#withace

"Prom is coming and we have to ask a date. There are plenty of girls at Nordhaven Girl's Prep School and seeing how I'm probably the only gay man at Nordhaven Boys, I honestly don’t want to take a girl. Do you think it would be wrong of me to ask a guy?" He seen Leland put down the book and look at him...

"Well, I understand, but is there a gay guy that you’d want to ask? " Lance looks somewhat disappointed

"Oh, yeah, I never really thought about it that way. Never mind then."

"Who was it you had in mind asking, seeing as you are the only gay guy that we know of at our school?" He chuckled

"I said never mind. It was a stupid question." He went back to his book. Leland just looked at him with a confused look on his face.

"Do you really want to go to Prom anyway? I don’t. Those prep schoolgirls all wear those stupid plaid skirts like it's fucking 1952. It makes them look like they're in cosplay." Leland sighed, tapping the book's spine against the table. The sound echoed through the nearly empty study section.

Lance snorted, but his fingers tightened around the edge of his book. "Still better than our khaki prison uniforms. I love you dude…" Suddenly he got a blank look on his face, and eyes went back to his book. Leland didn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah, I know.” He wasn’t being sarcastic, but he didn’t want Lance to know that he had some kind of feeling for him, not sure what it was but he did… “Lance?”

“Yeah?” He said not even looking up.

“How about you and me go to the prom together… as best friends, you know?”

“Are you serious Leland? I mean if you want, sure.”

“Yeah, I am sure. I think we’d both have much more fun going together than you not going, and me going with some girl I don’t even know.” He smiled at Lance. “So to make it official… Lance will you be my date for Prom?”

Ace forced his feet forward, boots scuffing softly against the worn wooden floorboards. His gaze remained locked on Cord's face – that familiar curve of the lower lip, the slight dimple that appeared only when he smiled tentatively, just as Cord did now.

"So, what is it you are looking for?"

"A Guitar. A birthday present for my nephew."

"What kind?" Cord asked, gesturing towards the wall. "Acoustic? Electric?"

"Acoustic." He responded and shook his head ever so slightly to wake himself up from this dream. But it wasn't a dream. This guy was remarkably almost identical to Beck.

"Well..." Cord hesitated for a moment as if trying to make a decision, then gestured toward the back corner. "The acoustic section is over here." Ace followed him and Cord continued.

"I think we have something that might suit a young musician. What kind of music does your nephew play?" He then picked up a sleek, deep mahogany guitar hanging on the wall. "This Gibson is popular with beginners. Solid spruce top, warm tones. Easy action." Cord's fingers brushed the strings lightly as he took it down, releasing a soft harmonic hum that vibrated through the air.

Ace noticed the movement—the fluid grace, the way Cord tilted his head slightly when concentrated—identical to Beck while focusing on something.

Ace forced himself to breathe evenly. "He plays rock mainly, but I'm hoping he'll branch out." He watched Cord's hands meticulously adjust the tuning pegs. The scent of pine resin from the new strings mixed with the shop's incense, sharp and nostalgic. Cord's knuckles, Ace noticed, bore the same faint scar across the right index finger where Beck had cut himself repairing a shutter years ago. Impossible coincidence piled upon impossible coincidence. Or was his mind playing games with him, and he was seeing all these things through his mind and they really were not there.

"Solid choice," Cord murmured, strumming a bright C chord. The sound resonated cleanly through the hushed store. Ace felt the vibration in his ribs. "Great projection. Has your nephew ever played a Gibson before?" Cord's eyes flickered up as he asked. They were Beck’s eyes—blue flecked with silver, framed by the same thick, dark lashes. Ace swallowed hard. He was sweating profusely.

"No, he... his old guitar wasn't fancy." Ace’s fingers clenched against his thigh. He needed to touch the instrument, anything to ground himself. Cord handed it over, their fingers brushing briefly. The contact sent a jolt through Ace—Beck’s hands had always been cool. Cord's felt exactly the same.

