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Game Start. Marco’s real.
Ace nearly dodges a pile of props tumbling his way. The bright overhead lights catch everything from pool noodles to inflatable clowns. The speaker crackles with feedback. He’s walked on set with his usual air of confidence, but already feels it wobble.
This is ridiculous, he’s being ridiculous. It’s not like he’s never worked with big names before — but this is Marco . Marco . The man Ace once drunkenly declared his “ideal type” on national TV.
Ace still isn’t sure if that was the best or worst decision of his career.
He’d come to set hoping to get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. Since arriving, though, Ace has only heard Marco’s name, not seen its owner, about a dozen times. Marco this, Marco that — he’s kind, good-looking, apparently already performed ten good deeds just on set.
He is a bit intimidated in a way that only kindness can.
Ace ducks into his dressing room, ready for a breather before filming starts, only to freeze in his tracks the second he steps inside.
Marco is here.
The man, the legend. Idol-turned-beloved-MC.
Marco is one of those rare figures universally liked — by fans, by industry insiders, by pretty much everyone in between. Including Ace.
Someone bumps into him from behind. Robin shoves him aside, giving him this look that says: What’s with you?
Ace tries to unfreeze himself, but Robin has already caught on. A smug smile spreads across her face, as she readjusts the tape covering her tattoos.
Marco glances between Ace and her, his expression lighting up. “Teacher? There you are! I went to your dressing room just now, and you weren’t there!”
Robin arches a brow, exuding her usual calm authority.
“I thought to myself, Really? Is she still mad about my popping? Is she avoiding me? Teacher, it’s been seventeen years!”
Robin grins, entirely unbothered. “Actually, I still have some notes on that.”
Marco’s mock outrage makes his eyes bulge comically. Ace watches, thoroughly charmed. Marco looks a bit like an indignant frog, but somehow, it’s more endearing than ridiculous.
“And Ace!” Marco’s grin is warm and disarming, like sunlight breaking through clouds. He still stands casually by the makeup station, dressed in basic straight leg jeans and a white T-shirt – yet somehow he manages to make it look both athletic and effortless. His currently silver-blond dyed hair, frames his sharp features in a way that feels almost unfair.
“Hey,” Ace says, his voice just steady enough to pass as calm. “Didn’t realize this was your dressing room.”
“It’s not,” Marco grins, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Robin guided me here. Something about catching up.”
Robin snorts. “Don’t make me the villain. You’re the one who wanted to say hi.” Then, under her breath, she adds, “And looked like you could use a bit of help with it. I should start charging matchmaking fees.”
Marco suddenly folds his hands in mock prayer and darts them forward, towards Ace. Then he bows a full ninety degrees. “We’re so honored to have you here! Your last role was my favorite – I heard you insisted on the character being played that way!”
Ace scrambles to bow back, it’s been a while since at this point in his career he’s usually a senior. Did Marco really just reference the bisexual lead he’d fought tooth and nail to portray?
“Well, I practically begged my team to make this happen,” Ace says, standing upright again. “My manager called a thousand times — I told him to grovel if he had to.”
He knows Marco has a habit of visiting people’s dressing rooms, but he never actually thought he’d show up. And wow. Marco is even better in person than he is on screen.
He’s taller than the screen gives away, taller than Ace and effortlessly confident, moving like someone who works out purely because it’s fun. He could walk straight into an American teen movie as the football star without changing a thing.
Marco laughs, a low, warm sound that makes Ace’s stomach flip.“I’m glad you did. Feels like we’ve been missing each other for ages.”
“You… noticed that too?”
They’d narrowly missed each other during Ace’s last movie promo at a radio show Marco had guest-hosted the week before. Then again, when Ace MC’d a survival show Marco was supposed to judge, but had schedule conflicts. And then Ace would’ve even been the one to hand Marco his first acting award, for best supporting role, but Marco had sent his manager and video note instead.
And that’s just this year.
“We’ve been circling each other our entire careers,” Marco says with an amused grin.
Ace simply nods.
“Well, the coffee from the catering you sponsored is really good, by the way.”
“You only tried the coffee?” Ace asks, feeling oddly disappointed.
Marco presses the backs of his hands against his cheeks, his expression turning sheepish. “I can’t eat before a broadcast. My face puffs up.”
Ace bites back a grin. He looks adorable.
Ace can’t believe this is it — their first real meeting . Official meeting, anyway.
Years ago, they crossed paths briefly on the set of Ace’s first lead drama. Marco, a fresh-faced idol back then, had a quick appearance as a supporting character. He was only on set for one day.
Ace’s stomach knots with anticipation.
Good thing their fans already ship them. He’s a great actor, but something about Marco makes him feel awkward, like his confidence is hiding in the corner. Without a script to lean on, he feels out of his depth.
Still, he can just chalk it all up to fanservice if anyone asks. That’s how the entertainment industry works, after all — glass closets, hiding in plain sight.
✧
“FIVE MINUTES,PEOPLE!” The megaphone blasts awful feedback to the yelling, but it gets the point across.
Robin calmly adjusts her mic pack, watching her teammate Usopp trip over a pile of poole noodles. “Careful, Warrior of the Sea. We’ll need you intact for the first game.”
Ace can see his former colleague Mihawk, standing perfectly still and sipping tea. The moment he’d walk over, he’d entangle Ace in a conversation about the catering - because even if Mihawk liked something, his praise sounded like a scolding session.
Robin gracefully takes a seat next to him and he quickly darts his eyes away from Marco, he’d been watching from afar, to roam over the set and take the rest of the chaos in.
Maybe he overdoes it, Robin is still busy balancing a cup of coffee on her knee and he grabs it, scared for her thighs.
She shoots him a look.
“You’re a dancer, so you’re gonna need those a few years longer,” he says, gesturing for her legs.
“So,” she starts, tone light but he can hear something’s coming. “What’s it like finally meeting him?”
Ace doesn’t bother pretending to know who she means, feigning innocence with a neutral face he asks: “Who?”
“Big Mom,” she retorts in a nod to the speaker's odd stage name, as she rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t give me that. I saw you, you looked like you were ready to confess undying love in a dressing room.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You were,” Robin confirms with too much seriousness for Ace’ liking, taking a sip of coffee. “But I don’t blame you. Marco is…”
“What?”
“Your ideal type, my dear.” She grins. “The perfect mix between golden retriever energy and a hot guy who knows it. That smile? The hair? The muscles? If I wasn’t a lesbian… Don’t pretend you haven’t watched his wet stage at the water festival until November.”
Ace grins. “What can I say, it keeps the warm memories of summer alive.”
They both look over to where Marco is chatting with a stagehand - or more so helping with setting things up.
“But he’s like the perfect fantasy. Why get closer?” he pauses then adds: “Like he’s different from his image, isn’t he?”
Robin remains quiet, for a moment Ace fears she’s left him talking to himself like an idiot, because he forgot about time while staring. But she’s still there, looking at him amused. Of course she reads in his face like a book.
“You’re so screwed,” she says cheerfully as she jumps out of her chair.
