Warning: Angst, brief mention of self-harm (not detailed). Inspired by the song of the same name by Interpol.

One. Two. In. Out.

It was no use.

You opened your eyes. The room was dark, aside from the soft glow of the moonlight.

You're alive. You're safe. In. Out.

You felt too tired to fall asleep. It was hurting again.

It's ok. It'll fade. You're alive.

You dug your fingernails into your forearm, hard enough to draw blood.

But not hard enough to chase away the memories, not this time.

Over two years had gone by and the nightmares still wouldn't go away. It had gotten better momentarily after Marco and you had settled down here. You were no longer out at sea, weren't reminded daily of what Ace, Thatch and Pops would never be able to see themselves again.

But now, each night was getting worse.

The adrenaline rush, the delusion the battle had left in its wake had long since faded, and all that was left now were faint traces of memories and feelings better suppressed than dealt with.

It's okay. You're here. You're safe. It's over.

But was it?

You slowly turned your head to see to see Marco, steadily breathing and asleep, his closed eyelids twitching slightly. His glasses were on the nightstand, right next to the bed.

What was he dreaming of? You knew he had nightmares, just like you, but the two of you had never really talked about what exactly came to haunt each of you at night.

When he cried, he did it alone, afraid he'd unsettle you even further, fragile as you were already. But you knew he did. And yet he still held you, tried to provide a safe space each time the feelings would threaten to overwhelm you.

Marco's here. Marco won't leave.

It was hurting again. That old feeling buried beneath all the delusion, the cognitive dissonance, the lies.

It was strange, how the person you'd seen as a brother for so long, someone to look up to, someone to confide in, was now lying beside you. He was so many things to you, but certainly not a brother. Not anymore.

"There they are, the two lovebirds!"

"Thatch, if you want to keep that moustache in tact, you better shut your mouth!"

The brunette laughed boisterously, playfully elbowing the man stood beside him. "Who knew our little (Y/N)'s such a brute, huh?"

You remembered that day. You remembered laughter, warmth, the feeling of having arrived at a place you'd long been searching for.

You remembered being in love for the first time.

A kiss, so soft and yet so longing, the teasing of your brothers, the blessing of Oyaji, the future the two of you had been looking forward to.

Little (Y/N). So naïve all the time.

You tried to make it go away. To stop the images, the feelings associated with them. You knew it would feel so much worse once the fleeting happiness the nostalgia brought was ripped away and replaced with cold reality.

And yet it was so tempting, to convince yourself, to live in the illusion just a little while longer. It was paradoxical. The memories made you feel better, gave you a faint reminder of what once was.

But at the same time, they brought that ugly feeling closer and closer to the surface each time. It was so close to breaking through, now. Closer than it had been ever since that first time you'd fallen asleep in Marco's arms.

Did he feel the same? Would you ever admit to each other what had happened? What was still happening?

I only ever lie to make you smile.

It was easier, living the lie. Hushed whispers of affection by day, moist kisses and soft moans by night.

That first night, he'd told you he loved you, and you'd known he meant it. You'd meant it, too. That ugly little voice was there again, planting the feeling inside your head. But do you still mean it now?

Warm tears were running down your cheeks, but you didn't mind. Hurt was fine. You understood it, you craved for it. You deserve it, the little voice whispered.

But tonight, a special memory serves me

Another image invaded your mind.

You and Marco, losing yourself in each other's arms after what had happened at Marineford. Crying and yet at the same time, finding comfort in the notion of not being alone. His warm hand, usually so steady and secure, now shaking as he was cradling your face to wipe away your tears.

Him, pressing his forehead against yours. "We won't let them be forgotten. I promise you, (Y/N). I know what he-"

"Marco, please. Just-... just hold me, alright? I don't think I can-"

"It's okay, yoi."

And he had held you, until you'd fallen asleep in his arms and he'd almost passed out from exhaustion. And when you'd woken up, he'd promised you he wouldn't ever leave you.

You'd both known it was an empty promise, but it made you want to kiss him and bring him closer to you all the same.

Back then, you'd been convinced this was what mature, true love was supposed to feel like. Now, you were wondering whether you were just two broken people, desperate to find comfort in one another. Desperate not to be alone.

You remembered back when Marco used to supervise your training, not long after you'd joined Whitebeard's crew.

"Hey Phoenix, think I'm progressing?"

You turned around, winking at him.

He chuckled, a quiet, yet warm and friendly sound. "You've still got ways to go, but there's potential there, yoi."

Unable to keep from smiling at receiving a compliment from someone as powerful and high-ranked as Marco, you simply thanked him for his words.

