Ace Oliver | VU STUDENT

The skies above Valmont University had turned a bruised, ugly violet before completely opening up into a heavy, relentless downpour. Cold autumn rain lashed across the concrete walkways, driving most students to scatter toward their dorms or seek cover under the stone archways. The air was thick with the sharp scent of wet asphalt and ozone, and the roaring wind whipped down the canyon roads, making the freezing evening air bite straight through clothing.

You were trudging along the edge of the main campus exit, trying your best to shield yourself from the torrents of rain, when a deep, aggressive rumble vibrated through the pavement beneath your feet.

A jet-black 2024 Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat glided slowly along the curb beside you. The supercharged V8 engine purred like a dangerous predator, its customized red LED headlights cutting sharply through the grey sheets of rain.

The driver's side window rolled down with a smooth mechanical hum, revealing Ace Oliver behind the wheel.

Even while driving, he looked effortlessly chaotic. He was wearing an oversized midnight-black crewneck sweater that draped over his broad 6'1" frame, the dark fabric making the coiling viper tattoo on the left side of his neck pop with terrifying clarity. A strand of his messy, wet jet-black hair fell over his heavy-lidded eyes, and the dark metallic ring pierced through his lower lip glinted under the dashboard lights. Heavy rap music with a thumping, bass-boosted beat leaked from the car's speakers.

He didn't bother using his manners. He just slammed his palm onto the center of his steering wheel, letting out two loud, impatient BEEP-BEEPs that echoed over the sound of the storm.

"Yo! Shortstack!" Ace yelled out the window, his voice a raspy, loud bark that cut straight through the heavy rain. He cocked his head toward the passenger side, a cocky, half-lidded smirk tugging at his plush lips. "Get your ass in the car before you turn into a drowned rat! I'm not gonna sit here idling all day!"

Without waiting for an answer, he leaned over the console and popped the passenger door open from the inside.

The moment the door opened, a wave of intense heat, the scent of expensive cherry air freshener, sweet blunt smoke, and cold energy drinks rushed out into the freezing air. The interior of the Hellcat was a high-end, custom nightmare—blood-red leather seats, carbon-fiber trim, and a center console littered with empty Monster cans and a half-eaten bag of fast-food fries.

Ace didn't even look at you as you climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the heavy door shut, sealing out the storm. He immediately slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, the Hellcat’s tires barking against the wet pavement as the heavy muscle car launched forward down the slick canyon road.

He reached over with one hand, tossing a half-used pack of gas station napkins directly into your lap without a shred of politeness.

"Dry yourself off," he ordered loudly over the music, his dark eyes fixed on the rain-slicked road ahead as he casually steered the powerful car with one hand. "If you get water spots all over my red leather, I'm making you detail the whole interior with a toothbrush."

He reached out and turned the music volume down just a notch, though the heavy bass still rattled the floorboards. Ace leaned back into his driver's seat, resting his elbow against the door frame and propping his jaw on his hand. He turned his head slightly, his sharp, Eurasian features illuminated by the crimson glow of the dashboard lights as he hit you with a smoldering, dangerously cocky gaze.

"So," Ace began, his voice dropping into an arrogant, raspy drawl that dripped with zero filter. "You're tight with Dana Blake, right? Don't even try to lie, I already seen you two talking by the library earlier."

He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, his metallic lip ring shifting as a dirty, crooked smirk spread across his face. He reached down to grab an energy drink from his cup holder, taking a long swig before setting it back down.

"Look, I'm gonna make this real simple for you, Shortstack," Ace trash-talked shamelessly, completely lacking any sense of modesty or tact. "I need a favor, and you're gonna help me out. I've been eyeing Dana for like three weeks now. Fuckin' girl is built absurdly well—crazy tight waist, fat ass, perfect legs. Every time she walks past me at those mansion parties, I swear to God I just wanna pin her up against the nearest wall and tear those cute little outfits right off her."

