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Ace sits in his room, looking up at the blank white walls. Like an asylum. He dreads staying in his own house. If he had the choice, he would be out and about. But what could he do? Old, sober, senile. He has nothing going for him now.
He looks back on the old times. Back when he was young, ripe, and drunk out of his wits all the time. He wishes he didn’t drink so much. Those old times are so hazy. There are months upon years that are nothing but blur. He didn’t have the mercy of hindsight. Or logic at all.
There are moments that stand out, though. He can remember every detail. Every sight, every smell, every sound. They were the best moments of his life. Conveniently, they were spent alone with…
His first love. The first person that he can say he truly loved. Ace feels a twinge of pain in his heart. Those are the most clear memories he has. He was so attentive, so sober. Just one look in those eyes could flush out all the drugs and alcohol in his body.
Ace feels pitiful. Normally people don’t do this. Every time he’s alone in solitude, he starts thinking about them. For a man living life without regrets, this weighs awfully heavy on him. Ace remembers their big brown eyes. Their strong brow bone and thick brows. Their nose that caught the light in the most perfect ways. Their lips, red and soft like rose petals.
Ace also remembers the venomous words they would spit at him. Their voice, like angels calling from heaven, he would hear in his dreams. Useless, lazy, weird.
Oh, but Ace misses him. Paul Stanley: the man he so hates. The man he wouldn’t work with again if he was threatened with waterboarding. He’d done that before. Such an awful experience, he recalls.
The good memories outweigh the bad. The good memories are so good. Back when the two were in their prime. Back before Paul saw success—tasted it with a smile. Back before the taste turned bitter, and he turned bitter. Back before he started looking at everything and everyone with hatred.
He used to look at Ace with love. Ace doesn’t remember when it started exactly, but he remembers what followed. The concerts, the dressing room visits, the makeup, the hotel parties. Every moment he spent with Paul felt like an eternity of joy.
As much as Ace doesn’t want to admit it, he misses it. He doesn’t miss Paul necessarily. He doesn’t miss the person Paul’s become. Petty, bitter, old. Ace would be a hypocrite to say he isn’t the same. But, god, at least Ace didn’t go on tangents in a book.
Ace misses the way Paul used to be. So passionate. His smile could send Ace’s heart soaring like a rocket. And his laugh—god. Paul would laugh at Ace all the time. He deserved it—Ace was always doing something weird or stupid. Paul found it charming somehow. How in hell did Ace possibly charm him?
In Ace’s eyes, Paul was perfect. Not another soul in the world could be like his. Ace recalls times when he would be on stage, drunk and out of his mind. He would move his hands and his guitar would make noise, and that’s all that mattered. But when he caught a glimpse of Paul under those stage lights, performing at his best, Ace would stare.
He would stare for so long. Sobered, entranced. Seeing Paul in front of that microphone is its own kind of trip. He would mess up his parts—that would force him to focus again. After the show would be over, Paul would scold him for his performance, blaming the alcohol. The alcohol was part of it—he won’t lie.
Even when being reprimanded, Ace thought Paul’s scowling face was perfect. He could kiss him a million times and still not be satisfied.
To this day, Ace is still not satisfied. Mr. “No Regrets.”
He said that to Paul once. He can remember it so clearly.
“I have no regrets.”
The smirk on his face was confident. He said that in passing—didn’t put much thought into it, really. He never put thought into whatever words he let tumble out of his mouth.
“No regrets?” Paul smiled at him and repeated his words, obviously not believing it. “I don’t think anyone lives without regrets, in one way or another.”
Ace shrugged. “You’re probably right. I just can’t think of any significant ones.”
Paul leaned closer, looking up into his eyes like he could see through his soul. He misses being looked at like that. Paul could easily kill him with a glance.
“Do you regret having drunk so much the night before the Nashville concert? You almost passed out on that stage.”
Ace grinned—a shit-eating grin. He knew the answer. “No. In fact, that was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that?”
“Because you pulled my arm over your shoulder and helped me walk to the hotel.”
Then, Paul laughed. Ace remembers the very cadence. His laughs were like their own songs. He could listen to it for hours.
Ace spoke up again. “You know—I can think of something I regret a lot.”
“What’s that?”
He could see anticipation in Paul’s words. Nobody would look at him like that. Paul would hang onto his every word and listen attentively for any new ones. That alone made Ace’s head spin. He ended up saying a lot of stupid shit, just because he could.
This conversation was no different. His response was so, so stupid.
“I regret not meeting you sooner.”
Ace gets embarrassed by the memory. It was so corny. But he doesn’t regret it—just because of Paul’s response.
Paul smiled at him. “So ungrateful.” Then, he took Ace’s hand. He remembers the tingles it gave him. It was electric. “I’m glad to have met you at all. Could’ve been ten years ago, could’ve been yesterday. I think I would’ve fallen in love all the same.”
Ace remembers more—so much more—but that one stood out the most. He snaps back into reality. In front of him are the plain white walls. He takes a shaky breath. In that moment, he feels the tears on his face. He’s crying.
Paul was so tender. He would’ve wiped away any tear that fell. He would take Ace’s hand and promise him a lifetime of happiness and then some. What changed?
Ace knows it’s his fault. If he hadn’t been so drunk, stupid, greedy… Where would he be today? Would he still be in KISS? Would Paul’s love still have run dry?
Would he still be with Paul?
He doesn’t want to think about it. That’s what he does with all of his regrets—doesn’t think about it.