Work Text:
With a bored flutter of his eyes, Ace rolled onto his back atop the blanket-overrun bed in his shared cabin upon the Spadille. The small ship didn’t leave much room for his crew members to have individual cabins, but, being the Captain, he was practically forced into having his own. He insisted he didn’t mind sharing with the rest of the crew, but - perhaps seeing his touchy-feely behavior with their First Mate - they insisted on giving him his own room.
It wasn’t large by any means, but gave him (and his lovely roommate, who he’d insisted share with him) the luxury of a proper bed, as well as a fairly sized closet and a desk with several drawers. He didn’t use the desk much at all, yet the drawers overflowed with papers, pens, and other crafty stuff that Ace didn’t really understand. He peered curiously from the bed at the organized mess that was the top of the desk: scanning over the scribbled papers, uncapped pens, and books that made the scene scream Deuce. Despite his lack of knowledge on what exactly Deuce did with all the stuff, it made him smile.
His eyebrows raised at the familiar sight of a little leather bound journal resting atop a short stack of books on the side of the desk. He’d seen it a thousand times; watched Deuce scribble into its worn pages, but could never quite quell his curiosity. From the first time he’d seen Deuce’s pale hands flip through it to a new page and pull the cap of a pen with his teeth, he’d been curious of what exactly he was writing about, and that’d been what seemed like forever ago now, so of course he was practically bursting with curiosity. Of course, he’d asked Deuce a couple times, though ‘what I’m thinking about’ wasn’t really the reply he wanted to get. He’d figured by now that there was more to the man than what showed through his signature mask: he knew that there had to be some interesting things in there. Things about him.
From their countless times spent curled up and talking about everything and anything, he’d well learned that Deuce had plenty to say about him. The words that the man produced were far beyond anything Ace could understand, let alone use to describe someone; yet they always seemed so right coming out of his mouth. He’d never once doubted how Deuce saw him- well, perhaps once or twice during their short time spent on Sixis- so he figured there was nothing to be afraid of under that soft leather.
He knew better than to dig too deep where he didn’t belong; all he needed to scratch that deep itch of curiosity was a quick peek, then he’d put it down and seal his lips.
He crawled out of bed, nearly tripping on the maze of blankets on the way - courtesy of Deuce and his lack of experience with the cold that this part of the Grand Line brought - and shuffled over to the messy desk. His fingers brushed against worn leather as he picked the journal up, casting a wary glance at the closed door, and as he he flipped the cover open.
From what a brief glance could get him at the first few pages, the beginning wouldn’t offer him much help. Although learning exactly how Deuce thought of him when he first met him was entertaining to consider, he flipped deeper into the journal without much more thought than that. That was something that Deuce could tell him himself another time.
His fingers slowed a decent way into the journal, thumbing the edge of a worn page, as his dark eyes decided on it to read. He hummed quietly to himself, finding Deuce’s (adorable) ramblings of the day’s events, and flipped the page. More tellings of particularly interesting stops at islands, conversations held between the crew, and sweet moments that Ace could recall them spending together left a sweet smile on his face. Something about being able to relive these little moments that he’d forgotten about made his heart swell, especially considering Deuce was the one who wrote them down.
He let out a breathy laugh at a retelling of a brief food poisoning outbreak upon the Spadille from the crew’s lack of cooking expertise. It’d been miserable, but looking back on it made him smile. A few more pages, and he turned to an entry significantly longer than the others. This one was written more scrawly, like it was done quickly, and squished all the way to the bottom of the tan page. His fingers played idly with the edges of the leather as he read the first line.
“What?” He murmured, expression contorting.
Nestled in dark ink: the words hate and Ace much too close together. His grip on the journal tightened as his eyes flicked down to dramatic and doesn’t shut up.
A sudden call from the deck startled him, causing him to jerk his head up. He shut the journal and threw it down onto its throne of books as the voice called for him again.
“Coming!” He shouted back, glancing rapidly about the room, desperately trying to soothe his surprise. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he grabbed one of his boots from its spot beside the desk and yanked it on, the other soon following. The reality of the matter settled like dead weight in his body; the want to read the rest of the page and wanting to erase it from his memory clashing in his head.