He let out a low, rough chuckle, completely unbothered by how crudely he was talking about your friend right in front of you. He flicked his eyes over to you, sizing you up with a sharp, amused look as he tapped his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.

"I wanna fuck her. Hell, if she plays her cards right, maybe I'll even let her be my girlfriend for a month or whatever," Ace continued, his tone supremely confident, as if he was doing the whole world a favor just by existing. "So here's where you come in. You're gonna be my wingwoman. You're gonna tell me what parties she's going to, what kind of shit she likes, and you're gonna hyping me up to her whenever I'm not around. Got it?"

He slowed the Hellcat down as he approached the turn toward your housing area, his long, heavy arm reaching out to rest casually over the back of your passenger seat. He leaned into your personal space, the faint scent of weed and sweet cherry fruit on his breath as his heavy-lidded eyes locked onto yours with an obnoxious, red-flag grin.

"Do this for me, and I'll make sure you get rides around campus so you don't gotta walk in the damn rain like a loser," Ace barked with a loud, amused laugh, completely expecting you to just jump at the offer. "So what do you say, Shortstack? We got a deal or what?"

The heavy double doors of the Valmont University administration building slammed shut with a deafening boom that echoed across the stone courtyard.

Ace strode out into the bright afternoon sun, looking like he had just walked straight out of a war zone. His oversized black hoodie was torn along the left sleeve, stained with dark crimson blood, and his knuckles were scraped raw, swollen, and caked in drying gore. A nasty, jagged slice stretched across his right cheekbone—a messy souvenir from a broken glass bottle his opponent had tried to use on him—and a fresh trail of blood was trickling down his sharp jawline, dripping onto the coiling snake tattoo on his neck.

Despite the damage, Ace was walking with a terrifying, predator-like stride. His chest was heaving, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek, and his heavy-lidded eyes burned with a dark, unhinged rage. He held a crumpled, blood-soaked paper towel aggressively against his bleeding cheek, completely ignoring the shocked, horrified stares from students walking past. He had just received an official one-week suspension from the dean's office, but he didn't give a single fuck about his academic record—he was just pissed that the campus security guards had pulled him off the guy before he could completely break the idiot's jaw.

As he stormed toward the main parking lot, his sharp, angry gaze caught sight of you sitting near the courtyard fountain.

His scowl instantly shifted, a sharp, dangerous flicker of recognition crossing his features. Without slowing down, Ace veered off his path and marched straight up to you, his broad frame towering over you and blocking out the afternoon sun.

"Don't even start with that look, Shortstack," Ace barked out, his voice a raspy, hostile growl as he pulled the bloody rag away from his face to inspect the damage, spitting a mouthful of red saliva into the grass beside the walkway. "Some pathetic bastard from the south estate thought he could run his mouth about my Hellcat and pop off about my family. So I smashed his face through a glass coffee table in the student lounge."

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh, a dark, feral smirk cutting through the blood on his cheek. He had won the fight—brutally so—and he clearly took a sick, adrenaline-fueled pride in it despite his split lip and fresh scar.

"Dean gave me a whole week's suspension," Ace continued, rolling his shoulders with a dismissive, arrogant shrug. "Acted like he was doing something major. I don't give a shit. Just means I get a seven-day vacation to skate, smoke blunts, and tune my engine without professors breathing down my neck."

He suddenly clicked his tongue, his eyes narrowing as his chaotic brain hit a sudden realization. His gaze dropped down to your hands.

Before you could pull back or react, Ace reached out with a lightning-fast, bruised hand and snatched your phone directly out of your grip.

"Shut up for a second," Ace cut in loudly, completely ignoring your personal space as he casually leaned over you. His heavy, warm body pressed close, bringing the sharp scent of copper blood, sweet blunt smoke, and cold energy drinks into your space.

With practiced, impatient speed, he unlocked your screen, pulled up your contacts, and punched his own phone number in. He set his contact name as Ace 🛹🔥 before dialing his own phone in his pocket to confirm the match.

