Ace is fast asleep, his body slumped against the wooden railing of the ship's deck. The warm afternoon sun bathes his tan skin in golden light while the gentle rocking of the boat keeps him in peaceful slumber. Around him, the crew goes about their usual tasks—some mending sails, others scrubbing the deck, their voices creating a soft background murmur. Whitebeard sits imposingly in his large chair, the rum in his cup glinting as he takes occasional sips, his watchful eyes subtly noting Ace's position.

None of the crew members disturb him, having learned through experience that Ace prefers to wake naturally unless there's an emergency. The salty sea breeze carries the scent of saltwater and distant islands as it gently stirs Ace's raven black hair, revealing the faint freckles dusting his cheeks.

The ship creaks softly with the rhythm of the waves, creating a lullaby that seems to cradle Ace in his sleep. Though the crew is aware of his feelings for Marco, they maintain a respectful distance, allowing their comrade the privacy he needs while quietly hoping for the day he finds the courage to confess.