And if Robin thinks so then maybe she’s right. Get it together, Ace. He’s just a human.
Game One. Marco’s good and he knows it.
Crew members: Mihawk, Perona, Usopp, Law, Marco
Guests: Nami, Robin, Ace
Teams: Nami & Mihawk; Perona & Law; Usopp & Robin; Marco & Ace
“I am not going to run. This isn’t sportswear, it’s couture!”
Perona gestures grandly at her outfit, which, admittedly, looks runway-ready despite technically being gym clothes.
“Then walk fast,” Law replies, his tone so dry it could dehumidify a room.
“Strut like you’re on a catwalk,” Robin helps out.
Not that Perona notices, she gasps as if Law had just insulted her entire existence. “You know with my charm and your… whatever it is that you do, we could make a great team. But you seem blind to my potential!”
Ace glances over at Marco, who is stretching like a pro on the sidelines. He’s practically glowing, rolling his shoulders back and lunging like this is a real competition and not a variety show.
“You’re taking this seriously,” Ace comments, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course,” Marco replies, flashing a grin. “You’re not?”
Ace snorts. “Oh, I’m taking it seriously. I just don’t look like I’m training for the Olympics.”
Marco laughs. “I can’t help it. Sports are kind of my thing.”
Ace learns just how true that is when he finds himself clinging to Marco’s neck while the man hoists him effortlessly into the air. Marco’s hands grip Ace’s thighs firmly to keep him balanced. The whole setup feels like they’ve skipped at least five crucial steps of getting to know each other.
When Marco had first told Ace to climb onto his back, Ace had shot back without thinking, “Shouldn’t you invite me to dinner first?”
The set had erupted with laughter, and Marco’s stunned face — half confusion, half pure panic — had been the cherry on top.
“I’ll buy you whatever you want,” Marco had eventually said, dropping to one knee and clasping Ace’s hands in a dramatic gesture. That’s when Ace knew Marco had already won him over, scoreboard be damned.
The first game is track and Marco’s in his element. Ace would’ve gladly left it to him. Track was boring, what wasn’t was watching Marco dominate each time without fail. He was so damn proud, too, every time he won, flashing his wide grin like a trophy as if it were the first time.
Marco thrived at anything involving sports. Ace has seen clips of him raving about his time in the marines during mandatory service, bringing it up enough it had become a running gag.
Law snorts. “Private Marco is back I see.”
Before them stretches a tracking field, unlike a regular school race. It’s an obstacle run littered with bizarre, brightly colored objects that could only belong to a variety show. Foam clouds, oversized frying pans, and an inflatable hotdog wobble precariously on the course, promising chaos.
Ace isn’t thrilled about the idea of leaping over these obstacles himself, but letting Marco run track with him on his back? He tries to protest for Marco’s sake. They’re nearly the same height, and while Ace might have a lean build, he’s packed on enough extra muscle for his recent action role to be a burden.
“Come on, Mihawk!” Nami yells from the sidelines. “If we go together, we get more points. Why do I feel like you’re not listening?”
“I’m meditating,” Mihawk declares serenely, sitting cross-legged on a foam block with his eyes closed. “The secret to winning is mental clarity.”
“Bullshit! The secret to winning is having a fucking plan!” Half of Nami’s sentences will need censoring, Ace thinks with a grin.
Ace takes the decision upon him to climb from Marco’s shoulders. “With respect, I believe a lot of people would love to trade places with me - but you should trust my atheltisim a bit more.”
Marco grins. “I’m confident we can still win.” His competitiveness is unwavering.
Before Ace has a chance to reply, Law’s voice cuts through their conversation and he frowns. He’s not used to such a chaotic set. Being a senior actor meant everyone hid their bullshit, not spread it out in front of him.
A glance towards Marco tells him, that to his partner this is daily business.
“Excuse me,” Law deadpans from the sidelines, Perona in his arms, his expression as unimpressed as ever. “This has to violate some kind of ethical guideline. Isn’t show jumping considered animal cruelty?”
Perona smirks, climbing out of Law’s reluctant arms and brushing herself off with dramatic flair. “I don’t know if they’re counting him as human, but this is ridiculous. Nobody told me physical contact would be required. Where’s HR when you need them?”
Law smirks. “Hey, why don’t we petition to change them. What about the female contestants having to carry the male ones? I think I’d enjoy that a lot more. Oh, or what if we’re getting handcuffed together with our partners for the entire shoot. Oh, or what about-”
Ace tunes out their banter as Robin suddenly leaps onto a startled Usopp’s back.
“We’ll crush you!” she declares, striking a dramatic pose.
“Feels like the only thing getting crushed will be my pride,” Usopp mutters, his legs trembling under her weight.
✧
When the whistle blows Marco takes off like a shot. Ace scrambles to keep up, weaving between foam blocks and ducking under a low-hanging bar. He is athletic — he has to be, with all the stunts he does — but Marco moves like he’s been born for this.
By the halfway point, Marco is already leagues ahead of his competition, his movements fluid and precise. He doesn’t take the time to sidestep, leaping over foam clouds and rolling off frying pans like it’s second nature.
“Come on, Ace!” Marco shouts over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “You’re faster in your movies!”
Ace can’t help but laugh as he pushes harder, leaping under a foam block and skidding into the final stretch. Marco is already waiting at the finish line, casually leaning on a pool noodle as if he hasn’t just smoked the competition.
“You’re unbelievable,” Ace pants, dropping to all four next to him. In second place he realizes then, when it takes multiple seconds before the next signal goes off and a panting Mihawk with a struggling Nami in his arms appears in sight.
“You’re not bad yourself,” Marco replies, handing him a water bottle innocently, as if he hadn’t just pushed Ace unnecessarily.
“Guess you really meant it when you said, we’d win.” Ace huffs. “You lapped me twice.”
“Hey, it’s not a race,” Marco says, his grin teasing. “Oh wait — yes, it is.”
Then he shrugs casually, while running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Besides. Would I lie to you?”
And he says it with a wink.
✧
They drink their water and leisurely walk over to the next set, the crew hurrying around them.
Ace can hear another fight erupting between Law and Perona in front of them. She’s accusing him of aesthetic assassination.
Law calmly hands her a towel, but she throws it right back at his face, flouncing away dramatically. Ace grins, that today of all days, the Tom & Jerry of the crew are coupled as teammates is a real treat.
Marco stops every few steps to greet someone of the staff, often mid-task, before rolling up his sleeves and helping. By the time they reach the next set, Ace feels they’ve both turned into volunteer stagehands.
They make it to the next set with equipment in each hand, that they leave with the greatful sound crew.
“You really love sports, huh?”
“Keeps you sane, when you live with fifteen other men. The gym was my sanctuary.”
Ace nods, feeling dizzy from the thought alone. Once again he’s relieved that his voice is shit for singing, or he might’ve pursued a career that didn’t suit his personality at all. Just imagining what it would’ve been like to share a living space with co-stars was too much. Teamwork was essential in acting too, but to a much lesser degree. At least he could go home alone at the end of the day.
“I bet you were that guy leading chants during morning runs,” he teases, referring to the mandatory service.
