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dude, I’m pregnant.
The entire room reeks of patchouli now that someone’s knocked over the pot-pourri placed strategically to mask the not-quite cigarette smoke wafting in from outside. He’s sitting on a sofa that’s so low he can barely see over his own knees, allowing him to disregard the massive coffee table book portraying phallic art from all over the world, opened on page 231 – Guatemala – and showcased on a square glass table with a corner chipped off. Somewhere, someone is singing a national anthem, and someone else is beatboxing to the low-beat synthwave.
And Ace sits there, stares at his phone, and experiences a small crisis.
He neither has any idea how to interpret the message nor how to respond – his predictive keyboard suggests a simple yet powerful ‘oh’ as well as the laughing-tears-emoji which somehow feels inappropriate. Maybe an ‘oof’ will do. How come he hasn’t gotten a drink yet?
Like she read his mind, Aruni appears out of nowhere, elegant and calm, dressed casually yet as alluring as always. A guardian angel of the troubled mind, she hands him a glass filled to the brim with ice and clear liquid. “Gin tonic”, she announces and raises her own counterpart as a toast before eyeing the very low couch. She opts to perch on the armrest instead. “You look pale. Don’t tell me you ate some of Jack’s stew?”
“Tell me what the fuck this is supposed to mean”, he pleads and multitasks by taking several thirsty gulps while sharing the conversation thread titled ‘Honey’, the latest message a bright neon sign imprinted in his brain. He received it right as he arrived or else he wouldn’t have spent ten minutes questioning his existence instead of sighting the booze available or exploring the house – if he’s honest, he doesn’t even remember whose it is.
His colleague throws him a dubious glance, clearly at a loss for words. Eventually, she offers a meek: “Are you… not sure what it means in English, or…?”
Suspicious, Ace checks to make sure they read the same thing and is confronted with the very message which sent him spiralling into madness: dude, I’m pregnant. Black on chartreuse, the statement mocks him with its incomprehensibility.
Then, it suddenly dawns on him. “Apha. This is from Nick.”
“Ohhh… wait – huh?” Her realisation loops back to utter confusion. “But then what -”
“That’s exactly my problem. I have no idea what he’s on about.”
“You should really think about re-naming your contacts. I thought Honey was your most recent ex… whatever you were.”
“No, she’s Babe.”
“What about the South African model who keeps flirting with you?”
“He’s Darling.”
“And Kali?”
“BFF. Duh.”
Aruni tilts her head. “What about me?”
“You’re just Apha. With a flower after it, look.” He waves his phone in her direction once more and the both of them coo over it for a second because it really does suit her, before he snaps back to the more important matter at hand. “I still have no clue how to react. Does he not understand anatomy? Is it the opening of a terrible pun? Is there some other explanatory circumstance that I’m just not aware of?”
She graces him with one of her all-knowing smiles, extended by her scar which makes her look even more omniscient. “I suppose you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
Ew. He grimaces and mutters to himself: “Talking’s for functioning people.” Still, she raises a valid point – confronting Bandit seems to be his only option, and communicating face-to-face by far the best alternative, so why not invite him over? With how many other guests are filing through all open rooms and congregating on the terrace outside, it’s not like anyone would mind. He’s the life of any party as it is.
Ace inspects the vast, spotless living room with the framed colour vomit, the glass cabinet filled to the brim with miniature owls, tastefully illuminated, and the designer rug which looks unremarkable and probably cost more than Ace makes in a year.
Yeah. It’ll be fiiiine.
He texts Bandit the address as well as a tried and tested keyword: BYOF.
It first found application in the early days of their acquaintance, when Ace and Bandit still badmouthed each other at work and mouthed at each other badly afterwards without anyone knowing (except for Kali, because she pinpoints Ace’s next obsession with intimidating accuracy, and Blitz, because he seems to predict every single bad decision Bandit will make). They approached the whole thing with an opportunist attitude and were quick to identify other practical uses for each other, like Bandit being an excellent bin for disfavoured or old dishes, or Ace being up to date on the latest trends in porn and the most interesting actors and genres.
Another crystallised as BYOF.
Due to the discrepancy of their friend groups, it often happened that only one of them would be invited to a specific social outing. However, Ace lives and breathes gossip and loathes not getting included in things (even if all he’d do is cancel, but it’s about the principle of the matter), and Bandit would starve and/or go insane without copious amounts of free drinks and food, so they decided that any party they’d normally attend without the other one is now Bring Your Own Friends. (Or fiends, as they used to call it. They started out as fiends with benefits, which still makes Ace chuckle.) All they send over is the location and this specific keyword, and the other one sneaks in and partakes.
I’m officially invited bitch, comes the dry reply.
Ace’s lips go thin. He begins typing out a few snarky responses but decides to be the mature one and simply send back a middle finger. Dumbass.
“Another one?”, asks Aruni next to him and motions for him to hand his glass over. His unexpectedly empty glass, that is.
“Yes. Stronger, please.” Oh, he can feel her judging him, but despite all, the angel just nods and disappears back into the kitchen. If he’s honest, he’d love to pretend that drunk is the only state in which Bandit and he don’t cause uncomfortable friction with how incompatible their personalities are; he’d love to argue that a blurry Bandit is the most handsome one, that it’s easier to deal with whatever bullshit comes out of his mouth when Ace’s brain is on standby. He’d love if that were the truth.
