maddeningly good - skin flushed in patches from his fire, lines of muscles sharp and distracting, the soft dip of his collarbone… - it was unfair. 

Heat crawled up Marco’s neck. 

He’s waiting for me.

Marco had imagined this more times than he cared to admit. But in none of those fantasies Ace had looked so open, so ready.  

This was the first time Marco felt truly allowed to look. He’d buried his admiration beneath layers of restraint and guilt-tethered glances. 

Now, Ace wanted to be looked at. Returning Marco’s gaze with full confidence, if anything with a slight challenge. 

Focus , he told himself. Keep it-

He flicked the switch off, and Ace fire replaced the harsh glow, sparking around them. Softer and warmer, floating like glitter. Ace himself looked lit from within, like something holy.

Marco swallowed. This was too much. 

Or not enough? 

He didn’t know. 

Still he stepped forward, exhaling slowly, reaching for the collar of his shirt, sliding it down his shoulders.

Maybe he’d just made it so much worse - there was little mistaking in the gesture. 

But Marco needed it.  

That it was for Ace’s comfort, to level the playing field, was nothing but his best excuse. But the truth was he wanted to strip away the last of distance between them. 

His pulse pounded through his throat as Ace’s gaze flickered over him, slow and appreciative. Marco hadn’t thought about his body, hadn’t felt some parts of it until Ace was tracing them with this reverence, this deep… 

Something. 

Marco didn’t dare think of it as the same lust he felt. 

Still, the feeling of being wanted, settled in his chest, heavy and dizzying. 

“Better?” he asked, voice rougher than he’d meant.

Ace’s lips curved into something small. “You know how it helps my trust when the sexy doctor strips for me.”

Marco laughed. Too relieved to hear Ace teasing. Too grateful that he had this gift of knowing what to say to make both of them smile.

“That your verdict, commander? You don’t want to test your doctor's abilities any further?”

Ace shrugged with a grin that made Marco want to lean in and kiss him then and there.

He did. Almost without thinking, he leaned forward and their mouths met in one shared sharp inhale - eager, uncoordinated, desperate. The kind of kiss that happened when there was no better way to say, I missed you.

Ace’s lips were so hot. And open. Trusting. His fingers curled around Marco’s wrist, grounding them both. But his legs shifted, parting more, allowing Marco in. Seamless and natural, like they were meant to be pressing together. 

Marco kissed him deeply, thoroughly, sliding his hands down Ace’s sides, fingers illuminated by the faint blue of his flames. He felt Ace’s breath hitch against his lips as he touched the insides of his legs. The higher his fingers traced, the further Ace pulled him into himself, legs wrapping around him, until - at some point, they tipped over.

Marco's weight was pressing him into the firm cushions. His mind told him to withdraw and check on Ace, but Ace didn’t leave him a chance to, his fingers tangled in Marco’s hair, his mouth open with moans. Marco couldn’t resist him, and didn't want to try. 

Having Ace back, his skin so hot under the tips of Marco's fingers in stark contrast to the cool air of the infirmary- Ace in a state of near undress and undone beneath him - it was more than enough to spin his head. The scent of antiseptic mingling with the smell of fire, did the rest. 

Marco moaned Ace’s name, using the last of his restraint to bite back that stupid word perched dangerously close to the tip of his tongue. 

He wouldn’t say it. Not now. 

He couldn’t tell Ace he loved him. 

Ace sighed into his mouth, arching closer, melting into him, his addictive heat everywhere around Marco and he felt the edges of what little restraint was left, fray. He’d missed this, missed touching Ace, feeling him pressed against his own skin, pliant and willing. 

He wanted to savor the way Ace trembled under his touch, but there was this omnipresent urgency - an ache months in the making. Keep it slow , he tried to command himself.

But his breath was uneven, his voice fucked as he pulled back with effort, pressing his forehead to Ace’s.

“I’m nervous,” he admitted. 

Ace blinked. “Yeah?” 

His grey eyes told Marco that he had not expected this. 

Marco couldn’t tell if it was a bad thing. He simply nodded, his lips brushing Ace’s cheek. “You can make it hard to breathe sometimes.” He let out a quick breathless laugh, as if to prove a point. “It’s not a complaint.”

Ace’s hand slid to Marco’s chest. “Let me now, before you die of asphyxiation.”

Marco grinned. “I think you’d notice.”

Ace was casting his eyes down, staring at his own hand on Marco’s chest. It didn’t sit there like a shield, that would push him away, just felt his heartbeat, stutter under Marco’s skin. 

“You know, I’ve been experiencing the opposite. Being near you makes it much easier for me… makes me less nervous.”

Ace was swallowing the smallest little gulp. He looked so cute, Marco wanted to cup his face and… 

“I…,” he didn’t know how to react. Didn’t know how far to take this. 

Marco was so surprised in fact, that he was straightening, Ace sitting up with him like he was unwilling to be separated. And it almost pained Marco how he clung to him, never having seen Ace act anything like today.

Of course he couldn’t resist when his gaze dropped to Ace’s parted lips. 

He kissed him slower this time. Softer. Let his lips trail down Ace’s neck, over the hollow of his throat. 

The flames in his fingers had died out. He pulled back a second time. Forehead against Ace’s. Torn. Undecided.

“Treatment successful,” he whispered, voice low. Hoping that little moment would make it clear how much he needed Ace to decide what would happen next.

“Actually,” Ace swallowed, his throat bobbing. “There’s another aching that seeks your attention.”

Then, hesitantly, he guided one of Marco’s hands down, pressing it over his stomach, lowering slowly.

His eyes found Marco’s, wide and vulnerable. “Please touch me, Marco.” 

Marco’s breath hitched. At the words, at Ace’s fingers closing around his other hand. He allowed Ace to guide it, still he inhaled in sharp surprise, when he actually felt him.

Ace’s dick was hard, painfully so, and he made no effort to hide his reaction, letting the moan escape his lips freely. The thin fabric of Ace’s underwear was no meaningful barrier. 

Ace pressed himself into his touch, his own moans harmonizing in soft, inviting sighs that added to the moment's vulnerability. 

An aching, huh?

“I’m afraid,” Marco murmured, voice husky, “my fingers are all out of magic sparks.” 

His other hand dragged down Ace’s stomach. “We might need to get a bit creative.”

Then, deliberately, he let his tongue dart out, wetting his lips. A flicker of ethereal blue flames dancing along them, just long enough for Ace to see.

-Ace-

Fuck. 

Oh, fuck. 

Ace hadn’t considered-

Was Marco fucking teasing him?!

He might’ve gravely underestimated how Marco would be. Ace had no idea how he felt about that.

Just knew that all of him wanted to follow Marco’s suggestion. 

He gulped, trying, and failing, to contain his expression. Reaching up, curling his fingers into Marco’s hair, tugging him just a little closer. 

Marco’s fingers curled around him and they both released their breaths in a shared, quiet exhale. Ace pulse roared in his ears, anticipation curled hot in his stomach. 

“Oh,” he murmured, sounding more fucked than teasing. “I think I like the way you think.”

Marco’s eyes, usually so calm and composed, burned with an intensity that sent a shiver up Ace’s spine. It was as if Marco had already stripped him naked.

“You can stop me at any time,” he whispered, cupping Ace’s face with both hands. And he drew him in for a kiss that was messy and fragile at once and Ace sighed into it. 

Didn’t need to respond in words. Just arched his neck, baring it more.

Marco groaned, a small sound. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He moved down slowly. Reverent.

“Fuck, Marco,” Ace whispered, just because he felt like it. Just because he realized that Marco had teased Ace for Ace. His offer was both a genuine, goddamn sexy suggestion and a way out if Ace needed one. 

He still wasn’t sure if he could take it, if someone treated him like that, while they had sex - like Ace was precious. 

He was shy. 

That wasn’t like him, but Marco made him.

Marco’s lips tingled with the residual energy of his flames, they were on Ace's neck, on his collarbone, over his chest and nipples. They skimmed over ribs and muscle. Ace arched into his kiss, body alight with heat and something else, something softer. Each press of his mouth felt like a brand but fleeting, his lips and hands were everywhere over Ace, as if Marco was losing himself in the sensation of him. As if he wanted to take all of Ace in at once and right away. 

And then Marco sank to his knees, beneath Ace. For Ace, and he could hardly watch. Marco on the other hand, took in every second, interested in every small twitch on Ace’s expression. 

The moment was reminiscent of the library, Marco looking up at him through pale lashes, the anticipation of what he was about to do thrumming through Ace's body since that day. 

He hooked his fingers into Ace’s waistband and glanced up. The look on Ace’s face obviously confirmation enough.

The waistband slid down. Marco’s hands trembled as they moved with it.

Ace shivered as cool air hit the heated skin of him, he was flushed to the tip of his cock and slick with want. And Marco’s audibly catching breath was not helping.

His lips had left a trail behind that felt like a mix of burn and calm, excitement and peace. Every bit of magic kissed skin extra fizzy and soft. - And Ace couldn’t wait to feel what magic felt like if Marco licked it around his shaft. 

His mind flashed the images of Marco sucking on his fingers the night of their first kiss. An image that had haunted Ace during morning showers.

Marco leaned in. His breath ghosted against the inside of Ace’s thighs. The intimacy of which nearly killed him. 

It was so much worse than anything he had experience with. 

This thing with Marco. 

It was not comparable. Ace realized a little late, realized in this moment.

With a sweet smile, Marco kissed the tip of his cock.

Not rushed or flashy. 

And then again lower. A kiss pressed to the base of his shaft, another one, Marco’s tongue, it all getting sloppier, as if escalating with lust. 

Ace wanted to whine, beg for Marco to get it over with already and at the same time he wanted him to never reach the tip. To never take him, because it couldn’t be repeated. 

Not the first time, he’d feel it.

Ace hadn’t lied to Marco. He was hard beyond reason, hard enough, Marco’s addictive kiss pained him, the healing energy a kind of relief that wasn’t unlike coming.

And then finally, Marco opened his mouth and took. 

And Ace let out a sound that wasn’t a moan or a gasp but somewhere caught in the middle. He could read it from Marco’s eyes, watching him, this flicker in them. The way they seemed to speak to him. I want this. I want you. 

And god, did Ace, too.

Marco in turn moaned around him. Quiet, like he was still unsure he deserved this. The sound vibrated through Ace and he gasped, this time for real, fingers wandered off on their own, tightening in Marco’s hair.

Marco’s mouth was hot. 

Not just warm, hot, like he was made for this. His fingers gripped even tighter, not to guide Marco, just to ground himself. 

“Shit,” he whispered. “Marco.”

A confession in few words. But he wasn’t lying. Marco worked for it. His tongue flattened under the shaft, then curled around it, dragging slow and obscene as he eased forward. He didn’t bob his head, he sank deeper with a hunger that made Ace’s vision spark.

It felt like being held in a furnace and kissed by calm.

It wasn’t even that much what Marco was doing - though god, what he was doing was good. It was how he was doing it. Holding, kissing, even sucking Ace with this worth. 

That Marco wanted to feel Ace back. That Marco was so obviously and unmistakingly enjoying himself.

Ace’s voice cracked and his head fell back. He wasn’t used to this, being undone this fast and thoroughly, this gently.

A strangled noise escaped his breathless throat as Marco sucked him in deeper. His thighs trembled slightly where they braced against the edge of the treatment couch. 

Ace forced himself to look down. Just for a second. Just to see-

And nearly lost it.

Marco was looking up. 

No idea why Ace had expected him to lose interest in his face. His eyes were dark, fixed, unflinching. His mouth full of Ace’s cock. And still somehow, he managed to look soft.

Ace felt his stomach flip.

His mind was grasping for something to say, to put into words anything he felt. 

Marco paused for the briefest second, his brow twitching. He pulled back just slightly, enough for his lips to drag, wet and slow, along the underside of Ace’s cock.

Ace did him the pleasure to stare straight into his eyes as he shivered and groaned.

“I’ve imagined this so many times, and now it’s real and I-“ Marco shook his head, swallowing thickly, like he couldn’t quite say the rest. “Is it good for you?”

Ace would’ve loved to tease, yet he just groaned. “It’s fucking amazing, Marco.”

And he really shouldn’t have said that. Because it prompted Marco to lean in again with even more care - his tongue sweeping in a slow circle, mouth sinking lower, his fingers steady on Ace’s thighs.

Ace felt it everywhere. 

The pressure. The warmth. The care. The way Marco hollowed his cheeks just enough, the way he moved with rhythm but paused to check in with glances. 

As if he was saying. What about this? Is this okay? Are you okay?

And Ace really wasn’t.

He was gone. 

“Marco, shit-fuck, your mouth-“

He gasped barely able to hold back. And maybe he didn’t want to.

His hips jerked slightly, unintentional and he heard Marco groan at the motion, his fingers tightening where they gripped Ace’s thigh. 

“I missed you,” it escaped him. Without thinking, absolutely mindless, he continued, “I missed you so much, I-fuck-Marco-“

Marco moaned around him, a deep sound that burned through Ace. He felt like crying.

His hand slid down to Marco’s jaw, thumb brushing the hinge of it. 

There you are. I’ve got you too.

Marco’s mouth worked him with focused devotion — there was no other word for it. Nothing could have prepared him for how gently Marco took him apart. For how utterly surrendered he seemed, on his knees, one hand braced around Ace’s thigh like he couldn’t let go, the other cradling his hip like he was precious cargo.

Ace had no idea it would feel like this.

Not just the way Marco’s tongue curled, but the way Marco looked up at him through his lashes, like he needed to see Ace fall apart. Like watching Ace come undone was the reward in itself.

Ace whimpered, soft, high in his throat. He was leaking freely, had been for a while now, and Marco’s tongue was lapping it up without a word, not even teasing.

And God, the way he moaned around him—Ace could feel it, the vibration sinking into him. Marco sounded wrecked, like he was the one losing control from this.

It short-circuited something in Ace’s brain.

Too much. It was too much. 

Knowing Marco liked this. Wanted it. He was down on his knees, his breath coming fast and shaky, like Ace’s pleasure was doing something to him too.

“F-fuck—Marco,” he gasped again, and then, without thinking: “You’re so fucking good at this—shit, I didn’t know—”

Marco moaned again, sharp and low, like praise undid him. 

Ace panted, trying to breathe around it without coming. “You like this?” he whispered, almost shy, voice shaking. “Hearing me lose it. Hearing how good you are?”

Marco groaned in response, deep and desperate, and Ace decided to let it count. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. Then his voice dropped below whisper, beyond shy, “You’re submitting to me, aren’t you?”

That word. The thought.

Ace wanted to hide behind it. Oh god.  

He’d known Marco as the calm at the center of a storm. But Marco on his knees, Marco letting Ace fuck into his mouth in tiny, shaky thrusts, Marco moaning with it like he couldn’t help himself every time praise left Ace’s lips.

It wrecked him.

He was trembling now, not from fear of nerves, but from restraint. From how much it all meant and he was glad he didn’t need his knees to stand up straight or Ace was sure they would’ve passed out under him now. 

His breathing was ragged, Marco’s mouth relentless - Ace couldn’t take it. 

He tried to hold himself together, but Marco sucked like he wanted Ace to come apart and Ace whined, actually whined and bucked up into his mouth helplessly.

“Marco, I can’t-I’m gonna-“

He couldn’t even finish the warning. Marco groaned around him, as if that was what he wanted. Like Ace losing it for him was the prize, the gift he’d been desperate for.

But just as his hips started to stutter on the edge of that perfect fall - Marco slowed. 

Just slowed.

Hands coming up, grounding Ace with gentle pressure to the base of his stomach. His mouth softened around him, his pace easing.

Ace nearly sobbed from the shift. Marco was giving him just enough to keep him in that high, just shy of the edge. 

He whimpered.

Marco released him and Ace's eyes fluttered open to look at him. Fuck, Marco looked wrecked . Cheeks so flushed, lips so red and slick, eyes dark with something beyond lust, something more fragile and honest. 

“You okay?” he asked. “Too much?”

Ace’s hand was shaking as he dragged it down his face, trying to find his voice. 

“I was gonna come,” he mumbled, ears burning.

Marco’s smile was soft and fond. “I know.”

“You-“ Ace shook his head. “You’re so fucking gentle with me.”

“I want you to feel safe.” Marco pressed his lips against Ace’s hipbone, like a whisper. “I  want to take care of you.”

Why , he wanted to ask, does it feel like you’re in love with me?

But Ace couldn’t. 

Marco didn’t need him to, didn’t need an answer at all. 

He leaned up further, kissed the space right over Ace’s heart. “You missed me? But I ached for you.”

Ace swallowed the heavy feeling, cloaking his throat with a laugh at this cheesiness. “Marco-“

The rest of his sentence was lost, swallowed by Marco’s kiss. His hand came to cup Ace’s cheek again, thumb brushing beneath his eye. 

Ace wanted to whine in protest. How could he start this and leave Ace, almost too hard, too close to the sweet relief?

“Do you want me to, Ace?”

God. 

That question.

He didn’t look away, couldn’t. His eyes felt shy, meeting Marco’s gaze. Sure and sweet on him. 

“Do you want to watch me through it?” he asked back, more confident than he felt at that moment. 

Yet, Marco gulped as if he’d been told he’d won something. “What did I think, just starting this?”

Ace grinned, “Well, I don’t know, but I hope you thought about finishing it.”

But before Marco could, they heard it. 

A knock. A voice. 

An almost desperate cry.

“Marco?”

Izou?!

Ace sat up in panic, for a second forgetting that Marco had locked the door. Thank god for it, or their cover would have been, well, blown . 

Marco’s hand had come over his lips, as if he feared Ace could make a sound and give his presence away.

His lips had stilled around the length of him, had just taken Ace back inside his hot, perfect mouth, now lingering. His tongue was licking along Ace, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to stop. As if he really didn’t want to. 

And god, Ace didn’t want Marco to stop either, and usually he wouldn’t have cared if Izou overheard, but not when -

Izou sounded like Ace had not heard him, which was why it had taken him a moment to place the voice at first. He sounded so sad, that no person with a heart in place could’ve enjoyed their blowjob anyways.

Ace slid himself out of Marco’s mouth and he closed his eyes with all effort, forcing himself not to come from the sheer image of it. 

Then, elegantly, he slid off the treatment couch, grabbing his stuff, way more composed than he felt, but the tremble in his fingers and weakness in his knees gave him away. 

Ace wanted to turn around and smile at him shyly, but Marco pulled him into a kiss. His face was so hot with constraint, probably smoldering around his cheeks and especially so when squished by Marco’s cooling fingers, pressing into his skin. 

Then Ace tasted himself on Marco’s lips and he wanted to cry from the unfairness of it all. 

…

When Ace woke up the next morning, Marco was there. 

It took him a moment to understand. 

He was next to him. 

But not in bed, but on the floor, kneeling there, hunched over, his arms and head resting on the mattress, somewhere close to Ace’s feet. 

How easily I could’ve kicked him in the face in my sleep , Ace thought. Almost angry at him.  

But not able to sit in that feeling for long. Not when Marco was facing Ace. 

Not when he noticed the most devastating detail - this thing that made Ace draw the first few breaths of his day against a heavy feeling - Marco had hooked a finger into his hand. Holding almost shyly, as if he was asking to be invited. 

It was so small. That gesture.

But it said so much. 

Ace gulped. Glad that Marco was not awake to watch him with those watchful eyes of his, that saw right through every scared thought of his. Knowing Ace’s inner turmoil better than he himself. 

Marco could’ve easily slipped under the sheets next to him. He could’ve woken Ace up to ask for consent if he needed, but instead he just… slept like that. 

“He’s gonna pin the terrible neck pain his own poor decisions gonna give him on me,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. Needing to joke about it to himself, even in the absence of an attentive listener, reading him, reading his feelings.

His eyes flicked back to his ring finger, the pinky finger, so innocently held, as if even those were precious.

Marco wouldn’t ever do anything without checking for his comfort first. 

And they had never discussed sleeping in bed together, Ace hadn’t invited Marco. 

So that was his solution?

Ace hadn’t been called into Pop’s office for a while. And if it must’ve been so insignificant, that the moments had since slipped from his memory entirely. 

The last time he recalled, Ace had been sent to a small island with the man who tried to outrun him and 14 other commanders. 

Because of the sheer size of their family, Pops had magnifying glasses next to the framed photo. Not that the photo showed their entire family. It was virtually impossible to stay on top of these. They’d have to take one every other week. Someone was always missing, away, sick, too drunk, new, old…

“Ace?”

All too guilty he set the picture down, before he registered that it wasn’t Whitebeard’s booming voice. 

His eyes, overwritten with the guilt of snooping around, snapped up to meet Marco’s. Or he tried to meet them, but Marco averted his gaze so quickly, that Ace felt like he’d shot his eyes down just by looking his way. 

The amused comment on whether or not they’d gotten themselves into any trouble he wasn’t aware of, died on his lips with Marco’s odd fidgeting. 

Ace leaned back on his heels, studying his body language. Marco certainly didn’t have the best day, he hunched around like he was burdened with something. And Ace doubted it was just the aftermath of this night's sleeping position.

Perhaps it was awkward because of the blowjob. 

Ace felt oddly awkward, Marco stood awkward. And this wasn’t the best place to discuss the matter. 

In awareness of their surroundings, Ace scanned the walls for any snails that could distribute the things said or done with anyone but them. Luckily, he found none.

Needing to get a closer look, Ace approached from his place behind the desk. 

“Good morning,” he pitched his voice softly. Knowing it would gain Marco’s attention. 

Indeed it seemed to pull Marco from his thoughts. Ace could barely suppress the endeared grin, it was so goddamn easy with Marco sometimes. 

He was so reactive to him. Realizing that made him happy. Almost proud. 

Although he’d done nothing to earn it. 

Marco blinked, taking a look at his empty wrist, as if he habitually carried a watch. Which he didn’t. Ace grinned. Marco had some sort of supersense when it came to time that had to do with some inner clock type of bird magic, that he didn’t press him on.

Marco considered it silly.

“It’s afternoon…” 

“I know.” Ace approached him, feeling just a little nervous, he wanted to greet Marco with a kiss. He wanted. But he wasn’t sure if he could pull it off. “Been meaning to tell you that the entire day.”

