A/N: Fourth entry for the Prompt Exchange Challenge. This prompt is from Loftwing1022. I have to say, I don't often write in present tense, but I think (hope) it matches with the kind of mood I want to give this story.

Admitting you were wrong is a lot easier than letting go of the one you love.

Luffy's room isn't as messy as it usually is, as most of the things usually strewn about the floor are now packed tightly into his backpack or suitcase. He's amazed that they fit without too much trouble, but then again, he has never had a large wardrobe, and many of the things he found in his closet are now too small or full of holes and therefore have been left behind. The weather's getting colder and he plans to dress in layers; more on his body means less in his bag.

He has his necessities: underwear, clothes, toothbrush, emergency soap, socks, comb, money, and hat. He's nearly ready and he only has to judge what other possessions of his are worth the luggage space. He throws in a water bottle and decides he needs to get some canned food from the kitchen, just in case.

His footsteps echo on his way and when he arrives the kitchen is empty, as expected. His brother and their grandfather are out at the market and left him behind, not trusting him to shop, which makes it an ample opportunity to prepare. While he's about he decides to fetch some extra shoes from near the front door and then tries to juggle two pairs of runners with some canned beans, peaches, and corn on his way back.

He's chased through the house by the sound of his footsteps once again, and they stop when he stops. The room he's in, the living room, has a fireplace, and his eyes linger on its mantle where a row of photographs are kept.

He takes one with him.

His brother and their grandfather return and he greets them at the door, hoping that neither of them will spot the backpack and suitcase stowed almost out of sight behind a leather chair.

He hugs Ace, his brother, happily, but tenses when their grandfather pats him on the head. They go to the kitchen to stow away the groceries, and he hopes that neither will notice that there's less in the pantry now than there was when they left.

Then they go into the living room and merely chat. No one points out the missing picture frame from the mantle and Luffy is relieved.

When the sky's darkening becomes notable, Ace announces that he's tired and is going to bed early tonight. Their grandfather only waves with his free hand, the other holding a wine bottle he had pulled out sometime during the afternoon, and Luffy slips after his brother.

He slinks through the door just as it shuts. Ace smiles at him, hugs him again, and then ignores him to change into his pyjamas. Luffy goes to the bed and arranges himself under the covers. When his brother sees, he rolls his eyes, but joins him and wraps him in his arms anyway.

Ace asks him why he's here tonight. Luffy doesn't lie and he doesn't tell the truth, but all he says is that it's cold. The answer is accepted and Ace lets his little brother dig his stubby nails into his skin as he falls asleep.

When morning comes, Ace wakes up alone.

Ace has investigated Luffy's room very thoroughly by the time lunch rolls around. Many of his things are gone and there's an empty frame lying on top of the covers almost mournfully. His cell phone his turned off and tucked inside a desk drawer, so Ace knows calling it would be pointless. It doesn't stop him from trying.

Of course, no one picks up and Ace grinds his teeth.

Their grandfather hollers up and tells him to come down for lunch, but he's still in his pyjamas and he knows the old man won't be happy at all at his 'laziness.' He runs back to his room quickly to change, and when he dons his favourite hat he finds a folded piece of paper trapped beneath its band of beads. He unfolds it to reveal Luffy's messy printing inside.

He tells their grandfather that Luffy's staying at a friend's place, but he knows it isn't true.

Ace runs out of plausible excuses within a week, and their grandfather explodes when he hears the truth. He curses and sputters and calls Luffy "ungrateful trash" as he forms a search party. It's the kind of thing Ace would usually snap at someone for — no one insults his brother, no one — but he doesn't, because it wouldn't be fair when he feels a bit of anger himself.

But unlike their grandfather, he isn't sure whom he's angry at.

Luffy's face is everywhere now — the media has always been quick to latch onto a "well-to-do white teen disappears" kind of story. Their grandfather conveniently hasn't mentioned to them that Luffy ran away of his own free will and the news shows are hyping the possibility of a 'mysterious kidnapper.'

