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The city streets were slick with rain, the glow of streetlights casting pale reflections over the pavement. Polaris walked with their arms tucked close to their chest, the chill biting at their exposed metalic fingers despite their gloves. It wasn’t often they found themselves out this late, but duty—or, more accurately, a favor for a fellow cp9 coworker—had led them to this part of town. The quiet hum of the street, distant and muffled by the rain, should have been calming. But something gnawed at the edges of their thoughts, a feeling they couldn’t quite shake.
And then, they saw him.
Ace was sitting on the curb, his head bowed, wet hair clinging to his forehead. His usual open vest and shorts—clothes that suited the heat of a summer day—were utterly useless against the cold. He looked miserable, arms wrapped around his torso, legs stretched out in front of him. The ASCE tattoo on his arm glistened with rainwater, droplets trailing down his skin like tiny rivers. He wasn’t even shivering anymore, which was probably a terrible sign.
Polaris stopped in their tracks, breath catching in their throat.
Oh.
Oh no.
Somewhere in the depths of their memory, they recalled a drunken, half-slurred confession from Ace at the wedding—something about not having a place to stay, about drifting from place to place with no real home. At the time, it had been easy to laugh it off, to assume he had somewhere to go. That he had to have somewhere to go.
But now?
Now he was sitting on the side of the street, soaking wet, and clearly too proud—or too stubborn—to do anything about it.
“Ace?” Polaris’ voice came out smaller than they expected, hesitant, uncertain.
The man in question cracked one eye open, blearily blinking up at them. He squinted, like he wasn’t entirely sure they were real. Then, after a long pause, he gave them a weak grin. “Polr Bear… what’re you doin’ out here?” His voice was hoarse, and the slurring was only partially from exhaustion rather than alcohol this time.
Polaris stared. “What—what are you doing out here?”
Ace laughed—a scratchy, barely-there sound. “Uh. Sittin’.”
Polaris pinched the bridge of their nose. “Ace.”
“…Y’know, you’re real nice for stopping,” Ace mused, as though they’d just bumped into each other at a café and not on the street where he was very clearly about to get hypothermia. “Most people’d just keep walkin’.”
“Well, I’m not most people,” Polaris said, more exasperated than anything else, but the gears in their chest twisted uncomfortably.
Ace just smiled at them again, something a little too tired in the curve of his lips. He lifted a hand halfheartedly before letting it drop back to the curb. “Guess not.”
Polaris exhaled sharply, running a hand down their face. The right thing to do was obvious. Painfully, frustratingly obvious.
“…Come with me,” they said finally, already moving to help him up.
Ace blinked at them again, something flickering behind his eyes, but whatever protest he had died on his lips as Polaris grabbed his wrist and hoisted him up.
And just like that, it began.
A slanted gaze, almost playful. “You live here now, I guess.”
A breath. The rain against the window, the distant hum of the city outside. The apartment is small, barely enough space for one person, let alone two, but it’s warm, and it doesn’t leak when it storms. That’s enough. They’re just two idiots in a shoebox of a home playing house, the world outside is too big for them to care.
Polaris sighs, arms crossed as they watch Ace sprawl across their couch like he’s just claimed it as his territory. His bare feet are already on the armrest, damp from the rain, and they fight the urge to scold him. Instead, they press a finger to center of their temple, migraine impeding, and exhale, slow and measured. "I suppose this is fine... for now," they mutter, though there’s no real bite behind it.
Ace grins, stretching like a cat who knows it’s not supposed to be on the counter but refuses to get down. "Hell yeah, Polr Bear! You’re the best landlord ever—don’t even charge me rent." His tone is triumphant, like he’s just gotten away with some great heist.
Polaris pinches the bridge of their nose. "Ace," they start carefully, "I—people usually do pay rent. You know that, right?"
Ace blinks at them, then makes an exaggerated show of scratching his chin, deep in faux thought. "Mmm... yeah, but c'mon! It’s me. And I bring great vibes to this establishment." He waves his hand around like their tiny apartment is some fancy hotel. "Also, uh, you technically never said no when I started staying here, soooo..."
Polaris stares, mouth parting slightly. “You never asked.”
Ace waves them off. "Details."
They’ll argue about that later. Polaris will eventually kick him off the couch, tell him to actually get a blanket instead of just existing as a sentient pile of limbs. Ace will groan dramatically but comply, throwing himself onto the futon in the corner like it’s the end of the world. And at the end of it, after the bickering and the eye rolls, he’ll steal half their food, stretch out in the warmth of their tiny space, and laugh. The city lights will flicker outside, golden and endless, and he’ll say, maybe a little softer this time:
"You’re real damn cool, y’know that?"
