mobagehelllocal

now, here you are: having lost said bet. and by the looks of that insufferable, cocky grin that curled his lips, he knew it too.

the idea of a perfect date was entirely subjective to the people involved in said date. and trappola had not wasted a single moment he had spent with you, to craft something so magical and utterly destructive for you. you.

brunch in a sun dappled cafe at a quarter past twelve (and oh perhaps you grew a little jealous of how the sun kissed the little curls in his hair, the soft squish of his cheeks). then a quick duck into an old time arcade with the sun at its peak, where he proceeded to beat the shit out of you at all the music based games (and you can't really get mad at him when you're a little in lo infatuated with the way he smiles). escaped the arcade near sundown to explore an open market where you spent your thaumarks on little trinkets and street foods (and he gripes and moans and refuses but he holds your stuff and spends a second too long thinking about how the warmth of your hand suffused into your things-).

before finally, he took you home (to ramshackle). hands behind his head with an insufferable, cocky grin on his stupid, smart-talking, clever mouth.

“so, didja enjoy it?”

you bit your lip—did you really want to tell him how well he did, knowing he’d lord it over you for (probably) the rest of your lives? ace smirked at your uncertain expression; his hand lowered into his pocket and fiddled with his final card.

because he wasn’t quite done with you—no.

he was going to get you to admit that he had done a perfect job, and he had planned the cherry on top for your wonderful day.

“maybe.” you managed; he barely held his snort in and you glared at him. cheeks flushed with embarrassment, with the inability to admit defeat… to him, of all people.

“then it’s good I’m not quite done yet.” he watched in delight as your expression changed from indignant to confused.

“you…” you began before he shushed you loudly and gestures for you to turn around. which you did, almost immediately (barely considering how far have you come that you’d trust ace trappola with your back!?).

and with your back to him; he has a second where he loses his breath. because if he were to be honest (and he’s not one for honesty); this part wasn’t really in the plan. he had added it in as a silly ‘heeheehaha’ moment because he wanted to ruin you.

but this would ruin him too; him and all his ‘love is just a pain’ speeches.

but your back was to him, and you’ve already started fidgeting and with every shaky inhale you both make, the awkwardness only lengthened; and he’ll do it just so you wouldn’t ever think (in the future) there was a possibility that he almost chickened out (because he actually was, and fuck why was his hands sweaty, now?).

you flinched as you felt something touch the nape of your neck. in the next second you realised that the featherlight touch is the tips of his callused fingers and in the second after; it’s cool metal—a necklace. your shoulder twitched, but you hold yourself steady. and was it wishful thinking that his hands lingered a second after he fastened the necklace properly?

he cleared his throat and you turned slowly. your hand raised to touch the necklace, fingers fiddled with the pendant that now hung around your neck. every twist of your fingers was in time with the beat of your heart.

“how about now?”

it takes you a breath (maybe two) before you remembered he was asking you about the perfect date. (you were a little lost by how close he was). about the bet. (you were a little lost by the cherry red of his eyes).

you nod, incapable of words that could summarise the internal warring over the destruction of your peace of mind and this overwhelming desire to just—just—

‘if there was nothing left between us then—’

but ace pulls back; and the second that could have been your forever, shatters.

“great.” he grins, hands tucked into his pocket (not at all sweaty, certainly!) “then i’ll expect you to tell everyone i won.”

“… yeah.” because was there anything else you can say to him?

“—see you monday.”

“monday.” you echoed.

and you both turn around; ever more keenly aware of that thing that hangs, that lingers, that remains, that grows, that blooms... between the two of you.

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