Marco grins, unashamed. “You’re not wrong.”
“Let me guess, something like: ‘We’re marines like machines.’”
“Close. ‘Pain is temporary, abs are forever.’”
Ace snorts and Marco shoots him an offended look. “Excuse you, that’s my life philosophy!”
Nami & Mihawk: 35 points (second place: 10 points + 25 tandem bonus)
Perona & Law: 5 points (third place: 5 points)
Robin & Usopp: 25 points (25 tandem bonus)
Ace & Marco: 30 points (first place bonus x2: 15 points each)
Game Two. Marco’s calm?
"Okay, Teams. Time to test your partnerships!”
Real worry settles in Ace's gut. He’s great at trusting himself, but another person, he’d just met? Even if it is Marco - even if he is actively crushing on him - that doesn’t mean he’s ready for trust falls.
“I’ll go,” Marco says instantly, then with a quick glance at Ace adds: “Unless you want to?”
Ace shrugs with a casualness he doesn’t quite feel. “I love heights, so I don’t mind tackling that part.”
The second challenge is a trust-based obstacle course. One teammate navigates the blindfolded other by in-ear. To make things worse the first one’s a real ground level obstacle full of swinging stuff, bouncy contraptions and trap doors. To make it through that, one would really need a lot of more trust than Ace can supply.
The second part, by contrast, is high up in the air. A narrow beam that requires balance, confidence and a bit of dexterity. These, Ace can handle.
“Okay, then I’ll go first!” Marco announces, his grin so wide it basically splits the sky. “I trust you.”
The words are simple, but they strike Ace like a punch to the chest. “You... trust me?”
Marco claps him on the shoulder, the gesture light and easy. “Of course. You’re going to be a great guide — I know it.”
He’s not scared. Not even a little, Ace realizes.
It’s almost overwhelming, the way Marco radiates reassurance. Ace has heard the rumors about Marco — that the jock exterior hides someone far more perceptive and caring — but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely.
Clearing his throat and trying to sound unaffected, he quips, “Well, I hope you’re right.”
“I think I’ve seen the blindfold. I put it down somewhere over here. Or no… was it there?”
Usopp is running back and forth frantically.
“It’s literally in your hand,” Robin points out.
Usopp spins around to face her. “Ha! I knew that. Just testing your observation skills. You passed.”
Marco crouches slightly so Ace can tie the blindfold on him, but he fidgets like a restless kid.
“Hold still,” Ace mutters.
“Sorry,” Marco replies, sounding not the least bit sorry. And he keeps shifting anyway. “I get excited before games.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Ace says, pulling the blindfold snug and checking that it doesn’t pinch Marco’s hair. “Okay, you’re good. Ready?”
Marco grins, the blindfold barely dampening his overbubbling enthusiasm. “Always.”
“Mihawk, listen to me, I’m scared of heights! Hello?” Nami is pacing in frustration, gesturing wildly.
She has drawn some sort of diagram into the dirt with a stick, while elaborating on a plan, but Mihawk’s barely looking.
“You’ll be blindfolded anyways.”
Nami snaps the stick in half. “That’s not the calming reassurance you think it is!” She looks ready to explode.
✧
The moment the horn blares, Marco is off.
Ace barely has time to react before Marco barrels forward like he can see the course.
“Wait- Marco! Slow down!” Ace yells into the headset as Marco narrowly avoids a swinging foam hammer. “You’re blindfolded, remember?”
Marco doesn’t listen. Or maybe he does, but his idea of “slowing down” is just a slightly less frantic sprint.
Ace shouts directions like his life depends on it — or Marco’s, anyway.
“Left! No, your other left! Duck! Jump! JUMP!”
Marco stumbles slightly, correcting his footing just in time to avoid crashing into a wobbling beam. “You’re great at this, by the way,” he calls, his voice bright with amusement.
“I swear, if you fall—”
“I won’t fall,” Marco interrupts confidently. “You won’t let me.”
Ace’s throat goes dry at the certainty in Marco’s voice. It’s almost unfair how calm and excited he is about this trust run. But then when he realizes how far Marco’s left his competition in the dust, he can’t help but get excited himself.
“Yes! Oh my god, Marco, you’re first by a mile — go, GO!”
“Shit!” Marco’s yelp echoes through the headset as he slams into something with a hollow bonk .
“Oh shit,” Ace breathes, his heart leaping to his throat. “Marco, are you okay? I’m so sorry. What the hell was that?!”
Robin grabs Ace’s arm to keep him from bolting to the course. “He’s fine,” she says with a dry grin.
Marco’s voice crackles back through the headset, cheerful and unaffected. “Ace, is that you? Wow, your skin’s so smooth. I need your skincare routine.”
Ace bursts into laughter, his chest loosening with relief. Of course Marco is fine. He ran face-first into an inflatable clown named “Buggy” that had suddenly risen from the ground, too fast to warn him anyways. And somehow, of course, Marco had turned it into a joke.
By the time Marco stumbles out of the maze — first place secured — he’s panting, sweaty, and grinning like a lunatic. He throws his arms in the air like he’d just won a gold medal and Ace can’t help but laugh, even with his heart still racing from the responsibility of being his guide.
As soon as he’s in reach, Marco throws his arms around Ace’s neck, practically lifting him off the ground.
Ace has never met anyone so alive.
✧
“My turn,” Ace declares, swapping places with Marco.
He’s about to blindfold himself, when Marco carefully takes the fabric out of his hands.
“You’ll tangle all of those beautiful curls,” he says and Ace is glad, the fabric will cover his cheeks at least partly, because he’s blushing. “A national treasure, those.”
Marco likes his compliments, Ace knows it. He’s seen him during interviews, but once again it feels different to be affected personally by it.
He half expects Marco to fumble with the blindfold in his usual exuberance, but his fingers are steady and calm. “Too tight?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Alright, let’s do this,” Marco says, his voice low and reassuring.
Not that Ace feels any unease. He basically doesn’t need Marco for this, so he’s fine.
As soon as the horn blares, Ace takes off running, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“Whoa—Ace, wait! Don’t—” Marco’s warning comes too late as Ace missteps, catching himself just in time to avoid falling.
“You’re supposed to listen to me!” Marco yells, half laughing, half exasperated.
“I’m fine!” Ace calls back, grinning despite himself.
“Okay, but if you fall, I’m not catching you!” Marco shoots back, though his voice is more amused than annoyed.
Ace barrels through the course with a mix of reckless confidence and pure luck.
“Watch out for—ugh, never mind, you’re already past it!”
Marco reacts to every wobble, every near-miss, like he’s the one on the beam. His voice in Ace’s headset is a constant stream of gasps, breathing, cheers and warnings. It’s a weird kind of comfort, having someone so invested in his every move.
“Ace! Careful! Shit you— for the love of- oh, okay, now you’re actually doing amazing.”
“This is why you’re the action star!” Marco exclaims, his enthusiasm making Ace laugh.
When Ace reaches the end of the beam, Marco yells, “Stop! STOP! I’m for real! You’ve reached the end — don’t jump!”
Ace laughs and leaps anyway, ignoring the rope entirely. He’d already decided while on ground, he wouldn’t stand around like an idiot, fishing through the air in hopes to catch it.
They’re secured anyways, if he jumps controlled enough and with little force, it works just as well.
His landing is triumphant, if not elegant. No sprained ankles, no bruised pride. But he can already hear his manager.
For a moment Marco is quiet in his ear, then he returns, voice more teasing than before. “You’re crazy.”
Ace solves the final puzzle in record time, and takes the win. But the victory feels secondary to Marco’s enthusiastic, “You did it!” as he tackles Ace in a hug that nearly knocks them both to the ground.
There’s no mistaking it now: Marco isn’t just a good partner—he’s the ultimate hype man.
Ace knows, he was a marine himself during his service and he’s a bit disappointed that he apparently hadn’t heard of him. His legacy was fading.
✧
“Are you always like this?” Marco asks, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Like what?”
“Reckless. Do you have no concept of self-preservation?”
Ace laughs, grabbing a towel while bowing to the staff member, who handed it. If he’s not mistaken she lets out a little squeal.
“Oh come on Mr. Full Speed Ahead. Besides, I was in the marines too, remember? Blindfolded parachute drills were my favorite.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You didn’t like them?”
Marco lets out a dry laugh. “I liked the parachute drills. But the ones where I could see, thank you very much.”
“You’re lucky I trust you,” he adds with a teasing smile.
“You’re lucky I don’t get scared,” Ace replies.
“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose,” Nami growls.
She’s agitatedly running next to a relaxed strolling Mihawk. “You sabotage me! Ignore every plan I come up with! I swear one of these games, you’re going down.”
“You’re welcome to try.”
Ace grins at Marco. “How much pride can we really take in winning, though, when our opponents are just self-destructive?”
Nami & Mihawk: 30 points (second place: 15 points + third place: 10 points + 5 points bonus for 0 mistakes by both)
Perona & Law: 15 points (third place: 10 points + fourth place: 5)
Robin & Usopp: 20 points (second place: 15 points + fourth place: 5)
Ace & Marco: 35 points (first place bonus x2: 20 points each - 5 points penality to Ace)
Game Three. Ace's cute.
Ace’s appearance on the show feels like a fanboy dream come true to Marco. He’s followed Ace's career for years - ever since he played a small part in his breakthrough drama - and he had been admiring Ace for his fearlessness, his versatility and, yes, his looks. And then there was that interview.
The one where Ace, red-faced and stammering, had named Marco — Marco — his ideal type.
The memory still feels surreal. Marco remembers the exact moment his groupmate Izou had sent him the clip. He’d opened it with mild curiosity, only to watch Ace’s cheeks on fire from alcohol - and perhaps embarrassment - as he blurts his name. It worked like a knockout punch straight to the heart.
Izou was still teasing him to this day, fully aware of how much effort Marco spent pretending he wasn’t reading into it.
Now, Ace is right here, walking beside him toward the next set. Appropriately it looks like a summer camp, complete with a fake bonfire, fake trees with twinkle lights and camping chairs. Matching Marco’s inner feelings, running wild like he’s a teenager.
In the center is a large spinning wheel emblazoned with Truth or Dare in bold letters.
“Let’s answer as many questions as possible. We can volunteer, right?” Ace asks, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
The game is a fan favorite game, known for producing some of the most viral moments in the show’s history.
“You don’t have to answer anything that feels too personal, though,” Marco reminds, his voice tinged with quiet concern. “I’d rather lose a few points than have you risk your emotional well-being.”
Ace spins around, his grin impossibly wide. “Don’t worry, I’ve got no secrets worth keeping.”
Marco chuckles, following close behind. But just as Ace reaches the bonfire, he stops abruptly, his ears turning bright red. “Oh.”
He pivots to face Marco, suddenly sheepish. “I might’ve gotten carried away. You don’t have to answer or do anything uncomfortable, Marco. Let me handle this.”
Marco raises an eyebrow, teasing, “You’re really used to playing the hero, huh? Always saving the day, kissing babies?”
Ace doesn’t miss a beat. “Recently, I like playing the villain.”
Marco swallows hard, feeling his pulse spike. “I’m not surprised you can pull off both.”
He forces a grin, but his inner monologue is already spiraling: Better do as he says and keep your mouth shut, Marco.
The host, Big Mom, once again explains the rules. Each contestant spins the wheel to choose truth or dare. The task is displayed for everyone to see, but anyone can steal it if the player hesitates too long.
True to his word, Ace doesn’t give Marco a chance to do much during the game. Anytime Marco so much as lifts a hand, Ace is faster, calling out his own name and snatching challenges left and right.
So far, Ace has:
Shown the last picture on his phone (a grinning boy named Luffy—Ace’s nephew, whose face will be blurred for the broadcast). Apparently he wasn’t to be trusted with Ace’s movies as he hurt himself trying to match scars. “Mine was just make-up.”
Done 25 squats while holding Marco bridal-style (And Marco had allowed himself the audacity to correct him: “Deeper, those can hardly be counted as” because Ace does it so effortlessly as well.)
Performed the sexy body roll dance challenge of the month, complete with a cringe-inducing pick-up line.
Adorably admitted that his first kiss was a total disaster, because he accidentally knocked the other person unconscious. (Marco’s brain wants him to notice that Ace doesn’t gender the experience, so he has to call himself back to order. Don’t even go there, Marco. )
He can only watch in pure admiration, his chest tight with something he doesn’t quite want to name. It’s not just Ace’s fearlessness — it’s the way he throws himself into everything with this reckless, infectious joy.
A few are quick enough to retain their own games and Nami and Ace quite impressively engage in a fierce battle of snatching challenges.
When Perona is dared to imitate her team member, she defends that challenge with uncharacteristic passion.
Not missing a beat, she rolls her ankles back and slouches into a surprisingly accurate pose. “Oh, look at me. I’m Law. I’m too cool to care about anything.”
Law seems unimpressed, yet provoked enough to interject: “Don’t forget the part where I’m always right.”
Perona rolls her eyes. “Yeah right.” Her voice is deep and has this unnerving edge to it, as if she can hardly care for stumbling the words out her mouth. “Caring is for peasants. Also I’m convinced I’m the hub of all knowledge and brain cells. I chew your dreams and aspirations for breakfast, I-”
Suddenly she stops herself and turns back to Law. “Are you really still saying that you are cool?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“I take back every nice thing I just said about you.”
As always their infamous Tom and Jerry bond has the set in stitches. With every single episode it just keeps getting better and Marco is almost sad, they’re paired off in teams of two today, because he feels he’s missed so much of it. Almost.
Mihawk also defends his turn, but Nami is horrified at it.
“You can’t do that?” Nami looks at him in disbelief. “The dare is to smile, Mihawk.”
“I can smile,” Mihawk replies coolly. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly and Nami groans.
Eventually, Mihawk produces a stiff something with teeth, which Big Mom graciously accepts.
When it’s finally Marco’s turn, the wheel lands on Truth, and he braces himself internally.
