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Ace wasn’t clingy.
He was… strategically affectionate.
Which is what he told everyone whenever they pointed out that he physically could not sleep unless you were pressed against him like a human life raft. Arm over your waist. Face buried in your neck. Leg thrown over yours like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go for more than three seconds.
Every. Single. Night.
If he missed it?
Oh, he’d survive. Technically.
But he’d be insufferable.
Ace without nightly cuddles was like the Moby Dick without sails but still floating, just absolutely not functioning. He got moody. Dramatic. He stared into the ocean like it personally betrayed him. Snapped at Thatch once for breathing too loud. Sulked through meals. Whined like a kicked puppy.
Marco called it “cuddle withdrawal.”
Ace called it “emotional devastation.”
You called it adorable.
Until the day you got sick.
It hit fast. Fever, dizziness, chills that rattled your bones. One minute you were laughing on deck, the next Marco was pressing a cool hand to your forehead and immediately switching into no-nonsense doctor mode.
“Nope,” he said, tone sharp. “Bed. Now.”
Ace hovered behind him, already panicking. “It’s not that bad, right? She just needs to rest, yeah? I can stay with her—”
“No.”
Ace blinked. “…What do you mean, no.”
“I mean,” Marco said calmly, “you’re banned.”
The word echoed.
Banned.
Ace stared at him like he’d just been sentenced to death.
“For three days,atleast” Marco added, already regretting everything. ”Your girlfriend his contagious. No visitors. Absolute rest.”
Ace laughed once, nervously. “Haha. Good one.”
Marco didn’t smile.
“…You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Ace turned slowly toward you. “Baby?”
You were already half-delirious, wrapped in blankets like a burrito, eyes glassy. “Ace… don’t fight him…”
Ace’s soul visibly left his body.
“You can’t do this,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “She needs me.”
“She needs sleep,” Marco replied. “And not your face breathing directly on hers, yoi.”
Ace tried everything.
Begging. Bargaining. Dramatic speeches about emotional bonds and “shared body heat.” He even tried the puppy eyes—which usually worked on literally everyone.
Marco stood firm.
And so began the worst three days of Ace’s life.
Day one: Ace paced the ship like a trapped animal.
He complained to anyone who would listen.
“Did you know she likes when I rub her back before bed?”
“Her feet get cold without me.”
“She needs cuddles for recovery.”
“I think I’m getting sick too. From missing her.”
Thatch tried to sympathize. “Buddy, it’s just a few nights.”
Ace gasped. “Just a few nights?? That’s like… a lifetime!”
Day two: Ace was officially unbearable.
He slumped over the railing, staring toward your door like it was on another planet.
“I miss her,” he muttered to Vista for the twelfth time.
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
“I miss her again.”
Marco was on edge. Every time he turned around, Ace was somehow closer to your room.
Caught sneaking down the hall? “I was just… checking the floor.”
Caught reaching for the door handle? “I thought I heard her sneeze.”
Caught literally crawling along the wall? “Tactical maneuver.”
Marco threatened to knock him out.
Ace cried about it.
Day three: Ace snapped.
He waited until late, until the ship was quiet, then quietly—very quietly—slipped down the hall. He pressed his ear to your door, listening.
Nothing.
Good. You were resting.
Satisfied, he slid down the wall and curled up right there, arms crossed, back against the door like a guard dog.
“If I can’t cuddle her,” he muttered, “I’ll at least be close.”
And there he stayed.
The next morning, Marco shuffled down the hall with coffee in hand, exhaustion carved into his face. He stopped.
Looked down.
And sighed the most tired, ancient, so done sigh in the history of the world.
Ace was sprawled on the floor, half-tangled in his coat, neck bent at an angle that absolutely would not be comfortable. One arm was slung protectively across the base of your door. His face was relaxed, peaceful for the first time in days.
Marco pinched the bridge of his nose.
“…You absolute idiot.”
Ace stirred. “She okay?”
Marco stared at him.
“She’s fine,” he said. “Thanks to not having you breathing fire breath germs on her.”
Ace smiled weakly. “Worth it.”
Marco considered kicking him.
Instead, later that day, once your fever finally broke, Marco cracked.
“You get ten minutes,” he warned Ace. “No touching. No cuddling. No lying down.”