As it stands, it’s an excuse. Ace has always been a jolly drunk, open and affectionate, hugging whoever lets him and declaring his undying love. But this is a can he will not open, and though he’s subconsciously aware of how he purposefully chugs whatever’s available around Bandit just so neither of them can ask themselves why Ace keeps hanging off him, demanding for his hair to be pet and -
Jesus. Yeah, he’s not going there. That sounds like an infinite tomorrow problem.
He wades through the cacophony of a full house, leaving behind the designer living room and stepping outside into the golden rays of a crisp spring afternoon. Here, it feels more like a cocktail party, with tall glasses held in slender hands, artificial laughs accompanying quiet murmurs, and heels as tall as egos. No wonder he immediately runs into Kali: this is her metier.
His boss has changed with growing wealth: those who have been working with her for more than a decade recall an unremarkable-looking woman with an iron will. There’s nothing unremarkable about her now – nouveau riche has replaced her wardrobe and flatters her with dignified colours, deep necklines and plenty of thigh; today she’s showing off a cream dress and stilettos with silver jewellery, all of which praises her skin tone. Despite her gorgeous appearance, there’s something forgettable about her which Ace recognises as deliberate. Like before, she prefers being underestimated, it’s just that she utilises plenty of make-up now where she used to employ modest clothes.
Like always, she’s overdressed and would look less out of place at a film premiere. On the slate terrace, all she sparks in Ace is the worry that her heels might get stuck in the cracks.
“Oh, Ace! Come here, will you?” She snaps her fingers at him and, like the obedient dog he is, he complies. Pulse, her previous conversation partner, seems to get the hint to disappear, which he does with visible regret. The man might be taken, but there’s no harm in looking, right? Perfectly manicured fingers fumble with a jewel-studded phone before handing it over. “How the fuck do I use this blasted app?”
He gets ready to wrestle with yet another face-changing app (and he hopes Wamai isn’t around – last time Kali turned him into a seal and laughed so hard her mascara smudged beyond rescue), but freezes as soon as he spots the very familiar icon. “What – Insta?”
“Yes, it’s what you use all the time, isn’t it? The place where you do your attention whoring.”
“Do you wanna do some whoring yourself?”, he blurts out before he can stop himself and expects a light slap when instead he’s graced with an ungraceful snort.
“Actually, yeah”, she admits readily and tries stabbing at the screen in his hands until he turns away to finalise her registration and change a few of her settings. Then it suddenly dawns on him what he’s currently in the process of supporting.
“Wait… you’re serious?” He can’t believe it. “You want to use Instagram? The very place housing nothing but incurable narcissists and incels, according to you?”
Kali shrugs with a smirk. “And what of it? I can make the narcissists green with envy while the incels shower me in compliments. Facebook can suck my dick and I don’t have the patience to read through all that bullshit, but this is just pretty pictures, right? So I should get a lot of attention.”
His mouth is open as he stares at her. Is this supposed to be the same Kali who frustrated previous business partners with her refusal to use anything but phone calls for communication? The one who made everyone caught peeking at social media on duty clean everyone else’s guns? The same one who keeps relentlessly mocking him for posting beautiful dishes he created, for sharing inspirational quotes, for showing off with photogenic selfies?
This has to be a joke.
While he’s still processing what the hell is going on, Aruni passes them to hand out drinks like a faithful Saint Bernard tending to injured hikers: Ace gets another tall gin tonic and Kali an elegant glass of champagne which she acknowledges by smooching the other woman on the cheek, leaving a shimmery kiss mark. And hey, maybe this is an adequate explanation. Maybe Kali is already completely shitfaced. It’s impossible to tell with her, one second she’s ranting about a very real problem, the next she nearly falls asleep standing up; it’s uncanny how little she shows her inebriation.
“You really do want to use it?”, he clarifies, once again, just so she can’t claim any misunderstandings later.
“How hard can it be? Show off my curves, post a few hearts and nice messages to make it seem like I’m a decent person – the kinda shit you do.”
Oh. Oh, she is on. Feigning indifference, he nods and responds: “Sure. You’re right. That’s it, Queen, have fun.”
They’ve known each other for too long, so she catches on immediately. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Wait a second. There’s something you’re not telling me. Spit it out.”
Either this is an elaborate prank or she’s indeed plastered – in either case he’s going to chew her ear off and make her regret she ever asked. “It’s not that easy, actually. If you want to catch people’s attention – and you do –, you have to present yourself right. It’s not enough to just smile and post selfies, you know, you have to know your angles and proper lighting. If you use excessive filters, people will assume you’re ugly and/or hiding something, so you need to -” And he launches into a long-winded explanation based off his own experiences on various platforms, embellished by copious anecdotes and cautionary tales.
When he’s halfway done, both their glasses are empty and so are Kali’s eyes. She interrupts the middle of his sentence to demand: “Yeah, I’m disregarding all that. Just take a good selfie of us both and tag me.”
Fair enough. Not like he can refuse.
Sighing, he does exactly that, positioning them so the most well-tended corner of the large garden is visible behind them, corrects her posture a few times and then snaps a few pics, one of which he posts with a few hashtags and a mention of Kali’s new account. “You should post something yourself so there’s something for people to like.”
“You do it. Take a few flattering photos of me, you know how to.”
“Only if you admit that you’re joking about this.”
“What, are you saying I can’t seek outside validation, the same way you do?”
If his earns hadn’t picked up on a faint doorbell, he would’ve retorted with but you don’t need it. Fact is, he’s instantly distracted and the second he hears a specific voice, he ends their interaction with a quick: “Sorry, I gotta go.” He tries not to hurry as to not seem pathetic, places his glass on the nearest horizontal surface and rushes past a small group of Americans playing improvised beer pong with a horde of egg cups, Sambucca and corn cereal in the shape of balls.
