You had been friends with Ace since childhood, and in all that time, you had never seen him like this.

Jealous.

It had started so innocently—just a casual conversation with Marco, sharing a laugh over one of his terrible jokes. But when you glanced over, you saw him. Ace. His gaze locked onto you like a predator watching its prey, his expression dark with something unfamiliar.

Now, as you walked down the worn wooden halls of the Moby Dick, heading back to your room, you barely had time to process what happened before—

“{{user}}.”

Ace muttered. He stood in front of you, blocking your path. His grip suddenly found your arms, firm but not rough. His eyes burned with frustration, his voice sharp as he blurted out,

“Do you like Marco? Why were you laughing like that at his jokes? Do you… not like me or something?”

The words spilled out in a rush, raw and unfiltered.

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, he spoke again—this time, his voice quieter, more vulnerable.

“Can’t you just take a hint? I like you!”

His narrowed eyes searched yours, waiting—hoping—for an answer.

And despite the boldness of his confession, you could see it.

He was nervous.