Polaris falters, hands tightening around the cup of tea they had made themselves when this whole ordeal started. Their face feels hot, and they aren’t sure what to do with that. "Ah—well... I—thank you, Ace. That’s... kind of you to say." Their voice wavers slightly, but the sincerity is there. They clear their throat, straightening their posture. "I—um. I'm glad I could help. You... shouldn’t have to be out in the rain like that."
Ace watches them, unreadable for just a second, before his usual grin returns. "See? That’s why you’re great." His voice is light, a little tight at the edges, like he doesn't quite know how to receive kindness as he gives it out. but there’s something unmistakably sincere about it. He taps their arm lightly before stretching out across the couch even further, limbs splaying without a care in the world. “You’re, like… really good at this whole ‘helping people’ thing. Even if you try to act all serious about it."
Polaris blinks at him, caught off guard by the sudden weight of his words. “I—well, I wouldn’t say that,” they murmur, shifting in place, hands curling slightly around the edge of their cup. “I just… I don’t like seeing people in trouble.”
Ace huffs out a laugh, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Yeah, yeah. You’re one of those good people, huh?" His voice is teasing, but there's no bite to it—if anything, it sounds oddly thoughtful. "S’why I like ya, Polr Bear. Some people’d just walk past and leave me out there. But you? You let me in. Even when you didn’t have to."
Polaris frowns slightly, glancing toward the window, watching the city lights flicker beyond the glass. "...It just felt like the right thing to do."
Ace hums, tipping his head toward them again, this time with a lazy sort of curiosity. “Yeah? Then why’re you acting all flustered about it?”
Polaris sputters, heat creeping up their neck. “I—! I am not flustered! You’re just…” They gesture vaguely toward him, trying to find the right words. “You say things in a way that makes it difficult to respond.”
Ace lets out a loud laugh, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Man, that’s just ‘cause I’m honest.” He peeks at them from under his arm, grinning. “Bet no one tells you enough how cool you are, huh?”
Polaris’ mouth opens, then shuts. It’s not that they haven’t received praise before—just that… it always feels different when Ace says it, like it actually sticks.
They glance down at their cup, fingers tightening slightly around the ceramic. "...I suppose not."
Ace clicks his tongue, stretching again. "Well, that’s dumb. You’re awesome, and if other people don’t see that, then they’re blind as hell." He sighs dramatically, throwing his arms behind his head. “Good thing I’m here to remind you. Consider it part of my rent.”
Polaris snorts despite themselves, shaking their head. "You don't pay rent, Ace."
“Exactly,” he says, entirely unbothered.
He nudges Polaris’ arm again, then tilts his head. “Hey... you’re not gonna cry again, are you?”
Polaris sputters. “Ace!”
Their laughter will tangle, twist into something comfortable, something inevitable, as Polaris shoves his face away and mumbles about fire hazards and what have I gotten myself into?
That is where it begins, for them. That’s where their lives collide in a mess of late-night nonsense and takeout containers, two people pressed together by circumstance, orbiting the same tiny world.
In Polaris’ head—it’s like that picture. Two dumbasses, hands interlocked, falling and flying at once, spiraling toward something neither of them can name. But never without each other.
The apartment was warm, the soft glow of evening light slipping through the curtains, casting long shadows across the cluttered living room. Polaris had barely made it through the door when Ace, lounging half-upside down on the couch, turned his head and grinned. It was the kind of grin that set off immediate alarm bells in their head. The one that meant he was up to something.
“Soooo,” Ace drawled, stretching the word out as he flipped onto his stomach, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “How’s my favorite little lovebird doing?”
Polaris’ face instantly went hot. “Ace,” they groaned, already regretting stepping foot inside. They kicked off their shoes a little too aggressively and made a beeline for the kitchen, but Ace was faster, effortlessly vaulting over the back of the couch to block their path.
“Oh no, no, no—you don’t just walk in after finally talking to your lil’ crush without giving me details,” Ace teased, eyes alight with mischief. “C’mon, I deserve this! I’ve been suffering watching you stare dramatically into the distance every time Spamdan walked by like some kinda tragic protagonist. And now? Now you’re talking to him?” He clutched his chest dramatically. “My baby’s growing up so fast.”