His eyes fell closed momentarily, passing a deep breath through his body, and he forced himself to relax a little. As much as the thought of Deuce forcing himself to be around him while secretly hating him made him want to throw himself overboard and set the ship ablaze at the same time, he knew that there were duties to be tended to before he could get to that. So, after another moment of forcing calm upon himself, he swallowed down his anxiety, took a deep breath, and cracked the door open.
Thankfully or not, the day provided a hell of a lot of work. Turns out, the damaged mast took a little more than Skull busting his arms trying to fix it, and Ace found himself neck deep in work for the majority of the day. When it wasn’t the mast it was Kotatsu fighting a man-eating fish, or Mihar coming out to oh-so-kindly point out the shitty insolation of the Spadille, or Banshee asking where their next stop was. By the time dusk fell, he was about ready to collapse.
Kotatsu rubbed up against his leg with a happy ‘growr’ after he realized that the Captain had finally sat down on the deck near the bowsprit. He sighed, cracked a small grin, and reached down to stroke him between the ears. The lynx lazily purred and rolled onto his side against him, most of his body weight pushing up against Ace’s legs.
“Weirdo,” he sighed lightheartedly. Contrasting greatly to the day’s commotion, the ship had fallen rather quiet. The talk of the others could be heard through the relatively thin walls across the deck, but it was nothing like earlier, and left Ace to dwell on his thoughts.
For better or for worse, he’d been dragged in every direction but towards Deuce all day. Yet now, idly stroking Kotatsu with his gaze on the “fixed” main mast of the Spadille, he was all he could think about.
He reached his free hand up to comb through his hair with a drawn out sigh. Anxiety bubbled hotter than the flames of his devil fruit in his stomach, causing him to shift uncomfortably. Kotatsu let out a confused purr-y growl at the sound, and leaned a little heavier against him.
“What ‘m I gonna do, Kotatsu?” He murmured, drawing his eyes from the mast down to the happy lynx. Kotatsu peeked a curious eye up at him, though if he somehow did understand, he didn’t show any sign of responding. Ace chuckled, and let his head fall back to thump against the wood siding of the ship.
His eyes fell closed, body falling still apart from the hand stroking Kotatsu. He willed himself to forget the entire thing: forget his curiosity, his infringement upon Deuce’s privacy, his stupid self reading that stupid page. It made his stomach churn sickly, and a sense of regret and hatred well up in his body.
“Ace?” A voice hummed above. He jerked harshly, eyes flying open, disturbing Kotatsu. The lynx grunted, rolled up to his haunches, and licked his messy chest fur flat as Ace looked up.
Slightly concerned, curious blue eyes peered down at him through the thin material of a matching navy mask. Ace’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water for several moments, completely frazzled with the sudden appearance of the man, though, thankfully, Deuce broke the silence.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said slowly, standing up a little straighter. “I just wanted to say hi, I haven’t seen you all day.”
Ace shook himself back to reality and briskly nodded. “Sorry, yeah, it’s been a really busy day.” He paused, words heavy on his anxiety-laced tongue. “Hey, I- I’ll come to bed in a bit, I just need some time to think, okay?”
Deuce gave him an odd look, then offered a small smile. If he wanted to ask, he didn’t, and instead leaned down to kiss the top of Ace’s head. “Take your time.” And with one more gentle look, he turned and quietly walked off towards the rear of the boat.
Ace watched him go with a violent swirl of emotions rampaging through his body, exemplified by the twitch of his hands as Kotatsu stood up and walked off to find someone else to bother. He let out a pathetic sound, and let his head fall back again a bit too hard. He groaned at the contact, and drew his knees up a little.
The gentle rocking of the ship did little to quell his worries, rather, offered him an empty space for them to brew and bubble up thicker and hotter. What could he have done to earn that kind of response from Deuce? His First Mate had been a little distant recently, sure, but he’d placed that on anxiety from the Grand Line before anything else. He’d never considered that Deuce hated him, but his suddenly burning self-hatred gave him numerous ridiculous reasons to believe it.