While he enjoys showcasing a lot of his true personality, he hates sharing actual information of his private life. Both things together and before long, he’ll feel like his life no longer belongs to him.
“Who’s the last person you DM’d but didn’t hit send on?” the Big Mom reads.
Before Marco can even process the question, Ace shouts, “Ace!”
Doesn’t just yell it — he practically throws himself in front of Marco, like he’s shielding him from some imaginary danger. The set falls dead silent, everyone staring in open disbelief.
Marco blinks. “You—you answered your own name? But we’re a team!”
Ace shifts awkwardly, glancing down at his hands like they’ve betrayed him. “Well… I mean… I said I’d handle this.”
A wave of laughter ripples through the cast and crew, but Ace just scratches the back of his head, cheeks burning.
“Woah. He’s so passionate he’s stealing his own teammates' challenges.”
“Aww!” the cast choruses, egging him on.
Ace sighs, clearly resigned to his fate, and finally looks directly at Marco. Something about his posture has changed, while he tackled all challenges this far with smooth confidence he fidgets nervously, running a hand through his messy hair. He looks so good, that Marco wants to scream his own name to protect him.
“Fine, um… last person I almost DM’d but didn’t send was… actually, um…” his eyes hold Marco's for the first time really, “you.”
“Um, Marco,” he adds as he turns to the others again. Confirming what Marco can hardly comprehend.
Ace wanted to DM me?
He doesn’t hear much of the laughter or the teasing that follows — just the pounding of his own heart and his brain screaming, DO NOT OVERTHINK THIS. (Spoiler: he’s absolutely going to overthink this.)
Usopp's hands shake him back to reality, as he nudges. But he’s unwilling to be present.
When? Was it after Marco had named Ace as his ideal type? Marco had wanted Ace to contact him so badly. Wanted to contact Ace himself so badly. He’d spent nights staring at his phone, typing out messages he couldn’t bring himself to send.
The moment passes quickly as the next dare goes to Robin. She’s asked to perform one of her “sexiest choreographies,” and Marco seizes the opportunity to finally do something for Ace.
“Don’t forget the popping, superstar,” Robin teases, and Marco laughs as he joins her.
Ace doesn’t say anything, but Marco catches him watching, his lips quirking into a small, amused smile. Marco has never enjoyed shaking his body to “Body Rhythm” as much as today, even does his signature move and tugs his shirt between his teeth at one point, revealing his abs, just for a moment before he lets go with a cocky and joyful smile aimed right at Ace.
✧
After the game they’re both silent and weird. The crew announces a break and the cast scatters around set. Marco wanders to the catering more out of habit than hunger - and because Ace had looked so sad earlier about him not eating any.
Robin catches him mindlessly nibbling on a piece of naan. “Are you going to eat that thing, or is this some new diet technique?”
Marco nearly drops the bread, turning to Robin who’s holding a full plate.
She darts a churro at him, like it is a pointer. “Let me guess, you’re thinking about Mr. Leadrole.”
“I- did you know about the DM?” He doesn’t mean to ask, but now the question is out. If somebody knew it had to be Robin. Ace and her were known as inseparable besties.
“No. Just like I didn’t know Ace could be such a teamplayer.” But her smile says that she does know more than she’s letting on. She has to. “You two are Teamplayer vs. Daredevil.”
She’s quiet for a moment, as if she considers her words. ”You know Ace might be impulsive, but he actually means the things he says.”
Marco can’t decide whether or not this is about the DM-thing or what he quietly - in his own thoughts at 3am, when he allows himself - considers flirting through interviews.
“You think-“
“I know.” She grabs a handful of naan for herself, then pats him on the shoulder. “Stop overthinking it.”
Marco would’ve liked to overthink another second and ask about what he exactly she means, but she’s already walked away.
Nami & Mihawk: 40 points (Nami: 36 challenge points + Mihawk: 4 challenge points)
Perona & Law: 36 points (Law: 16 challenge points + Perona: 16 challenge points + 4 bonus for loudest laughter: Perona)
Robin & Usopp: 28 points (Robin: 18 challenge points + Usopp 10 challenge points)
Ace & Marco: 50 points (Ace: 46 challenge points + Marco 4 challenge points)
Game Four. Marco’s a good loser.
Ace isn’t sure, but he’s pretty confident his little confession earlier didn’t help either of them. If anything, it seems to have thrown both of them off their game. And Marco’s sexy dance routine with Robin had done him in just as much.
They’re in the middle of the next challenge — a chaotic balloon-battle game involving pool noodles and pure mayhem. The competitors stand on wobbly platforms, each like little flat colorful mushrooms, with springs in their stems that sway at every movement.
The goal is deceptively simple: keep your balloon in the air while fending off other teams' attacks. Usually, Ace would’ve asked Marco to defend their balloon while he jumped onto another platform to cause chaos. But today, he somehow feels he can’t trust himself to leave Marco’s side.
Still for a while they hold their ground, movements completely out of sync, completely unsure who tackles which part of the game: attack or defense. Balloon or noodle?
But then Law and Perona up their game, sending a flurry of noodle attacks their way. Marco blocks two strikes in quick succession, but the third slips past him and hits their balloon enough to send it wobbling over the edge of the mushroom.
Ace lunges, barely managing to tap it back into the air before he nearly falls off himself. Behind him Marcom makes a stifled sound, but he acts like he’s fine when Ace turns to him.
They’re also suddenly radio silent, and it worries Ace. For the cameras, if nothing else, they should be saying something.
Thankfully, Law and Perona’s attention shifts to Nami and Mihawk. Ace can’t quite tell what’s happening, but Robin and Usopp waste no time ruthlessly attacking while everyone else is distracted.
“Get Mihawk’s balloon!” Perona yells.
Ace looks over to see Mihawk standing perfectly still, holding their balloon aloft like an offering to the gods.
“That one’s obviously fake,” Law deadpans.
But the distraction works, as Usopp dives toward Mihawk, yelling, “For glory!”
Before Usopp can land a hit, Mihawk pops the decoy balloon with a single, elegant flick of his finger. The sound echoes across the set like thunder.
“Mihawk!” Nami’s voice carries a note of betrayal so genuine that Ace actually feels bad for her. Of course, it was her idea to use a fake balloon as bait.
“It was compromised,” Mihawk states simply.
At least their antics buy everyone else a moment to catch their breath. Ace and Marco watch the chaos unfold, but when Law attacks Mihawk’s real balloon and Mihawk defends it with ease, the spell is broken.
“You know if you throw the pool noodle just right, you can hit two balloons at once.” It’s Robin’s voice but her words make absolutely no sense to Ace.
“Really?!” Usopp seems to think otherwise.
With all the flair of a showman, he tries, only to miss spectacularly and hits Marco square in the chest. They both freeze, while Marco glares at a horrified looking Usopp.
“You’re supposed to aim for the balloons,” Marco explains dryly. Then he smirks. “But thanks for noticing my cardio regimen.”
“Or maybe you can’t,” Robin deadpans, clearly having orchestrated this purely for her own amusement.
