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.