Together we'll work through it

The air was thick, tumult and commotion echoed far as the sea stood in stark contrast. One would almost call it suspicious how eerie quiet the waves danced around the hull of the ship; for sailing in the New World brought nothing but uncertainty and trouble for any unskilled sailor. Yet for the last passing days nothing but peace and quiet had met their ways, not even a single attack or storm that threw them off course. All had been smooth sailing from island to island.

But the questioning silence of the waves was not the cause of chaos that grew within one's heart. This originated from something far worse than the unsteady sailing one could experience out on sea.

A new beginning. That would be the saying when one calendar year meets its end and another takes its place. A time where others speak of self-improvement when the dawn of the new year starts, but never meet their own requirements along the way.

But those seen dancing around the Moby Dick have little to no qualms to any new year's resolutions. The entire crew finds itself in an uproar as everyone is in high spirits. Batches of good rum are carried from the hold while others busy themselves with preparations on their very own show of fireworks. The men are merry, already drunk beyond comparison and spewing nothing but nonsense as they clear the deck for their biggest party of the year. Even the nurses seem more relaxed, having laid down their strict order of no alcohol on Pops—or maybe he granted it himself as this was a one time celebratory event for the ending of the current year.

And among the lively chaos that roamed the ship, one lonely soul had barricaded himself in a room. The comfort of the tiny porthole proved to be all the distraction he needed on this tumultuous day. He watched from behind the glass as the light reflected on the dark blue waves, creating a blurry image of the ongoing festivity on deck.

Not too long ago her was there, too. Joisting and dancing about, drinking however he liked and gorging down whatever food presented for the party. But today, the mere thought of food made his stomach churn. For once in his life he felt nauseous at the thought of eating.

How could he even think about food and parties when he was only minutes away from a day he wished had never existed; the day his mother died to give birth to him. If only he was never born, then his mother would still be alive, not death for the birth of a monster that should be undeserving of life. And yet, here he is. Alive and well. Called a son by nobody other than his father's own rival and the man he had sworn to defeat.

No matter the self-hatred and loathing he could feel towards himself for becoming so weak, he couldn't ignore the feelings that erupt from within him whenever he spends time with the crew. Nor can he pretend the love he feels is fake, that the brotherly bond they share is nothing if not genuine. He knows it all too well. Yet doubts turn their nasty heads in the darkest of times and make him question everything he felt.

The sound of rapid knocking broke through his thoughts. Left without a chance to decline the other's presence, the door was kicked open. In came a familiar, fruit shaped man that strolled into the room as if it was his. A lazy smile dancing on his lips as a soft pink dusting covered his cheeks; the man was by all means pleasantly buzzed and the sight was enough to active a scowl on the other's face.

"Ace, what you doing moping around here, yoi? The party's up on deck and we're one man short." The blond drawled out and Ace saw the subtle shift in the man's demeanor at the first look of his scowl. Good, Ace thought to himself.

He would love to tell the blond off, to tell him a lie so Ace could be alone again. To explain to the blond that he was a little under the weather and needed some rest, or maybe state how he has a bit of a stomachache—which in fact would not be a lie. But he knew that the first division commander would only fret about his health and personally send him to the infirmary.