Archive of Our Own

day 1: stuck elevator | touch starved 

“just because you can live like this doesn't mean you should.”

2:17 AM. 

The imaginary sheep in Ace’s head are already on their fifth lap of jumping around. He counts up to three hundred and forty-six and clicks his tongue in irritation – the little woolly clouds on legs just won’t end, and he is nowhere near falling asleep. Muttering curses into the darkness of the room, he aggressively rolls over onto his side and fumbles in the dark for a snoring creature next to him. Judging by the fur length and the sheer size of the butt, he finds Kotatsu. He strokes the cat, uselessly hoping it might help, and now tries playing word games in his head.

Spoiler: both attempts are entirely useless. Though Ace is at least glad the cat is enjoying the attention.

At 2:40 AM, Portgas D. swears under his breath yet again and flips over to his other side, letting out a miserable sigh. He wants to sleep; he really needs to, but it’s impossible. And it isn’t just about the thoughts whirring in his head like a glitching, buzzing film strip. No, his own body is betraying him too. He feels uncomfortable lying on the super-cozy mattress. His skin practically aches, waiting to wrap around a bony, lanky body. His nose itches, searching for that sweet, intoxicating spot right below the hairline on a familiar neck. To just breathe it in deeply, to catch a powerful, minute-long trip until his head spins and his chest aches. And just black out. To get at least a couple of hours of sweet sleep, but…

His well-trained body is craving and searching for its favorite person in vain. He isn’t here, and he won’t be back anytime soon. So Ace is doomed to drag out his miserable existence in loneliness and longing for another few months. 

Ace reaches for the nightstand, where his phone rests on its charging dock. He picks it up, admires the lock screen for a couple of seconds, and swipes up. He opens TikTok to distract his brain a bit, but the algorithm gives him nothing but dull videos. He tries YouTube for some boring background noise, but surprisingly, nothing fits. Finally, he taps into his messengers, expecting to see someone online to listen to him ramble.

Alright, who is he kidding? His eyes are scanning for a specific contact who, unsurprisingly, is online right now. Ace doesn’t hesitate for a single second; he hits the “video call” icon and waits. Law answers after three rings, instantly appearing before Portgas in crisp, high-quality resolution. Ace smiles the moment he sees the messy-haired, frowning man sitting in some unfamiliar coffee shop. God, what a gorgeous guy, seriously. It makes him want to squeal like an excited fanboy. But instead, Ace, in half a second, pulls a mask of grumpy resentment onto his face, with a slight hint of discontent.

Because this beautiful man is the root of all his problems. And he needs to set the tone. 

“Ace, did something happen? It’s the middle of the night over there,” Trafalgar frowns with concern, looking into the camera. 

“I know it’s the middle of the night,” Ace grumbles, pouting in response. “And yes, Torao, something did happen. Today, I love you just a tiny bit less than usual.”

“Good lord,” Law’s face relaxes as he catches Ace’s vibe. He exhales, raising his eyebrows slightly, and then offers a soft smile. “I thought it was something serious. What did I do this time?”

“But it is serious, my love, incredibly so,” Ace complains quietly, trying not to wake his bedmates. “Is it not? Your precious boyfriend loves you a tiny bit less – okay, half a tiny bit less – than usual. Is that not a reason to panic?”

“A reason to panic is the fact that you have to get up,” Law pauses for a second, checking the time, and then continues: “in four hours, and you’re not sleeping. What’s going on? Did you watch emotional movies again? Or did you play too many video games and now you’re overstimulated? Or maybe  the cats were acting crazy on you again?”

“No, the cats are actually chilling tonight. This is all your fault, you bearded jerk!” Ace keeps whining, pouting in mock offense. “I can’t sleep because of you! You ruined me! I just want to hold you, to breathe you in, to warm your freezing feet. Oh, who am I kidding… I want to mess around with you! But instead, I’m stuck in bed with two furry asses who have occupied your half of the bed and won’t let me have your pillow, which used to smell like your favorite fabric softener before them. A miserable substitute, but it was something! Now it’s just a nest of fur and two grumpy fluffballs that hiss if I try to move them. So in the end, I’m suffering all alone, with no comfort, no relief, and no fucking sleep. And I have absolutely no clue what to do.”

Across the ocean, Law lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. Ace is practically dying to shove his phone between his pecs and roll across the sheets in pure fanboy euphoria. Deep down, he knows this kind of obsession with the best man on the planet borders on pathology, but he honestly doesn't care. Portgas D. loves without limits; and if he one day strangles his boyfriend in an embrace of aggressive tenderness, so that is his fate.

“That is called sensory deprivation,” Trafalgar diagnoses, propping his chin on his hand. “You lack external stimuli and tactility. Pets could be a solution, but in our case, not right now, because you'll show up to work looking like you’ve been through a battle. So, I can recommend compensating with extra weight or pressure. Try folding the winter duvet twice or three times and laying it over your torso. It’s supposed to lower your cortisol.”

“It’s the middle of summer, I’m gonna bake alive. And I’m already in a T-shirt anyway,” Ace sighs, lowering the camera to show Law his body. 

“Is that one of mine?” Law smiles, raising an eyebrow slightly. “And why are you wearing it? You hate sleeping in clothes.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Ace brings his face back to the screen and pouts. “It’s not like you sleep naked, so I’m... sublimating with your things. I pretend you’re hugging me, but honestly, it doesn’t help. Plus, it doesn’t even smell like you anymore. Just me and, again, furry asses. The fabric feels nice, by the way, but it still doesn’t fool my brain. Do something about it! Who is the smartest one here?”

Trafalgar lets out a chuckle and rolls his eyes. Ace presses his lips together. The word “miss” isn’t even strong enough for what he is feeling right now.

“I’ve got other ideas: breathing hacks, muscle relaxation, paradoxical intention. Or, if you can actually force yourself to get out of bed, warm up some milk with honey. What do you want to hear about?” the genius doctor asks softly, staring warmly at his phone screen. 

“Did you go on an internship to a renowned doctor or a witch’s cabin?” Ace grumbles, settling more comfortably on the pillow and rubbing his cheek against it. The joke, by the way, holds a massive grain of truth. The old woman Law wanted to study under so badly really does look like a hag who brews potions. “Milk with honey? Seriously? I thought you’d just prescribe me some heavy sedatives.”

“I’m not feeding you pills unless it’s necessary,” Law’s eyes turn strict. Ace adores this look; he absolutely adores it. “We’ll manage without them for now. Besides, milk with honey actually works, and I can give you the whole scientific explanation if you want. Interested?”

“Mmm, your lectures with all those complicated words. I love them,” Ace means it, honestly. He truly adores the way Trafalgar gets fired up, talking endlessly about his passions. Law shines so brightly in those moments that Portgas D. stood absolutely zero chance of remaining indifferent to him. “You won’t be offended if I put the phone down and try to fall asleep to your stories? Do you have time for this?”

“I have a little time left,” Law chuckles and takes a sip of his coffee, which he clearly hasn’t finished yet.  “And if it helps you, I’ll tell you whatever you want. Just try to get some sleep, okay? You shouldn’t be exhausted.”

“I know, babe, I’m trying. Love you,” Ace yawns, pressing a kiss to the camera before turning it over to lay face-down on the nightstand, leaving only the audio running. “Make it boring, not interesting, okay? Otherwise I’ll just stay awake listening.”

“Anything for you,” Law snorts gently, his voice hiding an obvious smile. “So, regarding warm milk…”

Ace involuntarily mirrors his emotions and focuses on the beloved voice, which begins explaining things about tryptophan, serotonin, and melatonin. This, by the way, isn't even boring. But Ace manages to convince himself otherwise. He doesn’t even notice how he falls asleep until his cruel alarm clock starts ringing.

A few minutes into his “just a bit longer” routine in the morning, Ace reads a text from the love of his life with sleepy eyes:

“Since you stopped talking when I called your name, you fell asleep. Sleep well, Portgas. Text me when you’re up. I love you too, and I miss you ♥”

Wow, he actually used a heart emoji. Ace smiles, immediately texting his beautiful man back. The thought that he misses him terribly and that the wait is still long is pushed away into the darkest corner of his mind. His soul poisons itself with this several times a day anyway. No need to ruin his mood first thing in the morning; a very sleepy and heavy morning.

A couple of days later, Ace gets a delivery from an online store he didn’t even know about – a weighted blanket that weighs about fifteen pounds. The fabric on it is some fancy, high-tech stuff with a cooling effect, so he won't bake alive in the summer like in a greenhouse. Over the phone, Trafalgar explains something about deep pressure, cortisol, restless leg syndrome, and, most importantly, sensory deprivation. It’s the perfect remedy for someone who is already going crazy from tactile starvation. 

During the short and actually very interesting lecture [no, seriously, Ace loves listening to his favorite person], Portgas D.’s heart aches with longing and a surge of tender feelings. Because someone is thinking about him. And so deeply, that even his most trivial habits and preferences are taken into consideration. 

The blanket actually turns out to be a total game-changer at first. The weight knocks Ace out in minutes, and the extra pressure helps him manage his touch-starvation for a bit. It isn’t Torao, obviously, but it tricks Portgas’s brain for a while. The only regret is that it doesn’t last long.

