In the end, Ace underestimated how difficult it is to let go of something that was meant to be forever.
They end their relationship over an hour-long call. The Transponder Snail with Sanji's signature curl bears a weary expression, and Ace wonders what his looks like. He can't imagine it's much different.
"I'm sorry," Sanji says, his tone flat and neutral, as if he's reading the names of ingredients off a list and not ending a year-long relationship. His tone holds none of the vexation or exhaustion Ace feels and it does nothing but make Ace angry. "I didn't think it would turn out this way."
Sanji's Transponder Snail rests on Ace's thigh, though with every shake of Ace's leg, it's edging further and further towards falling into the silvery ocean. Ace watches the waves brushing against the hull of Whitebeard's ship and the metal of the railing digs into his hips. His back hurts from how long he's gone without support, but more than anything, it's hearing the finality in Sanji's voice that sets him off the edge.
How long have you spent thinking about this? How long have you known? You sounded so happy when you called the last time. What's changed since then?
The ship is quieter than usual. There's no one prying on his phone calls anymore because everyone knows how bad it's gotten, how almost every one of Ace and Sanji's phone calls end in a fight about how Ace is not calling enough and how Sanji is calling too much. The twist in Ace's stomach tastes like anguish.
Ace pictures what Sanji might look like right now. Sanji stands in front of a bunch of green scallions on the counter, his hip cocked and his beautiful face etched with frustration that almost doesn't suit him. The dip between his eyebrows, the curl of his bitten lips… Ace pictures all of it and his heart pulses.
"Me neither," Ace says.
He thinks about that ring tucked away inside the cotton stuffing of his mattress. It was idiotic to waste his money buying that thing. They're pirates. Pirates. How long was it before Sanji got jailed by the Marines or contracted a disease or met a beautiful woman at a port and married her? How long before Ace lost him forever to factors he couldn't control?
Ace is a pirate. He was born one, raised by one, and the blue sea courses through his veins, more dominant than blood. It was silly to vy for a future with a person who has dreams and hopes and people to satisfy. If Ace truly knew Sanji, he would've known that Sanji would never put him above Luffy.
Ace is twenty-three now. This is what he gets for focusing on a dream he knows he can't have. This is what Ace deserves. Losing Sanji is what he deserves.
Ace is numb when he says, "I'll see you around, stranger."
And there returns the apprehension. "Yeah. See you around."
The next port they stop at, Marco and Izou take Ace out. They party and drink and Ace has his arms around the waists of slender women — more than he can count — and it's fun. He's having fun. The alcohol in his system makes him forget about how cold the night is, about how during nights like these, Sanji sometimes would make him tomato soup with basil oil. The last thought makes Ace grip her tighter and the woman who's dancing with him, giggles.
"Hey," She whispers, leaning close to Ace, and her hot breath fans his neck. She smells of a concoction of drinks and sandalwood, and it's nauseating, paired with the loud, pulsing music. Ace's dinner churns in his stomach. He doesn't know if it's the music, the alcohol, or the idea of the woman touching him.
"What?" Ace asks, trying not to let his annoyance seep into his voice. He fails.
She giggles, twirling a piece of her raven-black hair around her finger. It could be black. Ace can't see clearly. He blinks once, then twice. "I'm thinking of coloring my hair blonde. What do you think?"
What he thinks is that Sanji's hair isn't blonde. It's golden with flicks of silver in the sun and it's ochre in the splices of the setting sun. What he thinks is that Sanji loves dancing and loud music under the golden lights of the Thousand Sunny. What he thinks is how beautiful that golden band would've looked on Sanji's ring finger, accompanied by his blinding smile and the moonlight dripping into the cornflower-blue of his eyes.
"Fine," Ace answers, though he's being dishonest. No one, no matter how hard they try, could ever measure up to Sanji.
Now, Ace's mornings are always quiet these days. The waves outside the window slows, the birds stop chirping, and the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window isn't as golden as he remembers it to be. The coffee burns his tongue. Sometimes, Marco forgets the cinnamon and Ace is left wanting, aching, and dreaming of something more.
Sanji came into his life in a whirlwind moment, perfect for him at a time when they both weren't ready. Deep down, Ace knew that they'd end up going their separate ways someday. One of the reasons why Ace fell in love with him in the first place was because Sanji wasn't the kind of person to do anything halfway. It could be training, doing the dishes, or telling Ace about the horrors of his childhood — Sanji poured his heart and soul into everything he did.
Sometimes, when Ace got a moment alone with Sanji on the Thousand Sunny, Ace would sneak a look at Sanji from the corner of his eye. The molten purple light from the neon signs would shine down upon Sanji, the light dusting of freckles scattered across his cheekbones coming alive and Ace felt his heart somersault in his chest.
Sanji could tell him anything and Ace would listen just as fervently, fully aware of how fast his blood was coursing through his veins.
Izou tries to get him to talk about it.
"Don't pity me," Ace says, his voice firm enough to give Izou pause. "Just don't."
"I wasn't. I just want you to know I understand."
"You really don't."
"I understand enough," Izou says. "You'll tell me if you ever need anything, right?"
Ace stares down at his chicken, having suddenly lost his appetite. It's funny — talking about Sanji always has that effect on him. "Yeah, of course," Ace says, not intending to take Izou up on the offer.
