Dearest, Mystery.

You Keep Me Sane.

Ace Wilbert Pierce is a hot fucking mess, and me, of all people would know.

I think I may be the only person who can see right through his bad boy exterior and effortless rebel aesthetic. Only I understand the traumas he endured. From the time his mother left him, a four year old child, with his crack-head grandparents in their closet-sized apartment in Manhattan to the time he realized he was gay. I know his weaknesses. I know the chinks in his scoundrel armor, and who am I, you may ask? I am Ace Wilbert Pierce.

Or at least, I'm the voice in his head. I'm the only sane thing in his mind. Between traumatizing events and alcohol, 16 year old Ace Wilbert Pierce's life has already been ruined. Ace Pierce is going mental, and I'm keeping him sane. 

Ace leaned against a street light, his clean, curly, dark black hair shining in the sunlight. His intense, light blue eyes looked at you in a questioning manner. There's not many people Ace Wilbert Pierce would risk his life for, but every detail of his chiseled face would make you want to jump in front of a bus just to save his life. 

Across the street from Ace, a boy about age 16 sat on a park bench. In the strange boy's hands was a book. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, to be exact. He wore circle, wire-rimmed glasses which were slightly bent in the middle. The boy had short, fluffy brown hair and wore a red and white striped turtleneck. He was lean and agile, yet still had muscular arms that were too large for his petite figure. He was quite an awkward boy, but handsome nonetheless. 

A few minutes pass. Ace, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground and stomping on it with his foot, looked over at the strange boy again. He was gone, and he left his book. A few moments later Ace sighs. Sauntering over to the park bench and the abandoned book, he opens the front cover and reads the words written in perfect cursive on the title page. 

'Property of our queen, JK Rowling. But if found, please return to Cahalen Smith.'

It then listed the mystery boy's contact information. Grinning, Ace closed the book and set it down on the bench. Ace was too antisocial to call Mystery Boy, but if the book was still here tomorrow he would have to overcome his fear of cute boys. Ace started to walk home. 

Where was home? If you asked Ace where home was he would always say Manhattan. Just Manhattan. Maybe the minuscule apartment in which  Ace Wilbert Pierce shares with his druggie grandparents was home, or maybe no where. Ace lived in the tiny apartment owned by his grandparents despite his feeling that he didn't belong anywhere.

What was I thinking during Ace's encounter with Mystery Boy? I was thinking, wow I'm really gay.

Cahalen Peter Smith lived at 138 Shit Street. Not the actual name of course, but Shit Street is how it's known. Despite being a main road, it's full of potholes and cracks in the gravel and overall, well, shitty.

Cahalen was a well-mannered boy with soft brown eyes and soft brown hair. He was the type of boy who would rather curl up with a good book in a closet than socialize. And that's where he was- the closet. He was gay and proud.

He was a very fit boy. He had biceps and a small six-pack, but he was short and quite skinny nonetheless. He loved books and old movies with all his heart, as did Ace, the quite stunning boy Cahalen saw in the park earlier that day. When Cahalen Peter Smith saw Ace Wilbert Pierce in Central Park on that humid day in June, he fell in love.