There is one catastrophic feature about Ace’s condition – it progresses, and at a pretty fast pace. The brain gets used to external factors and adapts like a nasty parasite. And after a short period of time, Portgas D. goes right back to insomnia. It isn’t every single night just yet, but it’s more than enough to make him anxious and pissed off.

During one of these sleepless nights, as he sips soothing tea recommended by his sexy surgeon and strokes Kikoku [who has suddenly taken a liking to his temporary master], Ace reaches a verdict: his brain has evolved. It no longer falls for cheap imitations of human presence or useless relaxation methods. His nervous system demands a living, breathing human being. Preferably a specific one, but that one temporarily lives in a different time zone across the ocean and is, therefore, naturally unavailable. 

It hurts, but Portgas D. is strong. He was the one who insisted the most that Law accept this internship offer. He kept reassuring him that a year isn't that long, and that he would make it through. In theory, that’s exactly how it is. In practice, something goes wrong. Yes, in some aspects of life he can still function like a normal, independent man, but there are others that he simply cannot control. And this is a catastrophic torment for which a solution must be found. Otherwise, by the end of their separation, Law will return to a crazy corpse. God willing, a breathing one. 

Through long reflections and digging around in his own brain [after all, Ace did exist without Trafalgar once!], Portgas D. comes to the conclusion that family and close friends shouldn’t exist for nothing. And the hour has come for them to pay the bill for Ace’s boundless love. And do him a bro-favor, if you don’t mind.

Please.

Nothing illegal: Ace just needs a bit of physical contact while he sleeps. He needs warmth, a different scent, a body to press against his skin. It doesn't matter who holds who. As long as it’s entirely platonic and with someone Ace shares a deep, familial bond with. Just to recharge his batteries, you know. 

The cats are officially failing at their job. 

The first target of Ace and his touch-starvation is his little brother. Luffy is the ideal choice: skinny, breathing, and so close to Ace that he can be dragged into any scheme with zero effort. They spent their childhood sleeping piled on top of each other wherever they crashed anyway, so it’s familiar territory. On his day off, Ace drops by Luffy’s place with a pile of food, a new fighting game, and a request to be his cuddle-pillow for a night. 

Through a mix of blackmail and bargaining, Monkey D. reluctantly agrees to be his big brother’s sleeping pill. He calls him a creep, obviously, and texts Trafalgar a bunch of complaints saying that his zone of responsibility shouldn’t be tossed around from person to person. Law, completely unsurprisingly, ignores his messages, for which he immediately earns the title of a “jerk”.

Ace, by the way, never had such issues when communicating with Law. Even when they weren’t dating yet. The problem, most likely, is always just Luffy. Plus a couple of dozen other people who permanently exist on Law’s ignore list. 

“Luff, for God’s sake, stop tossing and turning,” Ace complains into his brother's back, giving him a light knee-to-knee nudge when it comes down to actually sharing a bed. He is almost asleep, come on! On the bright side – the method seems to be working. But Luffy is such a pain in the ass! Ace forgot how annoying he could be. “What’s your problem over there?”

“You!” Luffy barks back, squirming under Ace’s arm. “You’re like a furnace, and you’re breathing down my spine. And your arm is too heavy.”

“You didn't complain much as a kid when you came to sleep in my bed because you were scared of the closet,” Ace reminds his younger brother of past sins with a smirk, letting out a yawn. He doesn't remove his hand from Monkey D.’s body, despite the fact that Luffy keeps trying to escape from him. 

“And whose fault was it that I was scared of it, do you care to remember?” Luffy gives as good as he gets, grumbling while trying to find a more comfortable position. Portgas D. nods with pride. It happened, no point denying it. “Besides, you’ve gotten bigger since then, both wider and longer. I can’t breathe, and my spine hurts. You’re crushing me!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Ace waves it off, but lifts his arm a bit  so his brother doesn’t suffocate and can actually get comfortable. Portgas D. knows he has a habit of crushing people with his full weight. Law complained about it a few times, so Ace is fully aware. He hates making concessions when he’s comfortable, but he isn’t a monster. And he’s grateful for the spot. If only Luffy would stop moving. “You done yet?”

“Yes!” Luffy grunts, throwing an elbow right into Ace’s ribs – totally on purpose. It doesn't hurt, but it’s a dick move. Ace kicks him back under the blanket. “This is a one-time deal! I’m never falling for your scams again. I don’t know how Torao deals with you.”

“You legitimately lost every single round in the game, lil bro; that’s your own fault,” Ace notes [Luffy is a terrible noob, and Portgas D. used that to his advantage], burying his face in the pillow. He is completely exhausted, but he can’t let a comment like that go, so he adds lazily: “Torao doesn’t have a choice. And if it makes you feel any better, when he gets back, it’s going to be much worse for him than you can possibly imagine. I’m going to literally crush him. In every sense of the word.”

“Gross. Blegh. Nasty. Keep the details to yourself,” Luffy comments, faking gagging noises, and shoves Ace with his body. Ace gives his brother’s stomach a weak pinch, letting the argument die out. He is too tired, and that’s not why he came here anyway. 

Monkey D. breathes loudly, still fidgeting a bit. Ace shuts his eyes, presses against his skinny brother, and tries to ignore the shuffling to catch that sleep vibe he had a few minutes ago. Having a real person next to him actually helps, loosening up his stressed-out body. Luffy’s scent is comforting too. It’s not the same as holding Law, but it’s acceptable. The scent of family means safety; it’s an appetizer for his starvation. Ace feels his muscles completely unlock, his limbs getting heavy, like all the tension is turning his body into jelly.

Pure bliss. He hasn't felt this relaxation in ages. Yet, something is still lacking. Small details, seemingly trivial, but necessary for a perfect sleep. Ace just wants to trick his own mind and soothe the deep ache under his ribs that grants him no peace. It’s a tiny request, barely requiring any movement, but in Ace’s head, it expands into something massive and obsessive, pulling him away from rest.

He is sick, honestly. And Law is wrong for refusing to fix his brain.

“Hey, Luff, can you press your feet against mine?” Ace murmurs, barely opening his mouth, his eyes closed. “Like you’re trying to keep them warm.”

“Why?” Luffy asks, his voice sharp with renewed annoyance. 

“Just please,” Portgas D. doesn’t want to explain all the nuances. Not because it’s embarrassing, but because he is too lazy. 

“You are so annoying,” the younger brother grumbles, shifting around before pressing his soles against Ace’s legs. 

“Ugh, why are they so warm?” Ace expected something else, and the sudden disappointment triggers a spark of unwanted alertness in his brain. 

“What do you expect when it's boiling hot outside?” Luffy is totally done with him now and isn't even scared to snap back. Not that Ace would do anything crazy, but out of spite, he might give him a hard pinch or a smack on the head. 

“I don't know,” Ace grunts, grimacing. His own hyper-sensitivity is driving him insane. And the lack of sleep makes these sensations sharper. “Can we cool them down somehow? I need to warm someone up.”

“Ace, for real, this is stupid. I’m not freezing my feet,” Luffy’s voice actually gets serious because the request is so ridiculous. “I get that you’re trying to pretend I’m Torao, but this is getting unhinged. Take what you can get and stop whining. Otherwise, I’m calling him and begging him to come back early.”

“Oh, it would be so wonderful if that were possible,” Portgas D. smiles into his brother’s back, visualizing their reunion. “I wouldn't go online for at least a week. We would…”

“Shut up before it’s too late!” Luffy cuts him off, way too loud, slapping a hand over his ear. Ace winces at the noise but stays put. “I’m not trying to see my dinner again in my own bed!”

“Look who is sensitive,” Ace snorts relaxedly, burying his face into his brother’s T-shirt. “Alright, don't freak out. I'll try to doze off like this. Just don't squirm and don't yell.” 

Luffy mutters some incoherent curses but actually tries to stay still – there is just no arguing with his older brother. Portgas D. has this weird, twisted, absolute authority over him. 

To his surprise, Ace actually drifts off. It’s not a perfect, deep, uninterrupted sleep [sleeping next to Luffy makes that impossible], but as a dose of stamina and a brief rest for his worn-out body and mind, it’s just right. Too bad it’s strictly a one-time deal. 

Luffy never falls for his tricks again, remaining completely immune to threats, pleading, and outright whining. For Portgas D., it’s a small, tragic loss, but you can’t force someone to cuddle. Especially when we are talking about a silent human pillow. 

Little brat! Still, Ace backs off, starting to sift through other options he could use for his own selfish, sleepy purposes. Of which, honestly, there are practically none. Either these people are already taken, and Ace hasn’t quite built up the nerve to play third wheel to a couple yet. Or thinking about the singles just brings on hard denial or straight-up gives him the creeps. Because hell no, thanks, too awkward. Plus, it's not like he can just ask anyone. Not because they will mock him – Ace doesn't give a damn – but because this intimate process demands deep trust. And even though Portgas D. has plenty of friends and acquaintances, he is not ready to turn his back to everyone. In all senses. Especially when it comes to being little or big spoons.

It only makes solving his problem harder. Ace even feels like crying – he’s just so pathetic.