He reached a hand up and tugged it through his messy hair, letting out a frustrated groan as he ripped his fingers through a stubborn knot. His other hand joined, clutching his head and pressing his fingertips against his scalp in an attempt to soothe his swirling thoughts.
He wanted to believe that it was just a spur of the moment kinda thing: that Deuce had been upset with him on that day, and had gotten it out through writing rather than on Ace himself, but he just couldn’t. The entry was longer than the others, written hastily, angrily, in Ace’s eyes. Maybe it was just an act, some kind of inside joke about him that the other crew members were in on. He bit back a sob drawn from his chest, and tightened his grip on his head.
Two sides raged within him: his reason; aware that Deuce did love him, and that there had to be an explanation - and his hatred for himself; rekindled and blazing much more ferociously than his reason could. All the signs pointed towards him being the problem here. Dramatic, Deuce had written. He could see that. He was a mirror of his devil fruit: a blaze that couldn’t be contained. He had thought that Deuce loved that about him, but he supposed he was wrong. Maybe he needed to turn it down a few notches. Mihal always complained about the burns on the ship, after all.
He could picture it: the rest of the crew laughing about how loud and dramatic he is while he’s off doing just that, tearing some enemy down in a roaring blaze. He remembered being quieter as a kid, saving his energy only for Sabo and Luffy, and shutting everyone else out behind a silent stare - perhaps he should’ve stayed like that. Maybe then Deuce wouldn’t write about how much he hated him. Then he, and the others, wouldn’t have to pretend.
A sudden clap of a door slamming yanked him out of his thoughts. He shot up straight so quickly that his vision blurred and he thought he’d be sick, grounded only by his hands down against the cool deck. He hadn’t even realized it, but flames licked hungrily along his shoulders and hands. They burned scarily bright, and he cursed as he reeled them back in. Thankfully, the sound had come from within the ship, and no one was around to see his little outburst.
It’d grounded him, and had placed a calming hand on the forehead of the inferno raging within him, but it still dragged at him, and he struggled to haul himself to his feet. He placed a hand on the railing to steady himself, and cursed. Slammed his fist against the railing, and let out a pathetic sound. He hated this: hated these feelings about himself that he thought he’d squashed when he’d first set out as a pirate. Yet here he was, tearing himself apart, alone, on the rapidly darkening deck of the Spadille.
His eyes fluttered closed, though he snapped them rapidly back open at the lingering feeling of unwanted sleep. Preferring greatly to not conk out on the deck, he slowly let go of the railing and gingerly made his way across the deck. His footsteps squeaked against the wood floors as he made his way into the ship, and eventually stalled in front of the door to his and Deuce’s cabin.
He felt heavy, with lead-like weight thick in his belly, eyes staring blankly at the brass of the door handle for several moments before he worked up the energy to open it. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and tensed at the set of eyes watching him. Neither spoke as Ace kicked his boots off and tossed his hat from around his neck onto a little hook beside the door. It wasn’t until Ace was halfway shimmied out of his shorts when Deuce prompted him, quickly making him freeze in place.
“What’s up?”
Ace stared at the wall, back facing Deuce, mouth dried of words. He’d thought, with how he'd persuaded himself that Deuce didn't care for him, that the man wouldn’t question him, yet he was mistaken. He hummed idly and resumed changing. “What do you mean?”
Behind him, laying propped up in bed with a book in his hands, Deuce raised his eyebrows. He’d changed into comfier clothes and didn’t have his mask: leaving him openly vulnerable to the other man standing a few paces away. “Ace, I know when something’s up with you. Normally, on days like these, you don’t even bother changing before you jump into bed to cuddle. What’s going on?”
Ace cringed as he pulled a pair of sleep pants on: navy and soft, a gift from Deuce. He hadn’t realized it until he adjusted them on his hips, part of him wanting to pull them off and put something else on. “It was just a long day, y’know?” He tried. He didn’t have anything else to change, preferring to sleep without a shirt, yet he kept his back to the bed.
Deuce’s eyebrows furrowed. He shut his book, set it on the nightstand, and patted the bed. “Come here.”