Polaris smacked a hand against their forehead. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re in looooove,” Ace shot back immediately, voice sing-song and dripping with amusement. “Or, well, at least in something. Which is wild, by the way. That guy? Really?” He shook his head, putting his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. “Like, don’t get me wrong—I’m so happy for you and you guys or whatever, but him?”
Polaris groaned louder. “He’s not ugly.”
Ace raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Like, positive? You’ve seen his face, right?”
Polaris huffed, crossing their arms. “I am not having this conversation with you.”
Ace just grinned wider, slinging an arm around their shoulders and giving them a playful shake. “Nah, nah, I really am happy for you, y’know. Just gotta make sure you’re not out here making questionable life choices.”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Polaris shot back, shoving his arm off as they finally maneuvered their way into the kitchen.
Ace cackled. “I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite!”
And, well. Polaris supposed he had a point.
Polaris hesitated for a moment, then, with the smallest, most lovesick smile, murmured, “…Yeah. It’s going well.”
Ace blinked. “Holy shit, you’re down bad! Look at you! I haven’t seen you make that face since you found that bakery that sold those overpriced little fancy pastries you were obsessed with.”
Polaris swatted at his hands that had tried to grab at their shoulders- no doubt to shake or wrap around- but they couldn’t even bring themselves to be embarrassed. “Shut up,” they huffed, but the words held no real heat. Their face was still warm, still glowing with the lingering happiness of their earlier time spent with Spamdan.
Ace, for all his teasing, softened at the sight of them. He dropped his hands, crossing his arms with a smirk, but his voice was gentler now. “No, but really. That’s good.” He nodded, genuinely pleased. “I’m happy for you, Polar Bear. You deserve it.”
Polaris glanced at him, a little startled by the sudden sincerity, and then smiled, small but grateful. “Thanks, Ace.”
“Of course,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Then, after a beat, he added, “Even if your taste is questionable at best.”
Polaris groaned, shoving at him. “And there it is.”
Ace cackled, dodging out of the way. “Hey, hey, I gotta keep you humble! It’s my job as your beloved, incredibly handsome, perfect best friend.”
Polaris rolled their eyes, but their heart was light, and they let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”
And sometimes the nights start like this;
Ace, too proud, too stubborn, too embarrassed to ask for what he needs, standing awkwardly at the foot of Polaris’ bed in the dead of night. He doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, arms crossed tightly over his chest, shoulders stiff, like if he wills himself still enough, maybe he won’t feel like he’s shaking from the inside out. He looks like a statue—like a man caught in the middle of deciding whether to move forward or run.
Polaris stirs, groggy and blinking blearily, barely processing the shadow of him standing there at first. But then their eye adjusts, and their tired brain catches up with their body, and—oh. He’s not just loitering there for fun.
They don’t ask what’s wrong. They know he’d just brush it off, maybe make some joke, maybe tease them instead to shift the attention away from himself. So, instead, they just push back the blanket and quietly slip out of bed, the cool air biting at their skin. They don’t make a show of it—just step closer and place a hand on his wrist, warm and grounding, before gently tugging him along.
Neither of them speaks as Polaris leads him out to the living room. The couch is lumpy, old, the cushions uneven and flattened in places, but it doesn’t really matter. Ace huffs a little when Polaris plops down beside him, crossing their arms and curling their legs beneath themselves. He flops down more dramatically, legs stretching out, arms crossed behind his head like he’s trying to play it cool, like he just ended up here for no reason at all.
The silence is thick, but not heavy. Polaris grabs the shabbiest blanket they own—too thin to be useful but enough for the moment—and tosses it over the both of them. Ace doesn’t complain. In fact, he barely moves, except for the subtle way his shoulder presses against theirs, the warmth bleeding through the fabric of his shirt. Neither of them comments on it.
Minutes pass, and Ace’s posture slowly loosens, his body unwinding against the couch. His breathing evens out, quieter, softer, until eventually, his head tips ever so slightly toward Polaris’ own. By the time sleep finally takes him, he’s sprawled sideways, half on top of them, one arm hanging off the couch, mouth slightly parted in deep sleep. Polaris, pinned awkwardly beneath him but too exhausted to do anything about it, just sighs, staring at the ceiling.
Morning will come soon enough, and Ace will pretend nothing happened. He’ll get up, stretch, yawn obnoxiously, and pretend he didn’t just spend the night clinging to Polaris like a heat-seeking missile. And Polaris, watching him act as if nothing was out of the ordinary, will just shake their head and let him.