“I've got no idea how to fix my little issue, Torao,” Ace groans, keeping his eyes on the road. Getting behind the wheel while exhausted is a terrible idea, but Portgas D. is trying to act like a grown, independent man who has everything under control. “This is harder to handle than sexual arousal. That part is simple; it makes sense. I open any pic of you, jerk off a bit, and boom! – problem solved. Nocturnal emissions are canceled. Of course, it doesn’t fully satisfy; I still need you so much, but it’s enough to cool down. Sleep is different. I can’t catch a proper break if you're not around. Like, what the hell? What did you break inside me?”

The irony lay in the fact that even when they shared the same city, their demanding professions kept them from spending every night side-by-side. Since both had night shifts in their schedules, they didn’t always coincide. It never particularly bothered Portgas D., they were ready for such things. And this, by the way, was one of the reasons why they quickly moved in together by unofficial standards of “moving to the next base” – to reduce the time spent in loneliness. That way, they would at least cross paths in the mornings if someone came home late, or on any free evening without having to schedule dates and drive back and forth. You just fall into your favorite person's arms right after work. Or you’re glued to them in the mornings while breakfast is being made, cooing, being affectionate, soaking up their energy. Isn’t that lovely? Absolutely. But right now, Ace is dealing with something else entirely; he was not ready to go this long without those little comfort zones. He thought it was just cute couple stuff, a fun routine, but in reality it’s an important thing for a healthy mind. 

“I think that you, in your own time, made me your way of lowering your stress level. Simply put, you look at me as a factor of peace and safety. But since I am not around, it works the opposite way, and your brain thinks that you are in a vulnerable position, and does not ease your anxiety. For this reason, by the way, Luffy works perfectly for you. He is a comfort zone too, because he is family and you trust him implicitly,” Law muses from the phone speakers, being on speakerphone. For Trafalgar over there, things are already heading toward the night, but the daily call cannot be canceled. It's their only available lifeline. “There's probably too much of our primitive ancestors left in you, which is why you're suffering now.”

“I'm suffering because of you, my love. And cut it out with the fancy insults, calling me a Neanderthal or animal. I’ve spent enough with you to evolve; I already understand where you are trying to poke at me,” Ace grumbles purely for the sake of it, just to keep him on his toes, but he can't actually hide his smile. “Must be nice not dealing with this shit yourself. Kind of hurts my feelings, though.”

“I know what you're doing, Portgas. And I will happily fall for your provocations. My need for physical contact and interaction in general is admittedly lower than yours, but that doesn't mean I'm just cruising along without knowing what longing feels like. I miss you terribly too, and sometimes I lose my focus and act sharper than usual. I don't have a place to ground myself either; my outlet is just different. And I've had issues with sleep for a long time anyway, so... my body simply shuts down when I hit my absolute limit,” Law says with a smile in his voice and quite openly for his closed character. However, this is not entirely true. For some reason, he has been open and direct with Portgas D. from the very beginning, which still surprises Ace. Just look at their first date... Though now, obviously, it is not about that. “But you are forbidden to repeat this! That's a reckless gamble, especially in your case. It would be easier for me to just prescribe you some sleeping pills. Though I still hope I've managed to help you in a different way.”

Ace restrains the thoughts rising to his lips, unwilling to place an additional emotional burden on Law. It is not easy for both of them, he knows, and they knew what they were going for. But having a good whine is  a matter of honor, especially since his problems couldn't just be hidden. Torao would find out anyway. If not from Ace, then from his circle. Because they will either complain about him or snitch on him out of worry. If only they helped just as much, but that is a different story. 

“I love how overcomplicated you make simple human things sound," Ace chuckles, completely sincere. Portgas D. finds practically everything about his partner endearing, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. Some consider him a bit crazy, but he is only proud of it. “And I hope that you will use your doctor magic and find a way out of my situation. I really tried everything I could. Even meditated, in the end got even more pissed off. And the one person who could actually help is ghosting me. Little traitor, I wiped his nose for him when we were kids! He was my last hope. Now I have zero clues where to find acceptable bodies for my experiments. Turns out the circle of people I actually trust is tiny.”

“It's not healthy to trust everyone. So you're fine,” Law always has something to say. Ace, naturally, likes this very much. “And I'm working on a fix for you. I don't like knowing you can't sleep properly and feel miserable.”

“Hey, at least my team is solid, right? They got my back,” Ace laughs, turning onto the street he grew up on. “And if something goes wrong at home, the cats will help to dispose of me. I think it’s convenient. Mind-blowing thoughts. God, I am so messed up. I hope I won't joke like this in front of my parents.”

“Bad humor is contagious, sorry,” Trafalgar doesn't hold back his emotion, making Ace's chest tighten in the best way. After all these years together, Law's laugh still stirred something in him so intense it was almost painful to breathe. Distance only cranked these sensations up to the max. Ace let out a heavy sigh; he was completely, hopelessly whipped. Law lets himself express emotions for a short time, and then returns again to the mode of a business-like doctor and a worried partner: “But seriously, please take better care of yourself. I think I will look for the contacts of a good doctor who should understand your problem better than I do. Oh, and say hi to your parents before I forget.”

“Always do,” Ace replies, grimacing as he comes to a stop at a red light. “You want to find a doctor? Can we maybe hold off on that? I do sleep sometimes; it's just shitty sleep. I don't want to go to a shrink.”

“I have a couple of options on how to help without one, but I am leaning toward the fact that we will have to go anyway. And your “don't want to” has no weight, since your health and your life are at stake. Clear?” Law's tone sounds serious and even threatening. Portgas D. is not particularly afraid of him, but he won't argue. In these matters, Law holds all the reins of control. 

“Yes, my bearded dictator. Good thing you didn’t say it in German; it would be creepy,” Ace jokes and lightly presses the gas, watching the road. Deceiver. 

“If I have to, I will,” Law snorts, “but you're the one who banned it.”

“Not while you're this far away, sweetheart,” Ace notes, feeling a sudden spark of arousal. His imagination was playing tricks on him, making an ethereal whisper in his ear and a ghost of a kiss against his skin feel entirely real. Ace jerked his head, let out a sharp breath, and muttered: “Damn it, I just pictured that! Don't do that to me right before I see my mom. I don't need any awkwardness.”

“Right, because it's entirely my fault that you're a pervert,” Law snarks, some rustling noise heard through the background. Ace hoped his genius surgeon wasn't brewing a strong cup of coffee just to spend half the night buried in medical journals. The last thing they needed was a double case of insomnia.  

“Well, actually yes, before you, I was more innocent,” Portgas D. does not even embellish; some of his fetishes opened up precisely in their strong union. And much he just did not expect from himself. 

“I am not ashamed,” Law proudly admits with a chuckle. However, he himself is no better. 

“Neither am I,” Ace hints at some of his lover's habits and almost pulls up to the house. 

Sitting in the parking spot, he spends a few more minutes chatting with the love of his life, ultimately confessing his feelings and telling him just how deeply and painfully he misses him. Trafalgar mirrors the sentiment and, after wishing him a good evening, goes right ahead and makes that damn strong coffee anyway. No, Ace definitely needed to have a serious talk with him. Preferably in person. With his hand meeting a bare ass in a good slap. 

In his childhood home, Ace feels like a little boy again and finds peace. So blissful that he fleetingly thinks about moving back. At the very least, he would be fed incredibly well, and he would be surrounded by pure love.

To be fair, he can survive cooking on his own, thanks to Rouge teaching him a few tricks back in the day. That’s why in his dynamic with Torao, it’s Ace who runs the kitchen, not the brilliant surgeon. Law’s culinary skills end with butchering the meat. Ace figures the secret lies in some professional kinks, which isn’t even a bad thing. Past that initial stage, however, it is highly recommended to keep Trafalgar away from the stove. It’s not that his food is entirely inedible, but it’s frankly tasteless. And Trafalgar doesn't get offended by this – he can’t be talented at absolutely everything. 

As for love, it’s no secret that Ace desperately needs it raw and unconditional. Sure, the cats give him a fleeting sense of being wanted, but only as long as food, butt scratches, and a warm spot to sleep are on the table. The moment those are gone – beat it, pretty boy, and watch your sneakers. It smells like self-interest, and out of sheer desperation, Ace settles even for that. Though it doesn’t help with his sleep. At all. And his childhood home won’t fix it either, unless his parents are down to let him sleep right in the middle of their bed.

“Sweetheart, you look so tired,” Rouge comments, looking at her son with worried tenderness. "Are you still unable to fix your sleep problem?”

“Yeah,” Portgas D. would love to keep his struggles to himself, but a mother’s intuition is a powerful thing. Or rather, Luffy narked on him, the little traitor, triggering a massive wave of panic through their whole circle. And Ace is now asked every day how his night went. Thanks. “Torao thinks that this is a psychological reaction to his absence. Like my brain cannot find a safe place and is always on guard. A little more of this, and I’ll be forced to see a shrink. I’d love to avoid it, but Law won't leave me much of a choice.”

“He’s got you well-behaved,” Roger laughs loudly and opens a beer can with a loud pop. “But the son-in-law, I think, is right. Your condition can be dangerous for you and for others.”