Ace thinks it's ridiculous. His brother is nothing to be gawked at.

The police are to investigate under the assumption that they are dealing with a kidnapping. Many of the officers insist that the idea is absurd, that there's no evidence at all that Luffy left against his own volition. Some of them are secretly inspecting the area for proof that he purposefully ran away.

Ace thinks it's pointless. The only piece of evidence that his grandfather didn't destroy is the note, which Ace keeps hidden in his sock.

Weeks pass with no news. The old man's anger boils and boils, and pops every so often. Whenever it does, Ace takes the brunt of it.

His ankle is twisted at an odd angle and there's a bruise the size of a baseball on his collarbone. They throb a little and are ugly to look at, but he can't bring himself to go to a doctor about it; his grandfather had always insisted that real men deal with their problems on their own and anything less is a show of weakness. And either way, they don't hurt nearly as much as the hole in his chest whenever he opens his eyes and doesn't see his brother.

Sometimes he wonders if Luffy had the right idea.

As soon as his ankle is healed, Ace goes down to the police station to seek out the officer in charge of the investigation. He's still limping and the officer, Smoker, notices. Ace is offered an ice pack that he's hesitant to accept — too much like charity — until he justifies it to himself by suggesting he trade the ice pack for the note. He came down to hand it off in the first place, anyway.

Ace sits and eases the ice pack onto his leg while Smoker reads the note slowly, carefully. He considers it for a few minutes and turns it over thoughtfully.

Smoker puts the note down on his desk and thanks Ace for his assistance. He says it makes a big difference to the case, then smirks, and jests that it might actually make the old man stop harping about getting those kidnappers.

Ace disagrees. His grandfather is stubborn, as stubborn as his little brother, and the man knows that the police look harder for abducted youths than runaways. He knows he has a better chance of getting Luffy back under his thumb if it's treated as a kidnapping, and he's not going to be happy about this turn of events.

Like he expected, his grandfather explodes when he gets the news. He keeps repeating into the phone that his grandson would never even think of that, that he doesn't know enough about the world to get by. It's something that's true, true for both of them, but only because their grandfather holds them back.

But somehow Luffy made it.

It's inspiring.

Even though their grandfather so refuses to let them be their own people, Luffy gave himself independence. He makes it seem easy. He makes it seem obvious.

He could run forever.

His wrist is broken, snapped by an enraged old man, but he can deal with it — the ice pack Smoker gave him is still in the freezer, and he's left handed anyway, so it's not like he can't still write.

And he does write. He writes and writes and writes until he has the very best of words on paper.

He writes a note.

Ace hopes his brother was smarter about packing than he was, since he finds himself without some things he really could have used. Like toothpaste, or soap. Luckily he has a lot of money with him, having collected every coin he could find and siphoned every cent out of his bank account, so he has enough to buy a little — nothing expensive, as he wants to save as much as he can for emergencies.

The world is nothing like he imagined and everything he could have wanted. His grandfather always told him the world is a horrid, crime-infested hot-bed of depravity, and that that was why it was important for the two of them to grow up and join the police force to inflict justice in his footsteps.

But the world is so much more than that.

He takes bus to bus and hops towns for a while. He's in a city wildly different from his own when he first meets Marco.

The man approaches him when he's on the beach, gaping at the ocean he's never seen with his own eyes. Marco introduces himself, asks if he's new in town, and offers him a tour. Ace accepts, eager to learn about this big blue wonder, but Marco instead takes him and shows him the buildings and landmarks, which, although useful to know, aren't quite as interesting.

Ace doesn't know if this kindness is usual in the real world, and he's a little wary. He has never trusted easily, so he feels in necessary to ask why Marco is so generous.

Marco points out his lingering limp and the ginger way he holds his arm. Nothing big ever happens in this town, and now here's him, dropping in out of thin air. It's no big tourist destination, and Marco knows everyone so he knows Ace can't be a visiting relative.