Warden is at the door, talking to the object of Ace’s gleeful anticipation, an expensive-looking bottle of Bourbon in his hand which goes well with the tailored suit and shining dress shoes he’s wearing. He looks like a homeowner thanking the guy who replanted a tree on his property: a little exasperated over all the dirt falling off the other man but too mild-mannered to complain openly.
Because Bandit does look like he just came from a construction site.
“- can really taste the oak”, he’s saying for some reason, as if explaining his weird message to Ace wasn’t at the top of his priorities. “It’s my uncle’s favourite, so I hope you -”
“Hi”, Ace interrupts him, making both of them turn towards him. He might not be bouncing up and down upon seeing his absolute favourite person to be around right now, odd text or not, but only barely. The strain on his cheeks informs him of the fact that he’s smiling like a lunatic and he’s this close to just embracing the German, their audience be damned. Not like Warden would mind anyway. What is he even doing here – he barely attends any parties normally. “Nick, we need to talk.” We need to make out in one of the unused rooms.
“Apparently I’m wanted, excuse me.” He and Warden exchange a few more pleasantries with Ace vibrating impatiently next to them, and then he can finally drag his fwb with him to do some mischief. “I need to change first, find me a bathroom”, Bandit demands, as if Ace wasn’t already doing so. Bathrooms always say a lot about people.
“You don’t need to change.”
“Then let me give you a hug.”
“Are you kidding? You’re super dusty, there’s no way I’ll let you ruin my clothes.”
“And I’m not ruining Collinn’s house on his birthday party.”
Oh… that’s right. This new information explains quite a few details.
They walk through a hallway filled with official-looking photographs, all of them featuring Warden and another famous person (braggart), to take carpeted stairs up a floor, during which Bandit leaves behind several dark prints on the fluffy mauve steps. Passing several too-tall doors, one of which lets through several voices, Ace throws open another door at random and is extremely pleased to find a spacious, spotless bathroom with several cabinets, a fancy shower and one or two indicators that this is indeed the one favoured by their host.
“This is my superpower”, he announces and locks the door behind them. So Bandit can change in peace, of course. “Finding other people’s bathrooms.”
“Your other superpower is posting suggestive selfies and all your followers focus on instead is a tiny detail in the background.”
“How dare you. It’s only because you wouldn’t let me post pics of us together.” Ace points at Bandit’s bare chest with an accusing finger. “If they saw that, they’d definitely be going wild.”
“Just like you?”
“Just like me”, Ace confirms readily and suppresses the urge to rummage through the room to watch Bandit get changed instead, which is always a treat. Muscles ripple under inked skin, piercings glimmer in the harsh overhead light, and fair hairs covering his legs shimmer golden. It’s impossible to imagine he’ll ever tire of this sight, let alone the secretly-pleased expression Bandit displays without being aware. Only touching this body would be better, but he figures they’ll never make it out of here if he starts.
Once Bandit has switched into comfortable casual clothes which don’t look like he just ran a mile in the desert, Ace’s brain picks up its normal functions again and reminds him of why they’re here in the first place. “Do you mind explaining your outlandish message now?”
“Oh. Yes. Well.”
“Don’t ‘oh yes well’ me.”
Sheepish, Bandit scratches the back of his head. “Look. It’s like… well, you gave me something I didn’t want. It’s going to have serious consequences… and now we both have to deal with it. What I sent you is just a metaphor for it. Oh, and it started with all the sex we’re having.”
Ace stares at him blankly. “I haven’t had an STD for years, what are you talking about? You didn’t get it from me, man.”
Inexplicably, Bandit returns the empty stare before his face scrunches up in what looks like a poor attempt at a suppressed smile. He struggles with it for a few seconds before his expression turns back to normal. “That’s not what I’m talking about”, he says softly.
“Hey, if you’re confused about anatomy, I did have to study it back in uni, so I can explain to you in detail why it’s impossible for you to -”
“Let me try it differently – I caught something I thought myself immune to”, Bandit stutters his way through what feels like yet another set of incomprehensible sentences, “and now I have to decide -”
“I keep all my shots updated, you know. So if it’s something like -”
“Håvard. I think I like you.” Once again, they stare at each other. “And if you say something like ‘I’d bloody well hope so’, I’m going to kick you in the shins.”
Oh.
Oh.
What he caught were feelings, not a disease. He really should choose better metaphors the next time he breaks it to someone that they’re over. “Well, uh, it was nice knowing you.”
Bandit has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Shut up. You can’t pretend this comes as a shock, not after the past months.”
Whoa – what is he talking about? “What are you talking about?”
“Do you really – okay, I’ll break it down for you. We’ve both done this enough times to know how it goes. We get something out of it and once one or both don’t feel like they’re getting enough anymore, we end it. Simple as that, right?” Ace nods, confused where Bandit is going with this. No feelings might not have been mentioned but only because it was obviously superfluous to do so – they’re both familiar with the rules. “But how many others have you taken on regular… dates.” He grimaces as if even speaking the word out loud causes him considerable discomfort.
“Are you saying -”
“We went to watch films together. Went out to eat. We went bowling once, do you remember? Just the two of us. You dragged me ice skating where I impressed the shit out of you.”
“Well, it was alright -”
“You were impressed”, Bandit insists. “And not just that. The time you accompanied me to my doctor’s appointment? When we spent the whole night talking about deep shit like our biggest fears and whatnot? Have you done stuff like that with the others? Asked them to fix a shelf in your flat? Went grocery shopping together? You have to admit, that bullshit just reeks ‘domestic’.”