Ace glanced over his shoulder at Deuce, seated among a sea of blankets, so open without his mask, and for a moment his fears vanished, and all he wanted to do was dive in and scoop him up in his arms- but it was momentary. His anxiety returned, and he found himself hestitating. Though as much as he wanted to avoid confrontation and realizing what he’d done, he knew that it was impossible to avoid, and slowly made his way to sit down beside Deuce.
Noticing his awkwardness, Deuce reached out and gently lifted one of Ace’s hands into his own. “What’s up?”
Ace frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it again. Over Deuce’s shoulder, he could see the little leather bound journal, and it made his anxiety rage. Deuce, as aware of Ace’s tiny cues as ever, turned his head and followed his gaze. Ace instinctively stiffened, and moved to pull his hand away, but stopped as Deuce moved his other hand to hold Ace’s between both of them.
Deuce’s eyes trapped him as he turned back to him, making him unable to do anything but stare at the man.
“Did you read my journal?” Deuce asked, and Ace’s heart sank. Deuce looked down at their hands, taking Ace's silence as an answer, and gently stroked his hand as he looked for the right words. “I don’t mind that you did. There are some things that I’d prefer to keep private, and I would’ve preferred if you’d asked me first, but if you had - I would’ve said yes.” Ace watched Deuce’s hands, and slowly shook his head.
“I read something I shouldn’t have–” Ace started, his anxiety and self-hatred pouring out through the flames licking up from his shoulders.
Deuce looked up at him, his eyes on his face rather than the fire, allowing him to flame up and get his emotions out. “What did you read?” He asked gently.
“I-” Ace said, unable to help the flames that grew on his ears and face. “You wrote you hated me–” he shook his head. “I didn’t read it all, but it said dramatic and--I wanted to know what I did to deserve that..” He stalled as Deuce cupped his cheek with one hand, likely feeling the heat of the flames beside his fingers but not showing any reaction nor care.
“Ace,” he spoke quietly, his eyes rounded with deep concern for him. “I can tell you didn’t read it all.” He almost smiled as he shook his head and reached behind him for the journal. He flipped through it quickly, then handed the journal to Ace once he reached the page that he'd read part of earlier that day.
Ace looked at Deuce, lost, then slowly looked down to read the page. What he’d failed to notice in his skim of the first few lines earlier was what Deuce had written between those phrases. He hadn’t seen the and always makes me laugh, even when I’m trying to wallow in my own self pity, or the he always has something to tell me about that distracts me from what I should be doing, but I can’t help but love hearing about whatever it is. And, near the end. I hate that I love every part of him, and want to spend every waking moment with him. He’s too perfect; blazes like the sun. How the hell did I end up with someone so beautiful? It seemed that he could’ve gone on further than that if not for the limits of the paper, as the last few words scrunched up as small as possible to fit.
By the time Ace looked up at Deuce, he was met with a small questioning smile. “Is that what you thought it was?” He looked a little sheepish, embarrassed by his own writing, but it was worth it to quell Ace’s fears.
Finally, the flames tearing throughout Ace ceased, and he dropped the journal and jerked forward to wrap his arms desperately around Deuce. He squeezed a laugh out of him, Deuce’s arms rising to wrap around him and gently rub his back.
“I’m sorry I misunderstood.” Ace murmured, pressing his face against the crook of Deuce’s neck and shoulder.
Deuce’s laugh rumbled against him. “I would’ve done the same thing, Ace.” He spoke quietly, fingers gently tracing along Ace’s back. “I’m sorry you had to worry about that all day.”
Ace mumbled something incomprehensible back, and Deuce chuckled again. He gently unwound his arms, ignoring Ace’s hurt look from the action for a moment to set his journal on the bedside table. He laid down on his side, and gestured for Ace to lay down beside him - though he didn’t seem too keen on that.
Ace scooted closer and lightly nudged Deuce’s shoulder to lay him flat on his back, then let out a quiet sigh as he laid on top of him with his chin resting against Deuce’s chest. His arms snaked around his torso, earning a little amused huff from the man below him.
“I love you,” Deuce laughed softly, resting one hand on Ace’s warm back, and running the other through his messy hair.