The corners of Marco’s lips twitched as if he was testing out a smile. “Goodnight,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for even longer…”

“Marco,” he said, tilting his head. Doing his best to sound confident, like the first night in his room, when they’d kissed. The last time Ace had felt like he had the upper hand in this. “I want you to sleep with me.”

Marco’s eyes widened, a moment of stunned silence and blinks, staring at Ace, before he caught himself. “I-I know-“

He tipped his head back, allowing a genuine chuckle. “Right now I’m not talking about sex, Marco. Not that you’re wrong about that…”

Marco was waiting for him to keep speaking, but Ace liked this moment a little too much. Whenever Marco got like this, all in his head and so adorably worried, hanging on his lips, Ace couldn’t help but find him cute.

“Sleep in my bed. Please.” He closed the distance between them fully, standing way too close to deny anything. “Hold me, kiss me good morning… Sleep in my bed next time, Marco.”

Marco wasn’t done blinking. “B-but I woke up in your bed today.” 

And he sounded so awfully sorry for it, as if he took any fault. Ace closed his eyes, unable to suppress the amused curl around his lips. “How could I have left you on the floor?”

“You- you tucked me under the blanket?”

He smiled, brushing his fingers through Marco’s hair, getting as soft on him as he’d dared this morning when nobody was looking. Not even Marco. “What did you think?”

With that stupid little bird brain of yours.

That question seemed to finally break down, whatever had been holding Marco in its clutch so stiffly. 

He fumbled both hands through his hair, voice small yet filled with relief. “I thought I somehow climbed in myself. And… that you felt so uncomfortable that you left me there without a word.”

A small pause and a thrown glance out of vulnerable blue eyes later, he added in admission, “When I walked in here to find you - after Pops’d called for me - I’ve been internally freaking out.”

The answer was the final straw for Ace’s composure as he couldn’t help, the laugh escaping him before any thought registered. 

Silly little worries from Marco. Hearing them was almost reassuring. 

Of course Ace felt bad for him, but all he could do was shake his head, then tuck it to Marco’s shoulder, pressing into him and sighing his name. “Oh, Marco.”

Marco’s gulp could be heard and Ace carefully slid their fingers together, with no second thought. His had found Marco’s before he realized, only then growing aware, that it was the first time they were holding hands, when it meant something. 

Of course their hands had held each other before. 

But only now was it full of meaning.

“A-are you sure? I would be fine with it, if you needed more time before…”

Ace didn’t know an answer that expressed what this level of consideration made him feel. Instead of thinking one up, he sighed Marco’s name another time.

Marco’s voice had molten in the few seconds since he’d realized that he’d done nothing to upset Ace. Aside from the aching he’d felt when catching the first glances at his hunched-over figure.

Almost shyly now, his voice came, asking, “What?”

He took a deep breath, pressing his cheek against Marco’s collarbone, whispering into his neck. “Why are you-“ 

He stopped, starting again. “It’s like you’re showing me more love and kindness than I have a heart to keep it safe in.”

It was quiet. Ace had expected Marco to laugh, relax in relief, but he was quiet. He opened one eye to glance up at his face. 

Marco was already looking, staring actually. It wasn’t necessary to voice anything that laid below his eyes. 

Ace leaned back just slightly, separating from Marco for the moment.

He looked like a man made of wire and fire, barely holding himself together. Ace wanted to be the match that lit him up.

“Are you just gonna stare all day, or are you gonna kiss me?”

He asked it softly, stripping the question of all teasing undertones to leave nothing but the request. 

When Ace tilted his head up to look for an answer, ready, Marco took. His hands were on Ace, a second after the silence fell around his question. Kissing Ace slow and deep, cupping his face with both his hands like he was afraid to let go.

And he responded without thought, without stress, pressing himself deeper into Marco’s touch, confirming his approval, his fingers tangling around Marco’s neck, into his hair, dragging him closer.

Marco was kissing him like a man on the brink, like something inside him had given way. He was breathing too hard for a kiss. Reacting to every little movement and shift in Ace. Shooting his hands down Ace’s back, holding onto his hips in a tight grip, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. 

Awe? Restraint? The questions were wiped from his mind with the desperate groan that followed. Ace honored it with a pleased low sound directly into their open mouths. 

And just to test, he leaned back a little, answering Marco’s tongue with the same unbarren intensity as before - and Marco followed. Not even a second of consideration and he was pressing into Ace, flushing their bodies together again, one hand cupping Ace's neck, shaky, fingers drawing into themselves as if Marco was trying to hold onto a non-existent shirt collar. The fingers of his other hand dug into Ace’s hips just a little harder when he didn’t flinch. 

Permission. 

Ace was dumbstruck with it, the realization that Marco was still waiting for his.

Even when Ace was giving it. 

He moaned, giving Marco more. Giving more to pay for the glimpses. Glimpses of that hunger, held back behind the dam like the flood. Ace moaned to earn it and Marco trembled with his efforts.

More than anything, Marco needed to feel trusted, Ace realized.

He sighed taking a small step back, his hands on Marco’s arms squeezing, pulling and Marco followed. Followed the suggestions and suddenly they were moving. Ace let Marco guide him backwards, long lost to the moment. 

As lost as Ace wanted to feel, until Marco slowed down, fingers digging into his skin deeper like he was trying to stop himself. Then they stumbled into the wall, Ace back hit it a little harder than planned, knocking a soft grunt out of him. 

Marco caught him instinctively, one hand splaying across his ribs like he couldn’t decide whether to pin him or apologize. 

Ace tipped his head back, ready to take the decision from him, watching Marco’s wrecked expression, a far cry from his usual composure, as if Ace had been wearing him down. 

He breathed in, breathing Marco in, leaning forward like he was about to push into his space again. But then he lifted his arms above his head, pinning them to the wall on his own. 

Ace didn’t need to follow Marco’s eyes to know he was watching attentively.

“Are you just gonna stare all day, or are you gonna touch me?”

Chapter Text

“Are you just gonna stare all day, or are you gonna touch me?”

The moment Marco’s lips pressed back into his, Ace could tell he’d snapped something in him, because Marco was kissing him like he was starving for it. His mouth was moving with something so wrecked it almost frightened Ace. Not in a bad way.

Marco was shaking as if he was holding a flame, choosing not to pull away. And he wasn’t wrong. Ace didn’t fully understand what he’d done to cause this, but it stirred something in his chest to watch Marco come so undone. A thrill and a softness.

Maybe, Ace thought, it was trust. Trust and inviting Marco in. 

“Marco,” he whispered between kisses, listening to his own voice bend under the moans escaping along the word, “you’re shaking.”

And Marco’s breath caught like Ace had caught him saying something out loud. His fingers dug in even tighter.

Marco tilted his head, his cheeks were red and feverish, his eyes blown wide, he looked like someone who’d forgotten himself and Ace had just reminded him he wasn’t alone. Ace wanted to bite his own tongue and curse himself out. 

He’d gotten Marco where he wanted him, throwing caution and control to the wind to move in this moment with Ace - and then he had to be so dumb to remind him!

Marco was sucking in short breaths, his hands were slowly stilling around Ace’s waist. Ace’s stomach clenched, he was meeting Marco’s gaze - it was melting over him. 

“I like it,” Ace admitted, breathless, encouraging.

And then Marco was turning him around, pressing himself against his back, his mouth desperate on Ace’s neck and all the anxiety blew out with a snap. Ace shifted, rutting back instinctively into the pressure behind him, Marco’s low and wrecked groan against his neck like a prize.

Then, suddenly, Marco’s hands were on his arms, sliding up to his wrists, dragging them up the wall so Ace’s forearms were pressed flat, pinned by Marco’s weight and intent.

Ace shivered at the motion, at how quickly Marco could go from that gentle gaze, carefully twirling him around to this. 

He let his breath catch with Marco leaning in, pressing even closer, close enough for Ace to feel the tremble in his chest against his back.

“Ace,” he rasped. 

Ace hummed, that was a good way to start a sentence. 

“I can’t stop wanting you.”

It hit Ace low in the stomach, how felt this statement was. How much it meant to hear it spoken. He never knew how overwhelming it could feel to be touched like something sacred.

This was no matter solved with verbal replies, he decided, pressing back harder, his spine arching slightly, ass grazing Marco’s cock through the fabric. He could feel the truth in Marco’s statement - his hips rocked on their own - but it wouldn’t hurt to confirm. 

Over. 

And over.

Marco whined. “I need to touch you.” 

One of his hands left Ace’s arms to come around him, palm pressing into his stomach, and grinding Ace along him was a combined effort of pressing backwards, pressing together. 

The tips of his fingers, spread wide covering half and more of his belly, were grazing Ace’s waistband. Brushing over the sharp edge of Ace’s pelvis, like it was his favorite part of a scripture.

“May I?” Marco breathed and Ace couldn’t have held back to toy with him if he’d wanted. 

His body had agreed before his mouth could. All that was heard was the rustling of fabric, Marco’s aroused breath in his ear, sounding sharp around the edges and he threw his head back, rubbing against Marco with unrestrained moans covering his lips.

When Marco unzipped his pants, Ace felt his bulge filling out the news space immediately, growing towards freedom. And he was sure that Marco could feel it as well.

“Are you okay?” Marco was kissing Ace’s shoulder like a vow.

“Fuck, yes.” His arms pressed harder into the wood, Ace was starting to feel thankful for its presence. He needed something to lean on, because this Marco was weakening his knees.

“Pull down your underwear for me.” Another kiss.

Ace didn’t even try to argue, much less did he see a reason why he’d want to. He simply followed Marco’s request, knowing it was telling he went without a fight, knowing that Marco didn’t care, was too aroused to tease him anyway.

Finding a new sense of security in that knowledge he pressed back into Marco, allowing the shiver, allowing the little gasps, giving Marco things that weren’t practised. Even during the blowjob, Ace had been hyper aware of his body, his voice, all of his reactions. 

Hyperaware that Marco was aware. And Ace had liked that kind of attention. But now? Marco was pressing into him, sucking a sharp breath next to his ear. He was fully lost to feeling Ace and there was nothing to get shy or embarrassed about. Because Marco would love it.

So Ace allowed for Marco to hear his breath stutter, as he obeyed, dragging the waistband down with shaky fingers. The fabric slipped, then sliding down its way to Ace’s ankles on its own. He felt himself throb in the open, swollen and slick and desperate.

And Ace was glad about his decision, so he didn’t feel an ounce of shame about the choked moan that stuttered over his lips, when Marcos hand wrapped around the base of him. 

No hesitation, no teasing and slow undoing - just a hot, reverent grip like Marco was finally done pretending he could take his time. 

Moaning his name, low and rough in his throat, came from surprise, but also as a form of verbal encouragement. “Marco.”

He gasped leaning back into Marco’s body, bending his head trying to catch anything of him to kiss. 

His cook throbbed in Marco’s grip, the air thick with the sound of their breath and skin brushing too hot against too much clothing. Ace was melting into it. Into Marco’s mouth on his neck, into the obscene pressure of a hand that hadn’t let go since he’d bared himself.

Marco’s palm was hot and confident, fingers dragged up from the base, slow and tight, like he was savoring every pulse. One finger rushed ahead, long enough to caress the tip of him in a slow reverent sweep. 

Ace gasped sharply, involuntarily, his body twitching back into Marco’s, ass squishing his cock, still trapped in his pants. 

“F-fuck-“ he hissed.

Marco let out a broken sound, almost a whimper into the crook of Ace’s neck, he could feel his breath over the tiny hairs that stood up against it.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured like it wasn’t obvious. Like he had to say it aloud to believe it.

“Dripping,” Ace pressed out.

Marco groaned, pressing his cheek to Ace’s neck. His hand flexed like he wanted to drop to his knees right there.

“Fuck, I can feel it. All over my fingers, Ace.”

Ace loved everything about this. Loved how talkative Marco was when his mouth wasn’t full and his little news report. It was almost cute. Y-you’re so wet, omg, did you notice that, Ace?

It wasn’t fair. 

That his dick was straining so hard it hurt. 

It wasn’t fair.

The way Marco touched him, like he mattered. Like he was something to treasure, not fuck apart. 

He circled the head once, twice, spreading slick across the swollen tip like he was painting with it. Then he groaned, fingers tightening just below. “You’re so fucking messy,” he muttered. “I want to taste this off my hand.”

It wasn’t fair.

The way he acted so cute while doing something so filthy.

His hand resumed stroking Ace, firm, long glides from root to tip. With every pass making Ace twitch, whimper, press back into him in encouragement, in arousal, in comfort. The rhythm of it maddening, just enough to ruin, not enough to let him fall apart. 

Yet that had nothing to do with restraint. Ace could feel Marco’s hand tremble as he stroked firmer, grinding into him closer, sliding between his cheeks, through his clothes, unrelenting and mindless. The heat of it, the friction - it had both of them gasping. 

Ace’s knees buckled slightly, not from weakness - for them sheer intensity, the high, unbearable press of need. He gasped as Marco ground into him harder, the shape of his cock rutting into the cleft of Ace’s ass with something unrelenting, that bordered on frenzied. The fabric dragged, coarse and hot and damp, and Ace nearly sobbed.

His spine arched, his head tipping back, wishing for the comfort of Marco’s shoulder. For someone so inexperienced with emotional sex, he wanted to jump and bath in it. Wanted to be held at every step like he was special, because it was addicting. 

“Marco-fuck-“ he managed, mouth open around it. 

Every stroke now felt like a confession. The way Marco rocked against him, the way his grip tightened around Ace’s cock like he didn’t know if he wanted to jerk him off or pin him down and never let go.

It was somewhere between gentle, unrestrained and lost. Both of them forgetting whose wooden wall they were pressing against.

“You’re not even trying to tease me,” he breathed past biting his lip. Sounding ragged. Not able to pitch his voice any higher than a fucked whisper.

“I can’t,” Marco confessed, voice nearly gone. “You- I can’t - fuck, I can’t hold back when you…”

Ace didn’t have the air to press it - what he’d done to deserve this. Didn’t want to pull Marco out of their moment by thinking about choice of words. 

So he moaned, soft and honest. The way Marco said it told it all, Ace's vulnerability had cracked something open in him.

Ace felt it, the crumbling, Marco’s restraint slipping between his fingers like fire given wind. He was shaking, and Ace knew if he asked, really asked, Marco would fuck him right here against this wall.

“How did I not see this coming,” Marco continued, his breath shuddering across Ace’s shoulder. “That I’d want you like this.”

His breath staggered in rhythm to his strokes, like he was jerking Ace off just to hold himself together.

Ace couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

It was so many sensations at once that he could hardly decide what to focus on. Marco kissing his neck? Or Marco licking into his earlobe? Marco moaning right into his eardrum? 

It was as if he was everywhere. 

Ace pushed back harder, grinding into the shape of Marco’s throbbing cock. Too many layers against Ace’s ass, too much heat and promise but nowhere near enough. The wet tip of him leaving slick trails along Marco’s knuckles. 

He wanted to fall apart. Not later. Now. Against all reason and threat of future regret, Ace wanted. Against this wall and in Marco’s hands, with nothing but raw nerves and heat keeping him upright. His thighs trembled. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel like he was surrendering more than just his body, but he couldn’t even spare a thought to anxiety right now.

“Fuck,” he groaned, before he knew what he wanted to say, “You can have me.”

And it was the truth. 

And Ace didn’t just say it. He meant it. His hips tilted back in offering, a wordless invitation for everything Marco was barely holding himself back from taking.

It undid Marco. He heard it, felt it. 

Marco faltered, like the words had hit something deep, his hand stuttered where it stroked and his hips jerked forward, ragged, even though there was nowhere to go, pushing the entirety of Ace into the wall. Ace gasped by the weight that suddenly pinned him against the wood. 

And Marco moaned, voice cracked open against Ace’s neck, dragging his forehead against his skin. Like he was fighting for composure. As if he was trying to withstand Ace’s words. 

His strokes paced faster now, rougher. And Ace started rocking into his hand with full abandon. While Marco’s other hand came to embrace him, holding onto him, preciously. His palm smoothed up Ace’s side, then grabbing at his ribs like he was anchoring himself. Like if he didn’t hold onto Ace, he’d lose his mind.

“Don’t - don’t say that unless you want me to lose it right here,” he gasped. “I’m not strong enough to pretend it doesn’t wreck me.”

Their bodies had stopped pretending to know what they were doing. Every grind was a stuttered, instinctive clash. Marco’s strokes broke their rhythm, hand spasming tighter with every gasp Ace gave him.

It all mattered. That was what turned Ace’s breath fragile. It did matter to both of them.

He rolled his hips in response, slow and deliberate, dragging Marco’s cock along the swell of his ass. The friction of which had them in gasps.

“Maybe I want to,” he whispered.

Marco’s touch spoke of what he felt in every movement, like he was relishing in Ace. Every small sound from Ace’s lips was answered with a kiss to his skin, a tightening of his hold, Marco whispering his name with something close to awe.

Ace’s chest squeezed around that.

It would’ve embarrassed Ace, if he didn’t relish in it the same way, if he wasn’t fully taken in by Marco’s touch. In this special atmosphere he could accept to be treated as if he’d done something special, something meaningful just by existing.

“You’re… Marco you’re being so-“ he choked on the end of it, blushing so hard his ears set on fire. They really did. 

Not wanting to give up despite that, he kept pushing, “You’re… I feel all-“

Marco’s hand slowed, just a little, not to tease but to let him catch a breath and a cohesive thought. His fingers slick with precum, his strokes turned lazy, dragging every glide with a reverence, a certainty that made Ace shiver. 

This was unlike Marco pulling Ace back from the edge, he wasn’t edging him, he was… worshipping him? Touched his body like someone who thought they’d never be allowed to have it again. 

“Tell me,” he muttered, nuzzling behind Ace’s ear. His voice was so soft now, so delighted. “What do you feel?”

He pressed closer, chest to Ace’s back, mouth at the nape of his neck, open and hot, just breathing him in. While his hand kept working him slowly. And it felt more intimate suddenly, more dangerous than all the ragged breathing and frantic hands could be. 

Ace choked on his next breath, pressing his face hidden against one forearm, shivering to Marco’s fingers, feeling along him with such care. The other arm dropped from the wall to reach behind him blindly, seeking any part of Marco. His fingers found and curled around Marco’s wrist, the other one that wasn’t on his dick.

 And the words he was trying to hold back so bad slipped out anyway.

“Adored.”

Marco froze. 

It was only a heartbeat, but Ace felt it, bent his head back to meet his gaze. Marco’s hand still on his cock, the weight of his body behind him, his lips parted, like he momentarily forgot how to answer. 

Ace swallowed thickly, felt the first lick of nerves. Like he’d said too much. Was it too much?

But then the surprise fell from Marco’s face, he met Ace’s eyes as he moved his hand, reverently restarting the moment. 

Ace couldn’t help it, didn’t feel fully responsible either when he dragged himself along Marco, rolling his hips slow and pointedly. For a second everything felt too good. For a second looking at each other like that, was not only tolerable but exciting.

Marco’s raw voice cracked a little in response, his eyes fell shut. “You are.”

Ace’s stomach fluttered, twisted, something soft and electric all at once. His eyes fluttered close as well.

This wasn’t dirty, not in the way they had been seconds before. But fuck, it hit.

Ace whimpered, the sound escaping without his permission, and Marco moaned, like Ace’s reaction was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Then a little rougher. “Shit, Ace… don’t. You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you-”

His mouth found Ace’s, fingers curled around Ace’s neck and chin, helping his effort to almost break his neck leaning back. Marco kissed with unnerving sweetness, while his hand was doing something entirely different, while his hips rolled against Ace, grinding firmly against his ass in a way that left little to the imagination. 

Fabric dragged between them, maddening, too soft and too rough all at once.

Ace wasn’t sure when Marco’s flames had sparked, or when they’d sprung over onto him. But they were around them, fully around them, like he was really everywhere over Ace’s body.

If they kept going there was only one way to end it. 

Ace wanted to fall into it, the moment, the place, Marco. He wanted it so bad, he felt shaky. 

He didn’t know how to hold it all, the ache, the heat, the way Marco touched him like he was everything.

“Marco,” he said and it came like a whimper. “I do mean it.”

His voice was barely audible. Half-drunk on pleasure, half hiding in shyness. “I want you to lose it for me.”

Marco’s grip shifted, firming at the base, his thumb dragged over Ace’s asshole, gentle, slow. Slick and obscene.

Ace threw his head back, arching his back hard. He had nothing to brace against but the wall, Marco’s body. “Fuck. What are you-”

Marco’s answer was a kiss to the base of Ace’s neck, open mouthed and solemnly. He kept pressing his finger to Ace’s rim, the drag of it more erotic than anything. 

His fingers were wet with precum and Ace nearly sobbed when he thumbed his slit, slick and hot. A soft sound spilling out before he could bite it back. Just the fingertip slipped inside, but Ace’s knees buckled with it.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, shaking. Overwhelmed. “You - god, Marco -“

Ace hadn’t expected it. Had not expected Marco to do it without needing his permission first. Even though, to Ace, he’d given it, and maybe Marco finally believed it. Trusted himself to read Ace.

The finger breached him just a little further, careful but filthy, slick with everything Ace had given him. His body trembled, not in resistance, but in acceptance.

Marco groaned, brokenly. “You’re—fuck, Ace, you’re letting me—”

Ace’s voice cracked, head tipping back again. “Don’t stop. Please."

He barely recognized his own voice, all breath and need. “Touch me again like that — please, Marco.”

Marco swore into his skin, the heat of it burning across his shoulder, and he did. Slid that finger deeper, slow but sure, until Ace’s whole body clenched around it, so tight and hot Marco groaned again, almost like it hurt.

Ace choked on the moan that came next, pressing his forehead to the wall, mouth falling open around the smallest, rawest noise.

It was so much. Too much. Just a single finger and Ace was unraveling.

“God, I can feel you—” Marco’s voice cracked apart. “Clenching on me.”

His words and voice almost wrecked him. His stupid cute little news report. Ace, you’re so thight- did you notice that you’re letting me- do you want to be fucked?

Marco was pushing forward now, chest flush to Ace’s back, hand moving on his cock again, the pressure maddening. The finger inside him curled slightly and Ace nearly cried out.

“Marco,” he gasped. “Fuck, I’m—I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Don’t let me come,” he whimpered, dizzy and wild. “Not yet.I want you—”

Marco’s free hand smoothed up his ribs again, grounding, holding. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

That— that—was... That name. That voice.