Ace frowns and starts pacing up and down while idly contemplating how much Warden makes to afford a bathroom large enough to pace up and down in. “I mean, you’re right, I didn’t do all that with -”
“Any of it.”
“Yeah. Not any of it. But you’re my first friend with benefits, you know, so I figured it was all just part of it.”
Bandit scoffs. “Your first?”
“Oh yeah”, Ace agrees and starts counting on his fingers, “I’ve had fuck buddies, booty callers, prom Queens and Kings – prom for promiscuous, you know -”
“Please stop.”
“But you’re the first I’d call a friend with benefits. And friends would do all that shit together, no?”
He expects more resistance, but Bandit merely shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m no good at this either, that’s why I said I think. All I know is that I feel different about you than pretty much anyone before – it’s weird to explain, but with you, it’s all focused on the positive. I’m not scared of you leaving me, I look forward to seeing you instead. I don’t dread a future without you, but I enjoy being with you in the moment. It’s oddly easy to talk to you about personal shit.”
Bandit might as well be talking about Ace’s inner workings, with how much he can relate to everything he’s saying. Even so, he feels like the leap Bandit made to come to this conclusion is a little too much. “Maybe we’re just really good friends.”
“I don’t wanna fuck my friends.” Bandit sighs and stuffs his dirty clothes in the bag he brought, looking dissatisfied. “Well, think about it. I’m not looking for any kind of answer from you, just… tell me what you think. How you feel. Okay?”
This is the moment Ace begins to process the ramifications of what just happened. Somehow, Bandit’s defeated attitude and brave acceptance of his reaction hammers it home that things will never be the same between them, now that they’re on uneven footing, and Ace will never un-hear what he just heard. With his confession, Bandit changed the very nature of what they are, and Ace can’t even begin to imagine how to address this. Picturing the two of them as something more than what they are now, being dedicated to each other, allowing Bandit to become a significant part of his life fills him with …
… with delight, if he’s honest.
It doesn’t sound like much would change, they don’t sleep with anyone else as it is, they hang out on weekends and whenever they have time, really, and all Ace’s mind provides is: now I can have him pet my hair whenever I want.
A second later, another realisation: this just might be the alcohol talking. Only now does he notice his light-headedness and increased heart rate, how his reckless thoughts are threatening to be blurted out any moment, and he’s uncomfortably warm. Aruni really must’ve meant well with those long drinks.
Regardless of what it is that entices him to relent, even just a little, he can’t stop himself from asking: “So what you’re telling me is that you wanna do all that gay shit couples do? Call you ‘honey’ in person? Buy you chocolates?”
Bandit’s lips twitch. He must’ve noticed Ace’s mood change since he doesn’t look as gloomy as he did before. “Absolutely. We’ll get matching outfits, you and I.”
They both make a gagging noise and have to laugh right after, glad to be on the same page. “Don’t go soft on me. If you bring up the l-word, I will scream.”
“Believe me, I couldn’t if I tried.” Bandit nods in the direction of the medicine cabinet and unlocks the door. “You sate your curiosity and I’ll go and greet the other guests. If you need me, you know where I am.”
“My third superpower”, Ace mumbles to himself as Bandit walks down the hallway to get back downstairs. Despite his openness to Bandit’s revelation, he’s left vaguely disoriented – it’s so unlike the other man to even suggest a more serious connection after both of them have vehemently expressed their distaste for it several times. And then he introduced it so oddly, as if he was trying to play it off as a joke at first but found himself in a much heavier situation instead, like it was unexpected even for him.
Of course, this is Bandit. Alluding to a grave topic inappropriately wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him.
While Ace ponders how exactly Bandit reached his conclusion and what made him approach Ace about it, he gives the contents of the cabinets above and below the sink a cursory once-over: nothing interesting, sadly, except for an above-average amount of painkillers, but it’s to be expected in their line of work. He was hoping for something more glamorous, more in line with the wild cocktail of drugs stockpiled in Jackal’s bathroom, obtained with the hope of curing his insomnia, or the small bottle of pills tucked away in IQ’s -
Uproarious laughter, muffled by a door and the thick rug overgrowing the corridor, echoes on the upper floor, catching Ace’s attention. He decides to abandon his current quest and steps outside, only to raise his brows the moment he recognises one of the voices.
It’s Wamai. Of all people, it’s his painfully sincere colleague who sneaked away from the party to actually have fun, the Wamai who is terrified of overstepping any and all boundaries as long as it’s not about him talking endlessly until the listener drops dead. Well, he’ll be damned.
Feeling weirdly responsible, Ace strides down the hall until he arrives at the source of the noise and bursts into the room unannounced, not even sure what he expected. But he could’ve guessed a century and the view with which he’s confronted wouldn’t be among it.
Looking comically caught, it’s Wamai, Valkyrie and Blackbeard sitting in a very large bathtub together, all of them fully clothed and each holding their own bottle of wine, with no glasses in sight. Valkyrie’s make-up is smeared, Blackbeard's signature beard is full of bubbles – because of course it’s a bubble bath, what else would it be –, and Wamai is showing the most earnest smile Ace has ever seen on his face. On top of that, the copious bubbles doing their best to escape the overflowing tub are a beautiful light pink.
The four of them just gape at each other for a few seconds.
“We can explain”, Valkyrie breaks the silence, to which the other two burst into laughter. “I accidentally poured red wine all over Craig’s crotch.”