Ace tilted his head to rest the side of it against his chest. His eyes fell closed, and he sleepily chuckled. “I can tell, with how you write about me.”
Deuce blushed and groaned, pinching Ace’s back and getting a little yelp out of him. “If you think that’s bad…”
Ace peeked his eyes open to glance as best as he could up at Deuce. “Oh yeah?” He hummed. “We gonna have to read some of those out loud sometime?”
Deuce’s face darkened, and he laughed awkwardly as he averted his gaze. “I don’t know about out loud..”
“I think so.” Ace closed his eyes again with a satisfied grin.
Deuce gave him a ‘really?’ look, though didn’t say anything. Comfortable silence fell between them, interrupted only by their shallow breathing, and Deuce began to think that Ace'd fallen asleep.
“Hey, Ace?” Deuce murmured, surprised to hear a hum back. “You looked like shit when you came in, I didn’t– make you think badly of yourself again, did I?” The prolonged silence made his heart twist, though after some thought, Ace quickly propped himself up on his elbows on either side of Deuce and looked down at him with an apologetic look.
“It wasn’t your fault, Deu.” He assured, tucking a loose strand of baby blue hair behind his ear. “There will probably always be moments where I don’t like who I am, there’s not really much I or anyone else can do about it. But you got me out of it before it went too far, and that’s what really matters.” He leaned down and kissed Deuce’s cheek.
Deuce looked away for a few moments, then gave Ace a hesitant, unconvinced look. “I guess.”
“I promise that it’s okay, I’m okay.” Ace’s eyebrows furrowed a little in concern. “I’ve just been a tad overwhelmed with us bein’ far in the Grand Line and all, and thinking that you hated me didn’t really help with that.” He chuckled, and Deuce slowly nodded. Another sympathetic look, and Ace leaned down to properly kiss him. “I want you to know that I love you, okay? I don’t write all romantically about you in some secret journal, but I really do love you, and I promise it isn’t your fault.”
“I’m supposed to be the one comforting you…” Deuce murmured with a breathy laugh.
Ace scoffed, lowering himself to lay against Deuce again. “You’re the stress monster between us, I know you’d think about it for days if I didn’t say anything.” Deuce lightly knocked his back with his fist in an attempted warning, but it only managed to make them both laugh.
“I’m just glad you’re okay. You looked really bad when I talked to you earlier.”
Ace hummed a lazy reply against Deuce’s chest. “Yeah, me too.” He grinned mischievously. “Seeing you in bed with your arms all out for me is more than enough to make me forget quick.” He snickered, referring to the tank top Deuce wore. Deuce groaned and looked away, though his eyes snapped back as Ace sat up and wiggled his fingers under the hem of the top. “But c'mon, you hafta take it off.” Deuce stared dumbfoundedly at Ace as he managed to tug the tank off of him and toss it to the side. Ace grinned and lay down again, snuggling up against Deuce’s- now exposed- chest and snaking his arms all around him again. “Much better.”
Once he snapped back to reality, Deuce chuckled, rolled his eyes, and gently pet Ace’s hair, who closed his eyes and let out a long, satisfied sigh. He could feel Ace’s body heat seeping into him, and his body growing heavier on top of him, leading him to skeptically quirk an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t try and fight sleep.” He advised.
Ace grumbled against his chest, all too aware of the warning grip his narcolepsy had on him. He’d already managed to overcome it once earlier, so the odds of doing so again, especially now, cuddled up with Deuce, were next to nothing- yet he wanted nothing more than to talk with him for a while longer; until they both couldn’t stand to stay up any later. But clearly, the combined forces of his exhaustion from working so hard, the stress of misunderstanding Deuce’s journal, and his narcolepsy were a force to be reckoned with, as he found himself slipping away only moments after the words had left Deuce’s mouth.
Deuce chuckled, and gently combed his fingers through Ace’s hair as he felt his breathing even out and his body go lax on top of him. He’d known something was up with him, so it was a breath of fresh air to know what was wrong and work through it with him. Being able to have such sweet, understanding moments with him made his heart swell and his fingers itch to write his feelings down on paper. Though, with his arms trapped and mind too exhausted, he supposed he could settle with just thinking about them for now.