Chapter Text
The thing about stupid ideas is that they never announced themselves as something stupid. Not at first, anyway. They creep up on you disguised as good fun, under the guise of why the hell not? And Ace Trappola, for all his cleverness in seeing through others’ schemes, has an admittedly remarkable blind spot when it comes to his own.
It begins on a ratty old couch in Ramshackle on a Wednesday evening that had no right to be as boring as it was. Midterms are over, the next major event is still weeks away, and the first years have gathered in that aimless way teenagers did when they had energy to burn and nowhere to burn it. Deuce and Yuu had disappeared earlier on a supply run, saying something about going to Sam’s and getting groceries for Ramshackle, leaving the remaining first years to their own devices.
That was, in retrospect, a mistake.
"I'm just saying," Epel drawls, his accent thickening the way it always did when he’s stirring up trouble, "for someone who talks such a big game about being smooth with the ladies, we've never actually seen you in action, y’know?"
Ace glances up from his phone, one eyebrow raised. "That's because unlike some people, I don't need an audience to validate my existence."
"BIG WORDS FROM SOMEONE WHO HAS NEVER PROVEN THEIR CLAIMS!" Sebek’s booming voice causes them all to wince.
"Give me a break. I don't need to prove anything to you losers."
Sebek shoots up from his seat, dramatically pointing a finger at Ace. “LOOK, HE SO READILY ADMITS DEFEAT! MALLEUS-SENPAI IS RIGHT, HUMANS ARE TRULY FICKLE IN THEIR WAYS.”
"As if you aren’t a human too." Ace mutters under his breath.
"It would be interesting to gather data on flirting techniques," Ortho chimes in, floating over from examining the withering potted plant near the fireplace. “I’ve been studying human courtship rituals, but observational data is just too limited! I could hardly get anything from nii-san.”
Jack, who had been trying to study in the corner like a reasonable person concerned for his future, begins packing his things with the air of someone who can see exactly where this is going and wants no part of it. “I’ve got a project due,” he announces.
“I SEE. FLEEING FROM A CHALLENGE, JACK HOWL?”
“It's called having priorities.” Jack is already halfway to the door, his tail swishing in that way that meant he was deeply and utterly done with everyone's nonsense. “Count me out of whatever this is.”
Ace watches him go with a pang of envy. Smart guy, that Jack. Knew when to fold. Too bad Ace has never been particularly smart about these things, especially not when Epel looks at him with that challenging grin that clearly reeks of I dare you.
“So here's what I'm thinking,” Epel says, leaning forward. “Since you're always going on about girls this and girls that, and since we're at a boys' school with no girls anywhere…” He spreads his hands as if presenting an obvious solution. “We test your skills on what's actually available.”
The implications hang in the air for a moment.
“You want me to flirt with a guy,” Ace says flatly.
“Yep!”
“Just walk up to some random dude and lay it on thick.”
“That's the idea!”
“And you'll be watching.”
“Of course! How else are we gonna tell if you’re full of it?” Epel's grin widens. “Unless you're scared.”
There it is. The magic word. The trap sprung with all the subtlety of a bear trap in a hallway, only for Ace to willingly walk right into it because it’s just impossible not to.
Really, the things he’s gotten up to just because he was challenged, especially with these bunch of people, and Deuce. It’s the smugness Deuce radiates whenever he taunts him, and the serious fired-up look he gets in his eye, Ace thinks. It’s beginning to come to a point where he instantly rises to any challenge without truly considering what it entails. Now, Deuce may not be the one sitting opposite him and riling him up this time, but Ace is itching to prove Epel wrong.
"Scared? Oh please." Ace scoffs, even as a small, sensible part of his brain grows frantic. "Fine, I’ll do it."
Ortho cheers. It’s a jarring, almost autotune-like trill that Ace reminds himself never to let Idia-san know. He doesn’t know which sends more chills down his back: Idia-san getting into one of his manic episodes in which he attempts to fix everything remotely strange about Ortho, or Ortho returning from Idia-san’s workstation with a new human-like cheer that’s supposedly more “natural”. He shudders. Both prospects sound equally terrible.
“Here’s the game plan: you’re doing it first thing tomorrow,” Epel decides.
“...are you serious?”
"Very. But you're doing it anyway, aren't you?"
