That same night 

Ace was fidgeting in his seat, flicking the glass of water on the table in front of him. His eyes shifted up for a second before he immediately looked back down. The guilt from doing that was eating him up, so he looked back up. 

Mr. Wilson was pressed up against the window, sobbing. The lights outside from the police lit up the small apartment. A few hours had passed and the police were still investigating Mr. Wilson’s death. 

Outside, officers were standing around as people in uniforms were carrying equipment inside. Neighbors were gathered around, watching. Some in silence, some whispering amongst themselves.

Ace didn’t know what to say to the old man. His mother was the one who used to comfort him while his father remained in the background. But hugs and kisses seemed too much for a man he mainly saw in passing. 

Mr. Wilson sank lower, to his knees, nearly folding in half. 

“Why did he have to do this?”, he cried. 

Ace pushed back the chair slowly and quietly. Tiptoe-ing over to the man, he slowly  reached out an arm, awkwardly putting his hand down on the man’s back gently. He got no immediate reaction from the man, so he patted him a few times. When the man let out a particularly loud sob, wracking his body, Ace paused with his hand in the air. 

He looked off to the side, trying to think. 

“I’m sorry”.

Mr. Wilson looked up at him, shaking as he tried to breathe properly.  His eyes were bloodshot, tears staining his face and snot dripping down his mouth. 

Ace stared at him in silence as the older man hiccuped. Then he looked away.

“I’m sorry”, he repeated in a quieter tone.

He went stiff when he felt arms wrapping around his legs. And held his breath when a face pressed into his leg.

The old man rambled on,“Thank you, Ace. You were the first person I could talk to. That’s more than enough”.

Ace remained stiff, not knowing what to do. 

Mr. Wilson pulled back, looking up at him. 

The look in his eyes reminds Ace of his mother. Soft and caring, like you could do no wrong in their eyes. 

“My Maman said I was special”, he blurted out, “that’s why I can see you. That’s what she said was my superpower”. 

The old man stared at him for a few seconds, his mouth open from shock. Much to the surprise of Ace, the old man smiled though it quickly turned into a sniffle. 

Ace lifted his hand and placed it above the man’s head but quickly didn't let it touch the man, hovering in the air. Mr. Wilson calmed down eventually, taking a few moments to catch his breath. 

“Your - maman … was right about you”, Ace could hear the questioning tone in his voice. 

“My Mother,” He clarifies, “maman is my mother”.

“Oh. … I’ve never heard you talk about her before. She must be a lovely woman”, he let go of Ace’s legs.

Ace once again finds himself talking before he can think twice.

“My Papa took her away. I haven’t seen her in a while”.

The shocked look he got made him regret opening his mouth. Then the shock turned into pity. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Ace”.

Ace looked away, feeling ashamed. 

“It’s not your fault. Papa was the one to order it”, he mumbled. 

Mr. Wilson gets to his feet, grunting the whole while. He rubbed his face roughly, pausing at the snot, looking around before just rubbing it off and holding his hands awkwardly. 

“Thank you for helping me Ace”.

The younger man blinks, looking away shyly.

“I haven’t really done anything”.

“Sometimes when you have nothing to give, you can give the most. Lending an ear is all that was needed”. 

The old man smiles at him. Mr. Wilson turns back to look out the window, Ace by his side. They remain like this long into the night, Ace's silent presence more than enough, even when the Mr. Wilson's family shows up.

“Ace”. 

“Ace”. 

“Wake up mon lapinou”.

Ace opened his eyes. He placed a hand over his pounding heart. Turning over, he came face to face with an old bunny staring back at him. It had tears all over it, most of which were stitched. 

“Bonne nuit lapinou”, he whispered to it. 

Sighing to himself, he forced himself up and out of the bed.

“I heard Maman talking to me again lapinou. Not in a dream but - it doesn't matter. … Maybe Papa was right”.

He smiled to himself, gritting his teeth.

“I must be crazy all along”. 

He picked up a shirt off the floor and put it on, pushing past his bedroom door on the way to the kitchen. The  sound of more talking voices woke him up even more.

He peered around the corner confused when he saw the tv on until a voice called out to him.

“Up again?”.

He looked over with wide eyes, relaxing soon. 

“Oh. Mr. Wilson”.

The old man laughed. Something it seemed he never tired of.

“It’s been a few days. You must really be used to living alone”.

Ace nods, turning away to get a glass of water. 

“And used to not getting sleep”.

Ace looks back at him. 

Mr. Wilson looks a bit guilty.

“I try not to get in your business much. You are your own man but … I can hear you sometimes”.

Ace stares at the empty glass in his hands.

“I’m here if you want to talk about it”.

“Okay”. 

He stands there awkwardly for a moment, waiting to see if there is anything else to be said, when nothing is said he fills his glass and heads back to his room. 

“Goodnight Mr. Wilson”.

“Goodnight Ace”.

The hairs on the back of Ace’s neck stand up. He’s used to hearing that tone. Like there was more to be said and yet it went unspoken. He hoped the old man would keep the unspoken part to himself.