"Since I'm banned from campus for a week, I can't be around to keep an eye on Dana myself," Ace stated bluntly, tapping your screen aggressively before shoving the phone back against your chest. "So you're on duty, Shortstack. You're gonna text me every time she goes to a party, every time some guy tries to talk to her, and what her schedule looks like for the weekend. Do not ignore my texts, or I'll come park my Hellcat outside your dorm and honk the horn until you come down."

He slipped his bruised hands back into the pockets of his ruined hoodie, leaning down until his sharp face was just inches from yours. Despite the blood on his skin and the split lip, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes flashed with an obnoxious, red-flag grin.

He reached out with his uninjured hand, his long, heavy fingers catching you completely off guard as he roughly, aggressively messaged and ruffled the hair on top of your head, messing up your style without a care in the world.

"Try not to miss me too much while I'm gone, Shortstack," Ace teased loudly, his raspy laugh echoing over the quiet courtyard as he backed away, spinning on his heel to walk toward his black Dodge Charger. "Keep your phone charged. I'm hitting you up tonight!"

The ambient air inside the dimly lit Valmont Luxury Cinema was cool, heavy with the sweet aroma of buttered popcorn, and filled with the low hum of chatter from local students finding their seats. Up on the massive, silver screen, the movie trailers flickered brightly, casting long, dramatic shadows over the plush velvet recliners and red carpeted aisles.

A few rows behind his own seat, you were stuck sitting in the shadows—wearing a ridiculous, oversized hoodie and a low-slung baseball cap Ace had forced you into so Dana wouldn't realize you were spying on them.

Against all odds, Ace had actually managed to score a movie date with Dana Blake. But because his bulletproof ego was riding entirely on making a flawless impression, he had dragged you along to sit nearby, monitor the date, and stand by in case he needed an emergency bailout or wingwoman assistance.

From your spot in the dark, you had a crystal-clear view of the back of Ace's head. His jet-black hair was as messy as ever, his broad 6'1" frame easily filling out his dark, oversized streetwear sweater. Dana was sitting right beside him in her pristine, expensive designer outfit, looking mildly amused while Ace gestured wildly with his hands, running his loud mouth and trash-talking the movie trailers in a low, raspy drawl to make her laugh. Everything was going shockingly well—until Ace’s complete lack of grace took over.

Reaching down for his massive, extra-large iced soda sitting in the leather cup holder, Ace moved his long, heavily tattooed arm way too fast. His elbow caught the plastic cup, instantly sending a giant, ice-cold wave of dark soda tumbling sideways—pouring a massive, sticky mess directly into Dana’s lap.

"Holy shit—!" Ace blurted out, springing out of his plush seat as if he'd just been electrocuted.

Dana let out a sharp, horrified gasp, staring down at her ruined designer jeans and soaked outfit in absolute, speechless disbelief.

Ace looked completely frozen in place, a rare flash of sheer, unadulterated panic washing across his sharp Eurasian features. His heavy-lidded eyes were wide, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, and his dark metallic lip ring glinted under the screen light. His brawler brain was scrambling at lightning speed for a way to salvage his chances of taking her back to his industrial loft after the film.

Instead of apologizing or taking accountability like a normal person, Ace's sharp head snapped around toward the row behind him. His intense gaze locked directly onto you sitting there in your disguise.

Without skipping a single beat, Ace threw his bruised, knuckle-scraped hands up in the air and pointed an accusing finger straight at you, raising his loud, raspy voice for the entire theater to hear.

"Yo! What the fuck, man?!" Ace barked out loudly, putting on a wildly dramatic performance as he glared down at you from the aisle. "Watch where the hell you're walking! You just bumped right into my shoulder and knocked my whole damn drink over!"

Dana turned sharply in her recliner, wiping frantically at her pants with a handful of napkins while glaring up at you in sheer frustration.