"Obviously." Great, now he’s done it. Ace is officially well past the point where he could’ve said no, called them idiots, brushed the matter off and gone back to doom-scrolling through his Magicam feed. “Whatever. Could be funny.”
As it turns out, the happenings the next day are hardly funny at all.
=====
Realising what a horrifying thing he’s agreed to only when he’d woken up the next day, Ace makes it through the morning classes in a state of mild dread that he refuses to acknowledge as dread. It’s fine! It’s completely fine! Other than the very real possibility that his choice of an unlucky victim might actually gut him, along with his impending loss of reputation. Not that he had much of a good reputation in the first place, having been one of the people to set the earliest track record of almost-expulsion on the very first day of first year.
The plan is simple enough: find some random guy between classes, hit him with his best flirtatious nonsense, and let the others record the fallout for their entertainment. Though Ace’s track records with plans have never been very good.
Lunch period arrives with its usual chaos, the cafeteria a mess of noise and movement, with students flooding the hallways in that brief window of freedom between morning and afternoon classes. Ace had deliberately split off from Deuce after their shared class, mumbling something about needing to grab something from his room. Deuce had given him a weird look but ultimately shrugged it off, and Ace had taken the chance to make his escape quickly.
Now he’s lurking near the main hall, trying to look deceptively casual while also scoping out potential targets. It’s more difficult than Epel made it out to be — most people are in groups.
"Psst."
Ace turns to find his co-conspirators attempting to hide behind a pillar that is, objectively speaking, most definitely too small to hide three people and one… humanoid of sorts. Epel remains crouched behind the base, phone already out. Ortho hovers just low enough to keep the electric-blue of his glow hidden. Sebek... well… he’s trying, which is really all anyone could ask.
"WE ARE IN POSITION," Sebek announces in what he probably thought was a whisper but is in fact just his normal speaking voice with intense eye contact.
"I can see that," Ace hisses back. "Could you be more obvious?"
"I COULD STAND UP AND ANNOUNCE OUR PURPOSE TO THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY." Sebek offers helpfully.
Ace has hardly mustered up something to stop him before seeing someone approaching from the corner of his eye. And so he turns, ready to see the poor unfortunate soul about to become part of this disaster. It’s now or never!
The anticipation is gone in a flash when he spots his victim, replaced by a bubbling unease, because walking down the hallway, weaving through the crowd with that distinctive scowl he wears when people aren't moving fast enough, is none other than Deuce Spade.
Oh no.
Oh hell no.
Multiple thoughts crashes into each other in Ace's head like a multi-car pileup on the highway:
That's Deuce right there.
Of all the people, it’s Deuce.
This is the worst thing I've ever agreed to.
"Ace!" Deuce had spotted him, his expression shifting from general annoyance at the crowd to something more perplexed. "Where'd you run off to? I turned around after class and you were just—"
The words tumble out before he can stop them, propelled by panic and the weight of three pairs of eyes boring into his back and his own stupid inability to back down from a challenge even when that challenge is probably about to ruin his entire life.
"Hey. Looking good, huh… sweetheart?"
The hallway doesn't stop. The world doesn't end. Students keep moving around them like water around stones, completely oblivious to the fact that Ace Trappola has just made a catastrophic error in judgment.
But Deuce stops. Deuce stops completely, his mouth falling open in an expression of such pure, unfiltered confusion that Ace would’ve laughed himself stupid at. If only Ace isn't currently experiencing what he's pretty sure is a minor cardiac event.
From behind the statue, Ace hears Epel make a sound like a dying tea kettle.
Deuce's mouth moves. No sound comes out. His face is doing something complicated, cycling through confusion, realisation, and the early stages of what will probably become a truly spectacular blush all at once.
"What?" Deuce finally manages, and it comes out strangled.
And here, right here, this is the moment. The off-ramp. The chance to laugh it off, to claim it was a joke (which it is, technically), to defuse the situation and move on with their lives like normal people who make good life decisions.
Commit to the bit. Where’s the final punch?
It’s as if someone had put his body on autopilot and directed him to lean against the wall, arms crossed. He thinks he’s doing the smirk justice.
"I said 'hey, sweetheart.'" The words come out smoother than he feels, his voice dropping into something that might be flirtatious if it wasn't for the fact that his heart is trying to escape his chest. "You miss me so much that you came looking?"
The blush hits Deuce's face like a tidal wave, starting at his neck and flooding upward until even his ears are red. Ace has never really paid attention to Deuce's ears before — why would he? But he definitely is now. Apparently they seem really expressive. Good to know. He's filing that away in the mental folder labeled "Information I Will Definitely Not Think About".
"I— you—" Deuce's hands clench and unclench at his sides, and Ace recognises that gesture. It's the same thing Deuce does when he's trying very hard not to punch something, usually Ace. "What are you talking about?"
There's something in Deuce's voice beyond confusion. Something that sounds almost... flustered? No, that can't be right. This is Deuce. Deuce gets angry, gets competitive, gets intense about weird things like magical wheel maintenance and apologising to unborn chicks whenever someone breaks an egg by accident.
Here’s the thing. Deuce does not get flustered. Despite the scarlet tips of his ears and wide eyes, Ace decides to give him the benefit of the doubt so his own heart can be provided with some respite.
"Aww, don't tell me you're getting shy on me now." It’s like he’s lost control of his own mouth. Maybe he has. Maybe this is just who he has become — a person who flirts with his best friend in the school hallway for no good reason. "What happened to all that tough guy energy, huh?"
"You're—" Deuce's voice cracks, actually cracks, and Ace feels something unnamed shift in his chest. Victory, probably. Definitely victory. What else could it be? "Stop messing around!"
"Who says I'm messing around?" Ace hears himself say, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice is screaming WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHAT ARE YOU—
A few other students have started to notice the scene. Whispers ripple through the hallway, people slowing down to watch. Great. Fantastic. It’s exactly what Ace needs.
Like hell.
Deuce suddenly reaches over and grabs Ace's arm with more force than strictly necessary, his grip tight and warm even through Ace's sleeve. "We're gonna be late," he mutters, not making eye contact, already dragging Ace halfway down the hallway. "And you're being really strange. Are you sick? Did you hit your head somewhere? Do you need the infirmary?"
The genuine concern in Deuce's voice makes Ace's stomach twist into complicated knots. This is supposed to be funny. A stupid joke. Why does Deuce have to sound worried? He’s almost beginning to feel bad.
"I'm fine," Ace says, and his voice comes out softer than intended, the bravado leaking out of him like air from a punctured balloon.
"You're acting insane. Even worse than usual."
"Maybe I am." Ace tries to inject some humor back into it, but it falls just a little flat. "Testing the limits of your patience. Seeing how much bullshit you'll put up with before you deck me."
"That's nothing new," Deuce grumbles, but his grip on Ace's arm loosens slightly. He still doesn't let go, though, steering them both through the crowd toward their next class. His hand still feels very much nice and warm. Entirely too distracting, Ace thinks, and he crushes the thought before things could continue further.
They walk in silence for a bit. Students part around them, still whispering, but Deuce seems determined to ignore all of it with the same intensity he brings to everything else.
"Seriously though," Deuce says quietly as they reach their classroom, finally releasing Ace's arm. His fingers linger for just a second, trailing down Ace's sleeve, a ghost of a touch, before pulling away completely. "You okay?"
No, Ace thinks. I just flirted with you in front of half the school for a dare and I’m thinking things I’ve never thought about you. This is a disaster.
"Peachy," Ace says instead, flashing a grin that feels fragile. "Never better."
Deuce looks at him for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes, before finally shaking his head. "You're so weird," he mutters, but there's something almost fond in his voice. “We should head on in. Crewel will be having our heads if we don’t hurry.”
=====
Behind the pillar, the remaining first years are in various states of shock.
"Oh my Seven," Epel breathes, his phone clutched in both hands like a holy relic. The video’s still rolling even after Ace and Deuce have disappeared down a corner in the hallway. "That was—"
"IS THAT DEUCE SPADE?" Sebek has abandoned all pretense of whispering, his voice echoing off walls and garnering stares. "TRAPPOLA CHOSE DEUCE SPADE FOR THIS ENDEAVOR?"
"Shh!" Yuu frantically gestures for quiet, having appeared at some point during the spectacle. They’d been filled in on the plan and had joined the surveillance team with the enthusiasm of someone watching their favorite drama unfold in real-time. "Oh my god, this is— I can't—" They dissolve into helpless laughter, gripping Epel's shoulder for support.
