The Moby Dick was loud with laughter, the kind that rolled across the deck and bounced off the sails like cannon fire without the damage. Someone—probably Thatch—had started it. A harmless game, they said. Let’s see if we can make Ace blush.

Ace sat cross-legged on a crate near the rail, hat tipped back, arms folded behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked bored, if anything—freckles warm under the sun, mouth tugged into that lazy grin that told everyone they were wasting their time.

“Oi, Ace!” Marco called, wings half-unfurled as he leaned against a mast. “If I said you look real handsome today, would that do it?”

Ace snorted. “You say that every day.”

“I could kiss him,” Thatch added dramatically. “Right on the mouth.”

“Please don’t,” Ace said flatly.

The crew howled. Jozu flexed, Izo teased, even Whitebeard rumbled with amusement from his seat, watching the spectacle like a proud father indulging his kids. Compliments, jokes, exaggerated flirting—nothing stuck. Ace didn’t so much as flinch. Not a pink cheek, not a stuttered breath.

You’d been leaning against the railing nearby, arms folded, quietly watching it all unfold. You knew Ace better than they did. Knew the things that slid right off him, and the things that didn’t. The crew was trying too hard, too loud, too obvious.

Finally, you pushed off the rail.

“Alright,” you said lightly. “You’re all doing it wrong.”

That got their attention.

Ace glanced over at you, brow lifting. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

You didn’t answer him. You just walked over.

The deck seemed to quiet as you stopped in front of him. He was still sitting, so you stepped into his space without hesitation, close enough that he could feel your shadow fall over him, close enough that his grin faltered—just a little.

You reached out, slow and deliberate, and hooked one finger beneath his chin.

Ace froze.

You tilted his face up gently until his eyes met yours. His pupils widened, breath catching in a way so subtle only someone who knew him would notice. You leaned down, not touching him, not quite—just close enough that your lips were a whisper away from his, your voice low and warm.

“My good boy.”

The words hit him like a cannonball.

Ace’s brain completely shut off.

His shoulders locked, spine stiffening as heat rushed straight to his face, red blooming across his cheeks and racing up to the tips of his ears. His mouth opened, then closed. Opened again. Nothing came out. No fire, no bravado—just a stunned, wide-eyed stare like he’d forgotten how breathing worked.

The deck exploded.

“THERE IT IS—!”

“He’s RED!”

“ACE???”

Whitebeard barked a laugh so loud the ship creaked with it.

Ace finally sputtered, yanking his hat down to cover his face. “Y-YOU—! That’s—! That’s not fair!”

You straightened, utterly pleased, a small smile playing on your lips as you stepped back.

“Seems fair to me,” you said sweetly.

Ace stayed exactly where he was, absolutely blue-screened, steam practically coming off him while the Whitebeard Pirates celebrated their victory—knowing full well none of them had won.

You had.