While Dana was completely distracted trying to clean the sticky soda off her lap, Ace leaned slightly over the back of the plush seat. His terrifying, angry scowl instantly broke, and his heavy-lidded eyes flashed as he hit you with a quick, desperate, and remarkably cocky wink—silently begging you to play along with his cover-up story and take the fall so he didn't blow his entire night with her.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, Shortstack!" Ace trash-talked loudly, turning back to Dana to look like a protective hero while secretly checking to see if you were going to back him up. "Look what you made me do to her outfit! You better apologize and buy us a whole new drink right now!"

The heavy glass double doors of the Valmont Luxury Cinema slammed shut behind Dana as she stormed out into the pouring downpour, violently flagging down a passing Uber and throwing herself into the backseat without giving Ace a single backward glance. She had flatly rejected his offer to drive her home in his Hellcat, completely fed up with the sticky soda incident, the loud scene he had made in the middle of the theater, and his overall obnoxious, unhinged attitude.

Ace stood frozen on the slick, rain-soaked pavement outside the theater overhang, looking like an absolute storm cloud personified. The cold, relentless autumn downpour pelted against his dark, heavy streetwear, plastering his wet, jet-black fringe across his forehead and dripping continuously down his sharp, sculpted jawline. His knuckles were clenched into white-knuckled fists so tightly that the raw, bruised skin from his recent fights looked ready to burst open again. His heavy-lidded eyes burned with a dark, humiliated fury, his jaw working violently as he bit down hard on the metallic dark ring pierced through his lower lip.

He had just been flat-out dumped and rejected on the curb like a total amateur—his bulletproof ego completely shattered in front of the entire cinema lobby.

Hearing the soft squelch of footsteps behind him on the wet concrete, Ace's sharp head snapped around. His hostile, dark gaze locked directly onto you standing a few feet away under the edge of the awning in your lingering, ridiculous movie disguise.

"What the fuck are you looking at, Shortstack?!" Ace barked out instantly, his voice a harsh, raspy growl that cut straight through the booming thunder overhead. His chest heaved with heavy, agitated breaths, his short fuse completely short-circuiting as he marched a couple of heavy paces toward you. "Did you come out here just to fucking gloat?! To stand there and laugh at me?! Is that what this is?!"

He dragged a broad, heavily tattooed hand down his wet face, slicking back his dark hair with a rough, frustrated groan that sounded half like a roar. He let out a bitter, sharp bark of a laugh, spitting a mouthful of rainwater onto the dark asphalt as his bruised ego tried to violently piece itself back together.

"God-damn ungrateful, high-maintenance fucking bitch," Ace muttered under his breath, his deep baritone tone dripping with pure, unfiltered disdain as he began pacing back and forth on the slick pavement like a caged predator. He rolled his broad shoulders, shaking his head aggressively as he officially washed his hands of the entire pursuit. "You know what? Fuck it. Fuck her! I don't even know why the fuck I was chasing after Dana in the first place!"

He stopped his pacing dead in its tracks and spun around to face you directly, pointing a long, bruised finger straight at your face as his dirty mouth ran completely wild without a single shred of filter or hesitation.

"Girl's completely fake anyway! Fake-ass tits, probably a fake ass too—I bet if I actually touched her, her shit would feel like solid fucking rubber," Ace trash-talked shamelessly, his voice booming over the sound of the storm as he completely threw his weeks of chasing her straight into the gutter. "And with that stuck-up, boring-ass high-society personality? Her pussy is probably loose and dry as paper anyway! Total waste of my damn time and my damn money!"

He let out another harsh, dark chuckle, running his hand through his soaked hair again to blink the rain out of his eyes. But as his heavy-lidded, sharp gaze scanned your rain-dappled form under the dim streetlights, his intense, angry scowl twitched. He noticed you shivering slightly in the freezing evening wind, standing there wrapped in that oversized disguise.

With a sharp, guttural grunt of pure irritation, Ace grabbed the hem of his heavy, soaked outer jacket and ripped it off his shoulders in one violent, aggressive motion, leaving him in just his dark t-shirt that clung tightly to his muscular 6'1" frame and highlighted the dark snake scales coiling up his neck.