"Recording complete," Ortho announces, his eyes flickering with amusement. "That was fascinating. Did you see how Deuce's physiological responses aligned perfectly with—"
"We saw, Ortho," Epel says, scrambling to pull the video up with shaking hands. "We saw everything. Look at this — look at Ace's face when Deuce grabbed his arm!"
They huddle around the phone, watching the replay. There's Ace, leaning against the wall with that cocky smirk. There's Deuce, red-faced and flustered. There's the moment Deuce grabs Ace's arm and Ace's expression flickers — just for a second — into something that looks almost... soft? Uncertain?
"Huh," Yuu says quietly.
"Right?" Epel looks up. "Did you see—"
"THE DARE IS COMPLETE!" Sebek interrupts, standing up from behind the statue with the air of someone declaring victory. "TRAPPOLA HAS FULFILLED HIS OBLIGATION! THOUGH I MUST NOTE THAT HIS TECHNIQUE WAS HIGHLY IRREGULAR. IN MY STUDIES OF PROPER COURTSHIP—"
"You study courtship?" Yuu asks, momentarily distracted from their revelation.
"OF COURSE! HOW ELSE AM I TO UNDERSTAND THE STRANGE MATING RITUALS OF HUMANS AND THEIR—"
"Okay, but can we talk about how Ace kind of chose Deuce?" Epel cuts in. "Out of everyone in this whole school, he went for Deuce."
"To be fair," Ortho says thoughtfully, "Deuce did approach him first. It may have been opportunistic rather than—"
"Nah." Epel shakes his head, rewinding the video again. "Look at his face. Right here, when he sees Deuce coming. He coulda backed out. Made an excuse or something. But he went right for it.."
They watch in silence as video-Ace's expression shifts from casual to panicked to... something else entirely. Something remotely determined.
"Should we tell them?" Ortho asks, tilting his head curiously.
"TELL THEM WHAT?"
"That the video makes it fairly obvious they both—"
"NO," Yuu and Epel say in unison.
"But—"
"Let them figure it out." Yuu shrugs, their grin turning wicked. "It’s about to get messy."
=====
The thing about having an existential crisis is that life isn’t so kind as to stop to let you have your moment properly. Classes and the abomination called “homework” don’t cease to exist, just as the world keeps spinning with complete disregard for the fact that Ace isn’t doing very well while trying to process several catastrophic revelations at once.
He’s made it through afternoon classes on autopilot, nodding in the right places but barely taking any notes as he sits staring straight ahead. He’s too on edge to sleep in class, even. Deuce continues sitting next to him in their shared classes as if nothing happened.
This should have been a relief.
It isn’t.
Because Ace couldn't stop thinking about it. Deuce’s hand on Ace's arm, warm and solid and lingering just a second too long. And worse, the way Ace had felt when he pushed on and kept the act up. The nervousness, yes, and the panic, but also something else — an aching want, which he refuses to examine too closely.
He fully intends to hide up in his room until he can’t anymore, but the universe, evidently, has other plans. These plans take the form of Epel cornering him in the hallway with a grin that promises nothing good.
"So," Epel begins, drawing out the word like pulled-out taffy. "That was somethin', ain’t it?"
"It sure was." Ace tries to push past him, but each attempt is rendered useless when Epel moves to block him, and he finally resigns himself to his fate. "Can I help you with something, or are you just here to gloat?"
"Oh, I'm definitely here to gloat." Epel waves it off. "But also to ask — why Deuce?"
"He was there," Ace shoots back flatly.
"Uh-huh. Sure. And the way you looked at him was just, what, coincidence?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ace." Epel's expression shifts into something more serious, though the amusement never quite left his eyes. "C'mon. It's me."
And that was the problem, wasn't it? It is Epel, who'd been part of their chaotic group long enough to see through Ace's bullshit with remarkable accuracy. Epel who'd watched Ace and Deuce's friendship develop from mutual annoyance to something… more.
"It was a dare," Ace ends up saying, aiming for a dismissive tone. "That's it."
"Sure," Epel agrees easily. Too easily. "A dare. That's why you're acting like someone hit you over the head with a grimoire."
"I'm fine."