He ruffled your hair before leaving to let you finish the rest of your training.

Yes. Those memories were good. They weren't as invasive, as unwanted as others.

One. Two. In. Out.

It was after a close brush with death that you'd shared your first kiss. It had been just a short peck, and though neither one of you had been able to pinpoint who exactly had initiated it, both of you had been in shock.

"(Y/N), this is wrong, yoi. I'm way too old for you, and besides, I couldn't-"

You hadn't given him a chance to finish his sentence, had simply pressed your lips against his, more intentional, more passionate this time.

You hadn't wanted to talk. You hadn't wanted to think.

The images were overwhelming you now, trying to invade your mind all at once.

Marco and you, fighting right beside each other in the war, trying to free Ace.

Marco and you, standing beside each other at their graves, hands intertwined. Together and yet so alone.

Marco and you, preparing for the payback war against Blackbeard and his crew.

Marco and you, laughing about one of Thatch's stories.

Marco and you, sitting beside all your crewmembers, your family, sharing food while enjoying a warm summer night.

But there was something missing, something wrong. There was a part of the pictures you'd intentionally cut out, trying to hide it. From yourself, from anyone else. The missing part which destroyed the little perfect world of lies you'd created.

Tonight is special

I only memorize those things I deny

That little feeling was there again, and this time, you couldn't shake it. You'd tried to bury it beneath all the grief and the adrenaline, but now it was rearing its ugly head again.

"Who knew our little (Y/N)'s such a brute, huh?"

That future you'd wanted so badly. That first feeling of love you'd felt so strongly.

"Maybe it was a mistake letting her join the crew after all, yoi."

"Hey!" you shouted. "You two, get lost! You're just jealous, anyway." You blew a raspberry at them, making them laugh.

A warm hand softly turned your head around to face him. So warm, like everything about him.

"Let's not let them ruin the mood, shall we?"

That grin. Those lips against yours, so insecure and yet so full of love he had yet to give, love he'd denied himself of for so long.

"(Y/N), this is wrong, yoi. I'm way too old for you, and besides, I couldn't-"

Do it to him.

That's what he would've said, had you not kissed Marco that day. Had you not let yourself become everything you'd always hated. You'd become another person, someone you despised, someone you denied.

"We won't let them be forgotten. I promise you, (Y/N). I know what he-"

meant to you.

The lies were gone. All that was left was that little ugly feeling, your constant companion, always there, slowly but surely destroying you from the inside, no matter how hard you'd try to suppress it.

Guilt.

"But- but I don't understand," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I thought you l-loved me, I-"

"I do, (Y/N). That's why I won't touch you, not in that way. I'm not worth the love you can give me. I'd only taint you, and you-"

You took his head in between your hands, forcing him to look at you, to show you those tears he'd been trying to hide.

"You deserve everything. I love you, Portgas D. Ace."

It was hurting again.

Good.

He hadn't ever found out. He'd died thinking you'd loved him. Only him. He'd died thinking you were a good person, deserving of someone better than him.

The little voice inside your head was screaming and howling with sadistic laughter, mocking him. Mocking you.

Feels like, the feeling is like
It's over

Marco stirred in his sleep, disrupting your thoughts.

Was he just as guilty as you? Or was he just a puppet you'd selfishly used to sate your need for security, your need to feel wanted when the one you'd loved had repeatedly pushed you away?

He had never tried to make you feel guilty, had always tried to make you feel like he was the one to blame.

Why is it so hard to stay away?

One night, not long ago, you'd been lying awake as you were now. He'd just looked at you in silence, before slowly wrapping his arms around you, saying:

"It's alright, yoi. I know."

"What are you talking about?" you'd whispered, trying to uphold the lie as long as possible.

"I know you still love him. It's okay, (Y/N)."

Leaving him would be for the best. You didn't want him to be hung up on you. He deserved better; you knew that.

And yet you were weak, so weak. His love made you feel happy, if only for fleeting moments. Everytime he'd smile at you, you felt a little more sure that someday, you'd make things right. Someday, you'd learn to forgive yourself, to love him like he loved you, to not have to lie to him anymore.

But how were you supposed to forgive yourself for something you couldn't even apologize for? Something you'd never be able to atone for?

It will never get better. This is who you'll always be.

His fingers felt warm against your cheeks, wiping away the tears. His embrace was all-encompassing, his breathing steady, his voice soft.

"(Y/N). It's okay, yoi. I'm here. I'll always be here."

And if only for a while, the ache subsided.

Maybe that was good enough.

Maybe.