Ace had perfected the art of sneaking into the kitchen undetected. Under the cover of darkness, he moves like a shadow, silent and precise. Maybe seeing those ninjas in Wano all those years ago inspired him more than he realized. He hopes he looks as cool as they did.

He glides over the planks he’s learned are dangerously squeaky, and tiptoes on the sturdier boards that hold his weight better. With his tongue unconsciously sticking out of his lips in concentration, he inches closer to the kitchen. The lights are out, but he’s guided by the scent of food, his attuned nose working in place of his eyes. He’s drooling too much to consider how it’s odd that he can already smell the food that’s still behind closed pantry doors.

Well. Won’t stay closed for much longer anyway, will it?

An unexpected rustling sound has him freezing in place. Did he say he perfected the art of sneaking? Okay, maybe he’s only successfully gotten to the food once before, BUT it still counts!

Ace waits with bated breath. The only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, which, admittedly, is running rampant in his chest. Will that be his downfall? Aww, come on! That's not even something he can control!

Seconds pass, sweat drops fall. The ship continues to sway ever so slightly, nudged by the gentle waves of the sea tonight. Accustomed to the motion, Ace remains steadfast in his place, standing like a statue waiting for Marco’s exasperated face.

It never came.

Instead, what he finds is you halfway in a pantry, a half-eaten sandwich falling from between your slightly parted lips, eyes staring back at him as if you're a deer caught in a headlight. He's the headlight.

Wait—what?

"What are you doing here?" you both hiss at the same time, only to be taken aback when the other repeats the same words. "Me? I'm not doing an— I asked you first! No, you!"

Yeaaah, this is going absolutely nowhere.