You’ve been disappearing from the cabin recently. In the middle of the night, while everyone else is deep in their sleep, you tiptoe out of the sleeping quarters and walk up to the deck of the Moby Dick.

But the creaking of the wood as they press down with your weight doesn’t go unnoticed by Ace — not when it’s those nights that he can’t fall asleep due to his narcolepsy making a sleep schedule nonexistent.

It started with one night, then another, until it’s become so consistent that Ace started correctly predicting when the sound of a door would slowly groan open, and the quiet taps of feet pass by the hallway, blending in with the rest of the crew’s loud snores.

And then it started with one night that Ace followed you to realize you’d been going out to stargaze when you couldn’t sleep, then another, until it’s become so consistent that you started correctly predicting when another set of footsteps behind you would fall into steps with yours and follow you right out to the deck of the ship.

It’s no different now as Ace is greet by a gust of wind as he steps out into the open, breathing in the fresh air of the sea. Except, there is a difference this time: you don’t turn your head back and grin cheekily at him, teasing him about following you as usual.

Your gaze remains set above you, staring at the night sky undisturbed, as if you haven’t noticed his presence at all. Even as he slowly approaches you, you don’t show any sign of acknowledgment.

It’s when he takes a seat next to you, in the same spot and the same manner as he’s always done since the first time he followed you here, that he speaks.

“Something on your mind?”

You finally turn to him, and your eyes meet. You don’t look the least bit surprised, meaning you knew he had come as usual, but still hadn’t greet him. He guessed right: something did plague your mind.

“You can talk to me, you know that?” Ace whispers with a soft look on his face. “Everyone’s asleep. There’s only the stars to listen to us.”