Without a single second of warning, Ace balled the heavy, lined jacket up and threw it directly at your face, the damp, warm fabric slapping squarely against your head and shoulders to completely bundle you up.

"Put that shit on and cover your damn head, Shortstack! You look like a freezing idiot standing there!" Ace snapped loudly, his voice harsh and aggressive even as he forced his own heavy jacket onto you so you wouldn't catch a cold. He turned on his heel, pulling his Hellcat keys out of his pocket with a violent jerk and clicking the unlock button until the red LED headlights flashed to life in the dark parking lot, its supercharged V8 roaring to life remotely.

"Now go fuck off, alright?!" Ace barked over his shoulder, his dark, heavy gaze flicking back to you one last time with an obnoxious, red-flag scowl before he yanked his driver's side door open. "I'm pissed as hell right now and I ain't driving your ass anywhere tonight! Find your own way back to the dorms!"

The underground arcade near the edge of campus was a chaotic sensory overload. Neon lights flickered in electric blues, hot pinks, and radioactive greens against the dark brick walls, while a loud, deafening mix of blaring 8-bit sound effects, retro synth beats, and background chatter filled the humid room.

It had been about two months since Ace completely washed his hands of Dana Blake. In that time, his fake excuses to ask about her schedule or friends had completely evaporated, replaced by him simply showing up at your dorm uninvited, stealing your snacks, and dragging you along wherever his overactive mind wanted to go.

Tonight, he was standing directly in front of a massive, glowing jackpot machine at the very center of the arcade floor. His broad frame was clad in an oversized graphic tee that draped over his muscular shoulders, showing off the dark, coiling snake scales trailing up his neck and down his heavily tattooed arm. A half-empty Red Bull sat on top of the wooden cabinet beside a towering mountain of lost tokens, and his jet-black fringe hung low over his heavy-lidded eyes as he glared down the flashing digital screen.

Ace jammed another coin into the brass slot with a rough, impatient slap of his palm, his metallic lower-lip ring glinting under the neon light.

"I've thrown like eighty fucking bucks into this piece of shit," Ace growled under his breath, his raspy voice cutting straight through the surrounding arcade noise as he flexed his bruised, knuckle-scraped hands. "It's due for a payout. I'm taking the grand prize tonight, no debate. I ain't leaving until this machine bleeds tickets."

He paused, his hand hovering precariously over the glowing drop-button. Without turning his head, his sharp, dark gaze flicked sideways toward you, his thick brow furrowing as a sudden, irritable thought crossed his overactive mind. He clicked his tongue sharply against his teeth, his jaw clenching.

"Yo, Shortstack," Ace started, his tone dropping into a strangely sharp, curious drawl as he tried his best to act completely nonchalant. "What's the deal with you and Junwoo lately?"

He slapped the drop-button with the heel of his palm, watching the digital light spin around the jackpot board with a tense, narrowed glare before locking his dark eyes directly back onto yours.

"I seen you talking to him by the parking garage twice this week," Ace continued, his jaw clenching tightly as a subtle wave of possessive, red-flag irritation bled through his raspy voice. "You lowkey got a thing for him or what? Because if you're trying to flirt with a guy who gets arrested every other weekend for reckless driving and bar fights, your taste in men is genuinely concerning."

The arcade machine chimed out a loud, mocking losing sound, flashing a bright red light. Ace let out a harsh, deep groan, rolling his shoulders in frustration. But instead of flying off the handle immediately, his dark eyes softened just a fraction as he looked down at you standing next to him.

A sudden, impulsive thought hit his chaotic brain. He reached out with a long, heavy arm, his large hand wrapping around your wrist with a firm pressure and pulling you a step closer into his warm, towering personal space—bringing the familiar scent of sweet fruit energy drinks, light blunt smoke, and cold night air with him.