Marco doesn’t miss a beat, turning to Usopp with mock reverence. “I don’t know what you’re onto, Robin. But Usopp’s noodle technique is unmatched. Future generations will tell tales of his warrior spirit.”
Ace blames this comment for his own lapse in focus, nearly dropping the balloon for the third time.
Marco lunges forward, catching it just before it falls out of bounds. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Marco says with a bright smile, passing the balloon back to Ace before fending off Usopp, who’s somehow balancing like an acrobat while laughing hysterically.
He successfully used their moment of uncertainty to jump onto their platform and despite Ace not hesitating to try and push him off, Usopp is faster and their balloon flies out of reach.
Marco drops to his knees with the theatricality of a Shakespearean tragedy.
“Nooooooooooo! Oh, cruel fate!” he wails, flinging his arms wide like he’d lost a kingdom, not a balloon.
Ace, unwilling to be outperformed at losing - basically losing at losing! - drops beside him, clutching his chest.
“Whyyyyyy?” he howled, tilting his head back so dramatically he almost topples over. “We were so young!”
Marco blinks, startled, breaking character completely. “Oh, that startled me.”
The set erupts with laughter, and even Ace can’t hold back his grin. Marco’s variety experience shines here — his comedic timing is flawless, and his over-the-top reactions are a hit.
Ace can’t help but think back to his comically wide eyes in his dressing room, where there were no cameras to catch his priceless expression.
There’s the stage persona, and then there’s the real Marco, Ace thinks. Just like there’s the real me . And he can’t help but notice how much the real Marco seems to bleed into the stage persona, or is it the other way around?
“Down go the drama kings!” Robin shouts, clearly enjoying her moment of victory.
Ace leans closer and screams again, earning another laugh.
“It was just a balloon,” Marco says, his tone softening into something soothing as if he is really trying to console Ace, and Ace can’t help but smile.
“A balloon you defended like your firstborn,” he shoots back, smirking.
Marco laughs, brushing it off with ease. He goes first, jumping down their mushroom, while Ace opts for a dramatic roll over the edge. He’s sure the viewers will appreciate it, even if the other cast can’t see.
“You okay there?” Marco asks, helping him to his feet.
Ace sighs. “I’ll live. But my pride won’t.”
They cross the soft mattresses that cover the entire floor until they finally reach the sidelines.
✧
Ace hands Marco a towel, suddenly reminded of something.
“You know I’ve seen this clip once, of a staff lady just wiping you down as you came off stage. Is that, like, a real job?”
Marco looks at him in disbelief. “Come again?”
“You weren’t wearing much and were covered in sweat all over.”
Marco shakes his head. “That’s doesn’t really narrow it down. I don’t remember.”
Well, I do, Ace thinks, but he keeps it to himself.
✧
They sit and watch the other teams battle it out. Marco leans back on his palms, his grin quite content for their early loss.
“Sorry we lost,” Ace says after a moment.
Marco shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, as long as it’s fun. I haven’t had this much fun in a while.”
“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? You really gave it your all.”
“I’m fine,” Ace replies.
Marco laughs. “Do you hate losing that much?”
Ace tries to play it cool. “I don’t mind as long as I look good doing it.”
“Well, then,” Marco says with a grin, “you’re always in the clear-“ he suddenly stumbles over his own words, adding a bit breathless, “I mean… since you always do.”
Ace opens his mouth to reply something playful, but it feels too much like they’re flirting and his brain doesn’t cooperate.
Marco stretches his arms above his head, letting out a contented sigh as if he didn’t just skip a beat.
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the other teams scramble and laugh. Their chaos is loud and infectious.
Mihawk has gone rogue with his pool noodle, using it like a fencing sword, poking balloons with precision, but without actually popping them.
“What are you doing?” Nami shouts. She is heard all over the set, as Mihawk delicately taps Law and Perona’s balloon into the air instead of smashing it.
“I’m practicing restraint,” Mihawk replies serenely and Ace can’t help his smile. It’s so Mihawk to do this. Working with him could be absurd, he was no less strange on set.
“We’re practicing winning! Puncture it!”
Mihawk sighs but finally pops the balloon with an elegant stab. “There. Are you happy?”
Nami threw her hands in the air. “Thrilled. Truly.”
Ace has seen enough of the game, instead he glances at Marco out of the corner of his eye, noticing how the setting sun mingles with his silver-blond hair, how the edges of his grin soften as he enjoys the warm sunlight on his face.
He is suddenly aware of Marco’s hand brushing against his own — not on purpose, just barely, but enough to send his thoughts into a tailspin.
He listens as Marco’s breathing evens out beside him, his racing heartbeat from the game steadying into it’s usual rhythm. It feels comfortable, like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
“Me too,” Ace says finally, his voice low but sincere. “I have a lot of fun, too.”
Nami & Mihawk: 60 points (second place: 40 points + 20 point assassin bonus)
Perona & Law: 30 points (third place: 30 points)
Robin & Usopp: 100 points (first place: 60 points + 40 points assassin bonus x 2)
Ace & Marco: 20 points (fourth place: 20 points)
Game Five. Ace’s so warm.
Marco tries not to sulk when Robin and Usopp win. It’s not losing that bothers him — it’s how quickly the game is over.
His mind is a hamster wheel of unspoken thoughts: questions, jokes, and do you want to get a coffee sometime since obviously you have good taste (and so do I, for liking you) . But soon the sidelines start to crowd.
You’ve already missed your chance, he tells himself. And the longer the silence drags on, the harder it feels to break.
Mihawk joins them and wraps Ace in a conversation about a past project - the romantic thriller in which Mihawk played Ace’s serial killer father. Marco had watched it with Izou, a thriller enthusiast, although he himself had watched half of it through his fingers. It was far too scary for his own liking.
Marco listens as Ace and Mihawk dissect action scenes and trade updates on mutual acquaintances, their tones buzzing with shared excitement.
Ace tries to loop Marco into the discussion, throwing him an occasional look and even nudging him for input. But Marco keeps his contributions small — earnest questions here and there about Ace’s stunts or those creepy sclera lenses Mihawk had to wear. He’s fine being quiet, letting Ace’s voice take up the space it deserves.
“I just don’t get it,” Nami slumps down next to him. “He doesn’t even try to win. He just does somehow. Each time I look our score goes up. Is he a witcher?”
Marco chuckles. “Maybe we should float him. But at least you got a reaction out of him.”
Nami scoffs. “Barely,” she says. “It’s like talking to a wall, but the wall somehow makes you feel very dumb.”
And that says a lot coming from Nami, who’s renowned for her wits. They both laugh about her comment, before Marco reaches for consolation: “Maybe he’s just waiting for you to outsmart yourself.”
And adds: “If it makes you feel better, I think he ignores everyone equally.”
✧
After Robin and Usopp take the win, the announcement of the final game snaps Marco out of his head.
They’re led to the pool, where tiny little island poles are scattered across the water. Marco recognizes the setup instantly: a balance game. Of course. It’s the perfect finale for an exhausting day.
The rules are simple: each pair has to share one island. If either partner falls into the water, they’re out. The longest-standing duo wins.