“That explanation doesn’t help”, Ace informs her.
“It was all over, really”, Blackbeard corrects her, “so we wanted to wash it out. And I thought it made more sense to wash it out with me still in it, so I don’t spread the stains.”
“And then …” She gestures vaguely at their current state, which somehow ends up being both too little and too much information.
“I’m just celebrating my loss”, Wamai chimes in and takes another long swig from the classy white which is being poured out in tasteful quantities a floor below.
Wait.
“Your loss?”, Ace parrots. “Was there some kind of exercise today?”
“The swimming competition”, Blackbeard reminds him helpfully. “And this guy lost, can you believe it?”
The foundation of Ace’s world view cracks a little bit. “Say what now?”
“I lost”, Wamai confirms, still beaming. “It was a refreshing experience.”
Wordlessly, Ace closes the door again and separates himself from the three soaked operators.
Something is going on today.
He stomps down the stairs and decides he’s not drunk enough for this nonsense, so he heads towards the sterile kitchen which looks like anyone who’d dare try to cook in it will be beheaded, thoughts racing through his head. Did anyone poison the food? Why is absolutely everyone so fucking weird? First, it was Bandit’s strange message, then Kali suddenly wanting to show off on Instagram, then Bandit says… all of what he said, and now Wamai lost a physical challenge? Involving swimming?? This is insanity, if he wasn’t pleasantly tipsy by this point, he’d be going crazy. And in all of this, there’s just a single person who hasn’t been a Twilight zone version of themselves.
“Everything alright?”, asks Aruni as he enters the marble hellscape of Warden’s kitchen. His tower of strength. A bastion of calm. The balm for his soul. Unwavering, consistent, reliable Aruni, currently doing normal Aruni things like conversing with Thermite and sipping on a blood red drink, at home in her skin. He might’ve kissed her if it wasn’t for the conspicuous marks on both her cheeks now, courtesy of Kali, no doubt.
“The world has descended into madness”, he replies gravely and relieves her of the very liquid promising to soothe his nerves. It’s tart and bitter with a fruity note, the perfect mix to clear his thoughts for a second before causing his head to fog up yet again. He’s well aware she favours strong cocktails and this one doesn’t taste like an exception.
“Maybe lay off the booze for a bit”, Thermite butts in, unasked, and receives a withering glare from Ace after which he excuses himself. At least the man knows when he’s unwanted.
“Apha, dearest”, Ace starts and has no clue how to proceed. It’s not like she has all the answers, let alone some of them – but there might be a topic with which she can help nonetheless. “How do I know if I like someone?”
Once again, her head tilts curiously. “What do you mean?”
“You know …” He gestures weakly. There’s no way he’s going to give her any details, or even admit to not being averse to imagining something serious with another human being. Either she’s going to get it without any context, or he’ll run off and distract himself by stalking Kali’s new account.
“Oh.” Seems like his fate is decided. “I see, yes. Let me think.” While Aruni takes her sweet time contemplating the very meaning of existence, Ace stands awkwardly as he’s afraid to lean against any of the furniture, and downs her drink in thirsty gulps. He can feel his cheeks warming up and his grasp on reality fading, and with every passing second, he regrets more not having kissed Bandit once this entire day. “Some might say ‘you just know’, but I don’t believe that’s the case, it’s different for everyone.”
“So you can’t help me either?”
Her dark eyes flash for a second. “Well. Why don’t you ask yourself the question of why it’s suddenly important to you?”
Huh. Why doesn’t he?
It’s a valid point – he’s never given it much thought before, never even considered it with anyone else, and maybe that is the crux of the matter. The fact he’s occupying himself with the question at all implies a whole lot already, and it might just be the very answer he’s looking for.
Going by how Bandit explained himself, Ace feels exactly the same. They tend to prefer each other’s company no matter the context, they spend as much time together as possible and if he’s honest, he misses Bandit when he’s not around. Somehow. As wild as it sounds, especially with how prickly both of them were at first. But the one thing which finally convinces Ace is … it’s not even a turn off. Far from it. All he thinks about is how he might be able to rope Bandit into all the weird shit in bed Ace has never dared to get into, and it’s all obvious from there.
“I gotta go”, he tells an amused-looking Aruni, “I have a confession to accept.” She takes her glass back, now devoid of any content, and once again he’s grateful for her presence – she would never go behind his back or turn weird from one day to the next. Everyone else, but not her.
Weaving between the steadily increasing amount of party guests is a piece of cake, and stealing a piece of bread from Ash’s plate as he passes her even more so. The pulsating beat has picked up tempo over time and emphasises the active atmosphere of the get-together, conversations have become louder with growing alcohol consumption, and somewhere, the sound of shattered glass is followed by whooping. Direct sunlight has been replaced by multicoloured LEDs and mood lighting, and the urge to simply lose himself in the music, to bob along and shut off his brain is rising in Ace. Moderately inebriated by now, he wants to do something with his body, whether it’s dancing or hugging somebody.
And he has someone specific in mind.
He passes Kali proudly showing off newly acquired followers as well as copious compliments, apparently trying to convince Zofia to take a few selfies with her – a good choice, she is extremely attractive in a different way compared to Kali, so they wouldn’t steal each other’s limelight. The birthday boy himself – and Ace vaguely remembers this being a belated party, since Warden has real friends too, somewhere – is playing Poker at a tiny garden table and Ace is not at all surprised to see a massive pile of pennies in front of Ying. Out on the lawn, Nomad is trying to take long exposure shots of Ela waving some sparklers around which she must’ve plucked off the birthday cake.