Ace purses his lips at the title his family has slammed on Law, taking a heavy breath in and out. And it’s not even that Torao doesn’t actually hold that title officially – though God knows Ace wishes he did. Law has his own views [even before their relationship, Trafalgar said that he sees no point in officialdom and extra bureaucracy, and for Ace this is the truth] on the institution of marriage, and Portgas D. does not talk about it with him. Though, sometimes, he catches himself looking at rings, secretly dreaming that he’ll eventually lose his mind and drop to one knee. At least when Law gets back. Because the whole world and the government need to know exactly who this man belongs to.

Ace genuinely cringes at the phrase “son-in-law”. Trafalgar was cursed with a very specific name, and the wording turns into a massive, dirty double-entendre when you’re actually the one dating him. Portgas D. hopes his parents haven’t analyzed it that closely; Ace honestly hopes they don't think about who ends up inside whom in their bedroom. 

Sabo and Luffy, by the way, still laugh and gag at the topic at the same time. Ace gets his payback by threatening to send them a home video – which, obviously, doesn’t exist for some reason – just so they can see for themselves that he and Law have a perfectly equal exchange. 

“I’m trying to keep everything under control,” Ace sighs, poking a piece of sweet potato with his fork. “But it's brutal without him. I didn't realize I would become this dependent. And the scariest part is that it doesn't even scare or annoy me, if you don't count the lack of sleep. Is that a sickness too?”

“I would get that checked out as well,” Rouge says with a smile. She probably doesn't think it's a real pathology, but teasing Ace is a matter of honor. Now it’s obvious where he got his love for taking playful jabs at people. “When your dad used to go away on his trips, I didn't suffer nearly this much. It was harder when he came back. Instant noise, a total mess, endless cooking – a complete nightmare, basically. I’d gladly ship him off somewhere right now.”

“And what did you do this time?” Ace gives a chuckle and looks at Roger with eyebrows raised up. Rouge doesn't usually look for reasons to kick her husband out, so he must have screwed up big time.

“Ruined a couple of her rose bushes while fixing the roof,” his dad grumbles, looking away. Ace’s mom glares at him like he’s her worst enemy. It’s a classic household vibe, and Portgas D. honestly misses it. “It was an accident! Seriously!”

“You always do everything “by accident”, dear,” Rouge says in a terrifyingly cold voice, cutting the meat with unnecessary aggression. “And that “accidents” are never anything positive. Domestic hazard.”

Ace figures she’s picturing his dad's head instead of that steak. And she is probably right. It's definitely not the first time Roger has totaled her precious plants and favorite pots. Once, they almost got divorced over it, but luckily, Ace broke his arm (not on purpose), and the attention shifted. Saved the marriage, basically. He is almost proud of himself. 

If only now he would be rewarded for his good deed, because a little more and he will see pictures that are not there. 

Before dessert, Rouge sends her boys to the living room and strictly forbids them from helping her. Roger is especially eager to help, desperate to make up for the afternoon incident, but Ace’s mom says she doesn't need broken plates on top of an already stressful day and tells her husband to go f... find his place on the couch. Her son is banished too, because he is a guest and he needs some rest. Ace tries to argue, but he is so utterly exhausted that he is turned into a total pushover, letting everyone boss him around. 

On the couch, Roger spreads out in the corner and throws his arm over the back. Ace sinks into the pillows next to him, lazily answering his old man’s questions about work, the cats, and the fact that Law won't be around to comfort him for another seven-plus months.

Those numbers, when you turn them into days, make Ace want to go bash his head against a wall and slip into a coma, just so the time before they see each other passes in a split second. He knew it would be hard, but he did not think that his abilities were overestimated. Ace, with horror, imagines what will happen to him next if he is already falling apart into pieces. 

But even knowing about this at the moment when Law told him about the residency, Portgas D. still would have insisted on the trip. Because a happy Law equals a happy Ace, even if now everything is not going as smoothly as hoped.

God, if only there was normal sleep…

As they talk, father and son swap places, and Ace becomes the listener. Surprisingly, the loud-mouthed Roger works on his son like a hit of a sedative. Without even noticing, Ace feels a blissful wave of relaxation and harmony. He yawns, listening to his dad’s stories, and turns his head toward him, blinking sleepily.

Roger barely changes his posture, only sliding down a bit to half-sit in the corner of the couch. Between his dad’s arm draped over the backrest and his massive torso, there’s a cozy little nook that catches Ace’s eye, and he ends up staring. God, it’s so inviting. Especially – Lord forgive him – Roger’s pec, which is hidden behind the white fabric of his tank top. No matter how you look at it, Ace’s dad is in incredible shape even in his old age, and his chest has always been muscular and firm. It’s Rouge’s favorite spot for sleeping and resting, “her place of power” as she calls it, and Ace, overcoming his performative disgust at the love between his parents, seems to understand her. 

He looks at the pec, the pec looks at him, and Portgas D.’s brain drops a heavy truth: just lay down and shut up. He is his old man, his own blood. And maybe his scent and warmth will soothe Ace’s fried nervous system, giving his exhausted body at least a couple of hours of sleep. Even if in their duo, Ace has always been the colder one when it came to showing affection. Not because he doesn't love Roger. The reason is much stupider and more absurd – Roger is simply a dominant force when it comes to expressing love, and Ace feels the competition [Law is right, Portgas D. really is an animal] and the pain. Because the old man never tempers his strength. 

The battle between his primal urge to sleep and his common sense doesn't last long, and eventually, Ace quietly, unobtrusively edges closer to his father. Then a little closer, and a little more, until he is sitting practically glued to him, making Roger look a bit confused. Ace gives himself a useless second to change his mind, and finally lets out a desperate, weak plea:

“Dad, I’m begging you, just sit still and give me a few minutes. That's all I need.”

Roger doesn't say anything, mostly because Ace moves faster. He drops his head onto his dad’s chest, rubbing his cheek against it, feeling a couple of stray hairs that poked through the tank top against his skin, and closes his eyes. Roger is warm, huge, and smells like himself. And Portgas D.’s body is entirely on board with this – within a second, Ace’s bones turn to jelly, and his eyelids feel incredibly heavy. He smiles blissfully, lets out a sigh of relief, and flings an arm over his dad. Sleep does not steal up on him; no, it attacks Ace like a wild predator and carries him away on soft waves far from reality. Images start flashing through the dark behind his eyelids, and a bit of drool pools at the corner of his mouth.

What pure bliss, and so unexpected that it came from Roger. Ace had never been close with him in terms of physical affection, even though their relationship was genuinely good and trusting. But right now, his dad is nothing short of salvation, and Portgas D. is deeply, incredibly grateful to him. He feels like a little boy again, and he even likes it.

And why did he not come to him earlier? 

The answer to this question, unfortunately, comes quickly. And Roger is lucky that his son is weak today and can’t fight back.

Ace doesn’t know how much time he spends in sweet oblivion on his father’s chest, but eventually, the old man can’t contain the pressure of his paternal love and squeezes his dozing son in an embrace. He does it in his usual style – rough, sudden, and so painful that Ace’s eyes snap open instantly, his lungs fruitlessly gasping for air that suddenly feels too thick. Due to the crushing pressure, he can only wheeze and try to break free; he hadn’t planned on sleeping THAT deeply. 

By some miracle, Portgas D. manages to slip out of his father's iron grip and scrambles to the absolute edge of the couch. His head spins from the sudden movement, but Ace forces his blurry, furious eyes to focus on his dad. 

“Roger, what the hell?!” Ace snaps, feeling every single bone in his chest. Why nature gave the old man this inhuman strength is a mystery; he’s a hazard to everyone. And just like that, he’s been demoted to his full birth name. “I was finally sleeping!”

“But you looked so cute and defenseless!” Roger’s excuse is terrible. Yet, part of Ace gets it. When Law sleeps on him, Portgas D. feels that exact same overwhelming rush of tenderness. “I couldn't help myself, sorry. I won't do it again. Come back, Dad will gladly be your mattress and pillow.”

“If I ever want to commit suicide, you'll be my method number one,” Ace’s voice sounds raspy and exaggeratedly terrified. However, he is never getting close to that chest again. Seriously, how has Mom survived all these years without breaking?

Speaking of Rouge.

“What is going on here?” she walks into the living room, completely unfazed, wiping her hands on a towel before tossing it over her shoulder. 

“Threats to life and health, infanticide, and premeditated cruelty,” Ace sighs, carefully poking his ribs. Praying it’s not a fracture; that’s the last thing he needs. “Where did you even find this monster?”

“At a resort,” that’s always their answer. Ace asked the same a lot as a kid. “Flower, our boy fell asleep on me. Look, my shirt is covered in drool. He was mumbling, smiling; he was so cute that I…”

“Couldn't resist trying to crush him?” Rouge finishes for him, shaking her head with a fond smile. She walks over, running her fingers through her son's dark, wavy hair. “Honey, you know Ace has hated that since he was a kid. It's fine for me, but for him... You need to watch your strength. Now he won't come near you for years.“

Rouge isn't exaggerating; Ace is afraid to even shake his hand now. But what is wrong with his parents? Roger really does hug his wife tightly all the time, and she loves it. Why it hurts a guy who uses a sledgehammer at work and cuts doors off wrecked cars remains a mystery. Either Roger actually controls himself around Rouge and completely loses his filters with his son, or there are some kinks involved that Ace would rather not know about. 

“But I didn't mean to,” Roger's excuses are pathetic, and the irony makes Ace burst out laughing. 

“You already said that today,” Ace points out, letting out a heavy sigh as he drops his head back against the couch. Rouge’s hand stays in his hair. “I was actually so comfortable. Just like back then with Luffy... But Roger... My family hates me for some reason, right? I know I was a terrible kid. But not that bad. At least you guys didn't go completely gray because of me.”

“Don't be silly, Sparky, you are our favorite gift. You were a brat, sure, but that was never a reason not to love you,” Rouge says, speaking for both of them while Roger sulks in his corner of the couch. Her touch is incredibly gentle, and Ace eagerly sinks into the rare feeling of relaxation. “Dad just missed you and forgot his own strength. It happens, you know how he is. If you want, why don’t you stay the night? I'll kick him out somewhere, and you can sleep with me. If having someone close helps you with your issues.”

Ace hesitates, caught between the desperate plea of his exhausted body telling him Mom can fix this, and his masculine pride screaming that he's not some “mama’s boy”. He isn't one; he lives alone, makes his own decisions, and keeps his life private. Why he is overthinking this and feeling ashamed is beyond him. Objectively, it’s not a big deal; he’s just going through a rough patch and needs some comfort. It’s not like anyone is going to laugh at him. 

Portgas D. sighs, closes his eyes, and gives up. He is overthinking. He just needs to go with the flow; he has nothing to lose. Being this tired will only cause real problems, and the consequences could be catastrophic. 

“Fine, let's try it,’ he says, his voice lazy and weak, barely managing to move. “Man, I'm pathetic. I should've just let Roger kill me.”

“I wasn't trying to kill you!” his dad yells back, but honestly, who is going to believe him now?

That night, wrapped up in his mother’s comforting, protective embrace as the little spoon, Ace feels a momentary flash of shame. But it burns out fast, replaced by pure nostalgia. He feels like the little boy who used to crawl into his mom's bed whenever he had a nightmare. Portgas D. lets go of his grip on reality and sleeps straight through the night, barely even tossing or turning. He isn't bothered by his self-inflicted complexes, nor by Roger, who is currently ghosting around the hallways of his own house, miserable because he got banished from his own bed. 

For the first time in weeks, Ace wakes up without the urge to just lose it. He is alert, cheerful, and feels so good it's like he's been reborn. He almost wants to burst into tears from sheer relief, but Portgas D. quickly brings himself back down to earth. His mom’s hugs are only a temporary fix, and Ace shouldn’t rely on them too much. 

First, his parents live out in the suburbs, and the commute to work is a total nightmare. Second, Ace is a slave to his cats, and he doesn't want to stress them out by constantly packing up. Third, even if it's harmless, when you're a thirty-year-old guy in a relationship, sleeping with your mom every night is definitely a bit pathological. Even if Ace has a valid excuse and it saved him.

So, with a heavy heart and mental tears, he scratches the idea. He decides to keep it strictly as an emergency option for when the loneliness gets unbearable, and the insomnia reaches a breaking point. Ace just hopes it won't come to that, and that things will magically fix themselves, without moms, dads, or shrinks. 

Law, however, doesn't agree. And he isn't laughing at his partner either. In fact, he’s been pushing the whole therapy thing way harder lately, and Ace is pretty sure the guy is already vetting a few solid specialists. He is no longer just worried about Ace's insomnia, but also about the dumb complexes Trafalgar had never seen in him before. Portgas D. doesn’t argue – it’s useless. He just secretly thinks that the long-distance separation is turning Law hyper-protective. It's sweet, sure, but also a little terrifying. Neither of them expected they’d both lose their minds like this.

Awful sleep and a wrecked state return to Ace fast. He’s tossing and turning alone again, uselessly burying his face in a pillow sprayed with his partner's favorite cologne. It saved him only a couple of times, but his brain figured out Ace’s trick and told him that scent is just a scent, but on actual skin, fragrances unfold differently. Besides, you don't need notes of cologne; you need the scent of a body. So it’s not going to work, sweetheart. Suffer and cry. Which is exactly what Ace does. 

Though the cats actually love the idea. And when Ace isn’t lying like a living corpse on the bed, hugging Trafalgar’s pillow, they happily crowd all over it themselves. Portgas D. genuinely envies them. 

Ace hunts down his next victim to solve his issues at work. He kicks himself for not thinking of it sooner, but a few days later, he wishes he never had. Getting dragged into someone else's relationship drama is the last thing he wants. 

Marco is Ace's best friend, probably since childhood, and his most reliable comrade in their brutal line of work. To him, Portgas D. trusts his own life, health, and permanent whining. And in his memory, there hasn’t been a single instance where the Phoenix let him down or pushed him away. Well, almost. And perhaps their long-standing and very close friendly bond, along with absolute trust in a conscious state, is highly therapeutic for Ace's subconscious. Otherwise, he can't explain why he relaxes and blacks out so easily.

Marco's shoulder during a night shift at the fire station feels to Ace like just about the best place to sleep. And who cares that they are sitting on a mat in the training room, Portgas D. is in his work uniform, and his subconscious is on high alert. Knowing someone will snap him out of it if things go south is what keeps him calm, so Ace lets himself drift into a deep, sweet sleep while Marco watches his favorite soap operas on his phone. It's comfier than his own king-size bed, honestly, and it's not lonely. He isn't even a bit ashamed of the dark wet spot pooling from his slightly open mouth on Marco’s clothes, and Portgas D. loves the Phoenix even more than usual. 

Until this move involves Ace in a married couple's drama. Or, ugh, their bedroom games. Marco FaceTimes him on their matching day off. And it catches Portgas D. off guard. They see enough of each other at work to give each other space on weekends. Plus, all of the Phoenix's downtime belongs to his husband, and Ace is definitely a third wheel. Ace's anxiety spikes, so he dumps his laundry pile on the floor and picks up the phone.

“Marco, Izou, what's wrong?” Portgas D. gets straight to the point as soon as a stable connection is established and he sees two faces staring back from his screen. 

Izou looks dead serious and pissed, while Marco looks exhausted and slightly shell-shocked. It completely throws Ace off, his nerves instantly on edge.

“Hey, Ace,” Izou says first, giving him a hard stare. “I was just cleaning out the Phoenix's station bag and found hair all over his shirt. Dark, long, and curly. Tons of it. Plus a weird wet spot on the sleeve. Birdie here claims it’s all yours. Care to explain?”

Portgas D. blinks in surprise and winces, craning his neck forward a bit. Did he hear that right? 

“Ace, tell him, he literally thinks I’m cheating,” Marco cuts in, immediately shutting his mouth the second Izou gives him the death glare. 

Ace's brain shorts out for a second from the absurdity of the questions, and his eye twitches involuntarily. Of course, the tension inside him gives way to relief that everyone is alive and well. However, it instantly dissolves into a mild surge of indignation and annoyance. Because what the hell is going on with them? What's with the sudden jealousy and suspicion? Especially when it involves... Marco?

“Izou, you're my hair stylist; you know the texture, color, and curl pattern of my hair perfectly. If it looks like mine, then it’s mine,” Ace maintains his composure, sitting on his bathroom floor, glaring gloomily at the idiotic married couple. 

“It looks like yours, but what's the stain? And why is it on my husband's clothes?” Izou's voice gets sharper, full of suspicion.

Ace doesn't know whether to gag or laugh.

“Izou, stop making up this nonsense,” Ace decides to explain himself first. “I probably drooled all over him while sleeping. You see, while my man is away, I can't feel safe. I told you guys. I've lost my mind over this separation, and I need someone close, someone I'm comfortable with, just to fall asleep. So I used your husband for that purpose because I trust him, and it calms me down. I just napped on his shoulder, nothing more. I actually managed to get a bit of rest, and I'm glad someone literally offered me a shoulder to lean on. You have nothing to worry about. He's too old for me, and in case you forgot, I am also very deeply and faithfully taken.”

“Who are you calling old, Portgas!” good thing that's the only thing Izo cares about now. “I remember that, but I thought it wasn't serious and you just wanted attention. Are you... actually serious?”

Ace rolls his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Not only is he edgy from exhaustion, but these lovebirds are alternately scaring him and nagging him with insulting suspicions. In normal times, he would have even laughed, but in dark times, it just irritates and upsets him. Especially when someone thinks he would trade his beloved surgeon for a man who is, for all intents and purposes, his brother. And the fact that they don’t think his issues are real. 

“You're just mad because you two are practically the same age,”  Ace jabs at his friends, who are definitely older than him, and takes his hand away from his face. “And I wish I was just being a drama queen so people would pity me. I'd kill for a normal night's sleep, and your hubby helped take the edge off. At least I felt human. I don't get why you're mad or suspecting him. It's hard enough to find a guy who fawns over his princess the way Marco fawns over you. Sometimes I feel like I know more about you than you do. That's how obsessed he is.”

“Look who's talking, the guy who can't sleep without his doctor,” Marco adds, and Ace forces his lips into a fake, strained smile. Idiot, Portgas D. would love to see him in these shoes. He's ready to bet his car – the Phoenix wouldn't last a week. 

“I'm proud of it, Marco, and you don't have to be ashamed of it either. Besides, I'm literally defending your honor here, okay? And saving your marriage,” Ace teases good-naturedly, narrowing his eyes as he looks at Izou. He is holding Marco’s fire station shirt, methodically picking something off the fabric. He’s clearly chilled out by now, his face relaxed, a tiny smirk on his lips. Ace still finds a reason to complain: “Izou, why are you dramatically picking at it? There’s barely any hair there compared to what you shed. I find your hair on me sometimes.”

“I wouldn't say so,” Izou's tone shifts to a more neutral. “I'll see what's going on with your head when you come in for a haircut. Looks like you're balding from all the stress. Maybe you should see a trichologist?”

“Only after a therapist, please,” Ace says grimly, fighting off a slight prick of irritation and panic. Just what he needed. Why does everyone want to cure him? And why on earth would he even go bald? Roger is a total hairy gorilla with a mane anyone would envy. Mom's side is completely fine too. Where would he even get those genetics? Or... God, Ace desperately needs some Law-therapy; he simply cannot handle this brutal life rollercoaster and the humor of his stupid body on his own.

In the end, Ace saves someone else's marriage yet again and receives Izou’s magnanimous permission to sleep on his man. Ace, of course, gives thanks for this strained kindness, but he doesn't think he'll take advantage of it often. He won’t say never, since dark days are a thing, but he shouldn't make a habit out of it. Who knows what might pop into Izou’s head next time and what he’ll suspect them of. Besides, Law, unexpectedly, is not thrilled by Ace’s adventures too.

Naturally, Portgas D. complains to him that very evening about the crazy couple, only to be met with his better half's furrowed brows and slightly pursed lips. 

“I understand that you need it. But to be completely frank, I don't like you sleeping on Marco,” Torao has been straightforward with him since day one of their relationship, and Portgas D. appreciates that he is never left guessing what is going on inside that brilliant head. 

“Oh, you too? Torao, this is ridiculous,” Ace is a bit shocked by this lack of confidence from Law, since he has never given him a reason to doubt. “Besides, if I even breathe wrong, I'll get stabbed with scissors! I was almost stabbed!”

Even more so, Portgas D. is so whipped for his man that anyone else on a romantic or physical level is just invisible to him; they’re static, background noise. He might note outward beauty to himself, but purely as an observation. It doesn't touch him beyond that, and he forgets about it immediately. Ace's eyes and heart look in only one direction, and he even jokes that he’s a unique specimen with his own sexual orientation – lawsexual. And he’s incredibly proud of it. 

“I know, I’m not arguing,” Law says, staring hard at his phone screen. “I know you and Marco are strictly platonic, and I trust both of you. But… it still gets to me that you used to have a thing for him. And because I'm so far away, all sorts of thoughts haunt me.”

Ace blinks slowly against the pillow with the back of his head, nearly dropping his phone on his face. Portgas D. has never hidden anything from his beloved and has never been shy about revealing any fact about himself. And while Law seems to accept a lot of things calmly, it's clear that certain things gnaw at him too. Especially with both of them being so emotionally wrecked right now. 

“Torao, I was a teenager, and it was a dumb little crush that died instantly. You have no rivals. Nobody wants your place, nobody would dare,” Ace reassures him, and instead of a smile that might cheer up the surgeon, he sharpens and hardens his gaze. “Unlike with mine. Do you want to discuss that? I have more serious reasons to worry than old, married Marco and his spouse who collects my hair.”

Deflecting is a cheap move, and Ace tries to be better than that, but this one thing has been clawing at his brain. Specifically – a certain someone who keeps hovering around Torao and seems to think Portgas D. is just Trafalgar's buddy and nothing more. How does Ace know this? This lady with dyed green hair has barged into their conversation a couple of times when Law managed to snatch a few free minutes for a small break and called Ace from the smoking area. Totally casual, acting like they’re besties, she pushed her face into the screen and asked in English: “Oh, is this your friend?”. Law said boyfriend. He translated it into German too, but the young woman only nodded and repeated with an unpleasant smile: “I see, I see, friend!”.

It still pisses Ace off to this day. He knows Law won’t cheat; he feels it in his bones. Law is totally devoted to him and gives him all his attention based on every single sign. But it drives Portgas D. absolutely insane that someone is trying to downgrade his status in Torao’s life. Especially so shamelessly, with that smug attitude that makes him want to forget manners and just snap. Ace is, of course, his friend too, since a romantic relationship is a complex of roles. But he is much more than just a friend. And it’s important to him that everyone knows it. Because he has no intention of budging from his spot, not even in someone else's dreams and expectations. 

“I don't want to get into it, we’ll just end up fighting,” Law shakes his head and sighs, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He’s right. When that incident happened, they really did bicker. To be exact, it was mostly Ace who picked the fight and called Law by his last name – which happens extremely rarely – making his other half quite anxious. And then even more so, because Portgas D., battling jealousy and resentment, didn’t reply to Law’s messages for half the day. He gave in eventually, of course. He texted back saying he had lost his temper for nothing and loved Law more than life itself, but he hadn't forgotten anything. Because every now and then, this lady pops up in conversation or intrudes into their calls if Law is at the hospital, which drives Ace crazy. But he tries not to snap at Torao, since it's hard enough for both of them as it is. Besides, Law always tries to shake her off to give his attention exclusively to Ace. 

“You know I don’t care about her,” Trafalgar adds, staring fixedly into the phone camera. “The only one I care about is you, in every single way.”

“Exactly, my love, and it's the same for me. So stop worrying about stupid things; I am all yours, body and soul,” Ace smiles, trying to suppress the thoughts of Law's colleague and his own jealousy. “Let’s talk instead about what made you fall in love with pastel colors? I've noticed you wearing yet another T-shirt that isn't your style. And I keep forgetting to ask: are you trying to boost the dopamine levels?”

Yes, indeed. Ace has learned a couple of trendy, smart words from his genius doctor. 

“Something like that,” Law switches to the new topic and, looking down, slightly tugs at the collar of his new T-shirt. A soft smile appears on his lips, and he looks back into the camera. “I didn't care about the color; it's just good fabric and comfortable to sleep in. Those were the main criteria.”

“You seem to have a lot of pajamas,” Ace laughs, noting that this isn’t the first new item in his lover's wardrobe. Law isn't usually interested in new clothes, especially when the palette is so... sweet. That’s probably why Ace notices. It’s very atypical. But maybe it calms Law down  – everyone has their own quirks when dealing with stress. 

“You do too. Wearing my stuff again,”  Law calls him out, smirking. He doesn’t say it much, but he is incredibly weak for Ace stealing his clothes. Ace loves it too, even if some shirts are a tight squeeze around his chest. Perks of being Roger’s kid, what can you do. 

“I'm vainly trying to imagine you're here next to me,” Portgas D. chuckles, then tilts the camera lower to show Law another reason why he wears his clothes so often. Ace’s style at home is boxers at most, but: “Kiki and Kotsu somehow love this T-shirt of yours the most. Even though it doesn’t smell like you. I've been lying like this for an hour, just loving life. They aren't purring anymore, but before this, they sounded like tractors. Such cuties.”

Ace brags about getting his share of cat love. Kikoku is sleeping on his chest, resting his head there, with his body draped over Ace’s arm. Kotatsu has settled on his stomach, curled into a tight ball. And both of them are teasing Ace with their healthy, sweet sleep. Out of pure love for the two fluffballs, Portgas D. won't disturb their needs. He only envies that he can't do the same himself. And he hopes that maybe one day they’ll come to his rescue. 

But preferably in the winter – they are incredibly hot, though thankfully, air conditioners exist. 

“Is it abnormal to be jealous of cats?” Law asks, and Ace can hear the smile in his voice. 

“You're the doctor here, sweetheart,” Ace laughs, trying not to shake too much. Kotatsu’s lazily opened eye warns him that he won't tolerate this disrespect for long. He brings his face back to the screen and looks tenderly at his significant other. “Shouldn't you know better?”

Trafalgar lets out a brief chuckle and drops his head onto his arm folded on the desk. He looks at Ace, hiding half his face behind his elbow with longing and sadness, yet still radiating warmth and quiet affection. 

“I want to be with you guys,” he confesses, admiring the image on his phone. “Really badly.”

“I know, love, I know. I want you here so badly too, or to be there with you,” Ace coos, ignoring the tugging ache under his ribs. Torao rarely allows himself to show weakness, and every time he does, it echoes as physical pain in Ace’s body. Because he cannot comfort him. Or himself, for that matter. Only with words that sound like a lie: “It will happen very soon, I promise you. We’ll hang in there just a little longer, okay?”

Law gives a weak nod, like they even have a choice, and just stares with clear adoration at Ace through the screen, asking how he's feeling and if he's sleeping at all. To kill the depressing vibe, Portgas D. immediately dives into whining and grumbling, totally shutting down the idea of a doctor's visit and asking if Law will still love him if he goes completely bald from all the stress. Law honestly wonders what goes on inside his boyfriend's head sometimes and where he pulls this dramatic material from. It is no longer just a partner's worry, but a scientific interest as well. Ace is just protecting their sanity by playing the clown, though he’s genuinely worried about the extra hair on his comb.

Damn you, Izou! Thanks for adding this point to Ace’s anxiety list.

In the end, he is firmly told to get a blood test, and Ace doesn't argue. “It's already a symptom,” as Law puts it. Well, Portgas D. has only himself to blame; he dug his own grave. He requires no laboratory to quantify his stress; the data is already clear.  And his remedies are either high-maintenance as hell or a million miles away. Out of options, he’s going to end up relying on synthetic fixes. He absolutely hates them, of course, and will probably just forget to take his vitamins anyway. In certain matters, he is an irresponsible adult who needs to be watched. Except there is nobody to do it, damn it. The circle closes, and the loneliness feels sharper than usual again. 

Ace is going to completely break down as a human being soon, honestly. But for the sake of Torao and his dream, he is obligated to be strong, and preferably alive. 

One miserable day drags into the next, and Ace is just trying to make it through. He hooks himself on energy drinks again, just like in his youth, though without the fanatical devotion, and it is probably the only thing he hides from Law. Law will be furious with him, as it’s a banned substance in Ace's body, and Portgas D. already has enough negative emotions to last every single second of his temporarily single life. He needs energy, and the name says it all. It tastes like pure garbage, honestly, and he has no idea how he used to drink liters of it. Must be getting old, and his options are running out.

Sometimes Ace still avails himself of maternal love and, ignoring the whimpering of his swollen male ego, sleeps as the little spoon in his parents' bed. Rouge is the only one who takes her son's problems seriously without teasing, and she never turns him away. Roger, obviously, is absolutely melting in his own jealousy, and Ace isn't even sure who he's jealous of. But it doesn't matter; he ruined everything himself, and who knows how he will ever rehabilitate his image. Still, that’s the last thing on Ace’s mind. 

Right around the time his lab results come in, he gets another delivery from an online shop that he definitely didn't order. This time, it's a body pillow, and Portgas D. loses it. He remembers Torao’s uncle has one, except it has his nephew’s favorite superhero printed on it – not hard to guess who that used to belong to. Zero judgment, pure roast material. And probably because of that, Ace’s new pillow is completely blank, solid white, but ridiculously soft. 

“Why isn't there a photo of you in a provocative pose?” Portgas D. drops a fake complaint-review, hooking his leg over Law’s latest gift. 

“Would you really want someone taking photos of me in a provocative pose in minimal clothing? Just so I could send that photo to a print shop where more than one person would see me? And then there's the packaging, the delivery…” Law knows exactly which buttons to push, his voice dripping with open mockery. Ace gets so caught up in the imagery that the hairs on his arms stand on end. Torao finishes him off anyway: “But hey, custom pillowcases are an option. If you want, I can arrange everything. You only have to say the word.”

“I think I'll pass,” Ace's tone sounds drier than he intended. Only he deserves to see Law being provocative. “Send me nudes personally; that will be even better. I've already looked at the previous ones until they're worn out.”

“That's exactly what I thought,” Law snorts, and since they are without video today, Ace can only picture his other half rolling his eyes. “As for the photos you're asking for, I'll think about it. I need an advance payment.”

“You'll get it the second we finish,” Ace promises, sounding businesslike, which makes him burst into laughter a moment later. It feels like they are smuggling contraband back and forth rather than flirting, and it genuinely amuses him. Laughing it off, Ace keeps a lingering smile on his lips as he asks Law the main question. His cheek pressed against the new arrival: “But why did you order it for me? Your pillow is enough for me whenever I'm allowed to take it. Or is this for one of the cats too?”

“It's for you, though I think they won't care either way,” Law notes justly, leaving no room for doubt. ”But that's only part of a little token for you. You have another package coming. Tomorrow or the day after, and then you'll understand everything.” 

“What's with the intrigue, babe? You know I'm going to torture myself guessing now,” Portgas D. draws out, anticipating whatever his better half has dreamed up. His mood turns playful at the prospect of some eye candy. Too bad sexual satisfaction is no longer a guaranteed ticket to a sweet sleep. “Give me a hint, what is it?”

“Basically, a sleeping aid. And I hope it actually works,” Law keeps it cryptic, leaving Ace with a ton of questions and zero answers. Law's attention shifts to the results of Ace's blood test, and he instantly stops being a sweetheart, turning into a strict doctor who immediately schedules Portgas D. for an appointment with a specialist for a follow-up consultation. 

Being in a relationship with a brilliant doctor is basically like winning the lottery. And that jackpot usually comes not just with useful connections, but with hyper-care. It's nice, but Ace would prefer a private consultation with a doctor outside his current specialty. He would definitely solve his problems, but everything is already crystal clear here anyway. 

Another package is waiting for Portgas D. the day after tomorrow right by his door when he gets home. It’s bulky and from an international carrier, which takes Ace completely by surprise. It’s heavy and, again, intriguing, clearly packed by Law’s own hands, and he had spared no limits. Before opening the mystical box, Portgas D. sends his partner a text saying he’s got it, and instantly sees that his message has been read.

The reply comes almost immediately: 

“I’m already free. Call me when you’re opening it. Waiting.”

Ace shrugs, texts back “okay,” and goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and change his clothes. He skips dinner since he already ate with Marco before leaving the station, so he sets up the call with Law just a few minutes later. He settles on the bedroom floor, on the soft rug he had inexplicably dreamed of at one point, and fixes his phone on a travel tripod [as if they actually go on trips] to keep his hands free. 

“Is all of this for me?” Ace asks, cutting through the tape generously wrapped around the cardboard. 

“Mostly, yes. I’ll send something for the family later,” Trafalgar explains, leaning against the headboard of a narrow single bed. The background suggests Law is already in his dorm room, which means no night shifts and no strangers around. “Hope everything will work out the way I planned.”

“Trying to fatten me up so you have something to grab?” Ace teases, because the first things he sees are European sweets. Not that they're big on sugar, but Portgas D. once discovered Belgian chocolate, and nothing else hits the spot anymore. “Oh, nice, filled ones. You know the way to my heart.”

 “Of course I do,” Law’s tone is full of confidence, with a touch of vague mystery. Ace catches it instantly and gets intrigued. “Dig deeper. The most important part is further down.”

“Your books in German?” Ace asks, cuddling one of the bags of small chocolate eggs as he pulls a thick reference book out of the box. He opens it to a random page where a couple of notes are penciled in a familiar handwriting, and tilts his head. “How do you even understand this? It must be nice to be bilingual.”

“There was room, so I stuffed it in,” Law explains, waving his hand to tell him to put it away. Ace would argue if it were in a language he actually knew. If it were, he could read it at night in Law’s voice inside his head; he might even learn a new job, since he would actually read instead of sleeping, knowing his track record with sleep. “I won't find one like this back home, and I might not be able to pack it. Don't mind it.”

“Fine, okay, sure,” Ace says, eagerly reaching for the next thing in the box. He turns a dark grey bottle with a red cap in his hands; it’s clear enough to Ace that it says “shampoo with caffeine”, but the rest is a mystery. “You don't like my usual gel?”

“It’s for hair strengthening. I thought you needed it, since you worry about it too much,” a smirk appears on Law’s lips, and Ace responds with a matching one, narrowing his eyes.

“Wanted to tease me, huh?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“You know everything,” Law doesn't even hide his intentions, making Ace laugh. Still, it feels nice because there is a sense of care in this gift – the kind Law won't talk about but will definitely mean.

Ace sets the shampoo aside, followed by a tonic from a similar line and lavender bath salts. Covering all of Ace’s problems, imagine that. It’s very sweet and nice, but Trafalgar reassures him that it’s not all.

Next, Portgas D. finds a couple of bags of coffee, both regular and decaf, and immediately gets a grumpy, perceptive comment from Law, saying he knows what Ace has been up to. Where from, you ask? One might think someone is snitching on Portgas D. However, that "someone" is Ace himself, who never checks the selfies he sends his lover during his work shifts. And cans with insane amounts of sugar light up his photo-messages more than once or twice. Surprisingly, Law doesn't start a lecture on how bad energy drinks are, but asks Ace to switch to coffee. Because he only has one heart, and Roger's genetics aren't great in every aspect. 

Portgas D. is happy and embarrassed by his own behavior at the same time, so much that his face hurts from smiling. Without losing the vibe, he digs deeper.

“Oh, fur balls with bells and interactive feeders are for me too? Can I keep them?” Ace jokes, looking at the cat toys. There are also a few cans of German cat food in the box. “Is this for having to fight for the pillows and blankets every day?”

“Totally up to you. There's nothing bad in that food for you, though I don't think you’ll like the taste,” obviously, Law carefully checked the ingredients, confident in what he feeds the creatures he is responsible for. And it’s honestly so cute that he didn't forget his furry kids.

“Kikoku growled at me the other day because I wouldn't share my chips,” Ace complains, a sly grin on his face. “Now I'm going to stand over him and yell that he’s greedy. Perfect plan, right?”

Law chuckles and shakes his head, playfully judging his partner for being dumb. Portgas D. is sometimes shocked that his smart, quiet doctor finds his ridiculous humor funny. An even bigger realization for him was that this was one of the reasons Law fell for him – he made Torao smile and laugh. And the irony is that the moment Portgas D. first saw soft emotions on the surgeon's face, he knew he was completely a goner. Maybe it's cliché and too sweet, but Ace thinks it's a perfect match.

And he loves every moment of their story, even when he used to suffer from what he thought were unrequited feelings.

Rummaging through the mystical box, Ace finds a few cans of German beer, some snacks that are definitely for him and not the cats, and vitamins. There’s no shortage of those in their city, but trying the familiar stuff from a foreign production is always interesting, and Law picked out the highest quality ones, thoroughly scanning them. And the kind that passed customs.

Law packed a ton of stuff into the box, and Ace feels like a happy kid on Christmas morning. Law says the main event is ahead, and all this was just to torture Ace a bit. The most important package is at the very end, and when Portgas D. finally reaches it, he freezes for a second, not getting what's special about it, turning a vacuum-sealed bag with a small stack of clothes in his hands.

“I thought you hated matching stuff,” Ace says, trying to rip open the securely sealed bag with pastel-colored garments. Finally, he manages to slide his short nails through the thick plastic layers.

“They aren't matching clothes, Ace,” Law explains, looking straight into the camera like he is waiting for something. “Some people actually pay for this kind of thing, but… in our case, it’s not just your kinks at work.”

Ace narrows his eyes, trying to solve the riddle. Something stirs in his head, resembling an answer, but it's blurry and imprecise. Ace doesn't dwell on it.

“Too complicated, my love, I don't quite get what you…” Ace smiles and looks into the already opened bag. He talks to Torao, then chokes on his word halfway through, his nose catching the precious notes he’s been lacking in his heavy existence. 

Ace’s eyes widen, and he practically shoves his face into the bag to make sure he isn't imagining it, then jerks his head back and stares at his phone screen with wild, shining eyes full of pure joy. His fingers, hurriedly pulling out a light pink T-shirt that is incredibly soft, are shaking. A flush rushes to his face, and huge butterflies go off like confetti poppers in his stomach.

Portgas D. sets the bag aside, buries his face in the fabric, takes a deep breath of its scent, and lets out a blissful, loud groan. The T-shirt smells a bit like plastic from the packaging, but Ace’s brain blocks it out, focusing on the notes of the cologne that had clearly come from Law's body rather than being sprayed on; on the faint smell of cigarettes and the natural warmth that has long driven Portgas D. crazy. Ace loves burying his nose in Law’s neck, right at the jawline under the ear, and just breathing. That’s where he smells most like himself. And right now, it smells exactly the same. Just a hint, but for the part of Ace's brain that is responsible for pleasure, it's more than enough.

Ace presses his hands, covered by Law’s clothes, to his face and can’t get enough. His heart pounds under his ribs, his mind goes totally blank, and his body feels wrapped in a soft, silky veil. Law watches him silently, swallowing hard a couple of times, while Portgas D. makes no sound except for groans and heavy breathing. He curls up, pressing his knees to his chest, shaking slightly all over from the pleasure and the sudden realization of how badly he missed him.

“My eyes are watering,” he finally says, his voice raspy. He lifts his head, pulls the fabric down a bit, and shows Law only his eyes. He isn't lying; Portgas D. wants to cry, either from pure pleasure or from the love that feels too big for his chest.

“I don't smell that bad,” Law smiles, looking at Ace with tenderness and that exact feeling that tears the heart. Along with a slight touch of obvious arousal – a reaction to the pleasure of the person he desires. 

“Say whatever you want, you won't ruin this moment for me,” Ace grumbles, taking a deeper breath of the familiar scent and rolling his eyes in sheer bliss. “God, this is amazing. You have no idea... Torao, I adore you. Seriously, I feel like you could die from love, and it would be the perfect death. Please keep going. God... What are you doing to me?”

“I want you to sleep, not die. And I hope this helps you a bit tonight,” Law answers softly, tilting his head slightly, admiring his partner. “I don't think the scent will last long on the other things, but since it works even for a short time, we can try this format to calm you down. The mail was fast. And… I’ll be glad if you return them to me later, but with your scent.”

“I can send you my entire laundry basket,” Ace smiles, feeling a fresh wave of adoration for this man. “And I think tonight I’m going to have the best sleep of my life. I just need to calm down first, and then... Oh, I feel like I won't be online tomorrow before noon. God... Thank you, my treasure, you're the best thing I have. And I can't even describe how much I love you. What you can see isn't nearly enough.”

“No, thank YOU, Ace,” Law keeps smiling, but his voice gets more serious, his gaze full of fondness and the boundless feeling that is mutual between them. Ace raises an eyebrow, not quite getting what he means, since his head is a mess from the joy and the first signs of exhaustion. What did he do? Sits there sniffing clothes that smell like his boyfriend? Do people even get thanked for that? Law, catching Ace’s confusion, explains: “For caring about my dream. And for... you are making these sacrifices, knowing it would be hard and lonely. And... I really appreciate it, and I'm grateful for everything you do for me. Just for having you. And I don’t have enough words either to say how much I love you and how glad I am that we chose each other.”

“Torao, your goal is to make me cry tonight, isn't it?” Ace’s vision blurs slightly, but he holds it together. He sniffs, bunching the fabric of the precious T-shirt in his fingers, and pulls it away from his face. He’ll sniff it more later. Right now, he leans forward a bit, closer to the camera, looking at the love of his life. And he smiles wide, his eyes shining with happiness and adoration: “From the very first second of our relationship, I haven't had a single moment of doubt in you or your feelings for me. Everything that happens to me matters to you. And everything that happens to you matters to me. Whether it's a dream or excitement over a new article where I only know two words – I want to share it. And I know you share mine too. Even if it makes us suffer sometimes. So... yeah, we made the right choice. And I love you so much too, and I miss you.” 

Law nods, looking down slightly, and keeps smiling. Ace is certain he has never met anyone more beautiful in his life. Or warmer, which to many would sound like the nonsense of a man in love. Maybe they’re partly right. But only because Portgas D. has exclusive access to the sides of the cold surgeon that no one else has ever seen. And he hopes no one ever will.

Except maybe for their cats; or maybe kids if they decide to adopt one day.

“Distance does strange things to emotions,” Law comments after a minute of sweet, silent admiration, sliding lower against the headboard. “I think I’m becoming sentimental.”

“Please, keep going,” Ace laughs, and turning his attention back to the T-shirt, rubs his cheek against the fabric. It still hurts pleasingly under his ribs, but his body is already signaling relaxation and a creeping heaviness. Portgas D. closes his eyes and purrs blissfully: “My love, quick question: did you find a smart article for tonight? Preferably a boring one.”

“I have a couple in mind, why?” Law asks just because. He guesses why Ace is asking, and it always amuses him. The proof is right there on his lips.   

“I have an excellent plan for our evening together,” Ace builds up the suspense, putting the T-shirt on the bed and packing the rest of Law’s gifts back into the box. He carefully zips up the bag with the other clothes and places it on top. He’ll arrange everything tomorrow; his idea can’t wait. He has been dreaming about this for months: “Now I’m putting everything away, putting the T-shirt on the body pillow, opening the door for the cats so they don't yell, leaving you on speakerphone, placing the Torao-substitute next to me, burying my face in it, and demanding a medical bedtime story from you. I’m sure it’ll take five minutes max for you, and you won't hear anything  from me until morning. Cool? What do you think? Great idea, right?”

“You're plagiarizing; I planned this first,” Law answers with a chuckle, getting comfortable on his pillow. “I have everything ready. Get set, lie down, and I’ll lull you to sleep.”

“It’s so great when your man does exactly what you want,” Ace smirks slyly, carrying out his plan in record time under Trafalgar's watchful eye.

The bed welcomes him into a soft embrace and a successful imitation of human presence. Ace turns off the video, places the smartphone near his head after whispering a final “I love you” to Trafalgar, and buries his nose in the pillow wearing Law's T-shirt. Ace's brain is tricked, telling his body that it's time to rest, the master is home, and he's safe. Portgas D. feels it in his heavy limbs, his closing eyelids, and the quiet emptiness in his head, which only lets in a calm, raspy voice. Law confesses his own love in return, and then talks about robotic surgery, coronary arteries, and something about artificial valves. Ace doesn't really listen or memorize. He is lulled by the illusory yet warm presence of his favorite person.

He falls into a sleep so deep and sweet that in the morning, closer to noon, he feels the airy lightness of a proper rest. And he is slightly surprised to realize that their call lasted until the exact moment Law had to leave for work.

“Fell asleep,” he writes as an excuse in a text message alongside another confession. Meanwhile, Ace is beaming with joy, scratching the cats behind their ears one by one as they settle on the other side of the artificial Law. They probably came to him at night. Also seem to miss, judging by their behavior, the second human. Portgas D. understands and is ready to share the imaginary presence of a loved one.

Distance is hard, sometimes overwhelmingly so, but Ace, knowing he is truly loved and cared for across the ocean, in any time zone, is ready to keep going and wait. For the sake of the one needed and absolutely right person he miraculously met on his path. And with whom, he truly believes, he wants to walk until the end of his life.