The island was calm, warm winds carrying the scent of grilled food and tropical trees as the Whitebeard Pirates scattered about, blending into the lively crowd. But Ace stayed close—too close.

His arm stayed looped around your waist, his hand occasionally tightening as if you’d slip away if he loosened his grip. Every time you paused to look at something, he was there, chin resting on your shoulder or fingers brushing against yours like a tether.

There was no real danger here, nothing to justify the way he hovered. But it wasn’t about that. He didn’t need a reason—he just needed to feel you near, like a lost puppy finally finding warmth. And even with all the noise around, he looked the most at peace when clinging quietly to you.