Behind the garden shed, Bandit and Hibana are sharing a smoke, hastily hiding the cigarette like naughty children until they identify Ace. “This really is your superpower”, says Bandit and fistbumps Hibana before she retreats to allow them some privacy. “Got anything juicy for me?”
“Only inferred. Have you noticed who’s absent and should be here?”
The tip lights up in a fiery orange as Bandit thinks. “I know Miles cancelled. A few others weren’t invited at all – Collinn might have a mansion but not enough space for upwards of fifty people.”
“César was meant to attend, too.”
A shrug. “Could be a coincidence.”
“Could be a coincidence that they hang around each other all the time, sure.”
“We do that.”
“Yeah, but we’re …” Ace trails off.
Bandit is watching him intently, eyes reflecting the changing brightness from the pulsating outdoor lights illuminating the garden. Ace would really like to kiss him right now. And though he’s very clear on the idea he wants to convey with words, he’s lacking the tools to do so – should it be a grand gesture? Is this meant to be a big thing? Would Bandit be offended if he didn’t make a big deal out of it? Ace chews on his lip, pensive, and eventually blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, because he is, after all, still drunk: “I’m the same.”
Bandit tilts his head, and it hits Ace like a truck why he does it – because while he’s seen the other man do this gesture before, he remembers a time when he didn’t, and he’s fairly sure it started because Ace told him how adorable he finds it when Aruni does it. It evokes the notion that at least one of them has been embarrassingly blind. Though it’s likely both. “The same as Miles and César?”
“No, not the same as bloody Miles and César, come on!”, he complains, impatient. “Like you. What you said. Earlier, you know? Do you know what I mean?”
“I’m not sure.”
At this point, Bandit has to be teasing because he’s grinning like an idiot. “Look, I’m not gonna say it. You can’t make me.”
“Say what, hm?” Bandit draws him in as he mock struggles, one arm slung around his waist, the other tossing the smoke to the ground.
“No. Stop it.”
“I’m afraid you’ll just have to come out and say it, babe.”
“Never.” And then he notices it: the hand which has crept up his body until it’s reached his head, the hand which now fans out on his scalp, gently drags fingertips across it, runs through his hair. He instantly turns into putty, melts under the almost orgasmic feeling and fears he might start drooling any second now. The touch is light, yet present enough to make him close his eyes and sigh in contentment; to ensure he doesn’t keel over, he leans into Bandit, breathes in the mix of smoke and sweat and faint cologne.
“Do it”, Bandit mutters, and it seems like he doesn’t have a choice, so he replies just as quietly: “I think I like you too.”
A ticklish beard brushes over his ear and lips press against his temple. This kind of proximity would normally be arousing and while there’s certainly an erotic tint to it, it’s mostly just… warm. Reassuring. And also almost too much. Saying yes to Bandit entails a whole bunch of responsibilities and expectations, and on top of that, it reveals Ace’s most secret thoughts and fears. Like this, nestled in Bandit’s embrace, he feels as protected as he does vulnerable. He’ll have to get used to it. It’ll take time.
He’s yanked back to reality by three words, each syllable sending what feels like an electric shock through his body and feeding his anticipation of what’s to come between the two of them. Right into his ear, Bandit whispers: “Well done, pet.” And this time, it’s loaded with sexual energy.
Ace’s knees almost give in and wow – Bandit has always had a special kind of impact on him, but never as vicious as this. Seems like this might be yet another perk of choosing him. “You’re coming over after this, right?”, he asks, voice uneven and not hiding the hopeful undertone.
His questions earns him a dark chuckle and another smooch to his hairline before he’s released again, both from the hug and from the brief spell. “Of course. Don’t think that just because we’re together now, I’ll go easy on you.”
“Good.” On impulse, Ace reaches out and takes Bandit’s hand, laces their fingers together as if they’d done it a thousand times before, and then falls into a brief crisis. Again.
Because this? This feels painfully intimate. Their embrace just now is somehow nothing against this simple touch.
Silently, they stare at their hands for a few seconds and Ace is relieved to witness Bandit’s face turn as bright red as his own.
“I, uh”, Bandit starts aimlessly, “I, I got invited to play Poker with the others. I should go.” He squeezes Ace’s hand and Ace vows to never look the other man in the eyes ever again.
“Yes. That sounds like a good idea”, he replies evenly.
Neither of them move.
It takes a loud crash almost a minute later for them to separate, and they do so extremely awkwardly while avoiding eye contact until only Ace is left, cursing at himself for being so incredibly terrible at all of it.
He wanders back inside, off balance, and stumbles over Wamai, Valkyrie and Blackbeard – now changed into different sets of clothes, with Valkyrie’s sweater being noticeably too big and Wamai showing plenty of ankle – huddling together with other Americans to conspire about who knows what. Goyo finally shows his face peeking out of a dark turtleneck and if that isn’t suspicious Ace is going to eat his own foot, and then he’s suddenly back in Aruni’s company. As always, they simply find each other in large crowds, probably because they’re equally uncomfortable with them – Ace just hides it better. They allow the flow to take them for a brief distance before they’re loaded off in a quiet corner, and so they inevitably end up back together.
“I am a changed man”, Ace announces proudly and doesn’t even question why Aruni is holding two bottles of beer when she so readily passes one to him. “Most of all, I am a taken man.”
“Congratulations”, she wishes him without any hint of irony, and this is why she’s always been his favourite. “Is that what Dominic’s message earlier was about?”