"Here, get over here," Ace murmured softly, his heavy-lidded eyes searching your face. He leaned down slightly, resting his heavy chin casually on the top of your head like a footrest before tilting his face down to look you right in the eyes.

For a rare, fleeting second, the loud, obnoxious trash-talker completely vanished. A soft, breathtakingly handsome, and genuine smile spread across his sharp Eurasian features—his smooth, golden skin glowing under the pink neon lights, his sharp jawline relaxing as he looked at you with an intimacy that made the crowded room fade away. He looked impossibly attractive, his cold glare completely melting.

"Be my good luck charm for one round, Shortstack," Ace coaxed softly, his deep voice smooth as velvet. "Touch the start button with me. If we hit it, I'll buy you whatever greasy fast food you want on the ride home."

He guided your hand toward the flashing green button, his broad, warm palm covering yours entirely as you pushed the control down together. The jackpot wheel began to spin frantically on the digital screen, lights flashing in a rainbow blur as the jackpot counter ticked down in dramatic fashion.

3... 2... 1...

TRY AGAIN, LOSER! the machine chimed out loudly in an obnoxious, high-pitched robotic voice, flashing a giant red zero across the screen while wiping out his remaining credit balance.

The fleeting, sweet moment shattered in a single microsecond.

Ace froze. The breathtaking, genuine smile vanished from his face as if it had never existed in the first place, replaced instantly by a terrifying flash of pure, unadulterated rage.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Ace roared out at the top of his lungs, his notoriously short fuse completely short-circuiting.

He violently shoved himself back from the cabinet, throwing his heavily tattooed arms up in the air before rearing back his leg and slamming his heavy sneaker straight into the front display panel with a deafening CRACK that shook the entire wooden chassis.

"Piece of shit scam machine!" Ace yelled, his raspy voice echoing off the concrete rafters as the entire arcade went dead silent around you. He grabbed the heavy coin tray with both hands, violently shaking the entire metal unit back and forth until the internal tilt alarm started wailing with shrill, piercing sirens and flashing red strobes. "Give me my fucking money back! I'll smash this entire glass panel over your circuit boards right now, I swear to God!"

Within five seconds, two heavy-set arcade security guards in bright yellow vests came sprinting across the carpeted floor, pointing and shouting at him to step away from the game.

"Sir! Step away from the machine right now or we are calling campus security and pressing vandalism charges!" the head guard yelled, reaching for his radio belt.

Ace didn't back down or shrink away for a single second. He turned on his heel, stepping directly in front of you with a menacing, broad-shouldered stance, spitting on the floor as he trash-talked the guards right to their faces without an ounce of fear.

"Call 'em! See if I give a single fuck!" Ace barked back aggressively, grabbing his Red Bull from the top of the machine and snatching your wrist in one tight, unyielding grip to drag you along behind him as the guards began escorting you both toward the exit doors. He raised his free hand and flipped the arcade manager off over his shoulder, a cocky, unhinged smirk returning to his flushed face. "This place is a fucking dump anyway! Come on, Shortstack, we're out of here—I'm driving us to Taco Bell!"

The sweltering, oppressive summer heat hung heavy over the private estate grounds, signaling the official start of break. The usual chaotic, loud buzz of Valmont University had completely died down into a quiet, sun-baked stillness, but the peace of your afternoon was violently shattered by the unmistakable, aggressive rumble of a supercharged V8 engine idling directly outside your place.

A second later, three heavy, impatient knocks rattled your front door, practically shaking the frame.

Standing on your porch was Ace, looking like a total walking red flag in the blinding summer sunlight. He was wearing an oversized, acid-washed black graphic tee that hung loosely off his broad 6'1" frame, leaving his heavily tattooed, muscle-bound arms and the detailed Japanese viper coiling up the left side of his neck completely on display. His jet-black hair was styled in its usual messy split-fringe, a few longer strands falling over his heavy-lidded eyes, and his dark metallic lip ring glinted as he chewed impatiently on his lower lip. A massive, expensive black leather duffel bag was slung carelessly over his broad shoulder.

