The second installment (the sequel) to Ace of Spades is now out.
Read 'The Hanged Man' once you've finished this one.
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A rascal with a penchant for making friends with the wrong people, you were often regarded as a troublemaker by...
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ACE -- NOW
"The very essence of romance is uncertainty." -Oscar Wilde
A month in and Ace already found himself missing your presence; your touch, your witty words, the air of warmth you just seemed to bring around you at all times, and the look you'd always give him when he was around. One full of hidden want, but mixed with adoration and a goofiness he knew to be akin to his. He missed that and more.
When asked what he knew about love, he talked about you. When they asked where he wanted to go, he thought of only you. And when he went to sleep, he'd dream of you.
With you, just the sound of 'hello' sounded like 'come here,' the intimacy of your voice beckoning his soul over. Where else could he find peace but in your chaos? But in the wake that followed, you took the sun, the moon, and the stars with you.
Now, all he thought of -- all he could think of when he was plagued with the burden of time was the ghost of your touch and the soft whisper of your breath on his skin. You told him you loved the rain, now he never slept during storms, not because he was afraid, but because they reminded him of you...
Even now, as he was propped against his pillows, head leaning towards the window, all he could think of was you as the snow fluttered against the frosted panes. Small flecks silently drifting on their course to the endgame that was the ground; all piled with the remnants of their siblings.
He missed you terribly bad, and the hole in his heart couldn't be compensated with the company of his brothers. Would you forgive him if he asked? Would you even want to see him anymore after that little mishap at the party?
Did you miss him as much as he missed you?
Ace eyed his phone, then took a deep breath. His breath puffing in the cool, Roman air. In the mirror ahead, his face remained impassive, as far as he could see. Granted, Ace couldn't see much of it as it was far too dark to see anything, but he could make out the sheen of his eyes and the paleness of his flesh against the stark sheets.
He looked terribly worn, with bags lining the outside of his usually bright eyes, and a pale visage that did nothing to compliment his tan skin. But beneath that was a beating heart just as clear and as sharp as the day it first began pounding.
Ace glanced up at the popcorn ceiling, eyes fluttering shut, his mind still unable to sort through how he felt. He was too tired to think about it anymore, exhausted from trying to think about things he'd spent a lifetime avoiding. But under all that -- the pain, the stress, the loneliness -- he felt a strong, visceral pull he'd always felt towards you suddenly surge, somehow not faded at all through your time apart.
Ace closed his eyes tiredly, the memories of the first time he'd seen you fall on you creeping in now that he was too exhausted to keep them at bay anymore.
