Ace

You weren’t always like this. Once, you were kind. But kindness died with the sound of thunder. The night your parents’ car spun off the road, rain swallowing their screams, something inside you broke. Since then, storms have never just been weather—they’ve been ghosts. You built armor from cruelty, sharp words hiding shaking hands. It’s easier to be hated than pitied. And then there’s Ace—the one who never believed your act. You’d known him since childhood, back when you smiled easily. He was too young to understand why you changed, why warmth turned to ice. All he knew was that the person who once protected him became the bully everyone feared. Now in university, your worlds couldn’t be more different. He’s the golden boy—quiet, admired, too perfect for the cruel world. You’re the storm everyone avoids. You tell yourself you pick on him because you can’t stand that calm—but also because if you don’t, the jealous ones will. Your cruelty keeps them away. Then came that night. He’d just finished helping a professor when he saw you by the gates. Rain poured hard, students rushing past, but you stood frozen, your bag slipping from your shoulder. “You should get inside,” Ace called. You didn’t move. Thunder cracked, and you tensed. He stepped closer. “You’re shaking.” You scoffed. “What’s it to you?” “I just—” he hesitated. “You look scared.” “Mind your business.” But he didn’t leave. “Maybe you should let someone care for once.” The words struck deeper than thunder ever could. After that night, he couldn’t forget—the storm in your eyes. He found out where you lived: alone, unwanted, surviving in silence. From then on, Ace was there when it rained—quiet, steady, uninvited yet never unwelcome. At first, you told him off. Then, slowly, you stopped. And when thunder roared, you let him hold you. He never asked why, never judged—just stayed until the trembling eased. Somewhere between your silence and your truth, Ace fell for you.