"You're really not, but sure." Epel steps aside, finally letting Ace pass. "For what it's worth? The look on Deuce's face was pretty good too."
Ace gives a halfhearted wave in response, but Epel's words follow him all the way back to Heartslabyul.
Yeah. Just another thing Ace can’t stop thinking about.
=====
Day two begins with Ace's brilliant plan to simply avoid thinking about the whole thing. This plan lasts approximately forty minutes before Deuce tracks him down at breakfast and sits down across from him.
"You're up early," Deuce observes, loading his plate with an alarming amount of eggs.
"Couldn't sleep," Ace mutters into his coffee.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks. You're a real pal."
They remain in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Ace begins to feel his pounding heart starting to calm, his shoulders sagging from relief. See? This is fine. Everything’s fine. They’re fine. Deuce had clearly written off yesterday as one of Ace's random weird moments, and now they can just sweep this under the rug and never speak of it again—
"So about yesterday," Deuce begins.
Ace chokes on his coffee and doubles over, coughing.
"You good?" Deuce half-stands, looking concerned, and Ace waves him off frantically.
"Fine. Wrong pipe. What about yesterday?"
Deuce sits back down, his expression unreadable. "You were acting weird."
"I'm always weird."
"Weirder than usual." Deuce pushes his scrambled eggs around his plate with a fork, still not making eye contact. "Was it like... a joke? Or…?"
Ace can’t help it — he goes stiff again. This is his chance. His chance to laugh it off, confirm it was just him being an idiot, and everything would go back to normal. Don’t mess this up.
Don’t mess this up.
"Yeah," Ace hears himself say. "The guys dared me to flirt with someone, and you happened to show up, so..." He hates to admit how he’s starting to sound increasingly unsure.
"Oh. But I thought— yeah, forget it."
“Yeah.”
“Right. That makes sense." Deuce’s response is distinctly monotone.
"Sorry if I weirded you out," Ace says. It feels like the right thing to say.
"You didn't," Deuce replies all too quickly. "I mean, you did, but it's fine. Whatever." He stabbed his eggs with unnecessary violence. "Just thought I'd ask, since you know, no one has ever called me that."
Maybe he ought to ask further. Continue the conversation so it doesn’t fall flat. But Ace himself can’t trust himself to get two words down without making things worse, so he opts for a brief nod instead and returns to the sad piece of cold toast sitting on his plate.
Just when he thinks he’s finally dodged the bullet, Deuce speaks again, quieter this time. “Would’ve been nice if you’d told me beforehand.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like then?”
“I don’t know! It just happened!” Ace just about throws up his arms in exasperation. Drop it! Just drop it!
“Things don’t ‘just happen’, Ace. You chose to do that to me in front of everyone. For your stupid joke.” Deuce’s voice is rising now, the temper he’s trying so hard to control starting to leak through. “Do you have any idea what I think about that?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you were so sensitive about a stupid joke.” Ace shoots back, his own anger flaring. God, what part of the stupid blockhead doesn’t get it? Just drop the matter and move on already! There’s no way this guy gets to do this to him and gets away with it. “Besides, it wouldn't even be a joke if I told you beforehand!”
“It’s not about being sensitive! It’s about you— forget it. You won’t understand.” Deuce cuts himself off, his jaw clenching. He stands up, grabbing his tray with more force than necessary. “I’ll see you in class.”
And then he’s gone.
Ace furiously shoves the last bite of toast into his mouth in response, and resolutely refuses to look in the direction of Deuce’s retreating figure. When he finally swallows, the anger has seeped out of him, like air from a deflating balloon. Their fight hasn’t even garnered much attention, the student body thinking nothing of their usual snipes and instead leaving the cafeteria in droves for the first class of the day.
When most of the crowd has left, Ace leans forward to bury his head in his hands. Outside, November rain pelting against the glass panels. He’s feeling distinctly cold now, he realises, having left the dorm without bringing his blazer.
Then again, the silence isn’t usually like this, so obviously charged with sizzling tension and words unsaid. Even back when they hadn’t learnt to tolerate each other, at least they were full of a certain fire to verbally (and sometimes physically) do the other in. But this, being left alone at the cafeteria table, the silence is too loud.
Ace ends up making it to class a good two seconds before the bell and narrowly avoids Lucius’ swipe at his arm.