It's curiosity, and nothing more.

Ace decides then to leave, but Marco keeps on about his arm and leg. He asks how long they've been hurt, and Ace asks him if everyone in this town is so nosy. Marco says that he's only trying to help and stresses Ace should get them checked out by a professional; he's seen a lot of injuries and those ones don't look well at all. He says he can show him where the doctor's is.

He extends a hand and Ace takes it.

Ace has casts now, one on his arm and one on his leg. The doctor scolds him for waiting so long to have them treated and sends him on his way.

The casts are bulky and make it harder to get around than when it was just him and his wounds. He asks Marco if there are any hotels he can stay in but he gets a blank look in return. The town's too small for that, he's told. People only come here to visit friends and family.

He asks when the next bus out of town comes, but Marco shakes his head and tells him he won't get anywhere like that. He's got an extra bedroom and volunteers it for Ace to use.

It sounds like charity and Ace doesn't want it, but Marco is obstinate and either way, it's his best option right now. So he accepts — but only until he's healed.

Then he's going to leave.

The two get to know each other very well of the course of their lodging. Marco lets Ace meet some of his friends and tells him about his job — one that is not entirely up standing — and eventually, Ace feels comfortable enough to share his story. Marco raises an eyebrow but says it doesn't really surprise him, coming from Ace.

He regales Marco with stories of Luffy, never really getting into what happened after he left. He swears he'll find his brother some day; Marco tells him he's trying too hard. Ace thinks he isn't trying hard enough. He is, after all, currently loafing about in Marco's house.

Marco says that isn't what he meant by 'trying too hard.'

Ace's casts come off yet he goes nowhere.

Ace is glad, at least, that the town he's stuck in is next to a beach. It's a new thing to him but one he likes very much, even if he can't swim. Once Ace gets the hang of which road heads where, Marco lets him walk down to the beach on his own sometimes. He knows how much the place fascinates the teen.

It's big and open and sunny and full of interesting things. He meets a lot of new people there, and often they explain to him what some new oddity he's noticed is. He figures out quickly that the beach is the best place to meet new faces — but he hadn't expected to see a familiar one.

It's very cold this time of year and the falling snow mixes with the sand. Ace thinks it's beautiful, but most people don't come down to the shoreline in this weather. There's only one other person and when Ace sees who it is, he freezes for a second and then tucks himself out of sight.

Luffy looks so content, sitting on the rocks with his head tilted up to face the sky. Ace's eyesight is very good, it always has been, and even from far away he can see the snowflakes as they land on Luffy's cheeks and stick to his lashes.

Ace wants to go over there. He hasn't spoken to his brother in so, so long and it aches. But Marco keeps repeating that he needs to let go, that this isn't healthy, and that Luffy doesn't need his protection anymore. Ace agrees with him, but keeping it in mind is so much different than doing anything about it.

Luffy hums and grins up at nothing, and Ace can see that his brother is independent and thriving. He's healthy, and clean, and well fed, and so many things that Ace hadn't been before he met Marco. But when Luffy stretches just like a cat and yawns, Ace is reminded of that same adorable boy he knew and loved (loves, still loves). Something stings in his eyes even as he smiles.

He wants to go over there, he wants to make Luffy see him, he wants to hug his brother one last time, but he knows better. So when he does start walking, it's in the opposite direction, and he only pauses long enough to throw one last, prideful glance over his shoulder.

Because that's Ace's brother.

And he can run forever.

A/N: This is the second story I've made where I've taken a concept and simply run with it without prior planning, the first being Inversion. In this story, the concept was "Luffy runs away from home and Ace deals with letting go." Luckily, this one is not as sad as Inversion turned out to be, so hopefully I won't be sending anyone into fits of sobs this time… But who knows what makes a person cry, really? I sure don't. But anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts!