#it will rot away on my hard drive until I finally feel OK deleting it and then it will well and truly be OVER
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ngl besties finally letting the wip go (again) and just saying 'you know what I don't have to work on this I don't have to finish this I can leave this behind it isn't bringing me joy anymore goodbye' has been mightily beneficial for me, my self esteem, and mental health
#I will always enjoy the blorbos I simply cannot write for them peace love and light I have to move on#still don't know if I'll ever write again (hahaha đđđđ) but I don't have to keep trying with that wip for those blorbos#it is over. goodbye. I will not be revisiting those 2 probably ever again. at least in terms of fic and shit.#it will rot away on my hard drive until I finally feel OK deleting it and then it will well and truly be OVER#erin explains it all
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11 Reasons Not to Fall in Love
Warnings: swearing, mention of alcohol
Summary: Ashton is in love, and Y/N might be, too. There are a million reasons not to fall in loveââ here are eleven.
Word Count: 6.7k
ONE: YOU MIGHT NOT EVEN KNOW IT
Ashton sprinted down the terminal.
His suitcase rattled behind him, the wheels sputtering as they hit the cracks in dirty tiles. And his shoulders ached from the weight of his bag carving into already-sore muscles. A pair of headphones had fallen from his pocket down near gate A3, but he hadnât bothered to retrieve them. Not when his connecting flight had less than ten minutes until departure. Ashton couldnât waste another minute apologizing to strangers for slamming into them during a moment of distraction.
Sweat accumulated under his arms and along his hairline. Long corridors awaited him, meanwhile, his lungs strained within his ribcage as he rounded corner after corner. He hadnât remembered the airport being this large. Perhaps he had slipped into a Twilight Zone nightmare where every doorway led him to where he had once been. Time ticked away, and Ashton was too frantic to check the clock on his phone.
âFinal boarding call for American Eagle flight 1683 for Los Angeles. Please make your way to gate D26. That is D for Delta. Again, this is a final boarding call for American Eagle flight 1683 for Los Angeles, located at gate D26. Thank you.â
âShit,â Ashton spat, his knuckles curling in a firm grip around his duffle. The same duffle his mum gifted him nearly six years ago, yet it still worked like a charm. The duct tape held up well.
His feet skidded against the rug leading into gate D26. He opted out of the dramatics, slowing down his pace and walking calmly around the rows of seating before addressing the gate agents with a smile. They saw plenty of passengers like himââ late, damp, and a bit smelly as well. But that didnât erase the scowls from their features. He sped down the jet bridge, dropped off his carry-on at the end, and boarded the plane with two minutes to spare.
âHey, hi, sorry,â he mumbled to the flight attendants, but his breathy words hardly translated through his large gasps for air. It didnât take him long to find his seat in first class. The large cushions enveloped him like an old friend. He sat back after placing his bag underneath the seat before him, and his eyes fell shut as a sigh left his lips.
Ashtonâs phone vibrated in his pocket.
snail butt:
text me when u land!!!!!!
His cheeks burned. A smile stretched slowly on his cheeks, the kind of smile that wrote novels and lit up silver screens. It was a smile that could not be hidden no matter how hard he tried. Ashtonâs stomach had been stuck with thousands of pins. And all it had taken was a single text from you.
âOnly a fool whoâs in love smiles like that.â
Ashton turned to face the person behind the voice, his eyes wide and watery as he shut off his phone. âExcuse me?â
The older man beside him chuckled. âI know a smile like that anywhere.â
âIn love?â Ashton repeated, soon falling into laughter himself. âNo, no, Iâm notâââ
The man winked and glanced away, but Ashton chose not to harp on a nonsensical conversation. Instead, he stared at the seat before him, mouth slightly ajar as he registered the older manâs words. Ashton had never been in love, at least he believed it to be so. He had no knowledge of the feeling. So, he rejected what he heard.
He spent the next few hours with his gaze locked on the clouds, wondering if what he felt for you was, perhaps, something a little like love.
TWO: ITâS ONE-SIDE
The lights had flushed out his skin. Every inch of it was warm and wet to the touch, a sensation he knew well but hadnât quite gotten used to. Even after thousands of showsââ thousands of performances that kicked his adrenaline to new heights only to have it plummet by the time he made it to the showers. Ashton stood against the tiled walls and let the water pelt against his skin. The pressure was never how he liked it. And the water was never hot enough.
He liked to call you after shows. He liked to hear about your day. You told him about the customers that pissed you off and the ones that sweetly tipped you a little too much. You told him that Oatmeal had taken a poo in your bathtub again, and heâd laugh at the thought. Heâd think about the faces youâd make, because while youâd be upset one moment, your anger never lasted long. You could never stay mad at your cat.
Ashton had yet to call you tonight. He sat on the bathroom floor instead, fingernails picking at scabs on his palms while the sounds of J. Tillmanâs Cancer and Delirium echoed around the room. He didnât have the option to sit much longer; they had to pack up and drive off to a new town overnight. He always thought about the what-ifs. What if he walked out right then and there? What if he left without saying goodbye? What if he hopped aboard a plane and moved to the other side of the world? What if he cut off all contact with everyone he knew? And, what if that included you?
The thing that scared him the most was the possibility of it all. He could do whatever he wanted. It was his life, his body, his mindââ he had the ability to walk away whenever he so pleased.
He had the ability to forget about you.
Ashton stared at your contact on his phone. A picture from your New Yearâs Eve party faced him, your goofy, smiling face staring up at him, happiness permanently immortalized within a small circle. And he wasnât sure what your contact name meant anymoreââ it had been an inside joke from years before, but time stole the memory.
He could delete your number if he wanted. He could rid himself of the pain of loving you by losing you. He could end everything now.
Ashton called you instead.
âYouâre eating away at my cellular data,â you said right away, and somehow, the sound of your voice always made him feel better. All of his previous thoughts melted away. âHow was the show? How are your bloody hands?â
âBeaten tâhell,â he spoke, but his words felt lifeless. Ashton could no longer identify his exhaustion. He felt like a stale being, like the grimy tiles beneath his bum as he counted scratches on the bathroom mirror. âTell me about your day.â
âDidnât do much,â you replied. âOh, butâââ
You talked for a half-hour. About the dentist, about your cat, about the food you ate... and he listened with pleasure. He listened because it was the only thing keeping him from walking away. It kept him from wiping the slate clean.
And he wanted to. He didnât want to love like this. It was one-sided, trivial in every aspect, and you had no idea how much it pained him to even think about you. His urge to leave it all behind grew larger every day.
You didnât love him. You didnât see him the way he saw you.
âHey, bug,â he mumbled. You had been talking about a Tinder date, one that went oh so right, and Ashton gripped his thigh until he drew blood. His eyes screwed shut at the idea of you piled under bedsheets, arms tied around the neck of someone else. ââm gonna have tâlet you go.â
âAw,â you said.
He pictured your pout.
âWell, okay,â you continued. âIâll talk to you tomorrow?â
Ashton forced a smile. He wished you could see the ache behind it. âOf course, doll. Love you.â
âLove you, too!â
J. Tillmanâs voice filled the tile room once again. And Ashton sat wishing your words held meaning. He wished he could erase the casual and fill in sentimentality. Because he now knew what love was, and he knew you would never feel the same.
THREE: THEY LOVE SOMEONE ELSE
His kitchen faucet had been dripping for eleven days. The noise faded into the background, its constant drip, drip, drip like an unspoken rhythm to Ashtonâs ears. He found himself tapping along and making up songs to the beat of these drips. They werenât irksomeââ not for the first eleven days.
He was lonely on the twelfth day. Beaten hands pushed back dirty and newly dyed dark strands of hair. Ashton hated looking at his appearance in his bathroom mirror. The dark circles were unfriendly, and he hadnât seen his skin that sickly color before. He was malnourished at his own expense. And he was exhausted.
Tired of spending all of his nights staying up until four because being home felt like a prison. Tired of looking at pictures of you and your boyfriend while Ashton was stuck wallowing with a sore heart. A sore heart that failed to tell you how he felt sooner. Because now he saw your face when you were with himââ with your boyfriend, and you looked so happy. Ashton couldnât help but feel sorry for himself.
It seemed as though everything was falling apart at once. The faucet, his relationship with youââor lack thereof, and suddenly his dishwasher was overflowing, and every meal he made he was burnt to a crisp. The twelfth day of his faucet leaking was the last straw.
But Ashton didnât want to call a plumber. He took the matter into his own hands.
An hour later, he had flooded part of the kitchen and dented a pip with his wrench. The activity hadnât gotten rid of stress or anger, and it certainly hadnât distracted him from thoughts about you.
He sat back against his fridge, a few stray tears spilling down his cheeks while he avoided the ache in his spine. The leaking had only gotten worse, but Ashton decided he would worry about it on the fourteenth day. He wanted to curl up on his couch and stay there forever. He wanted to rot in his home (was it even his home?) and have everyone forget about him. To have you forget about him. He wanted to forget about you.
snail butt:
hey.
pls answer me
are u ok
Ashton kept the messages open on his phone, but he didnât respond to them. He wasnât touched by your concern right now. He felt numb, and he wanted to sink into the tiles and melt in with the puddled water. It wasnât normal anymoreââ to feel this way. He lost himself in the shape of his hands; they no longer looked like his hands. Did he even exist?
snail butt:
ash
can i call
His eyes narrowed. For the first time in his life, he didnât want to talk to you. You were the last person on the earth he wanted to talk to. All because he did want to tell you everything, but he knew he couldnât. You had always been a constant in his life, and the reason you no longer were had fallen upon his shoulders. Because he had fallen in love when he never meant to in the first place.