Ace whimpered, actually whimpered, and pushed back onto Marco’s finger, fucked himself on it like he’d forgotten how to think.

All Ace knew was he didn’t want to come yet, didn’t want this to end. And that he was scared of how much he wanted to give Marco. 

Everything. In this moment, nothing felt like it would be too much. It was boundless.

“Ace,” he whispered, voice trembling with need, “I want to feel you open for me.”

Ace hissed his name like a curse, trying to speak before he got to finish the thought. “I-“

“Marco. Ace.”

And now he’d never finish it.

That voice was deep. Familiar. And loud enough to snap the air around them like a whip.

Pops.

Ace froze like he’d been shot. Every muscle seizing. 

And he would’ve preferred that. Preferred to be dead. Preferred death by shooting, over embarrassment. 

Marco hadn’t frozen up like Ace. His flames had reacted before him, rising up to a blue and yellow sparkly storm that engulfed them in a swirl. Golden and warm. 

It masked everything - Ace’s lowered pants, the obscene press of their bodies, the hand on Ace’s cock, the finger inside him. 

Marco cleared his throat, loud and awkward. 

“Ah… Pops,” he said, voice still shaken and too high. “Just, eh… a little routine flame checkup. Making sure Ace’s internal temperature is… stable.”

Yeah, he’d certainly come close to checking on that, Ace thought.

Marco had swiftly slid his finger out and he did his best not to gasp or whine with it. Biting his lips so hard, he tasted a bit of blood.

His face was on fire and it wasn’t Marco’s cooling flames. 

What the hell should he do? Marco couldn’t let his flames die down. Ace couldn’t look Pops in the eyes. Not today. Not for a week. 

Or forever. 

Whitebeard said nothing, probably looking from Marco, breathless and red faced, to where Ace was engulfed in suspicious fire. Still bracing the wall like a man who wasn’t receiving a “checkup.”

“… Right,” Pops said. His tone did not give away anything. 

Marco coughed. 

Ace decided it was time to pull it together, pull up his freaking pants. And try to un-liquify his legs. But he still considered death the preferable alternative to living this moment. 

“…I’ll give you both a moment.” 

Ace nearly cried out in relief. He felt a strong urge to hug the old man, tell him how big his soft heart was. But that would’ve required the ability to address Pops in any way. 

Ace felt like it was lost. Now and forever. 

He was fucked, so fucking fucked. 

“To finish your… checkup,” Pops added dryly.

Ace heard his steps, like he was turning on his heel, closing the door behind him, with what felt like deliberate slowness.

He couldn’t believe that he’d been so lost to their moment, he’d genuinely forgotten where they were. To the point that when he’d first heard Pop’s voice, Ace thought what he was doing in their commander quarters.

The moment the latch clicked, Marco’s fire died out and his head dropped to Ace’s shoulder.

He was groaning into it. “Oh my god.”

Suddenly, a chuckle crept up Ace’s throat, seeking an out through his mouth. He cracked, teasing. “A flame checkup? Really?”

“Shut up,” Marco muttered, wrapping his arms around Ace’s waist, nuzzling his mouth between his shoulder blades in a groaned kiss. “I panicked.”

“You were still holding my dick.”

“I said, shut up.”

They both dissolved into breathless laughter, clinging to each other, like they needed physical support. Ace couldn’t help but feel touched at Marco’s effort, even if he was the worst liar in the world. It was sweet. His effort to keep Ace from the mortification. Trying to keep him safe. 

Ace let out his breath, shaky. He was still hard, way too hard for the shock that had just shaken through their moment. He breathed out against Marco, leaning back into him, feeling his hold tightening. 

“I’m so sorry,” Marco whispered into his hair. 

He shook his head, grinning. “This, how do we wipe that moment from Pop’s mind?”

“Maybe he didn’t even see that much… it’s dark in here, my flames were everywhere…”

“He can bridge the gap between what he saw and what it implied. He’s a grown man and even if he didn’t father us personally, I’m pretty sure he knows a sexual situation when it happens in front of him.”

Marco groaned. “Do you have to pummel my hopes like that?”

It took forever for Pops to return, or at least if felt like that to them, trying to cool down their hot cheeks, trying to unguilt their eyes. Trying to casualize their postures, as they lounged around, a few meters apart from each other this time. Waiting.

Not sure if they should invite Whitebeard back into his own office.

There was a knock. It called back the heat into Ace’s cheeks. Somehow he made it through their meeting with Taji and Emily without erupting into flames. But he couldn’t meet their father’s gaze. At all.

And he had a hard time paying attention. 

“…Ace?” Taji was looking at him expectantly. Catching his confused, wandering eyes, he added, “The west patrol route?”

“Ah yeah. West patrol. That went well.”

Emily looked up, arching an eyebrow at him. “Your devivison reported a fire on the supply vessel.”

Ace squirmed in his seat. “Technically that was my fault, so it wasn’t anything serious.”

He gave a sheepish smile, one that he hoped covered up some of his bad performance.

Marco had wrapped his fingers lightly around Ace’s knee. Warm and probably meant to be anchoring, but all Ace could think about in the moment was that his precum had dried against them. 

When Marco squeezed, firm and little possessive he whispered from the corner of his mouth. “I swear to god-“

But he knew full well, that he deserved it, for all his careless teasing. 

In the end Emily had given up, asking Pops to end their meeting before she had to file a report against both of them for “unnerving” her. 

Pops had just sighed, granting her wish, rubbing his temples when Marco and Ace had stumbled out the door, past a suspiciously staring Emily and confused seeming Taji. 

…

When Ace woke up the next morning, Marco was there. This time he was truly there. Instead of one finger tugging shyly into Ace’s hand, he had his entire arm hooked around him, hand somewhere buried underneath the weight of Ace. Must’ve long gone numb. 

Ace craned his neck to catch a glimpse on Marco’s face. Making the most of a moment he could truly stare without worrying about Marco reading something in his eyes. Worrying about giving away how much he felt. How sappy and… 

Marco looked so soft, his chest was moving in a slow, peaceful rhythm.

Ace grinned to himself. One thing was for sure, he was not reliving what had happened yesterday.

They hadn’t had a chance to further discuss what they’d done in their father’s office. Both needing to head to their own divisions. Then  Ace had fallen into bed, feeling exhausted, physically, mentally. Yet his heart had been alive, beating away at a fast pace. Unable to calm.

He’d not expected falling asleep, much less noticed it. But he knew that at some point, after, Marco had crouched next to his bed, brushing along his cheek, whispering his name. “Ace.” And then, “Am I still allowed inside your bed?”

Maybe if Ace had been more awake, he would’ve teased and told him he’d showed his best efforts to earn the spot. But he’d simply interlaced their fingers, lazily whispering back, his tongue too heavy with sleep to tease, “You’re more so needed.”

Ace gulped hard. Marco was so close. And it felt so good, and he wasn’t even scared. Not for the right reasons. 

He was concerned over how little it scared him. Worried that the fear might return and catch him at the worst possible moment. 

Marco slumbered away in sweet oblivion. Ace couldn’t help but smile at the view, kissing his forehead. Then startling over the gesture.

Such a Marco-thing to do. He was rubbing off already.

Ace left him in his sheets again, although today no frantic knocks at his door hindered him from sticking a little note to his forehead.

He just couldn’t resist. If he was going to play cute, he was going to do it in a silly way. And Marco would like it. He simply had no other choice but to like it, Ace decided. 

Over this day and the next Ace noticed him. Marco was a blend of comfortable and nervous energy when he was around Ace. With both extremes spiking and breaking through at different moments. 

Something about him was… something was going on. And it took Ace a while to connect the dots. At breakfast, after Marco had snuck out of Ace’s room to join him, Thatch, Emily and Speed Jiru, he asked Ace to pass him the salt. 

His hair had stuck to his forehead, to the last remnants of the glue from the sticky note. Testament to the fact, Marco hadn’t risked washing his face and missing Ace, heading straight to breakfast to eat with him. 

Then he asked if Ace would let him take a sip from his coffee, all the while ignoring his own cup. Emily asked how inventory had gone. And Marco shrugged, saying he hadn’t gotten to count all the spools, the threads kept unwinding. Then with a glance at Ace, he added, “Maybe you could help me, Ace?”

That was the first request that really had Ace squeeze his eyes. Asking the second commander to hold spools for inventory in another division was a weird use of his talents. Of which Ace had many, but they all knew patience wasn’t usually one of them. 

His patience was exclusively reserved for Marco and the things going on between them. Although they’d been maddening Ace. 

Marco didn’t stop there, though. He filled the day and the next with little requests. Whenever they had a moment to talk, that wasn’t private, Marco asked Ace to help him in some way.

Ace counted it as attempts to make skin contact, to get close, to spend a little time. But Marco didn’t even stop when they were alone.

Instead of kissing Ace, he softly begged for Ace to do it. Instead of taking his hand, he asked for Ace to do it. 

It was all coming together in Ace’s head by the time he was at her door.

“Hey Doc, am I allowed to have sex with Marco yet?”

Dr. Maya, who had been flipping through notes, paused mid-motion to look up at him. “Um… why don’t you close the door and sit down so we can elaborate on this… uh, interesting question.”

Having already feared for such an answer, Ace let out a small sigh but he obeyed, dragging his feet to the comfy chair opposite hers. It had a cushy view out on the sea. Dr. Maya’s little room was just a nook in a grand ship, but certainly one of the nicest.

Ace knew, as he sat down across from her, that Marco had been doing this, asking all these little things of Ace as a way to… He wanted to level the playing field between them.

It was Marco’s way of giving Ace a semblance of power, control. Repositioning himself as someone owing Ace. 

Dr. Maya folded her hands together, regarding him with the kind of patience that made him want to squirm. “I’ll have to ask this one first: Why do you think you need my permission?”

“I… don’t.”

She glanced around the room as if expecting some grand revelation to descend from the ceiling.

Ace huffed, running a hand through his hair. All he wanted was a confirmation that he was ready, that it had not been wrong to let Marco do what he’d let him. “It’s — there’s two things on my mind.”

“Okaaay,” she said, drawing the word out in a way that made it very clear she was waiting for him to come out of whatever hole he’d dug himself.

He sighed. Of course she was going to make him spell it out, as if this were some sort of practice session. “I feel like this thing with Marco—”

“You mean your relationship with Marco?”

“Yes. Our relationship.” The word felt heavier than it should and Ace had trouble swallowing it before he continued. “I feel like it’s headed toward… feelings.”

Dr. Maya hummed, nodding slowly, expectantly, like she was waiting for him to elaborate on why that was such a groundbreaking discovery. She was right, it was apparent.

Ace shifted uncomfortably. 

“I’ve never said those words. Romantically.” He exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers into his temples. 

“I forced myself to tell my brothers that I love them. And then I avoided them for a week after. I’ve worked on it. I can say it in passing, make it light hearted. But I’ve never said it with full intent.”

She tilted her head. “But you’ve felt that before?”

Ace winced. “I—um. I don’t know.” His shoulders rose in a half-hearted shrug. “I… guess?”

Dr. Maya studied him for a moment before asking, “Are you perhaps trying to protect yourself from your own feelings by holding back on saying those words and fully meaning them?”

Ace dropped his gaze, his fingers drumming against his knee.

She let the silence settle for a moment before continuing, her voice calm, measured. “I can tell you, it generally doesn’t hurt my patients any less when they held back on voicing their feelings. Even when they thought it would protect them in case something goes wrong. What you feel, you have the freedom of choice to share. That can bring a lot of joy.”

“And a lot of pain,” Ace countered immediately.

Dr. Maya tilted her head to one side, then the other. “Eh. Is that love’s fault? What hurts us is loss. And loss happens, whether or not you embrace love beforehand. It might surprise you to realize that it could hurt just the same.”

Ace frowned, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

Ever since he’d felt Marco shiver against him, since he’d seen how Marco had cracked in Pop’s office… Ace was aware. The power he held in Marco’s vulnerability. The power he held in showing him his own vulnerability.

On the other hand, though-

“And I could be plagued by regret.” 

If Ace was not in need of one emotion, aside from shame and guilt, that was regret.

“Perhaps.”

He ran a hand down his face, groaning. “I think I’m starting to feel that for Marco.” 

He paused, knowing that Dr. Maya would ask him to elaborate anyways. “I… am going to love Marco. And I’m scared it’ll take me too little time to feel, yet too long to say it.

“You’re allowed to take the time you need, Ace.”

His lips pressed into a thin line before he admitted, “I opened up about my crew.”

Dr. Maya’s expression softened. “I take it that the conversation went well, as you still want to trust him more.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You raised a straight-A student, Doc.”

Dr. Maya smirked. “Oh, I can’t take credit. Marco’s been the same thoughtful person since he first started seeking treatment. Always choosing his words with care.”

Ace raised an eyebrow. “He’s guarded, huh?”

She smiled knowingly. “I’m not going to discuss another patient with you, Ace.”

He pouted. “We do that all the time.”

“Concerning your feelings for him, yes.” She tilted her head again. “You should sleep with Marco if it feels right.”

Ace grimaced. “Maybe something happened already. Not—I mean. Yeah… it… why do I suddenly feel shy?” He groaned, throwing his head back against the chair. “I really want to sleep with Marco and I feel it’ll happen soon.”

He allowed himself to squeeze his eyes shut, quietly telling her the next part. “I invited him into my bed. To sleep.” 

Dr. Maya didn’t respond. How cruel of her to force him to face her! 

When Ace grimaced, opening just one eye, he realized she was smiling at him. “That’s a very sweet gesture, Ace.”

He gulped. “Why is everyone treating my actions with such care and gravity?” he mumbled, more to himself.

But Doc Maya answered anyway, of course. “Because we can feel how much they take you. You’re letting people in, so they start to understand that not all things come easily to you.”

She was right. He was so used to his careless fake persona. That dude never had a problem. So nobody reacted as if his actions mattered much. Since he pretended on carelessness.

“That’s why I know I should talk to him before anything happens.”

Dr. Maya studied him for a beat before nodding. “After hearing your backstory, maybe the first thing on his mind won’t concern himself. Rather you, how that makes perfect sense, for what you’ve been through.”

Ace scoffed. Why did she suddenly do him the favor of going along instead of making him spell out what he meant to say? And why was she that good at reading Marco? “You’re like a Marco prediction oracle, Doc.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, please, no.”

Ace shot her a cheeky grin as he got up. “Well, in that case, I’m going to sleep with him.”

Dr. Maya shook her head, exasperated but smiling as he strolled out the door. She let him go, which meant she either didn’t realize it, or she didn’t want to push him.

Because actually Ace was scared that anything, and especially what he had to say, could put Marco back into this mood. This mood where he’d left Ace. 

He was however sure, that they both understood what he meant with his words. He was going to be honest and just say, what was true anyways:

He was falling. For him.

But thankfully he trusted Marco to catch him.

Well.

Kinda. 

Chapter Text

Ace didn’t even know how it had started.

He’d barely stepped out of the shower, still steaming the water off to dry, when Marco caught him. Seated on the bench in the changing area, posture loose, gaze worthy of shuddering.

He had looked casual. Except he wasn’t.

His gaze dragged over Ace’s naked boy like it had weight.

Trying not to notice, Ace had smirked, maybe. Tossed his towel at him. “A shower at this hour?”

Marco had hummed noncommittally, eyes taking him in. Just looked. And then without preamble, he caught Ace’s wrist, brought his finger to his mouth.

Yeah. 

And here they were now. 

And Ace was barely able to think.

Marco’s mouth hot, his tongue dragging slow along Ace’s knuckles, then curved around the tips, sucking deep like it meant something. Like it wasn’t teasing. 

Like this wasn’t a show — it was a meal.

Somehow, the worst was that Ace believed him. That he could tell Marco actually wasn’t teasing.

Ace stood there stunned, caught between awe and arousal, finger slick with Marco’s spit. His lips slid along the length of them, slow, his breath warm in their wake. He was pressing firm and curling his tongue at the tips like he wanted to taste him. Meanwhile his eyes never left Ace’s face, dark with lust and half-lidded, registering his every reaction as if to make up for all the facial expressions he’d missed yesterday. Like he’d been starving for it. 

Like this was nothing more than indulgence - his own. And maybe, as if coincidentally, also Ace’s.

Ace swallowed, air stuttering in his lungs. He knew firsthand what Marco’s mouth could do, how easily he could take someone apart if he wished with just two lips and a tongue. 

Somehow just the thought and watching Marco do it, watching him want was ten times more lethal. 

A small squeak split through the haze. 

Stunned, Ace looked up to meet the unknown face of a young man, caught in the entrance. A moment passed before something registered, way, deep in the back of his mind. 

This, in all likelihood, was their new recruit. Fresh-faced, young, and deeply deeply unfortunate.

He’d frozen mid-step, like a deer scenting death. His wide-eyed stare locked onto the sight before him, his mouth parting in sheer horror. 

His eyes crawled along the line of Ace’s arm like they were groping their way through a nightmare. All the way from his shoulder to where his fingers disappeared in Marco’s mouth. 

Marco glanced back, utterly unbothered, looking at the kid like this was the most casual moment of his life.

For a long second, nobody moved. The poor guy looked like he wanted to self-combust on the spot.

Then, with a soft, obscene sound, Marco slid Ace’s fingers free and deadpanned, “Nothing heals a broken finger faster.”

The recruit choked on his own breath. His entire face went red. Not able to produce more than what might’ve been a scream if it had made it past his throat. What came out was a strangled noise.

Marco tilted his head, all fake consideration. “Want some?”

“W— what? — NO!” Slowly, carefully, like he was dealing with wild animals that might slice his throat at the first movement, he began stepping back. “I— I didn’t see anything — I’m leaving — I’m gone!” 

Then the poor kid spun so fast he nearly tripped over himself bolting out the door.

They honored him with a moment of silence. Just between the two of them.

Then laughter burst out of Ace, unbidden. “Marco.”

“See?” Marco mused, ignoring Ace’s tone. “No harm done.”

Ace finally caught his breath, shaking his head. “You just offered to suck off a recruit.”

Marco, in mock offense, replied, “I did not.”

“You offered him your mouth.”

Marco shrugged. “Semantics.”

Ace shook his head, grinning. Marco’s lips were still wet, slightly parted. His tongue flicked out, almost unconscious, like he was trying to hunt Ace’s taste. 

Ace’s stomach was burning from the inside, but it wasn’t very subtle, not when he was filling out.

Watching Marco nearly snapped something in his brain.

He wiped his own hand against his thigh, borderline frantic, as if that would erase any of these images from his memory.

“…You’re really unfair,” he muttered under his breath, but his voice had gotten too soft already.

Marco heard and arched a brow. “And?”

But his eyes betrayed his calm act, dropping lower to Ace’s half-hard dick. A spark of something dangerous flickered between them. Before Marco could move, Ace pressed him down onto the bench in a kiss.

His entire plan was to escape into Marco, a solid offensive strategy to deter whatever he had planned next. Ace lunged — if you could call it that — and Marco, naturally, let him. 

And for a moment, a tiny little moment, Ace thought he’d won. That Marco let him lead this. Let Ace kiss him deep, let him push forward, their mouths sliding together. 

He could feel Marco’s heartbeat, almost steady compared to his  — hammering, frantic and fast. Like it could somehow outpace the heat pooling low in his stomach. 

Ace barely processed the small, pleased sound Marco let out, a quiet hum, before the illusion broke against the knowing smirk on his lips. 

Ace kissed him harder, stubborn to will this into a distraction, and Marco played along. 

But he played dirty.

His hands skipped every pretense of polite wandering. They slid straight to Ace’s ass, pulling him in like he’d won a prize. His fingers pressed into the bare skin, greedy, dragging Ace down against him.

And fuck— This wasn’t what he’d meant to happen. 

Heat meeting heat. 

Friction seared through him, a slow devastating grind. Ace gasped against Marco’s lips, an embarrassing sound, one he felt Marco smirk into.   

Ace’s hands shot up to do something. Shove Marco’s chest or maybe grab onto his shoulders — Ace had no fucking clue. Just that he tried to pull away. He did. But Marco just chased him, tilting his head to take, to deepen the kiss until he felt too high, too light-headed. His body long lost in disobedience. 

His hands had meant to be defensive, but instead they curled into the fabric of Marco’s shirt, keeping him close.

Ace was panting into his mouth, desperate for air. How the hell had this flipped so fast? He’d started this. He’d tried to lead. And now he was drowning in Marco like he’d never even had a plan. 

Marco’s throat produced these small sirening little groans, and Ace could feel him growing into the little space he tried to clear between their bodies.

He shivered as Marco pressed himself into Ace.

That finally gave his hands the push needed to act as the intended defense, pressing up far enough to keep himself from chasing the friction of Marco’s stomach against his length. 

It was too late to deny any effects. Their breaths were all desperate gasps, their kiss full of teeth, their hands pressing too tight. Marcos nails dug into his sides, far from careful and it was dangerous, too dangerous. 

Marco must’ve felt it as well, he pulled back, just a little. “You good?” 

His mouth swallowed half of the words, but Ace let it count as an attempt. One that Marco did not mean, but Ace took him up on it nonetheless. 

“No,” he answered forehead to Marco’s. Honest and fucked. His whole strategy had collapsed. Completely turned against him.

All it had done was give Marco the perfect angle to ruin him.

Ace hadn’t felt a fever since he became a man of fire, but this was the closest he’d come to it. Fuck, sex hadn’t ever felt like that. And this wasn’t even sex, just Marco. Just a kiss.

Marco chuckled, low and pleased, fingers tracing down his spine like he knew. 

And of course he noticed the shift, in how Marco was treating him today. Comfortable and confident. Casual almost. 

Ace grit his teeth, gathering all good composure he could muster. “Meeting. I’ll be missed.”

He had the odd feeling that the poor recruit who’d walked into their foreplay had been sent for him. And Ace would rather not tell his division the good news, naked, and on top of Marco. 

Rather. 

If he could choose. Avoid it. 

Yeah, that would be pleasant.

Marco whimpered, trying to follow along as Ace stood up, but he laughed and stepped away. “Marco, behave.”

A grin spread over his lips, then Marco started to laugh. “Well, that’s new. You’re telling me to stop.” 

Was he sulking a little?

“I thought you might not want to announce our relationship to the crew with my dick in your mouth.”

Marco grinned, folding his arms over his chest. For all his whining, he didn’t look remotely like someone who had nearly sucked Ace’s soul out.

Ace wondered what in the hell it would take to break him down. And he really, really felt like he wanted to know. 

“Very considerate of you.”

Ace sighed, one arm still outstretched like he was a traffic cop enforcing a one-man barricade. A human STOP sign. He slowly rounded Marco, never leaving him out of sight, while fumbling for his clothes with the other hand.

The sight of which no doubt, amused Marco endlessly. “I’m not gonna bite you.”

“You know damn well I want you to.”

Marco swallowed, like he was tamping something down — heat, restraint, hunger? Ace wasn’t sure if he was intentionally making it sexual, or if that was his own arousal, reading into Marco’s every move.

Marco in turn, held up both hands, his eyes softening a little. Not that it helped Ace. Marco playing it cool, confident, was dangerous and hot. Marco getting soft on him was worse. Mixing both was not fair.

“I’ll behave, I promise. Will you come—“

“NO.”

Marco laughed. But he was moving towards Ace anyway, right past his extended hand, reaching for his hair. 

“So…,” his eyes trailed over to Ace’s mouth. “Making out in public like this really is a risk.”

Ace nodded, too short on breath and trust in himself to allow an answer. There was no accounting for his actions, any moment he could blurt something like take off your clothes. 

And Marco did not look like he’d put up a fight.

“We might get caught.” They made no sense, those lockers—but now that Marco was leaning against one, Ace was ready to justify their existence. Even if just for the single purpose of making Marco look so irresistible.

“You don’t say. Next time you can suck my fingers over breakfast. That’ll surely keep us under the radar.”

Marco didn’t even blink. Just looked at him like the joke hadn’t landed. Or maybe, like it wasn’t supposed to. 

His fingers were twisting one of Ace’s locks and it curled around him as if Marco was magnetic. Stupid, treacherous hair. It was not fair that his body just caved to Marco, as if it had a mind of its own.

“I nearly…” Marco’s voice came out a little hoarse, he cleared his throat. “I nearly lost control in Pop’s room.”

For a second, it was Ace whose eyes couldn’t hold Marco’s anymore. He turned toward the lockers, like they might offer cover.

Right. That had been just yesterday.

He swallowed hard.

Another reason Marco’s calm felt impossible. Sucking Ace’s fingers in public. Grinding on him naked. On a bench. In a shared space!

Since when was he the chicken here?

“I— me too,” he admitted. Then, trying to pivot: “But if you’re advocating for us to fuck it out of our system—“

“Hm.” Marco caught Ace’s lips with his own. 

“I’m talking about the crew finding out, we’re not exactly brotherly.”

Ace smiled. “Eventually they will have to face reality.”

A grin twitched around the corners of Marco’s lips, but he held back on it. Eyes searching in Ace’s. 

His dick twitched, god, not Marco looking at him with all that weight behind his gaze. 

“I mean it, Ace.” His fingers brushed his cheek this time, nowhere else. No distraction. Just gentle. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable either.”

His heart did this ridiculous, annoying little flip. Flipping over itself in a way that made his whole chest feel like it was constructed too small.

Ace gulped, swallowed it down. “And I meant it, when I said I’m fine taking the risk. Preferably, they’d stumble into a kiss while it’s still PG-13.”

Marco laughed softly, laughed at last. “Or these little run-ins keep happening until nobody left on ship dares to walk through a door without knocking first.”

As his laughter faded, that look returned. Quiet and searching. And then, after a breath— 

“You called it our relationship,” he said, voice quiet. His eyes flicked away, fingers brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve — the kind of motion meant to look casual.

Ace saw right through it. The effort to make something Marco didn’t feel an ounce of causality about appear effortless.

It was so him. And so fucking endearing.

Like he was trying to manage the same warmth that was currently flooding Ace’s throat.

Ace inhaled slowly.

Shit, he had said it. The word had just slipped out, like it belonged.

And now, hearing it back — Marco saying it — made it echo somewhere deeper.

Maybe that was why he felt a little nervous.

Not from panic.

But because Marco had said it too. Marco had called it their relationship. Even if he was just repeating Ace’s words back at him.

He wanted to hear him say it again. 

“Isn’t that what it is?” He held Marco’s gaze, trying his hardest to strip it of anything that could be read as amusement. “I know it’s what I want it to be.”

Marco’s throat bobbed. The way he was looking at Ace — as if he’d just done something great and spectacular. “Who’s unfair now?” 

And he leaned in for another kiss, lighter, something more instinct than strategy. Both hands cupping Ace’s face, lips so careful, like Ace would break if he kissed him too hard. 

Then he parted with a slight groan, half-felt, half-joke. Both hands raised in surrender as he moved away. 

Ace’s fingers curled into his clothes, tightening, like that would save him. 

Like it would anchor him back to the version of him that remembered what he should be doing.

But responsibilities dissolved in an instant when Marco reached for his sash. 

Ace knew he should turn around. Focus. Get dressed. Walk out. Leave. Command a division. 

Instead, he watched.

Marco moved unhurriedly, sliding the knot free, the fabric whispering between his fingers. 

He rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the open shirt with thoughtless efficiency. The motion rippled through lean muscle. Habitual like the motion could’ve belonged to any other day.

Except today, to Ace, it was dangerous. 

Unfair. 

Because it was also intentional.

Ace couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop drinking him in.

He knows I’m watching.

Ace swallowed despite the fact that his throat had gone dry. Empty with nothing to swallow down the feeling. 

Like he could listen in on his thoughts, Marco was turning. Fingers on the button of his pants. 

Ace couldn’t help it, his eyes were glued to their movement, shamelessly following along.

Marco stripped down with quiet confidence as if Ace wasn’t standing there, open-mouthed, half-hard.

His eyes flicked up. Catching Ace’s without a flicker of surprise.

Like he expected it.

He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t amused. 

Was simply watching Ace, watching him. 

Ace’s fingers twitched. He wanted to reach. To act on an ache. 

But all he could do was stand there like an idiot, his whole body burning up. Gripping on clothes, like they were his last line of defense. 

He should put these on. He should go. Unglue his gaze and-

Marco’s fingers popped the button of his pants. And all good intentions slipped away. 

No underwear.

Ace’s chest clenched. 

His gaze dropped again — instinct, not choice — and oh.

Oh, fuck.

A rush of heat prickled under his skin.

Marco was hard.

Not just aroused. Hard. 

Not just a little. Fully. 

His cock stood against his belly, flushed, thick, leaking.

A traitorous signal of just how far past composure he’d been dragged.

Marco could act composed all he wanted.

But his body didn’t lie.

He wanted this. Wanted Ace. Badly.

Maybe even more than Ace did.

Not in lazy touches. But needing.

Ace exhaled. 

All he fucking craved was to find out what happened when Marco would finally stop holding back.

Marco stepped out of the last of his clothes, rolling his neck like he was shaking off the last weight of the day. Like this was nothing to him. 

Ace’s nails dug into his palms, his mind unwinding itself.

 He knew that he should care to be elsewhere right now. Should care for that meeting, and the weather report.

“Should”, but Ace knew that it was in the “could” that he had failed the moment Marco had popped that bottom. 

When Marco turned — one last sidelong look toward the corner that Ace still pressed into, clothes raised to his chest — he failed.

Marco didn’t flinch under his attention, he welcomed it.

The way the head of his cock twitched — like his whole body was asking without words. The way he didn’t tense to shield, but shifted to offer.

He knew Ace was watching and he liked being seen.

Unfair. 

So, so unfair.

Ace’s heart slammed into his ribs.

It was impossible to ignore. He was frozen in place not only by Marco’s little show, but the realization that he’d just, casually, almost without noticing, told Marco he wanted this. Them.

Really.

Them in a relationship. And Marco didn’t have to agree.

Although Ace wanted him to. And he wanted to be asked. He wanted Marco to cling to him and show it.

Whatever it was he held back in fear it would overwhelm Ace. 

the realization sunk deep into Ace’s chest: 

He was starting to trust Marco. 

Really trust Marco.

And he wanted Marco to return that. 

Marco had, time and time again opened himself, yet the one thing that Marco seemingly feared, was losing himself in Ace. 

To strip him out of the control he wore so easily - that thought rolled through Ace in heatwaves. Marco’s control undone. Marco unguarded. 

His own heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears, as he tossed the clothes. 

How could he ever walk out of this room, when Marco wanted?

That was not how it worked. 

You don’t walk away from a blessing. 

You fall to your knees and give thanks.

- Marco -

The ship was quiet, wrapped in the heavy stillness of late night. Most of the crew was asleep, save for the scattered night shift keeping watch. So Marco had heard him before he saw.

He heard the footsteps before his eyes detected the shape peeling away from the steam. Ace. 

He actually came.

Marco turned around, too afraid of how much he was showing on his face. 

Of course he hoped. Dreamt of this. Yet, hoping and having were two different things, and his breath caught when he felt Ace behind him. That easy reckless heat pressing out of him and into Marco, chest to back, body to body.

And the soft unmistakable weight of a cock against the curve of his ass.

He exhaled a laugh that felt too honest. Like surrender, even if his body still held tension. “You’re late.”

Ace demonstrated more restraint than Marco had deemed possible. 

The teasing prompted him to press closer, breathing against Marco’s neck. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not.” 

I am.

“I just didn’t think…” His throat clicked. “You’d want to.”

The truth of it sat heavy in his chest. It embarrassed him, how young he felt admitting it. How much smaller it made him feel, beneath Ace’s steady want.

Assuming Ace was among the most self-aware people he’d ever met, it would’ve not escaped him how attractive he was. On the contrary, the way Ace carried himself, his craft of an easy persona, seemed to know he could flirt his way through life. 

But Ace didn’t flinch. He just hummed, low and soft, like Marco hadn’t said anything silly at all. His fingers trailed down Marco’s arms like he was charting familiar territory.

“I want,” Ace said, “you.”

He made it sound so low and sure.

So easy. Like Marco was easy to want. Like Marco wasn’t breaking open just from hearing it. 

Now he really couldn’t turn around or he’d risk getting teary-eyed. God, he was so sentimental.

Now Ace’s lips were at his shoulder. His hands swept slowly over Marco’s stomach, the damp heat of his palms making Marco shiver. Not from anything in particular, it was just in how unguarded it all felt. 

He let himself lean back into it, but the trust in that movement came with a price. His thoughts were skidding under the surface. Because this part — being touched, being wanted — this wasn’t what he was good at. 

He’d given Ace all the parts of himself that knew how to act, all the parts that knew how to hold someone. Every emotional vulnerability. 

Should it now be just about him, naked, then it would feel different. Exposed.

“Turn around,” Ace whispered.

And Marco did.

Because even scared, he wanted this more than anything.

He turned slowly, heat rolling off his back, Ace hands next to him against the tiles, his body so close there was barely space to turn or breathe in. Not without touching stomachs, touching chests.

Marco swallowed. He wasn’t sure if the shiver running through him was from the water or the way Ace didn’t back up.

Didn’t leave him room.

Didn’t give him an escape.

Not that he’d wanted one.

But this had started way differently than he’d expected. And now — now Ace had him backed against the shower wall, heat pulsing off his skin, like he belonged there.

He was studying Marco’s face, not like he was searching for something, but like he already found it.

A slow draw of his fingers across Marco’s stomach, dragging lower and Marco’s lungs forgot they wanted air. That they had a job — to keep him alive. 

“Tell me,” Ace said, brushing the back of his hand down Marco’s cheek, “how you like it.”

Marco’s heartbeat stumbled. He stared back, searching Ace’s face for a smirk — some hint he was teasing. But there was nothing.

Only that quiet look, like Ace was just thinking out loud. Like he meant every word. Like he wouldn’t move a muscle until Marco gave him something honest.

“I’ll make you a deal. I tell you how much I want this, how fucking wrecked I have been for you. You take your chance to tell me what you need and I’ll do it for you.”

Marco had to squeeze his eyes shut, overwhelmed by everything he heard, felt, saw. 

His thoughts spun. Had he gotten that bad at predicting Ace? Why hadn’t he seen this coming? 

Or maybe trying to predict the unpredictable had always been a fool’s game.

It was just— he’d assumed, Ace would know exactly what to do. That Ace would act with confidence, take whatever he wanted. The way he did. Just… Ace. 

He exhaled. “Ace—“

The name cracked in his throat, too thin for what he meant. And Ace saved him, cutting in with a kiss. Soft. Centering. Like Ace wanted to kiss the nerves right off Marco’s lips.

Like he knew exactly what to do. So why the hell was he asking then?

“Please,” Ace whispered against his mouth. 

Oh, help. 

That tone. 

Just like that Marco felt himself tip. 

It was that voice. That please.

That perfect vulnerable beg. Marco couldn’t believe Ace was begging, not for his own pleasure but Marco’s desires.

Quiet surrender threaded through him as he lifted a hand, tracing his fingers through Ace’s hair, down his neck, grounding himself in the rapid-fire pulse beneath his skin.

Ace was nervous too.

A bundle of nerves, waiting. Just like him.

Two bundles of nerves, waiting for him to speak.

The thought steadied him.

And still, his breath caught. Just slightly off.

This wasn’t like giving.

It wasn’t giving at all.

He never had to answer such a question before.

“Slow,” he admitted, barely more than a breath. Glad at how soft the words puffed against Ace’s lips. “I like it slow.” 

He cast his eyes downward, heart racing. 

Ace’s lips hummed, curled into a little smile. Content. As if Ace was pleased by that. 

Marco gasped as Ace stepped even closer. Right between his legs, right into Marco, who was pressed into the wall from head to heel. The weight of his body deliberate. 

His forehead pressed gently to Marco’s. His nose skimmed his cheek.

A pause. A breath. Another hum, this time mellow. Almost reverent.

“Like this?”

A hand — warm and steady — slid down between them. Marco shivered as fingers trailed from his ribs to the lower curve of his stomach, pausing there. Waiting. 

Ace kissed him again.

Still soft. Still unhurried. A kiss that felt so soft and safe that it reminded Marco of his own. The way he’d kiss Ace — had kissed him — when Ace was scared.

Ace’s warm palm on Marco’s hip, his thigh, the inside of his thighs. He shivered, knowing that Ace could feel it all over his body.

He felt the warmth before the contact itself — the way Ace’s knuckles skimmed just above his skin, like even the air between them buzzed.

Then Ace’s hand wrapped around him. Just the pressure of fingers curling, slow and unbearably sure. Marco’s breath caught in his throat. 

It wasn’t sudden or surprising. And maybe, because anticipation had built so high, Marco shuddered even more.

The feeling registered before the thought. And the thought, when it came, short-circuited: oh — oh god — that’s his hand. Ace’s hand. Touching him how he’d said he liked it.

“Like this?” Ace repeated, the whisper of his voice sultry and arousing.

His hand dragged along his length, smooth and careful, like Ace was tracing a sentence across his skin. Drenched in so much patience it was almost too slow to endure.

Marco’s knees felt like they’d liquified again. Like the night of their first kiss, when they had trapped him on that chair. 

He was one lucky knee-weak man. 

A breath escaped him, helpless.

“Yeah,” he said, voice shaking. “Like that.”

Ace’s hum returned, but now it was ruined by arousal. A beautiful sound tinted with undeniable lust.

His chest was rising too fast. His pulse kicked against Marco’s skin.

Marco’s heart matched it, beat for beat.

God, did Ace like this?

He was staring back into Ace’s eyes, trying to read in them. But all Marco could detect was, fast erratic breathing, pink tint over his cheeks, widened pupils and the joint sprint of their heartbeats. Clearly and evidently liking this.

They were unraveling together.

And for once, Marco wasn’t the one guiding it.

“You like feeling in control,” Ace whispered, his mouth brushing Marco’s throat. “Like knowing what I’m feeling… how much I’m feeling. Like giving just enough to be sure I’m okay.” 

His grip tightened ever so slightly but Marco couldn’t help and comment on it with a weak noise. Too caught up to speak. 

“You like making sure I’m okay.”

Disbelief and overwhelm wanted to escape him in a soft involuntary sound. Being touched like this — by the man he’d fantasized about for longer than he wanted to admit — was enough to dizzy him. Being seen on top of that, was something else entirely.

Ace pressed a kiss to his jaw. Then, closer to his ear, even softer:

“What if I want to give you all of me?”

Marco’s breath rushed out like he’d taken a blow to the ribs. Whatever Ace was offering, whatever he was opening up, his words hit like surf breaking over rocks. His own emotions crashed against Marco like waves licking up a cliff. It was dizzying.

He wasn’t prepared for Ace to say these things, to turn all of Marco’s giving back on him.

Meanwhile his hand worked Marco in slow, sure drags, feeling the slick from the tip and spreading it down the shaft. 

Marco trembled under it, helpless. Mortified by how sensitive he felt to every little touch. Every whisper.

“You won’t break me,” Ace said softly, surely. “You know that… don’t you?”

Marco didn’t.

But he couldn’t say that out loud.

Ace leaned in again, breath warm and voice rough around the edges. “But I want to break your restraint.”

That undid him. A sharp, guttural noise broke out of Marco before he could stop it.

Ace just kissed his shoulder like he’d earned it.

He pulled back enough to see his face, lips parted, eyes searching. His hand still moved — patient, reverent — his touch changing just enough to feel intentional.

Marco couldn’t speak. Wasn’t confident he could still string a sentence as coherent as Ace’s. 

And he couldn’t hide. All he could do was cling to the last edge of composure.

“Every time you lose control,” Ace said, brushing his lips across Marco’s, “it’s because of me.”

His breath ghosted over Marco’s cheek. “Because I beg. I show myself.” 

Another smooth glide and Marco pressed his eyes shut, biting his lip. Ace got even slower than before. Almost unbearably so.

Almost torture.

“Look at me.”

Even though Ace spoke the words with no command, he still obeyed. Opened his eyes. 

Ace’s gaze was steady. Devastating. 

“Maybe I just want the same.”

A choked sound slipped out. Unfiltered. Unhideable.

And he let it go. Ace had earned it.

“You always hold back.” Ace’s eyes were dark. Between all those layers of grey was something deeper than Marco could blame on the situation. “You don’t have to tell me why.” 

Marco’s throat burned. He exhaled shakily. 

Oh god, Ace didn’t actually want to unpack that can of worms, right? Now? Here? 

“You can give your fears to me. I’ll hold them.”

Could you not, Ace? Could you not say that — say those things — while your hands are doing that- Marco moaned and shivered to his palm. Trying to think, failing.

Why did those words feel like a confession?

No, not feel. Sound. They sounded like it.

Was he imagining it? Projecting? Or once again, was he the last one to believe Ace’s feelings might run deeper than what he’d verbally expressed.

Marco couldn’t chase the thought. Not now.

Not when the words from Ace’s mouth and touch of his hands were both tipping him over at once.

He needed to touch him. Now.

“Let me…” Marco’s voice broke, but he tried again. “Can I touch you first?”

Ace didn’t hesitate. He leaned back against the tiles, baring himself like it was nothing. Like it was easy. And maybe, for him, it was.

Marco stood there a beat longer, watching how easily Ace offered himself — open, unguarded. It was bold. But Marco didn’t admire it from afar.

He followed the pull without thinking, stepping in close, pressing into Ace. Seeking safety in the familiar terrain of Ace’s body, in the comfort of skin under his palms, of lips met in a kiss that steadied him.

Touching Ace had always felt grounding. Intimate in a way that wasn’t always about sex. And Marco had clung to that—serving, guiding, making sure Ace was okay.

When in actuality, everything concerning Ace was dangerous. Ace was out of his comfort zone. And Marco had just forgotten about that while he was busy caring for Ace’s safety. 

But now Ace had made it clear: he was okay.

And that meant Marco had nowhere to hide from his own fears. Now it was him who feared being overwhelmed.

And it was not that he didn’t trust Ace to catch a falling man. It was just that Marco wasn’t sure he’d ever allowed himself to be caught before.

Ace’s voice, soft and steady, cut through the hum in his chest.

“You can have anything you want.”

Then, even softer, “Just don’t run when I give it back.”

Marco’s hands shook as they slid over Ace’s waist, hips, his thighs. He buried his face in the warm crook of Ace’s neck, felt relief at the sensation of a tremble under his fingertips. 

Because that want, that need, that same restless impatience — it was in Ace’s body too. Marco felt it, recognized it.  It made him shiver, despite the heat. 

It was the confirmation Marco needed that Ace was affected by him. Almost as if he’d never heard Ace moan. 

He let his hands explore ,slow. Every inch of bare skin. When he finally wrapped his fingers around Ace’s cock, Ace gasped in a way that knocked straight into Marco’s chest. 

Marco’s thumb brushed over the head, spreading slick, slow and purposeful. Ace’s forehead dropped to his shoulder, breath stuttering.

"Oh, fuck—"

The sound undid him. Not because it was obscene, but because it was real. Honest. This was what Ace wanted in return — to feel seen, wanted. To see, feel, hear Marco’s desiring him. Desiring Ace doing something for him.

Ace trembled and he envied him. 

Envied how easy Ace trusted these reactions on him. 

And he pitied Ace too, because he wanted him to feel what he felt right this moment. Because it was so fucking good. 

“You feel so good,” Marco murmured. Ace laughed, soft and broken between moans.

Marco tightened his grip just a little. Slowed his pace. Drew it out. Ace made the smallest noise, hips twitching.

The rhythm soothed him. The giving of it. This — this he knew.

It wrecked him. And calmed him. 

He kissed the corner of Ace’s mouth, slow and sure. Whispered, “Tell me what you like.”

Ace smiled, gaze straight into Marco’s. Whispering back, “Everything you’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes lit with mischief and heat. “I like not knowing what comes next.”

Marco exhaled. Yeah.

Shit, Ace was right. 

He himself wanted to get out of his head.

Ace kissed his hairline, voice low and warm. “Want to try it yourself?”

Marco swallowed. This was the moment. To try something new. To trust someone again. In ways that felt unknown and scary. 

Just like Ace had trusted Marco with the calm, Marco had to trust Ace with the chaos. 

So he nodded.

Ace’s hands slid up to his shoulders, firm but patient, and turned him with quiet insistence until Marco’s back met the tiles. No longer cold, warmed from Ace, like he’d prepared this place for him.

