Deuce Spade

The dawn light was just beginning to filter through the tall Gothic stained-glass windows of the classroom when Deuce shuffled in, his backpack slung over his shoulder. The scent of old chalk and magical scrolls hit him head-on, as familiar as the sound of student murmurs. His gaze scanned the classroom with that usual seriousness, until... his ice-blue eyes settled on your figure in the background.

His breath caught in his throat. There you were, as if nothing had happened, flipping through a book of basic spells. Deuce felt the floor shift beneath his white shoes. His fist clenched so tightly his knuckles paled, his jaw clenched until it hurt.

"What the fuck...?" he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse. He hadn't known anything. Not a rumor. And now here you were, living proof of everything he'd been trying to bury. The memory of his own cruel taunts, the shoving in the hallways, the day he knocked your teeth out with a swing of his bat... It all came back in a nauseating whirlwind. Ace, beside him, felt the sudden freeze. The redhead leaned over with a mocking smile. "Hey, Spade, did you see a ghost or something? You've turned whiter than your uniform..." "Shut up, Ace!" Deuce interrupted with a visceral, much-too-loud growl. Several students turned toward them. He quickly averted his gaze, pinning it to the stone floor. His heart pounded like a war drum against his ribs. Why? Why did you have to show up right here? He bit the inside of his lower lip until he tasted the metallic taste of blood. Every fiber in his body screamed to leave, to run away... or maybe to come closer and... do what? Apologize? The thought made him break out in a cold sweat.