a/n: it snowed a total of like, three days where I lived this year. It was very disappointing.
Those Days We Left Behind
It's snowing on the Moby Dick.
Ace watches in a quiet nook on the main deck as his shipbrothers scramble and play, wrapped in layer and layers of warm coats and scarves. In contrast, Ace stands half-naked, with his usual lack of shirt, as flames dance over the back of his shoulders.
The carefree sight before Ace captures the whole of his attention. He stares silently as his brothers clamber around, holding sculpting contests, building snow forts, and rolling through the white fluff with Stefan by their sides.
He's reminded of another winter with another set of brother. He's reminded of their former daily spars, deep within Mt. Colubo, clad in oversized hand-me-down coats from Makino. There, their bouts degrade into snowball fights every year, without fail. And though it was cold and unproductive, Ace loved every second of it. Sabo and Luffy's laughter still echo in his ears to this day.
Ace kneels and reaches for a handful of snow. He can't even pack it tightly before it steams in his hands and melts through his fingers, like an echo of his lost childhood days – a lost brother slipped through his grasp. It's a taunt of his failure; a mocking sight that never lets him forget how he'd let down Sabo when he'd needed him the most.
The sorrow aches through his body the way he remembers cold shivers had felt in winter, back when he was not made of fire. These constant reminders of his weakness and mortality only spur on his hatred. Ace hates the cold, hates the snow, hates the lie that a world of whiteness suggests because life is not so pure and beautiful.
Yet, watching his shipbrothers play and beckon him to join them, Ace's heart wavers. He sees their rosy-red cheeks, their sparkling eyes, and the copious cups of hot chocolate passed between mittened hands, and Ace can't help but wonder if he can create new memories and learn to love it once more.