Then Ace stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until their stomachs brushed. Their cocks slid together, slick and flushed — just for a second. But he wanted it to last forever.

Then Ace kissed him. Not hard. Not fast. Just deep enough to ease his tension.

Marco had never felt this way before. Even when he’d submitted to others, it was him giving something. But this — being held, taken care of — it was wild. Unpredictable. And it made his hands tremble as they slid into Ace’s hair. Not with urgency. With care. 

Ace seemed to understand. Kissing him unhurriedly, hands steady around his waist. Kissing him was a smart first move, one that assured Marco Ace was aware. Reading his nerves with frightening ease.

Marco feared to be seen this much, to be watched while he let his mouth fall open and react to the pleasure he was receiving.

Ace’s hands found his hips, and then while casting his eyes up to watch for Marco’s reaction — he sank to his knees before him. 

Inadvertently, Marco bit his bottom lip. To be quiet. Or else he didn’t know what he’d ask or do if he let himself go now. He felt feverish. 

Ace didn’t move right away. He stayed there, rubbing gentle circles into Marco’s hips, casting his gaze upward. Waiting.

Marco met his eyes. And almost regretted, the scene before him worthy of a groan. 

And when Ace said his next sentence, he did it without wanting to. Without hesitation, it slipped right out with the last of Ace’s words. His name. 

“Please let me suck your cock, Marco.” 

A helpless sound slipped out of him, unplanned and unwanted. His hands fumbled against the slick tiles, desperate for anything to grab, but there was nothing. Just air and Ace.

Ace was leaning in, one hand dragging over his stomach, dragging over his pelvis, all but gently wrapping around his base. The anticipation was killing him. Marco’s chest rose and fell, already too fast, already wrecked by the sheer offering of this. He was aware, and he was determined to allow Ace to see. Determined to allow himself to fall into this intoxicating excitement.

As if Ace had been reading his mind — he then licked him. Once. Slow. Along his shaft. Base to head. And Marco’s hips twitched in response to Ace tongue on the tip. 

A sound spilled over his lips with it. “Ah—” 

He could see the way Ace swallowed at the sound. The twitch of his cock. Eyes quiet and in awe at Marco giving him a sound. 

And Marco squeezed his eyes shut. Just for a second. Just to breathe.

When he opened them again, Ace was waiting. His voice low, a breath above the tip of Marco’s cock.

“Here,” he whispered. “I’ll let you control this.”

His lips parted, warm breath ghosting across sensitive skin, and his eyes lifted—meeting Marco’s.

It took him a moment to understand.

Ace was offering. Offering his mouth.

Offering for Marco to take it.

And Marco’s body betrayed him instantly.

A pulse of want snapped down his spine, so intense it was almost panic. 

He swallowed hectically on the realization that he just, barely, drowned the beg, allowance, to fuck Ace into the nearest surface. Now. Immediately. 

Not that he wanted to. Not really. Not yet. Not that way.

He was just scared. Of this moment. This trust.

Marco should’ve felt in control here.

After all — Ace was asking. Waiting. Giving him a choice. Marco was the one being asked. 

And god, it felt good, it felt respectful, it felt—

Safe.

Safe. Even as it threatened to undo him.

Marco didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it tore from him in a broken groan. He dragged both palms down his face, hot with shame, need and disbelief.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, raw.

Ace smirked — just a little. But the way his eyes burned into Marco’s… despite the intensity they were yielding. Not smug. 

More as if he were almost… thankful? Touched that Marco had caved?

“You say that,” Ace murmured, “like you’re not already dying to let me.”

Fuck. He was.

Something, a part, long-silenced inside Marco was being pulled out into the open. And instead of recoiling, it leaned in.

The thought of just letting go, of handing Ace control — not only over his pleasure but Marco’s as well — that thought was almost too much to look at directly.

It turned him on so hard he could barely think.

“Do you want me to suck you slowly?” 

“Y-yes.” His voice cracked in his throat.

Ace moaned low. It was so raw and honest, Marco wanted to be like him. 

His gaze didn’t flicker. “Then come here. Trust yourself.”

And with that, he opened his mouth. Offered it like it was nothing. 

He was asking Marco to be an active participant in his own pleasure, slowly luring him out of his shell.

Marco didn’t move right away. His whole body was caught in stasis, the moment between decision and surrender.

Then he moved forward—half-falling into it. His cock hovered over that mouth, trembling with want, and the heat of Ace’s breath was the final push. The smallest contact, and Marco shook.

Ace took him in with reverence. Just the tip. Lips soft, slow, careful. More kiss than claim.

It wrecked him.

Ace had listened well. Remembered every detail Marco had ever given on what he liked or needed. And now he made use of it. Like he was cashing in a prize.

His mouth moved with intention. Not just to please, but to show that he’d been paying attention. That Marco’s pleasure mattered. His tongue mapping out the places that made Marco twitch, breath catch, jaw clench.

The way his tongue flattened just under the head? — Marco’s breath stalled. 

The way he palmed Marco’s thigh when his breath hitched? —  Anchored him. 

The pause to glance up, eyes checking if he was okay? Still good?

And Marco realized: Ace was easing him in.

He was building trust. Introducing new sensations inch by inch.

“You’re… you’re doing really well,” he managed, voice hoarse.

The words embarrassed him as soon as they left his mouth. What was that? Praise? Encouragement? Begging? He didn’t even know beyond graceless truth.

He wanted to take them back, try again, prove that he wasn’t that bad. But couldn’t. Because he was that bad. 

Ace muffled a laugh. A low vibration that Marco felt more than heard.

Then his tongue flicked across the tip, sharp and sudden, and Marco’s hips bucked.

“Ace!”

A moan answered him. Maybe from hearing his name. Maybe from how Marco said it, because Marco sounded so fucking needy.

His mouth was so hot, lips messy with spit and want. His rhythm was shaky. Neither careful nor perfect. Just starving for him. And Marco shuddered at both the sight and the thought. That only made it worse. Better.

His mind was a white-out. Thank god he wasn’t good at dirty talk or praise, because if Ace reacted like this to a mumbled clinical compliment, Marco wouldn’t have survived hearing himself say anything filthier.

He let his eyes fall shut, unable to hold Ace’s gaze anymore, and a deep moan escaped. Frustration, fear, excitement all tangling up. He was trembling. Literally. His thighs wouldn’t stop shaking.

He wanted to feel embarrassed for himself. But from Ace’s perspective it must’ve felt delightful, to know this was his doing.

Everything and his thoughts had set on fire. No cool. He wasn’t able to clear a thought. 

Only Ace. Only this.

And thus Marco barely noticed at first when Ace’s free hand moved, slid down his own body slowly, like he wasn’t going to do anything until Marco looked.

Marco did.

Ace wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked, once, twice.

Marco’s half-lidded eyes snapped open. Unable now to look away.

Good god, that was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

Almost too much.

The sight of Ace, mouth full of him, jerking himself off like it wasn’t enough, like he needed more—

And then—

Ace’s fingers. Slick with his own want, they slid across Marco’s skin.

Inner thigh.

Until—

His rim.

Marco’s whole body flinched. His mouth parted like he was about to speak, but the thought didn’t come fast enough. Just sensation.

Ace was still sucking him, dragging his tongue with infuriating patience—and now this, too. Marco’s breath hitched so sharply it stung his lungs.

Marco moaned deep and helpless. 

“Ace— fuck— what are you—?”

Was- 

Was Ace going to try and… push in? 

Marco’s thoughts scattered instantly, replaced by white noise. His lungs forgot how to work, lifting his chest in short, useless bursts.

No one had ever touched him there. No one was ever inside of him.

Only Marco himself. On his own terms, in silence, in private. 

This wasn’t even beginning to compare. This was another person – Ace! –  asking without asking. And his answer wasn’t panic. To Marco’s own surprise it was only want.

The realization hit. Hot and humiliating.

He wanted Ace inside him. Never had Marco wanted something so badly, he didn’t know how to ask for.

His throat had closed up.

So instead he just leaned into the touch. Hips rocking back, soft and aching, begging without sound. 

“Marco,” Ace whispered, voice soft and shaky. “Please.”

Marco’s knees nearly buckled.

Not can I?

Not do you want to?

Just please .

“Ace…,” he tried again. There was no complan in his tone. Just… awe. Terror. Pleasure. Something so open it felt dangerous.

Then he gave up thinking. Gave up speaking. His tongue was a dead weight in his mouth, unable to say the word. 

So Marco just nodded without even breathing. And then– 

Oh fuck. 

Ace’s finger.

Trembling. Slick. Pressing in so slow it felt like a question.

Marco’s body answered before his mind even had a chance to catch up. He let out a broken, wrecked gasp, hips adjusting to feel more of the touch.

His mind was spinning in useless circles, unable to grasp how he should deal with this kind of being given.

Yet even worse was knowing what slicked that finger. That Ace wanted him badly enough to share it, press it into him, make him feel it from the inside out. 

Ace’s arousal. That’s what’s being pushed inside.

Marco groaned like it hurt. His whole body arching.

Because it did. The ache of being wanted like this, desperate yet carefully.

He grabbed his own legs, knuckles white. His lips parting around another sound he couldn’t name. 

And he pressed back against Ace’s hand instinctively.

It was so obscene and gentle in a way that hurt more than any stretch could.

Ace was gasping too, breath hot against his cock, like he was struggling with how good it felt to have Marco take him. 

Marco squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed, shame bubbling up unbidden. 

Because it was humiliating in the way only being loved could be when you’d taught yourself you didn’t need it. 

Even when Ace hadn’t said the word, the feeling burnt into Marco’s bones.

He could feel it, the way Ace crooked his finger. The way Ace gave back. Ace reciprocated. Ace wanted him. 

This was what he’d sworn he’d never let happen again. Someone so close they could hurt. He’d survived so many years without needing it. 

And now  he was trembling for Ace’s finger, his lips, his want. For Ace’s goddamn heart in his mouth every time he whispered Marco’s name. 

It was so terrifying.

And so beautiful.

Ace twisted his finger carefully, eliciting another gasp, a stutter of Marco’s hips..

"Want more?" Ace whispered, voice wrecked and hopeful at once.

He tried to say something, anything, but his mouth opened and no sound came out but a desperate whimper. 

Instead Marco nodded frantically, head pressed back against the tiles, trembling in anticipation.

And Ace didn't tease.

He didn’t make Marco beg for it.

He just gently slipped in another finger, pushed deeper, his breath ragged against Marco's skin, like he needed it too badly to be cruel.

Marco sobbed out a breathless sound, two fingers burned, positively, and he pushed his hips back to take them again.

"Ace," he gasped. "Ace, please—" 

He hadn’t even realized he’d moved on to clinging to Ace’s shoulders, fingers digging into his skin like a man drowning. 

Ace had however, and his free hand smoothed along Marco’s side, up to his ribs in a grounding gesture. 

“You feel so good,” Ace whispered, voice full of awe. “Fuck, Marco, you’re perfect.”

Marco nearly cried. And then something else, something cursed and even worse made it over his lips. Just as Ace slowly pushed his fingers inside and dragged them softly, feeling along him on his way back out. 

“Stop–“

It fell out without thinking. Without either of them wanting it.

But it was out, and Ace heard it. His body froze right under Marco’s hands like he’d been struck.

Marco felt it in the way his shoulders locked, he went still all over.

Then, Ace's face was suddenly there, pressed into Marco’s shoulder, his hair damp and brushing Marco’s cheek as he panted for breath. He sounded ruined.

“Shit,” Ace murmured. “Sorry.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes were wide, searching Marco’s face for any trace of pain as if he was scared for him. 

Voice incredibly soft and sorry he asked, “Too much? Are you okay?”

Marco was heaving. He could only imagine the sight he made: cheeks burning red, pupils so big they swallowed the color from his eyes, mouth slack. 

“I didn’t mean that. I didn’t want you to stop,” he blurted.

Ace let out a tiny, shaky laugh, relief cracking through. He tossed his damp hair back with a grin that was teasing and too full of light and too Ace. 

“Then why did you command so, Commander Marco?”

Marco groaned, but his lips tugged into a helpless smile.

Ace’s tone softened again, more serious now. “Are you sure?”

His eyes were still so open and full of devastatingly soft, attentive… something. Love?

Now, without Ace’s hands on him, without that physical certainty, Marco felt less sure of it.

“If it’s too much,” Ace added gently, “you can touch me instead.”

Marco whined as if in pain. A literal broken noise, because Ace meant it. Because Ace offered so easily. Because he offered comfort without condition.

Right then, Marco felt almost ridiculous. How had he ever been scared to give himself to this man? This man, who looked at him like that. How could he ever fear embarrassment, when Ace made it impossible to feel ashamed?

Ace would never make fun of him for something he knew was tender. Not when he handled every soft part of Marco like it was something sacred.

Ace's smile was compassionate and tender, as if Marco was endearing. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You can always fuck me if you’re scared.”

Fuck.

Oh god.

The words shattered him. All that sweetness in something so obscene.

It knocked the air right out of Marco’s chest, when he wanted to answer so badly he feared he would stumble over his own words. Even if all he wanted to convey was just one simple, single yes . Maybe a thank you as well.

He gripped him tighter, like Ace might vanish. Like if he didn’t hold on now, he’d regret it forever.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Ace asked, his whisper hushed. Not dirty but also not ashamed. Just honest. With a certain want layered underneath, thickening the words with desire.

Marco let out a sound again, louder now, pleading and choked. Still unable to give any verbal answer, helpless with want.

Gently, Ace reached for Marco’s cock, and Marco jerked, gasping as slick fingers closed around him. He nearly came from that alone.

“I’ll take your whining as a yes,” Ace breathed, a grin flickering across his face as he slipped a hand between his own legs.

Marco went still. His breath caught mid-chest. 

Was he–

No way, was Ace really–

He watched, stunned as Ace’s body gave the answer, the tiniest flex of his hips and a soft gasp escaping his lips. 

He was.

Ace was fingering himself. 

Right here - in front of Marco!

For Marco.

Somehow, overwhelmingly, this was the most intimate thing Marco had ever experienced.

No one had ever wanted him this much. 

He couldn’t move at first. Just stared, slack-jawed, breathless, his mind a blur of heat and disbelief. He didn’t know what to do, how to react, because he had never been in such a situation before.

His fingers still dug into Ace’s waist as if he wanted to keep him from running away, grounding himself in the reality of the moment. 

“Wait,” Marco managed, his voice still rough, still not quite his own.

Ace stilled instantly, a groan cut off in his throat. His eyes snapped to Marco’s face, searching, worried.

But Marco was already reaching.

“Let me—” Marco whispered, his voice lower this time, more grounded, like the words were catching up to the need.

For the first time since he’d decided to surrender to Ace, Marco was able to pitch his voice intentionally. He let it out low and reverent. Sounding way calmer than he felt.

He slid his hand over Ace’s wrist, not to stop him, but to guide him. Gently. Intentionally. And with that kind of wonder he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

“I want to feel you, too.”

He brought Ace’s fingers back to his own body, slow and sure. Gasped as they breached him again. Ace made a sound like the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs.

“Wait—Marco—they’re not slick enough—I—”

Marco didn’t stop. Couldn’t. 

He sank down on Ace’s fingers, not fast, but deep enough to feel it — the stretch, the burn and the fullness. It was a lot and he still craved more. 

The edge of discomfort made it real. The way Ace gave it made it safe.

Ace was watching him, breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to enjoy this as much as he was.

Marco swore he could feel the tremor in his hands.

“You—Marco—fuck—”

Ace had stilled, like he wasn’t sure whether he was still allowed to, and Marco felt that hesitation like a heartbeat. He reached down between them, swiped his own cock once, gathering the slick.

“Allow me,” he whispered, voice closer to prayer now. A vow against Ace’s ear, sealed with a kiss.

And Ace understood. Lifting into Marco’s hand as Marco pressed his own finger into him in return with a moan so helpless it nearly undid them both.

Their foreheads fell together, bodies pressed, breath tangled. Neither of them led. Neither followed. They just moved—rocking gently, riding the rhythm they made together.

Breath met breath. Chest to chest. Fingers inside, messy and shaken. There was no cleverness in it. No choreography. Just trust and heat. 

Marco pressed his forehead against Ace’s shoulder and broke apart a little.

Because he’d spent so long pretending, when he could’ve felt this way instead. Feel Ace’s need all over him, in him, that he was desired — not for what he could give, but as a person.

He was so fucking gone.

Ace’s eyes fluttered shut, lips brushing Marco’s jaw.

“You’re inside me,” he whispered, like it was the most astonishing truth he’d ever said out loud.

He answered with a broken noise, tightening his hold on Ace’s wrist, rocking his fingers deeper inside of him. The stretch wasn’t enough - it was everything, but still not enough.

He needed more.

All of Ace. 

Ace was panting, lips open against Marco’s throat, his hips shifting unconsciously like he was simply following a natural rhythm.

He should be stronger than this.

He’d told himself he would be.

But now that he’d felt Ace touch him like that — loving fingers, slow breath, moaning his name like worship — every promise Marco had given himself had fallen apart. 

“Ace,” he whispered.

“Yes,” came the instant reply, unthinking.

“No, Ace,” he tried again. “please…”

Ace stilled. Pulled back. Licked his lips. Searched his face, the start of an idea dawning on his own. Already bracing. 

Marco could barely look at him, knowing if he did, shame and fear would steal his tongue.

“Please what?”

Marco didn’t want to say it. Not like this. Not shaking, not with his heart in his throat. 

His eyes flicked open, wide and desperate. His voice broke around the words. 

He remembered it now, how dangerous it felt. To give in. To let someone have you. And still — the words clawed their way out of him:

“ Fuck me .”

And it came out ragged and frayed around the edges.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t sexy. Just raw and shaken with this crack that opened something in him that had been bricked up for years.

Ace let out a groan like he’d been punched, forehead falling forward until it touched Marco’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, Marco—”

The way he said it, sounded like Marco’s plea was the hottest thing ever uttered. 

Marco didn’t stop. Couldn’t. 

His hands found Ace’s face, pulling him in to kiss him hard, like the answer had already been given and the question was just ritual. 

“You…” Ace breathed between their mouths. “You sure?”

As if they’d been doing this forever, yes.

“I need-,” He shook his head. “I—fuck—Ace, I want to feel how much you want me.”

He’d never begged like this before. Not for sex. Or to be loved. And yet, somehow, it didn’t feel shameful.

“Please.”

Ace kissed him back like he was the one unraveling, like Marco had done something dangerous to him just by asking.

Something was meant to press over his lips. Marco expected many things, when Ace’s mouth parted. Surely not what came out, shaky like it took everything in him to give it, “Okay.”

Quiet, in a way Ace never, rarely was. Like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

Ace must’ve seen, he could tell exactly how much it cost Marco to ask. 

That was all the approval Marco needed.

He reached back, guiding him down, pulling his thighs apart.

Ace let out a small cry, catching Marco’s mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

Marco released a pained noise into his mouth. They had stopped moving their fingers, bodies pressing together, slick with heat and sweat. 

Water ran down one side of his body, barely noticed until now. 

Ace pressed harder against him, grinding slow, shamelessly — letting Marco feel the shape of his cock like a promise he intended to keep. 

His hands moved blindly — over ribs, waist, up his back — clutching like he needed to memorize Ace before he slipped away.

“Turn around,” Ace whispered, voice ragged.

Marco obeyed on instinct, turning slowly under the encouragement of Ace’s hands. His palms hit the tiles, his body falling into posture before his mind could catch up. Feeling braver now, he risked a look over his shoulder to meet Ace’s eyes.

“Holy fuck.” Was the shocked answer it earned him.

Marco smiled to himself, but only so long as Ace needed to swallow and find his body way back.

His hands were firm on Marco’s hips, guiding, steadying, one gliding down between his thighs and circling around his rim—tracing where he’d already been. Marco gasped.

“You’re still open,” Ace muttered, almost fondly.

In a shaky breath, his thumb brushed over the dip of Marco’s spine like a question.

Marco couldn’t speak. He only tilted his hips, pushing back, arching his spine. Permission.

And whatever Ace had meant to do, if he’d had any plan left in him, it vanished.

He pushed back in, fingers sinking deep. Not gently or cautiously — just in. Like he couldn’t help it. Like the need to be inside Marco short-circuited every other thought.

The rhythm, rougher than before, had Marco jolt, a moan punching out of him, his arm flying to the wall for balance.

He hadn’t expected Ace to need him this much, or this incautiously. But the realization, the fact, that Ace was just fucking desperate for Marco, was everything to him. Because it meant he wasn’t alone in this. 

Being wanted back, not thoughtfully, but urgent and a little wild, was how Marco had always imagined Ace on the rare occasion the fantasy had allowed itself inside Marco’s mind.  

Choking on a moan, he clutched the wall like the only solid thing left, Ace’s name falling out of him louder than either of them had spoken all night.

Ace groaned behind him, it sounded like Marco’s response was more than he could take.

Then, slowly — like he remembered himself — Ace gentled his touch. One hand flattened against Marco’s lower back, the other easing in and out of him with devastating care.

The contrast wrecked him.

Marco sobbed, dropped his forehead into the underside of his arm still bracing against the tiled wall. The sound was raw, and Marco, without any intent to swallow it down, let it tear out of him. His body had seemingly run out of space to hold any more.

For one moment, Marco just enjoyed, succumbing to his own feelings. 

Then his eyes flew open with a new thought. 

A not so relaxing thought.

That Ace had no idea.

No idea. Because Ace was pushing deeper then he intended to, past restraint he couldn’t have meant to break. 

Because Ace couldn’t see how close he was to fucking that four letter word out of Marco.

Marco bit down on the next sob, desperate to hold something back. Just something. Some part of him still cognizant enough to keep the depth of this to himself for a little longer.

In the horror of it, the following sob slipped loose, sharp and aching.

No words, he decided. From now on, he wasn’t allowed words anymore. Not even Ace’s name. Forbidden. All of them.

Because if he said anything, the whole truth might stumble out with it.

And Marco wasn’t ready for that. To open his mouth and have his heart fall out.

Behind him Ace had gotten almost quiet, nothing but uneven breath rasping over his lips. 

Half worried and half searching Marco threw a glance over his shoulder. Gauging Ace’s condition from the corner of his eye.