He scoffs. “Please don’t act like that connection was a perfectly reasonable one. Who confesses like that?!”
“Can’t say I’m not surprised”, she admits with a smile. “I never thought the day would come when someone steals your heart for good.”
“Me too. Though to be fair, I am quite drunk, and knowing me, it influenced my decision somewhat.” They toast with a gentle clink of dark brown glass on glass and take a few generous sips. “Today has been a weird day, not gonna lie. Everyone is just… odd.”
And then Aruni destroys the space-time-continuum, pulls out the rug from under Ace, shell-shocks and dumbfounds and flabbergasts him with an inane, with a seemingly innocent question: “Maybe it’s to do with today being the first of April?”
He very nearly drops the beer. He very nearly yells something obscene in his mother tongue, which wouldn’t make anyone present bat an eye but earn him several days of being grounded if he ever said it around his mum. He wants to slap his own forehead so hard he gives himself a concussion.
Jesus fucking Christ. This explains everything. “Apha”, he bursts out, “this explains everything.”
She merely raises a brow. “Does it?”
“How was I so stupid?! I will be right back, but there’s a few people I have to talk to.” And off he storms, to the first of several offenders. Culprits. Miscreants.
For some reason, Kali doesn’t seem thrilled to be graced with his presence and greets him with a fearsome scowl. “Your stupid fucking asshole app”, she snaps and taps her phone screen angrily. “Look at the ridiculous messages I’ve gotten!”
What little Ace can read while she emphasises the subsequent curses with expressive gestures falls in line with what he’s heard from other people using Instagram, especially women. nice tits, is the top conversation (and though he has to agree – not cool, dude), while the one below goes a step further and daringly asks: show bobs. There are a few which are simply repulsive and the odd encouraging one, but overall he can conclude that the male faction who noticed Kali’s profile approves of her appearance. In, well, questionable ways.
“How do I find out where they live?”, Kali rants on. “With some, I’ll just tell their mother, but this scum for example deserves a personal visit.”
“It’s okay”, Ace reassures her calmly. “I know what’s going on, Apha reminded me. You can stop.”
Kali isn’t even listening to him. “Look at this pitiful worm, does he even know who I am?! I could kill him with my little finger, easily. Is this how he talks to women?”
“Look, I know this is an April Fool’s prank, you don’t have to keep this up”, he repeats and is met with a blank look.
“What? No. I didn’t even know the date, don’t be an idiot. Now help me find out where these assholes live so I can kick some sense into them. Pigs!”
Alright.
There are two options: Kali is a much better actor than he was aware, or this really is not a prank. And he vividly remembers the last time Kali had to pretend to not mind someone’s presence. Gagging noises was the least of it.
Mentally reeling from the rollercoaster of ‘what is going on’ to ‘I finally know what’s going on’ to ‘okay turns out I have no idea after all’, he helps Kali delete her account and uninstall the app, before he seeks out the second person on the list, currently occupied with building a house of cards out of business cards. The names and listed positions on some of them have Ace wonder whether this qualifies as a security breach of some kind, but as long as Warden doesn’t notice, it’ll surely be fine. Right?
“Okay”, he announces his presence and almost makes Wamai destroy his creation by jumping. “That competition.”
“It is humbling, really”, comes the excited response. “To be shown where one’s personal limitations lie is a special kind of freeing. I’d grown complacent and lazy in my efforts, but today serves as a sharp reminder that I still have a long way to go – but I can’t let it demotivate me, rather the opposite. I’ve seen what’s possible and it drives me to imitate and eventually surpass. And now that I know this kind of defeat motivates me, I’ll never hesitate again to seek it out in order to improve every aspect of my being, until I can -”
“It’s a joke, right?”, Ace interrupts him.
Wamai blinks up at him, confused. “What is?”
“That you lost. You don’t lose. You don’t even know how.”
“Oh, I assure you – I lost. I asked Craig to send me the footage, if you’re not convinced.” And he whips out his phone to do exactly that. Together, they witness Valkyrie overtaking him and narrowly coming first, laughing in triumph and high-fiving Wamai in a gesture of good sportsmanship.
As much as Ace wants to refute the validity of the video, he… can’t. There’s no way either of them would go to these lengths for a prank.
“I apologise if I’ve disappointed you, but she’s simply better.”
“No, you’re good, don’t worry about it.” He pats Wamai’s shoulders in support. “You’ll get her next time.”
A nod. “I’ll do my best. But even then I can’t promise anything, since unforeseen circumstances could lead to decreased performance, and it’d be out of my hands – that is, unless there’s a higher power watching over us, all-seeing, who might be familiar with my past transgressions and who -”
Ace hastily retreats before he’s drawn into yet another debate with Wamai – which is fine when he’s got the time for it, but not fine when he’s being hit with the realisation that the last person he has to interrogate could thoroughly ruin his day… and possibly significant parts of his life. And not only is this person known for playing pranks, but they’ve also behaved quite differently to normal today and okay, yes, it’s Bandit, and dread is pooling low in Ace’s stomach when he thinks about being the butt of this particular joke.
Not that he expects to be, if he’s honest, he doesn’t think Bandit would toy with his emotions, not like this – it felt genuine, his confusion authentic, his confession sincere. Still. There’s a certain turn of events Ace would like to eliminate.
Surprisingly enough, Bandit was allowed to join the Poker table, and Ace can already spot one of the cards referring to his callsign sticking out of Bandit’s shoe from a mile away. Normally, he’d either shoot him a message on his phone to determine a meeting point, or he’d ask him to excuse himself for a moment so they can talk in private, but the alcohol still coursing through his veins emboldens him. If he’s going to humiliate himself, or rather: if he’s going to force Bandit to humiliate Ace, it shall happen before an audience so Ace can cry about it afterwards and receive plenty of support. Attention has always been the best band-aid, in his experience.