Ace has to say — he almost doesn't see the call coming. When Marco brings him the Transponder Snail and tells him it's Nami, Ace almost doesn't take it. He has nothing to say to her or Zoro or even Luffy. Marco reads the expression on Ace's face and shakes his head.
"She says it's important."
It's Nami's worried voice on the other end of the call. She sounds like she's crying for hours, her voice shaky and broken, but the most haunting part of it all is the words she says.
"Sanji-kun isn't waking up."
There's a familiar curl of fear seizing his lungs. This is what you sign up for when you become a pirate. Disease, unprompted death, crippling psychosis. Ace knows this. He's seen death as a child, as a teenager, as a cook. Why should that change when he's a pirate? He knew what he signed up for when he challenged Whitebeard to a fight. This should not be surprising to him.
But, this is Sanji, his mind insists. Sanji is different. If Ace loses him, it might be the one thing he won't be able to survive.
Marco is still watching Ace closely, but he seems more reserved. Unsure of himself. That's not the way friends are supposed to behave with each other. They should never be unsure of each other.
"Marco, I — "
"I'll let them know," Marco says, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't let Ace say another word. "You should leave tonight."
For a crew as high-profile as the Strawhat Pirates, it's easy to track them down. Robin helps Ace onto the ship, but there's no welcoming parade, no grand feasts, and no extravagant music. Chopper's face is mellow as Nami walks over to hug him. Luffy is nowhere to be seen, while Ace is sure he saw a flash of green walk past the infirmary room.
Ace has heard of this happening. Madness setting in when pirates are out for too long at sea. Brook has seen some horror stories and the one thing he always says is that the screams stay with you for eternity. Ace tries to imagine Sanji — helpless, screaming, red behind the ears and it doesn't sit right with him.
This is the man who stood strong before Queen, tattered and bleeding but still alive. If anyone were to submit to the psychosis of the sea, it would be anyone but Blackleg Sanji.
Ace has seen his fair share of illness. The green faces and droopy eyes and nausea — Ace is familiar with all of it. What Ace isn't expecting is Sanji's face to look as ethereal as the last time they saw each other sixteen months ago. His hair is brushed, suit pressed, arms folded over his stomach and he's starting to look less like a sick man and more like a —
"Is he alive?" Ace asks, tone flat and he hears Nami take a sharp intake of breath before she turns around to leave the room. The chatter ceases. The silence is deafening. Everyone turns to Sanji for a moment, but then Ace is the one bearing the burden of the questioning stares.
Robin hums. "Sometimes, he'll move or twitch. Chopper swears he heard Sanji mumble something under his breath once. I'm sure some part of him is alive."
In his blurred sleep, Sanji reaches for Ace's hand but pauses halfway, as if he seemingly decided that this might be a bad idea and a pit grows in the bottom of Ace's stomach.
When the crew falls asleep, Ace sits outside the infirmary room, keeping watch. He tries to convince himself that this is anything but a friendly act. They aren't friends, they're enemies, they're exes, Ace doesn't have to be here — yet Ace jumps at every sharp hiss or growl that sounds like it might be near them. No one has to know that Ace would still protect Sanji with his life (and that Sanji would do the same for him).
Robin says crew meetings are pretty frequent, considering that the Straw Hats are a crew that can do everything together except coexist. Most of the time, it's everyone trying to convince Luffy that breaking into the fridge in the middle of the night and eating raw meat is going to make him sick (to no avail). Sometimes, it's about trying to get Franky to stop singing in the middle of the night and waking everyone up or to get Brook to stop being a twisted pervert (it's an illness, really).
It's never been about Sanji's potential death. Not even once.
"We didn't take good care of him," Nami mutters, curled up in a corner with Chopper, who's trying his level best to comfort her to no avail. "I knew I shouldn't have believed him when he said he was fine because I knew he didn't look fine, he looked — "
None of them can blame themselves. Knowing Sanji, by the time morning fell, he must've been back in the hammock, pretending like he'd had the best sleep of his life. Sanji must've resigned himself to the kitchen, choosing to beat three eggs with a whisk, instead of getting the help he needed.
That's how Sanji has always been.
Ace spends most of the next few nights outside Sanji's room, hoping for a groan or a curse, some indication of life but the nights pass by quietly. On the nights when Ace's back hurts, Zoro is ready to replace him, eyebrows knitted and lips drawn.
"Do you think he'll wake up?" Ace asks Zoro one day, making Zoro freeze. He holds Ace's pointed gaze with a fiery look of his own.
Zoro takes a second to process the question. "Luffy won't be Pirate King without him. He has to."
Ace dreams of him. Sanji's voice, his laugh, that final call. They haven't spoken for months now but Ace can hear his voice ringing clear in Ace's head. Ace dreams of Sanji waking up and asking for him. It's only when Ace wakes up, curled up in the chair by Sanji's bedside, that he realizes none of it was reality.
There's a pack of cigarettes on the table next to Sanji's bed and Ace grabs it. He isn't thinking clearly as he tears the seal open, grabs a cigarette, and lights it with a flame dancing on his finger. Ace remembers the way Sanji's neck would turn red when he did it and Ace laughs.
He can't bear to look at Sanji in this condition, but Ace takes his hand and makes a promise.
"If you wake up, Sanji, this time I'll do it right." Ace mumbles, a promise kept between the two of them. "All you have to do is wake up. Please wake up."