What he saw wasn’t hesitation or caution. 

Ace had his eyes closed, face slack with an expression close to a daze. Almost self-forgotten in where they were, in what they were doing. Gone, like he wasn’t present from being too present, lost in the moment. Apparently, so much so he’d forgotten how to sound.

Marco barely had time to take that in before Ace whispered, almost to himself—

“You’re making it hard not to fuck you into this wall.” he drew a stunned breath. “God, I want to. Marco.”

Marco buried his face in his arm with a groan, forehead to tile, as his body shook with it. Oh god, he wanted that, too. Wanted to throw caution to the wind, open his mouth and say it, pull Ace in—

Behind him Ace blinked. Suddenly looking surprised as if he had forgotten who he was talking to, like the words had jumped out of his chest and startled him. His eyes found Marco’s, staring in disbelief, and his voice melted into a soft kiss against his shoulder.

“But I want to be gentle.”

Ace whispered like it cost him.

“I want you to feel how much I care.”

Marco whimpered. No. No, no, no. That was dangerous.

This could undo me.

He wanted to give Ace some sort of warning. Wanted to say you’re getting too close. You’re not ready — I’m not ready. For how much I want this to be love.

But all that came out was a wounded sound. One that snapped again when Ace’s fingers slipped free.

Only to press his cock between Marco’s cheeks next. Sliding along his cleft. 

Ace leaned over him, chest to his back, breath brushing Marco’s ear. His cock was hard between them, dragging with maddening slowness. But he still hadn’t tried to push in. 

“Tell me when. Or don’t. I’ll wait until you need it.”

The words went straight through him. Marco didn’t know what to do with being spoken to like that. 

His mouth opened, as if it had a plan, a reflex and a word slipped past his guard. Not a tease nor an answer. Just low and desperate, his name.

“Ace…”

Horrified, Marco clamped it shut before more could follow. Because what was on his tongue wasn’t a joke. It was now, please now, I need you now, and worse things, too. Things with teeth.

Unimpeded, Ace rocked forward, slightly, just enough to let the length of him glide along Marco. Like he was testing how far he could go without pushing in. Like he wanted Marco to feel all of  it before he gave anything. 

Desperate, Marco cursed his tongue, cursed himself. All he was left with was to press back, because that was all he could give. His body screamed what his mouth couldn’t shape into words. 

Marco didn’t have the mind, heart or working tongue to object to the proposed gentle fuck. 

He really wanted it. 

And it really scared him. 

The way Ace hands trembled against his hips, it seemed to scare him too.

Maybe it was insane of him, but the fear helped. As if knowing they feared together made it safer.

They both moaned, hips rolling unconsciously, as Ace rubbed over his rim. Low and needy noises. Marco was losing it, couldn’t take it much longer, even though he didn’t want it to end.

But he needed it. Desperately, needed the relief. 

His body was ready. Past ready. How the hell was he supposed to convey that without speaking up. Why did Ace keep on giving him the reins? 

Usually it was Marco who was checking in ten times. 

I thought you wanted to be in control. Why are you making me say it?

And Ace… Ace’s hands were trembling.

He gasped suddenly, the sound shuddering out of him. 

“Marco,” he choked, “Not to rush you or any, but I’m one drag of your ass from blacking out.”

He sounded shaken and helpless. Half-apologetic and half pleading. Was pressing his forehead to Marco’s shoulder like it was torture.

“Just say something, anything, or I swear I’m going to come from sheer desperation.”

“Yes.”

Marco dared in a breath and with a sob. 

“Now, please.”

Ace whined, but it sounded relieved. “Really, are you sure?”

Marco was aware he was absolutely in no position to talk, but he still wanted to turn around and tell him to get a grip.

“It’s just you’re too hot and too quiet today and I think I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

He sounded like he already was. 

“Was ready the second you said gentle,” Marco pressed. “Just— fuck me already.”

His voice barely carried, but the need in it was clear. 

Ace said his name like a curse. But finally the drag of his length stopped, stopped torture of mental imagination how all of it, him, would drag in and out of Marco. Finally, to be replaced by the real deal. 

Marco felt the head of him, right there. That precise stretch of skin that had been aching for pressure. 

He braced.

Fuck, okay. 

Okay, it was happening.

It was finally happening. 

And then — Ace froze. And he groaned like it pained him. Sharp and awful. “…Shit.”

Marco threw a confused look over his shoulder, catching the flicker of panic on Ace’s face.

He was panting, still hard, still pressed close, looking beyond tortured as he met Marco’s gaze. 

“We have no lube.”

The words crashed down like a dropped anchor.

Marco exhaled, forehead hitting the wall again. “Fuck.”

Their breathing filled the space between them. Heavy, staggered and full of fustration.

Silence. 

Then Marco exhaled, still catching up to the moment. “I could just heal—”

“No.” 

The word came fast. Sharper than anything Ace had said all night. Just on the brink of horror.

Marco blinked, surprised by the force of it. “It would work.”

“I’m not—” Ace’s voice cracked a little, trying to stay gentle. “I’m not fucking you raw and making you heal through it, Marco. I’m not doing that to you.”

Marco half-laughed, still pressed between the wall and Ace’s twitching cock. “Ace, I’ll be fine.”

Ace’s hands hadn’t left his hips. His thumbs flexed, like he wanted to believe it. But his voice stayed quiet and fierce.

“Forget it,” he said firmly, only his breathing betrayed the composure. “That’s for when we know every inch of each other — when I don’t have to rely on your words to know whether you’re hurting. And maybe not even then.”

He paused. His eyes didn’t waver.

“Maybe you forgot, but thirty minutes ago you barely trusted me enough to let go.”

Marco blinked, caught off guard. 

“That— you— I don’t have the words right now to assure you I mean it,” he managed. 

“Also you’re being ridiculously decent for someone with a hard-on against my ass.”

“I’m not doing it,” Ace cut in again. Calm and absolute. Like he hadn’t just moaned into Marco’s shoulder as if this situation was the death of him.

And somehow that steadiness floored Marco.

Of course Ace didn’t fear losing control. Not when he could regain it at the snap of a finger.

So finally Marco gave up, turned and slumped against the wall, breath finally escaping his chest. Ace took a step back, just one, enough to keep his promise. As if, despite his words, he didn’t fully trust himself.

Marco could only guess the effect of his begging. Estimated by the intensity with which he stared at Marco throbbing in desire and pain, he would’ve given in at some point. Not that Marco wanted to make him.

They stared at each other. Water was streaming down them, frustration only rising up under overheated skin.

Then, deadpan and in sync they muttered:

“Thatch and Izou.”

Ace huffed, a startled laugh bubbling up. “No way we’re asking them.”

“Not a fucking chance,” he agreed. “Although we could steal—”

“Marco.”

“Okay, okay.” He raised both hands, mock surrender, not backing away an inch.

“They’re still fighting, right?”

“Yep.”

Ace sighed, he sounded genuinely sad. “We need to do something about that.”

“Eventually.”

They both knew it wasn’t top of their priority list, and why that was. Right now the only thing Marco could care to want was Ace’s body pressed to his again.

Marco might have dodged answering Ace earlier, but secretly, he agreed — they needed to fuck it out of their systems. They were frankly getting ridiculous. 

Someone could’ve showered next to them and he wouldn’t have fucking cared enough to let shame stop him. And Marco was not the type that liked an audience. But apparently the audience found them, time and time again. 

Marco had considered the commander quarters, every sane person would’ve. It was just… the rule. No fucking in the commander quaters. Someone was always sleeping off a taxing shift. Plus it was the easiest way to get found out. They might just as well do it on the open deck. 

Angered by the situation and his own poor planning, Marco palmed down the length of his face. Trying to find a positive thing to cling them to.

For the moment, they just stood there, nothing but the sound of breath and water. Ace seemed equally out of words and in an angered inner discussion with himself.

When they looked eyes again, Ace shifted, stepping closer again, rubbing against Marco in what seemed to be an honest accident. Judging by the frustrated groan that accompanied the friction.

“Well,” he muttered, voice low and wanting. “We can at least…”

Marco didn’t need to hear the rest of it, he grabbed Ace, pressing him to his chest before he could finish the sentence, catching his mouth in a kiss, messy and hot. Their cocks slid together and both of their his hands followed to meet them.

Yeah. They couldn’t fuck.

But they could take care of themselves and at least they could do it together.

They were both pushing beyond their limit. Marco could tell by the way Ace’s hips shifted forward helplessly. By the way his own thighs trembled again as if they were quitting under him. 

Both their bodies were done holding tension.

Ace felt it too. Brows furrowed, his eyes swept over him. “You’re shaking.”

Marco huffed a small laugh, embarrassed but not trying to hide it. “Guess I am.” 

He caught his breath. “Not as immortal as I look.”

Ace looked like he wanted to say something comforting, but Marco didn’t give him the chance. He just slid his hands to Ace’s waist and murmured, “Come here.”

Ace blinked. “Marco—?”

The tiles were a cool grounding sweep against his back until he reached the ground. His body was burning. 

He opened his arms. “Lap’s still functional,” he said, lips twitching. “Come on.”

Ace had begun to follow before he finished the formal invite. Trusted himself into the space between Marco’s thighs, like it was a natural conclusion. 

Marco’s arms came around him like instinct. It was something they’d done enough to feel familiar. Marco, at least, had started to get used to it. 

They were breathing each other in for a second. 

Marco adjusted him, gentle but sure. Their cocks slid together — flushed, slick, twitching from how long they’d both held back.

“I’ve been replaying all that clinical dirty talk in my head,” Marco murmured, voice quiet against the curve of Ace’s jaw. “Just letting you know I’ve suffered.”

Ace snorted, half-laugh, half-moan. “You called it functional. Still at it.”

Marco smiled into the kiss he pressed to Ace’s cheek.

“Functional belongs in a crew report. Not on my dick.”

That would’ve made Marco laugh but the sound broke around Ace’s breathy moan — the kind that caught fire low in Marco’s stomach. 

He had rocked into him at just the right angle, the friction singing straight through both of them.

“Okay. Revision. My lap is… ” He licked along Ace’s neck. “Tragically underfucked?”

“Marco.” Ace choked. “Stop. You’re not allowed to be bad on purpose.”

“I’m just trying to paint an accurate picture.”

“You’re trying to make me come from laughing, admit it.”

Not that Ace was wrong. Enough joking, he decided, already dragging their hands down between them. Catching Ace’s, he interlaced their fingers, guiding him.

“Okay,” he murmured, more serious now. “Let me make up for it.”

Together they wrapped around both of them. 

The moment their slick cocks slid together in the same grip, they gasped in sync.

Ace dropped his head to Marco’s shoulder, accompanied by a strangled something. “Shit. That’s smart.”

“You’re leaking,” Marco whispered, delighted.

“You’re… god, you’re so warm. Feels like you’re the one made of fire.”

At least that confirmed Marco wasn’t hallucinating. He had to be burning for Ace to feel it.

Marco grinned, leaning their foreheads together. “Guess that means I’m yours.”

Ace gulped and pulled Marco into a kiss instead of an answer.

Together they stroked — slow, then faster — hips grinding, thighs tensing, breath caught between their mouths. The slick drag of skin on skin, the way Ace’s chest rose and fell against his own, every inch of contact sending sparks through Marco’s spine.

The water kept running, but neither of them noticed anymore. Just the friction. The heat. The unbearable closeness.

Ace’s mouth brushed his neck. “This is the sappiest handjob of my life.” 

“Not the worst review,” Marco whispered.

Ace laughed, a meek sound. “I’m not gonna last.”

“You don’t have to.” Marco pressed a kiss to his temple, when he wanted to groan.

This time because, god, Ace was so cute. And worse — he was getting shy. He could’ve masked that, but once again he allowed Marco to know. 

Their bodies rocked together — helpless, perfect — and Marco held him tighter, fingers pressing into his lower back.

“I want to feel it when you come,” Ace whispered. “I want to feel it against me.”

“You will.”

He came first, gasping, clutching at Marco’s shoulders, their shared grip going erratic as heat spilled between them.

Marco held on, the slick glide of it sending him spiraling — a few strokes more and he followed, shuddering hard, burying his face in Ace’s neck.

They breathed together, bodies lax, still pressed close — soaked and warm.

They stayed tangled like that. 

Ace’s breath took forever to even out. Marco could feel it against his shoulder, where Ace had rested his head. It was still going faster and harder than usual, but slowly falling into a rhythm.

Marco didn’t say anything. Just pressed his lips to Ace’s neck somewhere over his shoulder and half in his hair, where he had nestled his own face.

Ace didn’t pull back. Just curled into him, arms loose around his ribs. It felt like they were both quiet in astounded post-orgasm vulnerability. 

Water rinsed over them, steam curled soft around their skin. Marco couldn’t tell if they had caught fire or if it was the heat of the water. 

Sensations, all of them, were still a tangled up ball he didn’t care to unravel.

Ace fingers were combing through his hair. That was new. Usually it was the other way around and Marco savored the moment.

He enjoyed the quiet, but he could feel Ace’s nerves ticking up. Like he was trying not to fidget. Trying not to get embarrassed. He felt Ace’s cheek warm where it touched his skin.

His thumb brushed along Marco’s skin.

He flinched.

Not because it hurt. Because it felt too fucking tender.

“You okay?” Ace murmured.

Marco cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

His voice sounded like it had been put through a blender. Apparently there was some lasting damage. 

Ace lifted his head slightly, clearly checking. Marco looked away.

“Just thinking,” he muttered.

“About?”

Marco made a face. “That I’m never saying functional again.”

Ace laughed, sounding relieved. He was so fucking cute it physically hurt. Right there, center of Marco’s chest.

Marco could feel it, Ace worrying beside him. Probably wanting to ask if he was fine-fine. 

“It’s just… last time you nearly reported my own arousal back to me like it was intel.”

Instead of an answer Marco smiled. Eyes casting down to look at their hands. Still laced. Still resting over softening cocks. Still warm.

It hit him all at once, then.

How safe he’d felt.

How none of this — none of him — scared Ace.

The silence stretched. Comfortable. And still — Marco's stomach turned, because fuck, he wanted to say something stupid now. Something dangerous.

He didn’t.

He shifted instead, brushing his knuckles against Ace’s side. “Thanks for not fucking me into the wall.”

Ace laughed softly. “You’re welcome.”

“Although it’s also a bit of a shame. You didn’t even pretend to be tempted.”

“Oh, I was tempted,” Ace murmured. “I just wanted you to know you mean more than that.”

That was worse.

Marco made a helpless sound and dropped his head back against the wall.

Ace kissed the side of his jaw. “I like you better like this anyway.”

“Like what?”

Ace didn’t answer. Just rested against him, face tucked into his neck.

Marco didn't ask again. Trying to make peace with just how much Ace’s tenderness wrecked him.

He didn’t need words.

Not when Ace was holding onto him like that.

Not when he looked like — fuck. Like he was in love with him.

Marco swallowed hard. It wasn’t the right time to ask about this either. Even when Ace almost looked at him expectantly. 

To him it felt as if they both knew they were approaching the topic. Soon. 

Not now.

Ace swallowed. “You would’ve hurt yourself to give me what I wanted. I feel like that warrants a conversation that my brain does not yet have enough blood flow for.”

Marco knew that tone. Half panic, half guilt that didn’t belong there.

“It was a good deal about what I wanted, too.” His own cheeks tinted a little darker. Trying to divert Ace’s attention from what, no doubt, had scared him, he added, “God. I actually begged for it.”

He meant it to be dry, joking. It didn’t come out that way. His voice dipped lower on accident, and the shyness caught him mid-sentence like a hand around the throat.

Ace smiled. “You did. And it was… devastating.”

Marco groaned a little. He’d been meaning to take Ace’s mind off his worries and his embarrassment. Just that, today, apparently, it was at the expense of poking his own shame.

“Please never repeat that. To anyone.”

Ace smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me. Mostly because I’m too busy dying from it.”

Marco exhaled slowly. He could feel the aftershocks of his own vulnerability curling back in on him.

But if he was already poking his own softness, why not bring up…

He scratched the back of his neck, glanced at Ace without turning fully. “Um. Earlier. When I got overwhelmed.”

Ace tilted his head looking up. Gaze open. 

“You said I—I could… fuck you , if I was scared.” Bravely his voice carried through, even if it thinned towards the end.

Ace blinked, then nodded slowly as if he remembered. “I did.”

Marco’s tone dipped, uncertain. He suspected that Ace just wanted him to say it. But he felt a weird tingle of guilt in case he was wrong.

“You meant that?”

“I always mean it when I offer you trust,” Ace said, easy like it wasn’t even a question. “I wanted to give you a way to stay with me, if you couldn’t let me in.”

Marco pressed his lips into a line. Then relaxed. “It helped.”

Ace smiled faintly. “I hoped it would.”

Marco hesitated. He didn’t want to take this too far. Ace had answered but only as far as he pushed. It could mean two things. He shouldn’t push. Or Ace wanted to see if he actually trusted his word and…

“I — might’ve thought about it. Since.”

Now Ace grinned, a real teeth showing grin and Marco knew that he guessed right. 

Ace liked this. 

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I’ll clear the whole fucking day.” 

Marco groaned. “Forget I brought it up.” 

It was torture to think about. Ace meant that. And they had no lube to make it happen. 

No doubt Ace thought about the same thing, as they went quiet again.

But Marco still couldn’t stop smiling. 

“A holding-hands-handjob is such a Marco-thing.” Ace was the one glancing now. 

Adorably pink from one ear to the other. He blinked away hectically, as if trying to hold Marco’s gaze was a terrible idea.

Secretly, this was among Marco’s favorite things. Ace getting shy after. Eventually he always did, his voice cracked down to a whisper and his eyes were fluttery and avoidant.

Not wanting to miss out, Marco turned his head fully toward him, brows raised. “Is that good?”

“What? A Marco-thing?”

He nodded, shifting further to get the best view of Ace’s face. 

A wide smile stretched across his lips. “It’s the fucking best. Seal of quality.” 

Then a little quieter, eyes flicking down to his own lap, too shy to look at Marco, he added, “Wish I’ve had more of it in my life. Would’ve made it easier for the Marco I have now.”

Gratitude twisted into Marco’s chest, so sharp it almost hurt.

He reached for Ace’s cheek without thinking, cupping it in one hand, thumb brushing below his earlobe. 

“It doesn’t feel hard for this Marco, Ace,” he said quietly. “Really doesn’t.”

Ace nodded, once, small. Marco could see he wasn’t able to say much, his throat worked like he was swallowing something heavy.

Marco rubbed his thumb along the edge of his cheekbone. Just once. Then pulled his hand back, giving them both room to breathe.

“That was the hottest mutual meltdown I’ve ever had,” he offered, trying to lighten the mood. 

Ace groaned, fingers pressing into his eyes. “Yeah, and no lube to show for it.”

“We’ll add it to the grocery list. Top priority. Right next to more of whatever that was.”

“And next time, you tell me another thing you like.”

Marco chuckled too, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. 

God, he was pretty. 

That thought with all his emotions slammed into Marco’s chest, as if his heart had temporarily been stolen and was returned to him all at once, causing overwhelm. 

“It’s that important to you?” he asked. “Are you going to gather my turn ons like secrets?”

Ace smiled back. His pink cheeks matched Marco’s perfectly, no doubt. “One by one.”

But his tone was lighter again and confident, clearly proud.

“So long as you don’t put them in writing. I would hate for you to one day accidentally mix them into a crew report.”

Ace laughed as he got up, helping Marco to his feet as well. “Wind from 30 degrees north, sunny, Marco likes it when I offer him my body to take, no clouds in sight–”

He stopped to answer Marco’s grin. But his eyes when landing on Marco’s were not joking. Just affectionate.

“I don’t think I will need a written reminder.” He said, leaning in for a kiss and Marco pulled him close all the way.

Their stomachs pressed together, still sticky with come. They both chuckled, too tired to do anything but grin into it.

“Well,” Marco said, tipping his head back toward the showerhead, “thank god the showers are within reach, huh?”

But they stayed like that for a moment longer. 

And Marco felt stupidly soft.

Chapter Text

-Whitebeard-

“Pops?” She sounded surprised. 

The sun was sinking low in front of her, the warm light was casting her in gold. She looked perfectly relaxed, the way she was sitting near the treeline, leaning back, clipboard by her knee and half a coconut in her hand. Her sandals were off, her toes digging lazy circles in the sand.

He tried to greet her with a smile. “How are you? How is the work?” 

“Good, very busy. Since you adopt new clientele for me like every two weeks.”

He could hear the slight snide in that. 

Fair. 

Deserved. 

“Y-yeah. Right. Sorry about that. How’s Bruno doing?”

“Bruno is a disaster, Pops. We can’t let him give life advice,” she chuckled to herself, adding: “Or advice, like in general.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“But… he– you, why do you keep teaching him then?”

“Because he likes it. And I’m trying to find him something else he can like and push him there gently.”

Pops hummed with a grin. “Sometimes a lie is a lie and a life saver?”

She nodded, grinning back conspiritually.

They were silent for a moment.

“So, do you need anything?”

“Oh, no– no. I’m good.”

“Mhm.”

She patted the sand next to her. Her smile was encouraging, her eyes never leaving him, waiting for him to commit to this and sit down. 

“I’m stellar.”

“Okay.”

“Just wanted to um, you know… Do- do you know Ace?”

“Of course I do.” She gestured for him to sit down once again.

He ignored it. “Ah, good. That’s very good.”

“You made him second commander, Pops. It would be indeed bad if I hadn’t heard of him.” Insistently, he repeated the gesture.

“Ah, right.”

When she patted the sand again, little kernels flying everywhere, he feared, she was going to wear a whole in it. He almost hoped she would, then maybe he could crawl into it. Maybe then, they’d have a real chance of finishing this conversation. And for some reason, while he was uncomfortably shifting his weight from one foot to the other - maybe because he grew aware that he was acting stupid - he actually lowered to the ground with a heavy sigh. Somewhere between groan and chuckle. He sank onto the sand like it had betrayed him personally.

The grains stuck to his fingers. Good. A distraction. “And have you ever spoken to him?”

She tilted her head at him. “Are you asking if he’s seen me? Because you can’t ask me that.”

“Oh. Of course not. Excuse me.”

“What’s the matter with Ace?”

A breeze came off the water, lifting her hair. The smell of salt and roasted fruit from dinner prep drifted on it.

“It’s… you do know the first commander, too?”

“That would be Marco, yes.”

“I mean he told me he’s doing therapy with you.”

She nodded. “Yeah, he mentioned telling you.”

He was staring at his hands, she was cruelly waiting him out. “This is not the first time two of my children have…”

She tilted her head, eyes encouraging. “What have they done?”

He scratched his neck, embarrassed. Then moved on to adjust a nonexistent wrinkle in his sleeve. For the first time in years, he had a problem with his children that made him feel at loss.

Marco and Ace were both painfully and desperately in love with one another. Yet they were both stubbornly scared of their own feelings and fancied denial. Him poking into that dynamic, just slightly the wrong way might have bigger consequences than he could forsee.

“Fucked,” he pressed. 

A crab skittered across the beach in the silence that followed. It was mocking him. He noted that Maya did not look surprised in the slightest. 

“It was not the first time two of my children fucked,” he started again. Rehashing the same point. “But it was the first time they did in my office.” 

Maya laughed. “Really?”

He nodded, unhappily. 

“What did you do?”

“I walked out again.”

Her laughter carried through his words and her response. “So they didn’t notice you?”

“No.” It was silly, but he was peaking through his fingers like a child. “I called their names and then I also told them to finish their health checkup thingy… Marco’s a terrible liar.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“What do I do now? Do I… call them in again? Together? Separately? Do I use my… captain voice? Do I need my captain voice for this?”

“Only if you want them to die from shame,” Maya offered sweetly.

A seagull shrieked overhead. Whitebeard gave it a tortured glance. “So is there a chance we just all three pretend this never happened?” he asked, sounding way more hopeful than he’d intended.

“You could talk about the weather,” Maya suggested with a grin and he threw her his tortured glance, knowing she was just joking.

-Marco-

Ace sat against the perfect backdrop. The sun was lowering in all the colors Marco would use to describe him. Back turned to Marco when he arrived, legs drawn up, arms looped tight, shoulders curved in like a shell.

And, Ace was alone.

And all Marco felt was the pull to touch him.

They’d anchored off this speck of an island so Thatch could stock up on coconuts — a small consolation prize for the robbed bananas the crew had wasted in some idiotic game Marco hadn’t bothered to understand. Something about feeding sea monsters, seeing who could gather the greatest following, become the monster master or something like that. Typical.

Even now, Thatch was probably somewhere out there, pretending to be invested in the haul, when everyone knew he only did it for the distraction. They counted ten days without Izou. Still no words spoken between them, as far as Marco knew. 

He crossed the sand in quiet steps. He didn’t speak. Just knelt behind Ace, close, and pressed his lips to the shell of his ear. Let out a breath there. Warm. Careful. Then licked. Ace gasped softly. His hands reached out, fingers curling around Marco’s, leaning back into him like it was instinct.Marco followed forwards, heart light, letting himself breathe in the comfort of it. In the softness that was between them. 

Ace tilted his head back, lips parting in invitation, and Marco leaned in. Their mouths met like they were continuing a conversation — not starting one. They'd kissed like in the morning, like nothing had paused since. A warm slide of mouths. A slow give. Ace opened his just slightly. And Marco deepened it. Careful at first. Then not. Hands smoothed over shoulders, impatiently slipping lower. The kiss turned open-mouthed, wet, and wanting. Marco’s hand slid along Ace’s side, open and warm, gripping just below the ribs, his thumb dragging higher. He felt Ace’s breath shake under his palm. Felt Ace turn in his grip. His hands wandered quickly from Marco’s neck along the lines of his shirt. Ace pulled at it, the open lapels of fabric useless between them, dragging Marco closer until their hips slotted together.

He groaned into Marco’s mouth. A real, wrecked sound that made Marco give. He let himself fall forward, half-straddling Ace, their chests flush. Fingers in his curls. Nose brushing his cheek. Mouths messier now, teeth knocking, catching breath, but neither willing to stop.

It felt good. Familiar. Like the shower. Like waking up together. Trust and tenderness, unspoken but understood. Ace’s fingers dragged up under Marco’s shirt, Marco’s hand curled behind his neck, and for a second, for a golden moment, it was the perfect peace.

And then Marco pulled back. Finally catching a glimpse of Ace’s face and it was not what he had expected. His cheeks and lips were flushed from the kiss. But his eyes didn’t match.

There was a smile - one of the sad ones. And Marco pulled back. That kind of smile didn’t belong in this kind of kiss. Sudden realization befell him. The dawning of ignorance. Of course, he could’ve seen it sooner had he thought about it. The tension in his spine, the stillness that didn’t fit. Ace sitting alone, when he rarely did so and mostly when he was hiding.

“You’re too good at kissing me.” Ace’s eyes saddened even more as the words lifted from his lips.

Marco simply nodded, too dumbstruck to offer a real response. And what was he supposed to say? He knew what he wanted to say, but he bit back the overly worried hail of questions.

A breath drew out of Ace, then: “It’s making it harder to do what I came here for.” He patted the sand next to him, warmed by the sun and by Ace personally. “Come sit.”

And Marco followed like a well drained pup, feeling mildly embarrassed by his poor assessment. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Like starting to kiss you sensually when you’re upset, to name an example.

Ace shot a bemused side glare his way. “That’s your first thought?”

Marco shrugged, throwing back a guileless smile. 

“Did you?”

“Right now I wonder if I’m more oblivious than I realize. I… have this fear that I’m not slowing this down enough. Us.” His palms were suddenly sweaty and he tried to wipe them without drawing Ace’s attention.

Ace looked at him.  “I’m very well capable of complaint if I’m unhappy, Marco.” His mouth twitched. “But I am really happy.”

Tell that to your face, he thought. Forcing a little smile in return. 

Nice words and stalling. Ace was beginning to make Marco nervous. 

He decided not to hide it, wiggeling his toes into the sand, the damp depths cool beneath his skin. It reminded him of that night. Their talk. Fears stealing his tongue. Cowardness restraining his actions. The both of them meeting with masks, leaving the same. It felt like they’d come a long way. Showing concern openly seemed like a way to honor that.

“I did something, Marco.” Ace eyes flicked onto him, cautious, almost scared to gauge his reaction. 

Marco met his gaze. “Okay. Want to tell me about it?”

“You’re always calm, huh?”

It was rare for Ace to speak so candidly. Marco decided to address what was hiding in the question. “Scary to you?”

Ace hummed. 

“Because…,” he hesitated to analyze what Ace might be thinking. “I should be scared?”

Ace looked at the water. “Makes me feel like you… aren’t scared, yeah. Almost like it’s not that serious. Or like you’re not aware that I could hurt you.”

Marco gulped. Clearly, he’d been wrong. Very wrong. Today wasn’t a good day. He just wondered what had brought it on. “I know that you could hurt me. The longer this goes on, the more you’ll be able to hurt me like no one else.”

“You don’t show that.”

“It’s a future concern. Buried somewhere below piles of other emotions. I wouldn’t change it anyway. I trust you’d make it as easy as you can, if you ever have to.”

Ace held his gaze this time, swallowing hard. Marco decided to let some of that fear show as he felt it expanding.

“It’s what I fear most.”

Marco gulped as well, extending a hand. Ace took it. His other hand was in his hair, his chest lifted in heavy breaths and for a moment Marco was concerned it was another panic attack coming on. 

“I feel terrible, because I have never told you this very important thing about me. I never told you why I joined.”

Marco squeezed his hand, leaning towards Ace purposefully. Even if he didn’t dare move closer. Ace had ordered him in this place, he’d try to stay there — despite his entire being aching to reach out and touch Ace. 

“You know how I was alone for years after my crew died. That I ran from everyone, that I couldn’t stand staying.” Ace voice was quiet, hardly a contender against the waves rushing in. Marco had to concentrate to follow. 

He nodded. Ace staying with them. It reminded Marco how fragile that decision felt. Some days still did. That quiet fear he’d kept tucked away. Ace not coming back. Running from them all. And from Marco in specific.

“And you believe that I sought out Pops to… we’ve never talked about this and I always wonder why, Marco. So many nights we’ve talked about our inner worlds but never this. Why? Why you all accepted me after… Does it make any sense?”

“Does it matter? You’ve chosen to be crew.”

Ace huffed. “You guys are all crazy.” His fingers left Marco’s. 

It was the moment Marco concluded that he did not like where this was headed. That for some reason, this talk was hardly going any better than the last beach talk. As if islands brought out the worst in them.

The sunset did its best to paint the moment romantic. fighting in pinks, reds, deep orange and golds across the horizon. The water mirrored the efforts with glittery reinforcement. A wide warm sky, a wet open embrace. 

Marco wanted to drag Ace there. But it felt like he was slipping through his fingers. 

The last time had been his fault, this time it wasn’t something Marco could control. Yet he tried his best, leaning in on his hand, placed on the warm sand between them. Leaned towards Ace because he had to. 

His fingers found Ace’s chin by themselves, carefully running along the tense line of his jaw. He kissed him. He hadn’t meant to. But he’d wanted it so badly.

As much as Ace pulled back emotionally, Marco wanted to follow and further. Instead he let go. Startled by himself. It wasn’t like him to act so thoughtless. 

“I…,” he couldn’t say what he wanted, “am so happy we are crazy then.”

Ace eyes sparkled, teary vulnerability struck through the thin veil of a stare. “Why didn’t you hate me?”

“I wanted to. But I failed,” Marco answered truthfully. “You’re impossible to hate.”

And he used his softest voice on Ace, because he wanted to. It wasn’t without effect, Ace’s cheeks colored faintly, catching on with the last red rays of light. 

“Wasn’t it the same for you?” Marco barely held himself back. Just one swift move and he could have folded Ace into his arms.

He didn’t.

He wanted.

Ace’s fingers were back on his knees. He stared at them, lips twitching like they tried to press out of the tight line he’d confined them to. “I guess so.”

“Then was there any further reason? Why did you stay? Why… do you stay?”

“Pops. Then you. One crew after the other. You broke something in me.” Catching Marco’s concerned look, he added, “Not like that. I made myself forget, what it’s like to belong. I’d wanted it. Through the months, years, I didn’t let myself have it – of course, I wanted it.”

And Marco realized, that if Ace wanted to, he could find the ultimate punishment in leaving them.

“Marco, it isn’t true.” Ace’s eyes were hard and distant, something had shut down within him. As if he’d exiled his feelings to a different island entirely.

Marco’s chest tightened. 

Had long caught on to what Ace was doing, preparing him for something. That thing that he’d created space for between them. The reason why Marco sat a full arm’s length away. 

“I did not try to kill Pops.”

Marco frowned. What the hell was Ace trying to tell him? Why lie about it?

Ace’s shifting carried nervous energy, almost monitoring Marco’s reaction, as if he waited for the right moment to drop it. “God I hate myself. Why did I set it up like this?” Both his hands found his hair, straggly from dried sweat and salt water. “Way too dramatic. I can’t say it now.”

“You can,” Marco said softly. “It’s okay.”

And he came to regret saying that. Because then, Ace gave him the words. Forced them out, almost violently. And Marco couldn’t put them back.

“I was trying to get myself killed.”

He wanted to reject them. 

They didn’t bite Marco immediately. They crept up on him, slow and twisting, knotting through his intestines. Until they sharpened, cutting along the lines they’d traced. The noise around them canceled out. No waves. No wind. No breath. Marco’s fingers clawed into his legs, it was the only way to keep them in check, from reaching for Ace. Ace, who was only here because he wanted death. Marco shut his eyes, as if that could stop the images. 

Ace dead.

“But-“

“I thought,” Ace continued, “either he kills me - which seemed likely - or, maybe, I get really unlucky and kill him. And then I’d know. That I am a monster out of my own volition. And I need no longer hide behind Roger’s name.”

Marco needed to swallow but he couldn’t. Not those words. They stuck to his throat, indigestible and sticky. 

Ace’s gaze was burning into Marco’s. Almost angrily. Mercilessly forcing his acceptance. It’s the truth. That was what Ace wanted him to understand.

No doubt Marco had understood him right.

This was Ace at his most destructive. Marco hadn’t seen it since he’d joined the crew. Ace expecting the worst. 

“You’re not,” he said. Firm. Fact.

It wasn’t enough. Everything in him screamed to touch Ace, hold him, fo fix this. Even though he had no idea how. 

Ace stared at him as if he wanted Marco to fight him. Verbally, physically… 

The weight of what he said settled in the space between them. Words like heavy immovable objects that blocked Marco out.

“I wanted someone else to end it. I couldn’t. That felt like a betrayal. How could I choose death after my crew was murdered? But it was all I wanted, Marco. Trying to punish myself in life was not enough. But I was too weak. So I decided to seek out Roger’s biggest rival. Give him a few reasons to do it for me.”

Marco let every word sink in, all out of defenses. Each one dropped like a stone to the pit of his stomach, drowning him ashore. 

It hurt in ways he wasn’t prepared for.

“You all believed the farce. Pops was the only one who saw right through my bullshit.”

Pops knew?

The thought slammed into Marco, almost as hard as Ace’s confession. Pops had seen what Marco couldn’t. And somehow he’d said the right thing. Made Ace, the stubborn Ace, change his mind. Goddamn it, how?

Silence fell over them.

Marco had barely said anything. Not for lack of ideas. But for the first time in forever, he felt all options were wrong. 

What did Ace need? 

All he knew, was what he needed. Reassurance in the moment. 

It’s no longer like that. Right? 

You don’t want that. You’re good.

You won’t leave me, you wouldn’t. Promise? 

The waves kept rolling in. Marco tried to focus on them. Tried to force their steady rhythm into a consolation that he wasn’t able to feel. Then he did the only thing he could do. He stood up.

Ace tensed beside him. Tense, as if bracing for impact. Rejection. For Marco to leave.

He took the few steps, dropping back to his knees right in front of Ace. “I’ll hug you. Push me away if you need to.”

Ace didn’t. He folded into Marco, clinging to him like Marco might vanish if he let go.

-Ace-

His fingers curled into themselves, pressing hard into his palms. Grounding, Dr. Maya called it.

Ace had not realized he was crying. But it must’ve been a while. His blurry gaze caught the faint glistening trails his tears had traced down the lines of Marco’s stomach. Following muscles.

It was absurd to cry against someone so hot. Especially when Marco should be crying. Be mad. Carefully, Ace untangled them, broke Marco lose from the embrace. “Don’t do this, because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t pity you, Ace.”

Ace couldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t. Marco’s voice was softer than he deserved.  It should’ve felt patronizing, like Marco was talking him down from a ledge. But it didn’t. Because it was Marco. A man capable of filling any words with believable earnest.

“I’m sorry. I’m sad I couldn’t understand. And sad I couldn’t help.”

“You did.”

Ace felt Marco swallow beneath his own palm, where Marco’s still held onto his, pressed it to the side of his neck. 

Finally, Ace forced himself to look.

Marco looked worried. And… somehow he looked okay.

Ace wanted to shake him. Wanted him to get angry, yell, do something. Ace had let him believe he’d wanted to kill Whitebeard, when he never had. And worse, Ace knew Marco was traumatized from the death of his first love. So much so he had not talked to Ace for weeks after coming to terms with his feelings.

Ace had known all and he’d said nothing. “I created that distance so you wouldn’t have to push me away. Or comfort me.”

“I want to be held by you, right now. I need to hold you. Think about this while I’m with you.” Marco’s fingers were clutching his. Harder now. There was desperation in his tone and his eyes.

It was such a simple request. To hold each other through this. One Ace had not considered at all. “But–“

“I don’t want to be away from you.”

“But–“

“What, Ace?” Marco’s eyes searched his, his voice sharpening just a bit. “Are you bad for me?” For the first time tonight Marco sounded almost mad. “You’re not.”

Ace clenched his jaw. His pulse hammered in his throat. “How do you know?”

“Because this doesn’t change how I see you. Only how much.”

That wasn’t fair. Ace lied to Marco and Marco took it as a compliment, now that he finally - after weeks of letting Marco get to the point he no doubt was in love - managed to tell the truth?

Ace wanted to say something. Justify his reaction. Explain why Marco’s patience was only making it worse—  “Aren’t you hurt? Scared? I lied to you and everyone on ship. I’m mentally unstable, I’m impulsive, I’m scared of everything deep down. Especially my feelings. I’m a greater mess than you knew when you agreed to this, Marco. I just wanted to be liked by you. Is that fair?”

Marco’s eyes wavered.  “Yes, I’m scared. Yes, it hurts.” He sounded defensive now. “Not because I feel tricked, but because it hurts me to see you hurt.”

His tone had evened out towards the end, despair back in it. As if Marco couldn’t understand what they were doing here. He knelt before Ace, hands lost in his lap, face so open and easy to read. It said he still didn’t understand that Ace might burn him.

Sure, Marco could mend wounds. But there was an ends to this. The same wound infected over and over, at some point it was pointless to engage in that cycle of pain.

“It hurts to be pushed out,” Marco added.

Ace wanted to feel relief. Hadn’t he expected this?  Hadn’t Dr. Maya practically predicted Marco would react this way? Why then, did it hurt so bad? Why then could he not handle it?

Marco’s fingers twitched, as if debating whether to reach for Ace again. 

The old instincts flared. Lash out. Push him. Force him to react. Words burned into his tongue, sharp and cruel. Things that would force Marco to show Ace something he could recognize.

Something ugly. 

So he’d not have to sit in his fears. Of dishonesty. Of Marco staying for Ace’s sake, while planning his escape.

When Marco finally touched him, slow and careful, Ace flinched like it hurt, pulling away before he even registered the movement. The urge was so strong. But so was something else.

Guilt. 

Seeing hurt flash across Marco’s face made Ace want to take it all back. But he couldn’t. The space between them was his doing. He was losing it. Wasn’t thinking clearly.

“I need-“ he cut himself off, not knowing what he needed. 

He wanted to stay. Wanted Marco’s arms around him. Wanted to be held until he could believe this wasn’t as bad as it felt. And at the same time he wanted the opposite just as much. To be pushed away. Punished. Confirmed.

Had Marco picked a fight, Ace would’ve understood. Had Marco gotten mad, Ace could’ve dealt with that. But Marco looking up at him out of big vulnerable eyes, was unbearable.

“I should go.” The words scraped out of him, heavy and awful. The thought of getting away brought its own kind of relief. Letting this ugly tangled thing inside him unravel him somewhere Marco couldn’t see. Ace didn’t want him to witness it. Didn’t want to risk it. Because he knew, despite not feeling it, that Marco wanted to stay. That he would not say things, not even to soothe Ace, just like so without meaning.

And Ace wanted that too. Marco staying. Paradoxically that meant running away for now. Because his feelings were creating a different reality. One where Marco was already leaving in ways Ace couldn’t see yet. If he stayed now, Ace would make sure to be right about that. 

It felt so real. Fears whispered into his ear and he was the fool who listened.

Marco exhaled slowly. For a long moment he said nothing. 

“Okay.” 

Not arguing, not stopping him. 

As he ran away, Ace realized that something had changed. 

Because he wanted Marco to come after him.

…

Ace shoved open the door to Whitebeard’s quarters without knocking using full force.Despite the horribly loud crash, that accidentally smashed one door, the old man barely lifted a brow. “Something on your mind, son?”

What a question! 

Ace stalked forward, fists vibrating. “Why do you make me commander?”

Whitebeard sighed, his lips drew into a disappointed pout like Ace was asking the most boring of questions. Ace half expected him to reply with ‘Oh that?’ as if they were discussing who’d eaten the last pizza slice. “You came all this way to ask that?”

“Yes,” he snapped, and hated the way his voice almost shook. “Why me? Why would you — what makes you think I should lead anyone?”

Whitebeard watched him for a long moment, unreadable. Then, he smirked. “You just answered your own question.”

Ace groaned not even trying to understand that. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you give a damn,” Whitebeard said, standing to his full, towering height. “It means you think about what it means to lead. It means you care more than others ever would.”

“And then I will care the crew to their safety? What if I’m cursed? What if I’m secretly so selfish, that it’s not an accident the people around me suffer?”

Pop’s eyes softened. “You don’t even sleep, son. You still wait for the ghosts of the people you lost. You think running makes you unfit to lead? You can’t protect the past, but you will protect my crew, I know you.”

His tone had taken a sharper edge again, stricter, like he was relaying facts to Ace, indisputable facts.  “It will be fine. You’ll see once you try.”

“This is not a joke, Pops. It’s not some apprenticeship it’s the lives of your family!”

“Know what else it’s not? Some kind of tragedy if you decide you don’t want to do this. You can resign, you sound as if you’ll have that position for life.” 

Pop’s had the audacity to chuckle at Ace. 

And the audacity to be so fucking right about shit all the time.

Chapter Text

-Izou-

Izou could tell by the silence. Not just any silence. The kind that meant Marco hadn’t slept, and Ace was trying too hard not to look like he cared.

Ace was a good actor, but he wasn’t used to lying to Izou and it showed.

Marco… oh deer feathered child. That man was a bad actor and it was offensively easy to read him. Even in flickering candle light. 

A sigh closed the wooden fan with ceremonial care, one rib at a time. It was carefully stained black, ornamented. The fabric embroidered. A rare art. From the place Izou had once considered home. 

The embroidery had to sit flat enough as to not disassist the closing, or pause the opening. It risked getting scraped down and tear holes with repeated use.  This one’s fabric was dark blue silk, embroidered with tigers with opened mouths as if frozen mid-scream. Between them fruit. And all the stitches so flat they seemed like painted. It was the only thing he’d kept from his past life. It still carried the smell, when Izou closed his eyes, he could envision his room in every detail. He could hear their voices and remember even the smallest notes of disapproval in their tones. He clicked the last rib shut with ease. Even when he had not used it in so long it still opened and closed smoothly. It was the most beautiful fan he possessed, yet never used for the sadness it carried. 

Marco appeared in his doorframe, diving into the low amber glow from nothing but the few lit candles. Like clockwork. Ace left and Marco turned up. If they’d wanted to pretend they were not avoiding each other they couldn’t have done a worse job. Izou looked up, greeting with a weak smile, not even confident it would be seen with Marco adjusting to the low light. 