Therefore, instead of preserving at least some mystery as to his affiliation with the infamous German (though he’s sure there’s plenty of gossip about them going around, he’s 80% sure Twitch caught him in the hallway of that Moroccan hotel once), he walks right up to him and his tablemates and asks: “It’s not an April Fool’s, right?”
All eyes are on him. A few people around them turn in their direction, expectant.
But what constricts Ace’s chest isn’t being the sudden centre of attention, it’s the carefully neutral expression Bandit wears. His brows rise in a silent question, to which Ace nods almost imperceptibly. He should know what he means – it’s the most important topic they’ve addressed today.
“No”, says Bandit.
It’s not enough for Ace. “And it’s not that it started out as one and somehow changed its meaning over its course? It was never meant to be a prank in the first place? Not even the first thing?”
“No”, Bandit repeats firmly. “I promise you.”
He wouldn’t act this way if he was lying. Admittedly, he’s got an excellent poker face but only shows it when he has something to hide – and Ace doesn’t think he does, not after he’s been so open with him all day. His choice of metaphors may be debatable, but he’s indeed serious about the two of them. About Ace. Even so, there’s a tiny, tiny voice nagging at Ace still, asking him why Bandit of all people wouldn’t know that today -
“That said, I did set every single one of your personalised ringtones to porn star moaning, so have fun with that.”
Ah. There we go.
Ace has never been so relieved to hear that he’s been had in his life. “Idiot”, he accuses with gusto, making Bandit laugh, and then finally does what he’s been waiting for all evening.
Bandit tastes delicious, courtesy of the colourful cocktail by his elbow, no doubt. His lips and tongue are cool against Ace’s, greeting his own gently and inviting them to linger. They could go on for hours – they have in the past – but both of them have other matters to attend to, so they keep the kiss brief. Nonetheless, Bandit nips at his lower lip before they part, a promise of what’s to come later tonight, and Ace flashes him a quick grin in response. It might not have been the most exciting make out session or even anything close, but it’s worth it just to see the faces around them.
“Good luck with the game, honey”, Ace wishes his boyfriend who returns a wink.
“Thanks, pet.”
With that, he makes his exit. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic and he only wishes he had a cape fluttering behind him – no doubt Bandit will tell him later how it went, what questions he got asked – if any – and who looked particularly interested; they often do a recap of events they both attended, talking about their own experiences and sharing their thoughts… and thinking about it, it is a bit odd it took them this long to notice something was up.
Ace doesn’t figure that most friends with benefits basically move in with each other.
Filled with nothing but joyous anticipation for the rest of the night, he hums along to the music and exchanges a few pleasantries with the other guests until, once again, fate causes him to collide with his like-minded friend. Aruni’s cheeks are pinkish and she’s lost her long-sleeved shirt somewhere, allowing her to show off her muscles and the prosthetic which to Ace seems as real as her other arm at this point. She must feel comfortable in their current company and this realisation, too, adds to Ace’s good mood. They talk about the party, some of the entertaining scenes they witnessed, and end up on the same sofa as right in the beginning: Ace on the cushion, knees up, and Aruni on the armrest, legs crossed.
“Håvard, can I ask you something?”, she wants to know out of the blue, eyeing him attentively.
He can tell it’s something which has been weighing on her mind for a while. “Of course. Always.”
“You don’t have to answer, and I feel a bit… awkward asking it, but I’m too curious.” She takes a deep breath and he mentally steels himself. This is it – this has to be it. It’s going to be something exceedingly weird, because she’s literally been the only normal one today. But whatever he thought she might ask, what eventually comes out of her mind isn’t it. “… how come you never flirted with me?”
… huh? He stares at her, uncomprehending. “You’re kidding, right?”
Aruni’s blush deepens and she averts her gaze. “No, I just… you try with almost everyone, but I noticed -”
“Apha.” He doesn’t even feel bad for interrupting her, because she should not go down that line of thought. “Apha, listen to me. You are so fucking far out of my league. I’d embarrass myself if I tried.”
“Oh”, she says quietly. “… I mean, it’s not true, but now I feel foolish.”
This is when he belatedly understands where she’s coming from. Reasonable, independent, badass Aruni is still a human being. And it hurts to not be perceived as attractive in any way, and she might think – she’d be wrong, but she might think it regardless – that her appearance would make her unappealing somehow. “Listen. You’re a gorgeous woman and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, especially not yourself.”
“You don’t have to -”
“I worship the ground you walk on, you’re radiant and lovely and everyone who catches sight of you is lucky to be -”
“Stop, stop”, she waves him off, laughing in embarrassment. “Thank you, that’s… I appreciate it.”
“Does you asking this mean… there’s a chance?”, he jokes with a cheesy grin, to which she shakes her head, amused.
“Absolutely not, I’m afraid. Sorry. Besides, I thought you were in a committed relationship as of today?”
“Oh, you’re right”, he relents. “Man, I hope I don’t regret this when I’ve sobered up tomorrow.”
To this, Aruni’s face lightens up considerably. “No, I don’t think you will”, she retorts with confidence. “None of the drinks I gave you contained any alcohol after all. April Fool’s!”
And with a last mischievous smile, she hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd, leaving him to stare after her, open-mouthed.
So much for her never betraying him.
The little brat.