"Careful," Cord said softly, almost apologetically. Ace fumbled slightly, the guitar’s weight unfamiliar yet anchoring. He plucked a string; the note hung trembling in the incense-thick air. Behind Cord, the woman he’d been speaking to earlier slipped into a back room, leaving them alone.

One of Ace's clients told him about this small music store in Gammelvick. It just opened a few months back in a quaint restored neighborhood. He decided to go check out their selection of guitars, as Leland didn't bring his from the house and wasn't sure what his dad did with it, so he wanted to get him a new one. As he pulled up to the restored home, and the small building next to it that housed the music store he was impressed.

The inside had soft lighting that glowed warm on polished wood floors. The walls were adorned with framed artwork that depicted landscapes, posters, neon lights and guitars hung on the walls.

Then Ace saw him. "Beck" was sitting behind the counter talking to a woman whose face Ace couldn't see as her back was to him. He froze as "Beck" looked up and the bell above the door jingled softly. It looked as though "Beck" froze too, his eyes locking onto Ace's.

Ace felt a painful rush of memories flooding over him. The scent of coffee beans and sandalwood incense filled the air. He noticed "Beck" hadn't changed much. Same blonde wavy hair, and the piercing blue eyes yet his eyebrows looked lighter today against his pale skin. "Beck" turned to the woman and said softly, "Excuse me," while walking toward Ace.

"How can I help you?" He asked.

"Uh..." Ace was still frozen.

"I'm Cord Wells, My brother and I are the owners here. Is there something you are looking for?"

Cord? Cord Wells? What the hell? Ace closed his eyes to one, hold back the tears, and two to clear his vision looking at this man, that said his name was Cord, that could have been Beck’s twin.

Beck had been dead for almost two years. Well missing, presumed dead.

Yet here he stood—same angle of the jaw, identical constellation of freckles across the bridge of the nose, even that slight crook in the left pinky where he’d broken it playing rugby. Ace’s throat tightened like a vise. He forced air past the lump. "Cord?" The name felt alien, jagged in his mouth. "You look... remarkably like someone I knew."

"Yeah, I get that all the time. I guess I just have one of those faces, right?" Ace couldn't take his eyes off him "So, how can I help?" Cord asked looking oddly at the handsome guy standing in front of him.

A few months later, Ace got a visit from their new neighbor. Dr. Lloyd Mitchell. He was right, he knew the name Mitchell was familiar to him.

“Well, well if it isn’t Ace Tierney, you’ve certainly grown.” Dr. Mitchell said as Ace invited him in.

“Yes, I have. I knew it may have been you when Leland said Dr. Mitchell, when he was talking about your son. Hard to believe my pediatrician is now my neighbor. Welcome to Nordhaven.”

“Thanks, and thanks for letting Lance know about the townhouse. It’s a perfect fit for the family.”

(Dr. and Lance Mitchell are creations of Simkhira in her save that I dropped Ace into and where I am currently playing. You may see more of her creations as we go along)

Also over the next few weeks and months, Lance and Leland became even closer friends.

The doorbell chimed, sharp and insistent, cutting through the low murmur of the documentary I was half-watching. Rain lashed against the windows, distorting the glow of the streetlights outside into watery streaks. Lance stood on the stoop, shoulders hunched against the downpour, clutching a large pizza box radiating warmth into the damp air. The scent of tomato sauce; melted cheese, and… pineapple… hit me immediately.

"Hey Mr. Tierney! Pizza delivery!" he announced, flashing a grin that crinkled his eyes, though droplets clung stubbornly to his lashes.

Behind him, Leland shoved playfully. "Move it, Mitchell! Pizza’s getting soggy!" They tumbled into the house shaking water from their jackets onto the mat. Lance looked away, focusing on wrestling the steaming box onto the kitchen bar.

"Extra pineapple, as requested by the heathen," Leland declared, already flipping open the lid. The pungent sweetness mixed oddly with the lingering scent of rain.