Ace nodded so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
He slipped into your room like it was sacred ground. You looked better—still tired, but awake. When you saw him, your eyes lit up.
“Ace…”
He melted.
He sat beside your bed, hands clenched in his lap like a man resisting his deepest instincts.
“I slept outside,” he admitted quietly. “Didn’t wanna be far.”
You smiled, weak but warm. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “But you’re my favorite place to sleep.”
Marco watched from the doorway, arms crossed.
The moment your hand twitched toward Ace, he cleared his throat loudly.
Ace froze.
“…Five minutes,” Marco corrected.
Ace nodded obediently.
Too obediently.
You should’ve known.
Ace suddenly straightened, eyes widening
dramatically. “Oh—Marco, look behind you.”
Marco blinked. “…What?”
“There,” Ace insisted, pointing over Marco’s shoulder. “Thought I saw—uh…Thatch? On…fire?”
Marco turned on pure instinct.
There was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
And in that single, fatal second—
Ace shoved him.
Not hard. Just enough.
Marco stumbled forward with a very undignified,
“HEY—”
SLAM.
The door shut.
CLICK.
Locked.
Silence.
Then…
“PORTGAS D. ACE.”
Ace ignored him.
Because the second the door clicked, he turned back to you like a man possessed. Three days of forced separation snapped all at once.
He practically dove onto the bed, arms wrapping around you, face burying into your neck with a shaky breath.
“I MISSED YOU,” he blurted, voice cracking. “Three days. Three whole days. Do you know what that does to a guy??”
“Ace—” you laughed weakly, startled as he clung to you like you were a life vest in a storm. “You’re not supposed to—”
“I don’t care,” he said immediately.
And he meant it.
He kissed your forehead. Your cheek. Your temple. Soft at first, then desperate, like he needed to re-anchor himself to reality. His arms tightened around you, careful of your strength but absolutely not letting go.
“I don’t care if I get sick,” he mumbled against your skin. “Worth it. Totally worth it. I just needed you close. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. I slept on the FLOOR.”
Outside the door, Marco lost his mind.
“ACE OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW”
Ace flinched… then tightened his hold.
“No,” he said simply, like a toddler refusing bedtime.
Marco pounded.
“YOU ARE CONTAGIONALLY COMPROMISING THE PATIENT—”
Ace covered your ears with one hand, glaring at the door like it personally offended him.
“She’s fine,” he shot back. “I’m warming her up. Emotional support.”
“You are NOT emotional support, you’re a walking biohazard!”
Ace dropped his forehead to yours, breathing you in like oxygen. “Hear that?” he whispered. “He’s just jealous.”
You laughed, coughy and soft, and Ace’s entire world healed by 40%.
He kissed you again, slower this time, nose brushing yours. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he murmured. “I hate not being able to touch you.”
Marco slammed the door again. “I SWEAR TO GOD I’M CALLING POPS.”
Ace froze.
Slowly, dramatically, he lifted his head.
“…You wouldn’t.”
“I ABSOLUTELY WOULD.”
Ace gasped. “You snitch.”
“OPEN THE DOOR OR I GET WHITEBEARD.”
Ace looked at you.
You looked at Ace.
He huffed, sulking, arms still locked around you.
“This is unfair. He can’t separate soulmates. That’s, like, illegal.”
Another bang. “TEN SECONDS.”
Ace buried his face in your shoulder, whining. “I don’t wanna gooooo”
“You’re such a baby,” you teased softly, brushing fingers through his hair.
He melted instantly. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Your baby.”
Marco counted down outside like a threat incarnate.
Ace stole one last kiss a soft, lingering, promise-heavy one, then reluctantly loosened his grip by exactly one inch.
“…I’m coming back tonight,” he whispered. “I don’t care what he says.”
Outside, Marco cracked the door open the second Ace unlocked it, absolutely feral.
Ace shot him a glare. “You didn’t see anything.”
Marco pointed at him, shaking with rage. “If you get sick—”
“Worth it.”
“If she relapses—”
“Still worth it.”
Marco inhaled deeply.
Somewhere on the ship, Whitebear sneezed.
And Ace paled.
“…Okay maybe I’ll behave.”
For now…