“Feels so right to come into this room and see you sit there.” Marco said that as if the space next to him wasn’t screaming with absence. Izou forgave it. Almost awkwardly Marco made it over to his bed, blurred together with its edges. Izou withstood the temptation to physically roll his eyes. Marco was acting like a wounded animal. And being a zoan wasn’t a great excuse for it.

“So, when’s the big day?” Marco asked. There was no light in his bed corner, so Marco’s voice was speaking to him from the dark void. Shadows curled behind him, making the room appear like it ended in a black hole.

Izou just raised one eyebrow. 

“Talking. With Thatch?”

“I came back. That’s enough for now.” He leaned closer to the mirror, fumbling with the little jars of creams and oils as if Marco had caught him in the middle of his skincare routine.

Even in the darkness Izou felt  the bewildered stare on his skin. “So you come back to let Thatch suffer in your presence?”

Angered Izou turned in his chair. Shooting Marco a look worked better directly than through his Vanity. “So Thatch’s the only one suffering?”

“Why come back then?”

“Because,” Izou said pointedly, turning back to his mirror, “Ace hunted me down and made me. He swore there’s not a place on this round planet I could hide he’d not find. Guessing by his talent, I did not take that as an empty threat.”

He stacked some of the jars over each other, arranging them in new order. He didn’t have to see Marco’s face to take in his answer. 

He wouldn’t ask about him and Ace. Silently he agreed, that he  had his own concern to drown in attention.

“And why not try talking to Thatch?” Now Marco’s voice pitched lower. Less incredulous.

“I don’t want to get any angrier, Marco. Despite my best efforts, I don’t feel fully cooled down.” The little cream tower toppled over and he sighed. 

“Do you need to be?”

Izou turned and leaned back on his elbows. Did he have to be? Fuck yes. What kind of question was that? Very slowly he answered, “I don’t want to say something I can’t take back. I don’t want to hurt Thatch.”

A beat later and a bit softer he added, “Or let him hurt me.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

Izou rolled his eyes. Oh, Marco and Thatch were just like one another! He kept forgetting that. 

“You sound like him,” he told Marco. But it was without real accusation. Somehow he and Marco had never fought like this. Maybe because Marco understood his pain, he wasn’t prone to blunder it. “Look, I don’t need Thatch to fix my grief. His instincts are to soothe, to make pretty of the ugly. And I hate that.” 

With a lopsided grin he added, “Surprisingly, one might think it was my role, just looking at us.”

Marco opened his mouth, Izou could almost taste the “but” that sat on his tongue, yet thankfully it never made it out. Good, that word could die in Marco’s mouth.

Something was happening on his bed that he didn’t fully understand. Just that Marco was staring at the ceiling as if that held some kind of answer. 

“Comfort isn’t universal. Thatch won’t allow the ugly,” Izou held up a hand before Marco could cut in by default. “It’s his way of coping. I know that. But it’s not for me.”

“What if you let Thatch decide if he’s ready for an ugly conversation?”

“I just,” he tried to find the right words, “want to sit with my pain, not have it softened.”

After a brief moment of silence he added. “I’m trying not to hurt Thatch while I’m hurting. Just let me gather myself a little more until I feel ready.”

-Thatch-

“I just wanted to make it easier. Help.”

“You should really eat something, Thatch.” Ace said, nudging the tray again. “You’re already missing out on sleep.” To that he squinted his eyes at the bright overhead light, like it had personally insulted him. In it’s glow, Thatch could tell as much was true for Ace himself. There were blueish circles under his eyes, basking in the spotlight.

“I did eat.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Ace paused. “Well then how about you eat something today?”

“That’s not it,” he said, drawing his mouth into a lopsided line. Looking down at the cold eggs. He gestured to the sad looking assembly. “These are a crime.”

“You didn’t even try them,” Ace argued.

“I can see that they’re all wrong. The egg needs to be whisked before it goes into the pan. To just scramble it in the pan — soon as I’m not there they’re cooking like barbarians.” 

With a sigh, Ace put the plate aside, before his furious stabs send more egg pieces flying all over the carpet. Thatch had never understood why his room had carpet. It had just been like that and he’d meant to change it but then he’d spent all of his time in Izou’s room anyways. Plus, Izou liked the carpet and complimented him on the choice. So there was that. In his lovestruck state Thatch had just claimed ownership of the carpet idea to appeal to Izou. 

Gosh, he’d been so dumb and so eager to be liked. 

“Okay fine, I’ll whisk some eggs—“

“NO!” His fingers hooked into a belt loop of Ace’s pants to make sure he’d be stopped. 

Ace turned around, a miffed expression layered over the concern that had been determining his expression before. He crossed both arms in front of his chest. “Okay, fine. Don’t eat then. You have better purposes for your mouth anyway. When will you speak to Izou?”

“When will he let me?” His voice was rougher than he intended. “He made it very clear he doesn’t even want me to try.”

Ace hardly reacted to his anger. Blinking as if he was unimpressed. His eyes located another tray with untouched food next to his bunk and he rubbed them. Clearly tired. Thatch had no idea what Marco and Ace were doing, using his bedroom like it came with a rotational door. His best guess was that Izou suffered a similar fate.

Could he just march over there and demand the same listening time as them? Sure. 

Would that help any? Not so sure. 

In fact, it was not Thatch’s style and it was not to Izou’s liking. If neither of them felt authentic forcing a conversation like that, what was the use?

“He greeted you at breakfast. When was he running?”

Thatch shot Ace a deadpan look. “Come on, kid.”

He sighed, deeply. Izou’s ice-cold good morning over sad pancakes could not be counted as conversation, much less emotional openness. 

Thatch had not been emotionally present once, just one time. And Izou since held it against him since, as if he were not to be trusted. Had he fucked up that conversation? Absolutely. Had he tried apologizing? Every second since. Now Izou came back and what? Like a grace accept his desperate attempts?

Ace was wrinkling his forehead like he was making little sense. “Shouldn’t you be trying anyways?”

“Listen, Ace. Izou has made it clear he doesn’t want to talk to me, because he doesn’t trust me to have this conversation. If his confidence in me is so low, that hurts my feelings as well,” he’d stood up kneading his own fingers like they were unpliant dough. “He didn’t even let me try. He decided for me by pushing me away.”

His little outbreak had wrapped the room in silence. Somehow it had also fallen cold, as if Ace’s inner heating had broken. Thatch occupied his hands with the fumbling of a towel he’d draped over his desk chair and that hit the ground somewhere in his passionate speech.

Then Ace suddenly spoke again, meeting his eyes. His tone had shifted to careful. “Do you think… that maybe he was afraid you’d say something wrong again?”

Thatch frowned. “You saying I would have?”

“No,” Ace held up both hands. “I’m saying, maybe he didn’t trust himself to hear it.”

He discontinued his pacing to halt, gathering a single boot that lay on its side by the bed. Then turned to Ace, who looked pale and like he was blushing at the same time. Something was off with the kid.

“Sometimes,” Ace muttered, “it’s easier to leave than ask someone to hold what you’re feeling. You think you’re protecting them.”

Clearly he was speaking from experience now. 

So he made sure to pitch his own tone accordingly soft as he responded, “But you’re just protecting yourself.” Ace opened his mouth to say something, so he added, “Is it all that different from fear that there could be someone who sees you at your worst. And you want them to stay?”

Ace’s mouth closed again with no words escaping him. He looked like Thatch had hit the nail on the head. For him at least, and he was pretty sure, the same was true for Izou. 

Thatch sighed into his silence. God his room smelled awful. Like overcooked egg an salt.

“So… what did you want Izou to do?” Ace asked, sounding almost nervous.

He shrugged “I just needed Izou to reach out once. I hoped this could be a failed conversation not a fight. I keep wondering. Is he that mad at me? Or just that hurt? Like, tell me how bad I fucked up please.”

“You didn’t see this as a fight?”

Thatch shook his head. “No. Izou is having a hard time, he’s triggered, trying to close those old wounds again. Once again.” He shook his head. “I said some dumb things, so I don’t blame Izou for getting mad. But if he’d allowed me to apologize for it, we— I could’ve been there for him.”

Ace gulped now. 

“I think that’s what he’s really doing. Shutting me out.” 

-Marco-

The waves had washed over Ace's fading footsteps. Made Marco feel more and more alone with every crawl of water onto land. Still he’d sat, not moving. Not even when water washed under him, soaking his clothes. The sky had gone dark. From somewhere deeper inland the laughter of the crew had echoed. 

You could’ve said that. That you’re scared to stay. Leaving me out of it hurts worse than whatever you think you are protecting me from.

He stared at the letters on a slip of paper. Cold. Kinda numb. Exhausted. That was how Marco still felt since his talk with Ace. From the way it had gone in all the wrong directions. And his helplessness. Marco had seen it crash and burn, but he had no idea how to put out the fire. And he kept wondering if he could’ve done something different. What had ticked off Ace’s anger explosion. If there was something he could’ve offered, so he’d not run away.

He needed to tell someone. He knew he did. The man he loved had only entered Marco’s life as he wished to end his.

His mind was endlessly cruel to him, night after night flashing every terrible image it could think to produce. And every bit of evidence it cared to undig. Like Ace’s grim expression the day they’d met. Ace’s anger. Ace on deck, unable to sleep and staring at Marco’s kindness like a biting dog. Ace in the infirmary asking Marco to heal that cut along his arm…

Had it been right, letting Ace run away from him? Did Ace need to be alone more than he needed someone to hug him? And what about Marco’s own feelings? 

Now, after all of Izou’s sermons, Marco regretted not following more. It was forever ago that he’d been in a relationship. The last time nothing more but a reckless kid with a hunger for love and acceptance that’d felt insatiable. 

He no longer was that person. 

There was no course of action to draw inspiration from. Well, not his at least. 

Now they were taking turns watching over their best friends, trying to get them to do this thing they both avoided. Talking. Because they were just as scared and dumb as them. Scared to make it worse. To get anything but the perfect time and ruin it. 

And he couldn’t even ask Izou for advice. His words kept echoing in Marco’s ears. That he wanted Thatch to hold the ugly. He thought back to Ace in the shower. He’d offered to hold Marco’s fears. Not make them go away as most people would’ve promised. No, Ace wanted to hold them. He wanted to get to know them, and keep them safe and he would return them. Like they were borrowed items.

It probably had something to do with this. But it was not… his thinking wouldn’t work right. It did during the day, it did during work, it did when Marco attempted a crossword puzzle. It did not when he tried to think of Ace. All it did was scare him. All it did was ache. And flash those cruel images.

With a sigh, he threw another glance over at the door. The last time he’d gone through it, Ace had stood at the desk and looked like he’d been caught red handed. Although all he’d done was get a little sentimental. And he didn’t even want to think of his encounter with the man who used the room as his office and had walked into something no person considering them as something like their own kids should’ve ever seen. 

Pops would know. But Marco avoided him, and more so the crime scene that was his office, since that incident five days ago.

Marco stood a bit longer frozen in place by the stalemate of decision. Then sighed another time. It was of no use. In the end, if he didn’t approach Pops, he might regret it like he did with Izou’s good intentions. 

He knocked. Once. Short. “Pops,” he said and even to him, he sounded terribly meek and defeated. All he wanted was to crawl into his arms and cry like a kid. And he sounded as much. “I need your help,” he admitted. 

The old man jumbled up, a paper sticking to his cheek. It peeled, but the contents printed on it stayed with his skin like a tattoo.

Marco halted a few feet from him, doing his best to stare ahead and never let his eyes slide to the left, to the very wall Ace had braced against just… it had been just 5 days ago. God help.

Despite his slightly disheveled appearance, Whitebeard huffed a single dry laugh, voice warm. “So we’re done avoiding each other?” 

Finally, he walked up to him, eyes on the text on his cheek like it might be safer to talk to that first. “I need your advice more than I can afford to let shame win.”

Pops hummed and they left it at that, he gestured for one of the chairs in front of him and Marco swiftly took a seat. His hands neatly in his lap, trying to look as well-behaved as possible. 

“Sounds pressing, what do you need my advice on?”

He could only answer that with a sigh. Ace. Could he answer his name? He had to. If he wanted to give Pops anything to work with. “Ace… he’s angry with me. Apparently you knew to react when the topic came up between you two. I’m lost trying to react to Ace in a way that will… help him.”

For the first time since Marco approached, Whitebeard looked at him straight. No doubt, the embarrassment of the office still clung to him as well. “I don’t understand, what is this about exactly?”

A little forlorn he closed his eyes, trying to think up an answer that wasn’t disregarding the principles that founded this conversation. Not to say too much.  “Pops, I can’t possibly tell you.”

“You want advice on something you won’t tell me about? I’d love to tell you how I reacted but I need to know what to.”

“Exactly, I just need to react better.”

Now Pop’s lips drew into a slight curl. “You want to help him? Through your reaction?”

Marco squirmed. “I want to… I don’t know, Pops. I want him to like talking to me. Long enough to allow me to answer.”

Pops smiled fondly like he suddenly remembered how soft Marco was. “Oh sweet child…”

The words loomed over him like a final judgement. A final answer. Thankfully it wasn’t. 

“I can only guess since you won’t tell me. What I do know is that Ace is grieving. And healing. Or trying. And that’s not rational. You know that best.”

Marco nodded. Although he understood nothing.

“Remember what I told you when you were at your worst?”

That was a good question. Marco tried, he really did, wrecking his brain for crumbs of an answer. Painfully coming up with none at all. He shook his head apologetically and admitted in tiny, “Sorry, I don’t.”

To his surprise Pops grinned as if he’d given the correct answer. “Exactly. I’m not sure I said anything smart to you that whole time. I know I didn’t try to, so the chances are slim.” His eyes found Marco, and he betrayed his instinct to flinch away, bravely staring back. “Marco what you needed, what Ace needs, is not a perfect reply, it’s being there.”

“But he pushed me away,” he blurted. 

Pops did not even blink. As if Marco was not just admitting they were… lovers? A relationship Ace had called it. The word spoken in Ace’s voice run in Marco’s ears. 

“Ace thinks he’ll hurt us. I could see why…,” for a moment Whitebeard was fishing for the right words, “why he would be extra scared for you. Since I guess you told him about your loss.”

Marco stared back. The man was like an oracle for his past actions.  “Yes. I— it’s not liking, I love Ace,” he admitted. Relieved he could finally say it out loud. “It scares me too.”

Pops’ eyes grew fond. “I’m surprised Ace accepts your love.”

Marco yanked his head. A little bewildered and a little sulky. What was that supposed to mean?

 “It would be easier for Ace to accept someone’s feelings who’s less scared to love than he is.” 

Yeah, Marco had to admit, that did not sound like him.

“ He must really like you back.” Pops shook his head, grinning wide, “God, you two.”

Then his expression grimmed, like he was reminded of something. “You need to get a grip. Both of you.”

No doubt thinking about the filthy things they’d done to his walls. And he left Marco sitting there as if that was the conversation. To Marco it was barely the start. 

Though one thing was clear. Both Izou and Pops had said it, leaving room for the ugly. Not trying to fix others as a default reaction. Marco thought he’d done an acceptable job at it, but maybe… apparently… 

Maybe Ace just wanted an exchange of fears. Not him staying “strong”. Truth was Marco wasn’t able to meet Ace where he’d been, because he was too scared for him. Because he wanted to fix it, him, immediately. Because he didn’t allow himself to feel scared that Ace could… 

Befuddled Marco stood in Pop’s office, thinking about what Ace wanted him to do, when someone squeaked at the door. Marco didn’t even have to lift his eyes to place the voice. The pink-haired new recruit with matching cheeks. He squirmed whenever he and Marco ran into each other. Which happened obnoxiously often for a recruit under Ace’s division. Given that Marco did everything to avoid it these days.

Korky? Or Korry? Or Kobry? The pink kid bowed at him and tried to 180 around himself and out the door again. Instead he knocked himself unconscious, or half so, at the doorframe. Marco commented on it with a sigh. He wondered how commanding him went for Ace. Did he hurt himself, whenever they ran into each other as well? Was that why Marco was seeing so much of this Kor-something kid?

From what Marco had heard, kid knew Ace, or was related to him? Looking at him now, on the floor, a freshly growing pink bump on his head, they had absolutely nothing in common. Neither in looks nor personality. Summoning his most calming energy, as he placed a hand against his forehead to soothe and heal the man. He called him kid, like he was in kindergarten, when Pops did not take in children – wise decision. With all the fucking one could disrupt on this ship it would be a nightmare. But this guy had something so young and scared about him. 

Perhaps he was not related to Ace, after all. The rumors were not decided on that. Some said he had something to do with Ace’s family. With a grandfather of his? Could only be Garp since there was also some talk of Marines. Marco remembered Ace mentioning in passing that he and his brothers were his grandfather's newest work of nurture, all ending up opposing him on the seas or going straight for revolution against the world government. That had not surprised Marco. It was very much how he pictured Ace’s family. An assembly of hot-heads. All talking, none listening. Korky looked like he’d be the guy listening. In Marco’s imagined image of Ace’s family he was a mismatch. An outcast. 

His eyes fluttered and Marco poured more soothing into him, or he’d shriek up and rehit the bump into his forehead once again. It had happened before. Looking at Korky only made him miss Ace more. Talking to him and being invited into his life, current and past. It had been an honor Marco wanted back.

The next crew that passed by on the hallway was instructed to report to his devision and get someone who could pick up Korky. Marco had decided on that name for now, as he did not have time to call up all possible variations each time he internally referred to the kid. 

He was somewhat relieved when nurse Liz appeared and took the dizzy little guy from his arms. She on the other hand looked somewhat pissed, that he tasked her with something he had the physical strength and time to carry out himself. It would’ve been too complicated to explain to her that Korky was a little scared of Marco, or… just horribly embarrassed upon meeting him and thus became a danger to himself. Especially if nurse Liz wanted to hear the reason for said embarrassment.

With Korky taken care of, Marco was once again free to think. Which he did not enjoy. So he decided to look after Izou before seeking out the discomfort of his room. Alone. In his bed. Not Ace’s. He’d grown used to it. The mess, the papers, the candles. Ace never sorted them away. Marco never read them and he knew that Ace knew and trusted that. That was why he could continue living in his happy little mess. God how Marco loved the coze of it. Ace’s room was the chamber of all possibilities and progress. His was the chamber of overthinking and stagnation. 

He passed by Thatch’s room. Hearing Izou’s voice from here. Was Ace with him? Then Thatch’s voice, answering. Marco froze. Walked back a few steps. Here in front of Thatch’s room he could hear them. Clearly so. 

They were talking. To each other! 

“I’m hurt because it felt like I was being punished for reacting wrong. It was wrong absolutely, Izou. But shouldn’t you know me better?”

“I’m hurt because it felt like you questioned the validity of all this pain. My trauma.”

“I could never. I just didn’t think quick enough.”

“You…” Izou groaned in frustration. That was good. That seemed to go well. Not that Marco had really thought something else possible.

He wanted to move on, but suddenly the door opened, just a crack and Ace slipped out of the room, a faint smile on his lips. That quickly fell as he realized he’d stepped right into Marco. 

The door clicked shut behind him. It echoed in the silence. Ace opened his mouth, looked at him, glanced away quickly, then sidestepped and walked past Marco. 

Somehow that hurt more than being avoided. Angered, Marco turned to walk after him before he knew what for. 

Ace opened the door to the storage room and slipped inside, like he just needed to get some fresh linen or whatever. Marco needed to get a word out of him or he’d burst and he decided in the moment that a storage room was not the worst place to host his feelings.

His hand threw the door shut behind them.

The wooden shelves rattled. A coil of rope on the wall swayed slightly. The scent of polish and fresh linen clung to the air. It was stuffy. Not much to breathe in. Not much space for that either. With two bodies, half the space was already filled.

Marco had intended to say something, speak his anger, but now nothing seemed to want to show. Ace was staring at him, startled and wide-eyed. Like it made him uncomfortable. 

Well, that made two of them. 

But avoiding each other wasn’t cozy either. Marco gulped, thinking about what Pops had said. Thinking back to himself and his reckless behavior, how mad it had driven him that the world turned, that everyone acted normal and composed while he was falling apart.

“I’m…,” he heard himself start, not knowing what he’d say “I’m so angry at you. And all I want is to kiss you more.”

God what was he saying? 

Clearly — the truth. 

Ace lips parted. His eyes fell to Marco’s. Just that wide, aching look. 

And that was it.

Maybe that was it. 

Marco closed the space in a single step forward, hand rising to cradle the back of Ace’s neck. His mouth found Ace’s already open for him and he kissed him with all the fear and relief that was brewing inside him.

It wasn’t like him. Not anymore. Once this had been very “Marco”, to chase a kiss like it would soothe something in him. And maybe that part was immature or unhealed, but since Marco knew the entire man was, and since Ace moved his lips against Marco’s in a kiss that couldn’t be named anything but sweet, crying relief, it couldn’t be all that wrong.

And he needed to.

Marco needed to feel Ace’s mouth and know it still opened for him. He needed to touch him and be wanted still. Proof that their silence hadn’t meant ‘done’.

Ace didn’t push him away. Instead surged forward, arms latching tight around Marco’s neck like an anchor. Pulling him in, pulling him closer. Something toppled over and fell from a rack close by. A tin maybe. Neither of them startled with it.

Marco’s eyes had closed with his mouth, his other hand found Ace’s waist, Ace’s back found a wall. And he followed him there. Their lips slid apart and found each other again. Ace’s hands cupped his cheeks as if he was scared Marco could change his mind and fly away mid-kiss. His chest ached with it. With Ace wanting him to stay.

Marco kissed him deeper, finally let himself believe it. Relief. A rush of it that swept through him, almost like euphoria. Ace was kissing him back, soft, but urgently. There was a sigh or a hum that passed over from his throat to Marco’s and he drank it in with a small, aching groan of his own. “Ace.”

“Marco.” 

It was just his name, but said in Ace’s voice. Said like ‘don’t go’.

His fingers left Marco’s cheeks to clutch into the fabric of his shirt, fists of it were shaking with Ace’s hands. And he wanted to kiss the fear from him.

No. 

His hands let go of Ace. 

Their faces were still too close, staring directly into each other’s eyes. Both wide with surprise.

“I—I’m sorry,” he whispered. Not really sure what he meant.

Sorry for the kiss?

Sorry for breaking it?

Sorry for trying to fix Ace?

Or sorry for turning around and walking out the door? Because that was what Marco did next.