"Boys, eat up, I have to run over to Gammelvick, and I will back in a few."

"Why you going to Gammelvick, Ace?" Leland asked as he stuffed his mouth with Pizza

"It's a secret. Someone has a birthday next week, remember?" He smiled at his nephew as he went out the door. Thinking to himself it was so hard to believe that Leland was going to be sixteen.

At the Nordhaven Mall, Leland tried on clothes with the enthusiasm of someone navigating a minefield. He kept glancing at me for approval, his gangly frame swallowed by oversized hoodies. "This?" he'd ask, holding up a violently orange sweatshirt. "Too loud," I'd say, trying to channel parental wisdom I didn't possess. He settled on muted blues and grays, practical jeans, and sturdy boots.

The haircut transformed him—shorn close at the sides, messy on top—revealing sharp cheekbones and Beck's stubborn jawline. "Looking sharp, Lee," I said, handing the stylist my card. He grinned, running a hand through the unfamiliar texture.

Over burgers at 'The Salty Gull', Leland demolished his meal while I picked at fries. The Hasselblad sat heavy in my messenger bag. "So," he mumbled through a mouthful, "what happens now? School starts Monday." He wiped ketchup off his chin. "Dad said Nordhaven Prep's decent. Strict uniform policy, though." He wrinkled his nose. "Hope they don't disfellowship me on day one." "Discipline, and it's fine. We'll get it all sorted." "Ace, you okay? You seem distant." Leland said with his mouth full of a bite of his mushroom burger. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about Beck." Leland swallowed his bite, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He hesitated, then added, " He drew that awesome sketch of the haunted lighthouse at the Brindleton Bay that used to hang in your old kitchen." "Yeah," I managed. "He had a good eye." I needed to change the subject and move on from Beck, but it was really hard. "So, what do you want to do now?" "Well… I know how you are about keeping your house clean, I mean spotless, so I should go back and get my room all done. What time is the furniture being delivered?" I glanced at my watch. "Two hours. Plenty of time, but first, we need groceries."

The next few days and weeks flew by. Leland started school, and I had a few photoshoots to do, and worked out daily, trying to keep my mind off of Beck and that damn camera.

Leland's furniture arrived and we got his room situated and it looked perfect, and he seemed to love it as well. He seemed good. I hope his father leaving didn't affect him negatively.

"Did you pack my Maoist pamphlets?" The voice crackled through the phone speaker, tinny and urgent. "The good ones, with the annotations?"

"Rachel, it's 7 AM. And why would I pack your political manifestos? You moved out six months ago." Outside my new Nordhaven townhouse window, the morning fog and light rain clung stubbornly to the cobblestones near Lighthouse Lookout, muffling the distant cry of gulls. The damp chill seeped through the glass, settling into my bones. It felt appropriate.

Her sigh vibrated down the line. "Because someone," she emphasized, "might need enlightening before Nordhaven's annual 'Founders Day' parade. Those bourgeois merchants need a wake-up call." I pictured her gesturing wildly, probably tangled in one of her thrift-store kimonos. Rachel was my anchor, my cousin and chaotic best friend, the only person who hadn't looked at me with pity or suspicion after Beck vanished. She believed the alien abduction theory instantly.

A sharp knock echoed from my door – a firm, official-sounding thud. "Hold on," I muttered to Rachel, padding barefoot across the cold hardwood. Peering through the fisheye lens, I saw a tall figure silhouetted against the foggy morning light. Red-headed, with an older brown headed man. It was my brother Stuart and his youngest son, Leland. "I will call you back Rachel, Stuart just showed up."

"At 7 in the morning..." she questioned... I hung up. If not, I'd be talking to two chaotic people at once. Not this morning!

"Surprise!" Stuart boomed as I opened the door, pulling me into a bear hug smelling faintly of stale coffee. Leland shuffled behind him, clutching a battered cardboard box that he sat on a side table, labeled 'Garage - Fragile'.