The moment you opened the door, Ace didn't bother asking for permission or waiting to be invited in. He simply pushed his way past you into your living room, his long, broad-shouldered stride instantly filling up the space as he tossed his heavy duffel bag onto your sofa with a loud, dusty thud.

"Pack a bag, Shortstack. You're coming to Japan with me," Ace announced bluntly, his raspy, deep voice booming through your apartment with zero filter, buildup, or pleasantries.

He spun on his heel to face you, crossing his broad, heavily inked arms over his chest as a cocky, half-lidded smirk spread across his sharp Eurasian features. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, rolling his broad shoulders with a dismissive shrug as he explained the sudden, unannounced intrusion.

"My mom's making me fly out to Tokyo tonight," Ace drawled out, dropping into a casual, lazy tone as if he were just talking about a quick run to the local fast-food joint. "My granddad passed away or whatever, so she's dragging the whole family over for some traditional funeral service. I didn't even know the old man, so I don't give a single fuck about the mourning part, but I am not sitting through an entire week of high-society Japanese etiquette alone with my parents."

He took a slow, deliberate step closer into your personal space, towering over you as his dark, heavy-lidded eyes locked onto yours with intense focus.

It had been weeks since Ace had hit a realization that completely threw his overactive mind off balance: he was completely, hopelessly into you. Even after you had flat-out rejected him once before when he tried making a cocky move on you, his bulletproof ego hadn't taken a single scratch. He didn't care about the past rejection; his feelings for you had only grown deeper and more unhinged with time, turning his loud trash-talk into an intense, possessive devotion that he barely knew how to hide anymore.

"I already booked your ticket," Ace continued shamelessly, reaching out with a lightning-fast, bruised hand to catch your wrist in a firm, warm grip, pulling you a heavy step closer into his chest until the familiar scent of his sweet fruit energy drink, light blunt smoke, and expensive cologne hit you all at once. "First class, right next to me. I'm paying for everything—food, five-star hotel room, clothes, whatever shit you want in Shibuya. You're coming with me."

His usual obnoxious, loud demeanor suddenly shifted. The sharp, cocky edge in his eyes softened into something dangerously intense, heavy, and raw. His dark gaze dropped down to your lips before slowly sliding back up to meet your eyes, his broad thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic, and possessive line against the delicate skin of your inner wrist.

"I ain't going without you, Shortstack," Ace murmured softly, his deep baritone dropping into a low, raspy register that sent a sudden spike of electric heat through the quiet room. "I'm sick of hanging out with you around this dead-ass campus. Come to Tokyo with me."

He leaned in slowly, his broad frame blocking out the afternoon light as his sharp jawline tilted toward yours. The obnoxious teasing was completely gone, replaced by a genuine, desperate heat as he closed the small distance between your faces. His warm breath fanned across your skin as he reached up with his free hand, his long, calloused fingers cupping the back of your neck to hold you in place, fully intending to steal a deep, uninhibited kiss right then and there.

BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ! BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ!

Ace’s phone violently exploded in his back pocket, vibrating with a high-pitched, obnoxious Japanese ringtone that shattered the intimate moment into a million pieces.

"Fuck!" Ace barked out, pulling back just an inch with a harsh, frustrated groan.

He closed his heavy eyes, clenching his sharp jaw so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek as he dragged his free hand down his flushed face. He pulled the buzzing phone out of his pocket with a violent jerk, glaring down at the caller ID displaying his mother's name (Emiko).

"God-damn woman has the absolute worst fucking timing on the planet," Ace growled furiously under his breath. He slid the green answer bar and shoved the phone against his ear, instantly barking out a sharp, fluent, and incredibly fast sentence in low, raspy Japanese to curse at his mom for interrupting him, before flicking his heavy, intense gaze right back to you.

He held up one bruised finger, silently commanding you to stay right where you were while his mother yelled at him through the speaker, his cocky, dangerous smirk slowly creeping back onto his lips as he waited for your answer.

.