Marco glances at Ace as Big Mama explains the details. His hair is even wilder now, black waves curling and sticking to his forehead in the humid air. It’s the kind of detail Marco knows he shouldn’t focus on, but he does anyway. He wants to open the half up ponytail that has gone messy and redo it properly.
It looks like Ace has been styled in a hurricane, but he’s still pulling it off. Annoyingly so.
But then the makeup team rushes in for touch-ups and fixes it for Ace. For the first time all day, Marco feels conflicted about starting a game. Sharing that tiny island with Ace — being that close — is going to test more than just his balance.
If he thinks I’m trying too hard, I’ll die, Marco thinks, the words looping in his head like a mantra.
“You good with this one?” He asks, as they stand at the edge of the pool.
Ace smirks. “Are you asking if I’ve got balance?”
“If you go rogue again, we’re definitely falling in.”
“Hey, I was just following your example during the blindfold game,” Ace shoots back.
✧
When they climb onto their designated platform, Marco’s first instinct is to offer a compromise. “You can stand on my feet,” he says softly.
There’s not enough space for both of their feet, so they have to find a solution anyways, and he knows if they opt for one foot each, they’ll start regretting it sooner than later.
Ace looks up sharply, his eyes wide, and Marco nearly topples over from the intensity of that gaze. Ace catches him immediately, his hand pressing firmly against Marco’s back to steady him.
“You already wanted me on your back,” Ace says, his tone half amused, half scolding.
“I’m just trying to be a team player,” he shrugs.
Ace scoffs, shaking his head. “You really lean into that, don’t you?”
“It’s what I’m good at,” Marco replies. “I couldn’t possibly stand on your feet.”
Ultimately they work out an awkward but functional arrangement: Ace stands on one leg, his other foot braced lightly on top of Marco’s, while Marco stabilizes them with one arm around Ace’s waist and the other resting on his shoulder.
Their bodies are flush against each other, pressed together in an effort to lean into each other for stability. Ace stretches his arms out for balance, looking like a bird ready to take off, while Marco focuses on keeping them steady.
“You’re good,” Marco says softly. “We’ve got this.”
Ace swallows, Marco can hear and feel it.
The proximity is... dangerous. Every breath Ace draws, every small movement of his chest rising and falling, every shift of muscle. Nothing is a secret anymore. And it’s not just he who can feel Ace. Ace can feel Marco as well. He tells himself to concentrate on the game, but it’s impossible to ignore the heat radiating between them.
Don’t drop him. Just don’t let him know, Marco thinks, his grip tightening fractionally.
For a moment they wobble, and Ace breathes sharply. “Don’t drop me.”
“I won’t,” Marco assures, feeling more confident in it than ever. There was something so suddenly vulnerable in Ace's voice, so small, that probably only Marco took notice of it.
To calm himself — and maybe Ace too — Marco starts patting Ace back in a slow, steady rhythm. It’s half instinct, half distraction, but it seems to help.
The chaos around them fades into background noise, absentmindedly Marco notices other teams shouting and splashing as they fall, but it all feels distant. His world narrows to the faint, salty scent of Ace’s sweat, the rhythmic sound of their breathing, and the rapid thrum of his own heartbeat.
“You’re good at this,” Ace notes, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration.
“At what?” Marco asks, his voice coming out steadier than he feels. Doing nothing?
Ace tilts his head slightly, his cheek brushing against Marco’s. “At keeping me steady.”
Marco swallows hard. He’s already warm from the physical activity, from the press of Ace's heated body against his - and now he feels even warmer at Ace’s words.
Marco can’t help his stupid wide grin, probably looking like a lovesick fool. But at least Ace can’t see that, or the blush on his cheeks.
“Told you,” he whispers. “Team player.”
Ace doesn’t comment on that and that’s more peace than Marco had expected. He seems just as unfazed by the surrounding chaos.
It reminds Marco of watching him on his first acting gig years ago. Ace had been so deep in character that he didn’t even notice when he’d dropped his phone. A staff member had to hand it back, and Ace had taken it like it was a foreign object.
The memory makes Marco smile faintly, grounding him.
His hand tightens briefly on Ace’s waist, both a reassurance and a reminder to himself to focus.
It’s hard to tell how much time passes, when every moment feels like it’s endless, spent pressed up against Ace. Marco tries to keep both his balance and his reaction to Ace in check. And eventually, the host blows the final whistle, declaring them the winners.
Ace lets out a breathy laugh, his whole body relaxing into Marco’s hold. Marco feels like he’s melting, his adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion and something warmer.
Yet they don’t let go. Marco’s hand keeps tapping that rhythm into Ace’s shoulder and they lean back far enough to just look at each other’s faces.
“Good job,” Marco says quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the cheers around them.
“You too,” Ace replies, his grin is boyish and soft.
For a moment, Marco forgets the cameras, the crew, everything as the warmth of Ace’s smile fills his chest.
Don’t mess this up, he thinks again.
But then Marco leans in too far and topples both himself and Ace over. He scrambles into a leap, like a cat hurrying off a counter top at the last minute. It successfully avoids crashing, however he doesn’t want to imagine how many times the replay camera will show that shot with a laugh track.
Ace resurfaces, slicking his hair back. “Was that the grand plan, team player?”
“You're welcome for the refreshing dip,” Marco retorts. But he feels like someone’s woken him up with a bucket of ice water. It’s harsh.
Nami & Mihawk: 40 points (second place: 40 points)
Perona & Law: 30 points (third place: 30 points)
Robin & Usopp: 20 points (last place: 20 points)
Ace & Marco: 60 points (first place: 60 Points)
When Marco spots a group of panting and huffing staff members running from one end to the other with probs and equipment, Marco stops to help without hesitation.
“You know that they’re not paying you for this,” Tsuru remarks dryly. But she does still hand him her load without further convincing.
Marco smiles at her. “They pay me enough that you’d think it was part of the job, though.”
She eyes him sidelong, then shakes her head. “I knew it wasn’t a coincidence they started giving us random bonuses after they hired you. Last week, it was a New Year bonus - it’s barely winter!”
“I hope you put them to good use and buy Garp extra treats.”
She huffs. “Absolutely not. He’s getting fat. You’re already sneaking him treats all the time!”
Marco doesn’t even attempt to deny it, his grin entirely unapologetic. How could he be sorry when Garp — the cutest French bulldog alive — was essentially a walking guilt trip with paws?
✧
By the time Marco wanders over to the catering table, it’s nearly cleared out. He absently reaches for a granola bar.
He’d missed the rest of the cast leaving while he stayed behind, helping to clean up. There’s a moment of wistfulness, because he didn’t get to hear their banter and Ace’s recap of the day. Hopefully, he had fun.
“Marco, my man!”
Marco looked up to see Usopp bounding toward him, his noodle weapon still clutched in one hand.
He struck a dramatic pose, pointing the noodle like a sword. “Teach me your ways, oh master of almost winning!”
Marco snorted, shaking his head. “Almost winning? That’s what you’re going with?”
“Hey, second place is better than my team did,” Usopp replies, leaning heavily on the table like he’s just finished a marathon.
“Yeah, at least neither of us tried to dunk our own teammate,” Marco teases with a grin.
“She said that one was mostly an accident,” Usopp deflects with a wave of his noodle. “But then she also almost threw me off that mushroom trying to save the balloon.”
“She has a killer instinct,” Marco notes.
“Killer is right,” Usopp mutters. He eyes Marco with exaggerated suspicion, wiggling his eyebrows. “You seemed awfully pleased with Ace today.”
“Usopp,” Marco interrupts, laughing. “You’re reading way too much into it.”
“Am I?” Usopp counters, wagging his noodle accusingly. “Or am I just the first person brave enough to call you out?”
Marco rolls his eyes, though his grin doesn’t fade. “Brave?! I’m not one to fear.”
Mihawk & Nami: 205 points (First place!)
Ace & Marco: 195 points (Second Place)
Robin & Usopp: 193 points (Third place)
Perona & Law: 146 points (Last place)
Game Over. Marco’s so warm.
The chaos of the shoot has finally settled, replaced by the quiet hum of an evening set winding down. Well almost. Across the parking lot Perona and Law’s voices carry loudly.
“Open the door, Law. You’re being unreasonable!”
“Call me ‘Captain’ first!”
Ace stretches his tired limbs, the cool evening air easing the leftover adrenaline from the day. The shoot had been a whirlwind of chaos, challenges, and laughter, but his brain kept replaying the quieter moments with Marco.
Marco breathing into his ear while he runs on the beam (which was probably 90% accidental, but 10% undeniably hot), Marco, Marco looking over his shoulder during the track race, Marco brushing a strand of hair out of his face, Marco holding his waist, Marco’s heartbeat against his, Marco laughing, Marco staring at him, eyes wide.
Ace feels warm despite the crisp air.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he allows himself to mellow in this feeling a bit longer. He isn’t the type to get hung up on people he’s just met. It is as he’d told Robin: maybe he didn’t need to lie for all the interviews, calling Marco his ideal type. He was indeed crushing on him. But actually knowing Marco was different.
He is about to take out his phone and call himself a cab, he’d sent his manager to call it a day early. Partly to spare both of them the talk about Ace impulsiveness.
However as he turns, he spots Marco leaning casually against a tree a few feet away.
Of course, he looks perfectly relaxed, even after such an exhausting shoot.
For a split second, Ace considers to just wave and leave, but Marco glances up before he can decide.
“Hey,” he calls, his voice warm and carrying easily over the quiet hum of the parking lot.
Ace strides over, forcing himself not to rush, though every part of him feels stupidly eager for another chance to talk to Marco. “Hey yourself. Fancy seeing you here.”
Marco chuckles softly, his lips curving into an easy smile. “I’m waiting for my manager. She told me to hurry off-set before I could embarrass myself further, and now she’s the one running late. You?”
“Just about to head out,” Ace says, though his stomach growls loudly enough to betray him. Somehow he too, had forgotten to properly eat from the buffet.
Marco pulls something out of his pocket, plastic rustles quietly. “Interested in a granola bar?”
“Wow, the infamous Marco, sharing his snack?”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late,” Ace says, grinning as he takes a bite.
He pauses, then adds with a smirk, “You know, I thought we were cursed never to meet. But now it feels like fate’s trying to make up for lost time.”
Marco grins back. “And in a parking lot. Fate means us well.”
“You know,” Marco says after a brief moment of silence, “you could’ve just texted instead of chickening out and we wouldn’t have to rely on fate.”
His teasing grin makes Ace’s ears burn. And he tries to hide it under a casual gesture, as he leans against the tree opposite of Marco, basically stepping right in front of his face.
“Well, aren’t you the one chickening out this way,” he questions, leaning closer.
Marco raises an eyebrow, his voice dipping into something almost challenging. “Are you trying to provoke me into messaging you first?”
“Definitely.” Ace can’t help but laugh at himself, fully aware of how transparent he’s being.
Trying this obviously to use Marco’s competitiveness against himself was a genius idea nonetheless.
Marco’s expression softens, unreadable but holding something Ace almost wants to believe in. As if Marco is considering leaning in, too. As if. Projection.
“You know,” Ace said with mock seriousness, “I’m technically your junior.”
“What? No way. You’re my senior.”
The unspoken rule in his words: That’s why I can’t text you first!
“You’ve been around for ages!”
“Wow,” Marco deadpanned, placing a hand over his heart “just what every man in his thirties wants to hear.”
“Wait, when was your debut?”
“2009.”
“2008.”
They both grin at each other. “Well,” Ace says, “but you are older than I, by about two weeks.”
“If only you’d hurried a few days and we’d be the same year.”
They fall into an easy silence, the kind that doesn’t feel awkward or forced. The night air is cool against Ace’s skin, but Marco’s presence is warm, grounding in a way Ace hasn’t expected.
“You’re a lot calmer than I imagined,” Ace admits after a beat. “For someone known as a passionate guy.”
Marco’s smile turns teasing. “Well I like to keep people guessing.”
“You’re good at that,” Ace admits freely.
Marco tilts his head, studying him. “You’re not what I expected either. Your image is so polished—inhumanly smooth and untouchable.”
Ace snorts. “Untouchable? You had your hands pressed against my body like half an hour ago.”
Marco says nothing. Marco says nothing, just looks at him, letting the words sink in. Ace feels the tips of his ears catch on fire again. This goddamn impulsiveness. It is worse around Marco than usual.
“I know,” Marco finally says, voice soft but deliberate.
“What a shame,” he says, feeling like he can’t let it linger on, without breaking some humor into it, “that my dog got food poisoning. We could’ve had this conversation over that dance challenge we never ended up filming.”
It has it’s intended effect, Marco snorts, but he doesn’t break eye contact. It’s as if they are telling each other secret messages and Ace wants to play this just a little longer, just to be sure. And a little because he really enjoys it as well.
Before either of them can say more, a distant car horn breaks through the moment.
Marco sighs, just a moment longer his eyes hold Ace’s, flicker to his mouth, then leave his face for good in favor of the ground. “Guess that’s my cue.”
Ace looks over the the parking lot, where a sleek black car is waiting. “Guess so.”
Marco hesitates for a beat, then steps closer, brushing his hand lightly against Ace’s arm.
The touch is brief but lingering enough to make Ace’s breath hitch. “It was nice finally meeting you. For real.”
“Yeah,” Ace says quietly, his grin turning lopsided. “For real.”
Marco turns with nearly every step away from Ace to glance back, as he walks to his waiting car, leaving Ace standing in the lot, his heart doing little victory laps in his chest.
He watches until Marco disappears into the car. He should’ve asked for a ride, but if they could pick up on underlying intentions in their words spoken, it was safe to assume, so could Marco’s manager.
Just a moment later his phone pings with a notification.
Someone had DM’d him on Instagram.
Marco.
It’s a list of emojis: 🚗🍝❓
Ace grins, typing back as he heads toward Marco’s car: Well aren’t you an eager junior?
The door opens again to take him in.