Suddenly, you were calling him, and his fingers stayed still. His thumb didnât move to answer the call.
This wasnât who Ashton was. He always answered your call no matter where he was, no matter what time of day. His eyes brimmed with tears, yet they refused to spill. No one said love could be this painful. No one said it would be like this.
You called again, a contact picture of you in minion goggles popping up only to disappear a half minute later. Ashton knew he was worrying you. He felt the fear creeping up into your chest while you tapped âvoice callâ over and over, meanwhile mumbling a few frustrated words involving insults you never meant. You had sensed his change in behavior long ago. He didnât blame you for forcing communication like this.
That was why he wanted to pack his things and leave sometimes. It was easier than convincing everyone that he was okay.
Ashton:
Hey sorry I missed your call
Canât talk right now
Love you
FOUR: EVERYONE KNOWS BUT THEM
A familiar feeling filled Ashtonâs stomach. It knotted and twisted, but it never loosened. His grip on his phone tightened with every word he read. Knuckles ached while his fingers dug into the metal siding, and tension soon collected in the hinge of his jaw.
This had been his night so far. Stuck in between tables and chairs in the middle of a bar while you texted him about your boyfriend. But Ashton wasnât mad because of that. His anger boiled because your boyfriend had mistreated you, and Ashton was hearing every little bit about the story.
He believed that he was seconds away from breaking his phone altogether.
âAshton.â
His head shot up, small curls falling over his eyes as his jaw clenched. A bunch of worried eyes faced him.
âYou okay, mate?â asked Michael. His voice was hushed and full of a certain comfort that his friend needed to hear.
Ashton swallowed, and he could feel all of the individual muscles in his cheeks strain. The gray dots on his phone appeared againââ you had more to say. ââm fine,â he spoke. His eyes said otherwise. They were watery and wide, filled with an easily read emotion, yet he hoped his friends would avoid the conversation.
Luke hummed. âSure.â
âIs she okay?â Michael set his drink down on the table before them.
The words sunk in Ashtonâs chest. He appreciated their concern. He appreciated that they cared about you. But he didnât want to talk about itââ he never did.
He shrugged. âYeah.â
âConvincing.â
âWell, what do you want me to say?â asked Ashton, voice raising in frustration while the sea of eyes blinked back in response. A cold silence met him, but the music in the bar carried on. He sighed. âSorry. Fuck. Sorry.â
He gripped his forehead and wiped the sweat from his drink onto the table. His fingers trembled as he did so.
âDoes she know how you feel?â Michael mumbled.
Ashton raised a brow. âKnow how Iââ what?â He began to laugh. He felt strangeââ like anger was fighting with anxiety, and he knew he could no longer repress his feelings by this point.
âAsh.â
He turned to face Luke.
âItâs obvious,â said the blond. âWeâre not stupid. We know you love her. Weâve known for the past like, six months.â
The frustration softened, and soon, Ashton deflated. His shoulders slumped as his frown deepened. âItâs obvious?â he whispered.
âNot that obvious,â Calum intervened. âYou jusâââ you get really sad when you get feelings for someone.â
âIâm notâââ Ashton straightened his spine. âIâm not sad. Weâre fine. Sheâs fine. Weâre both really fine.â
âIâve never seen you guys this distant before,â Michael said.
âFriends grow apart.â
âNot like this.â
Ashton dug his fingernail into the wooden tabletop.
âDude,â continued Michael. âYou gotta tell her soon. Itâs just gonna keep hurting if you donât. And itâll keep gettinâ worse and worse.â
âOr maybe itâll hurt worse if I do tell her,â muttered Ashton.
âSo, you do love her?â Luke asked.
Ashton waited a moment to answer. âYeah.â
Silence washed over the group, and a beat later, Michael asked, âdoes she love you?â
Ashton stared at a neon sign in the distance. He could hear its buzzing from his seat. It gnawed at his eardrums and wedged itself under his skin. âNo,â he said, shaking his head. âShe doesnât.â
FIVE: THEY ARE OBLIVIOUS TO YOUR PAIN
Ashton had been late to his own birthday party. He strolled in after forty minutes, heart heavy while he pushed through sweaty bodies that he hardly recognized. The stairs were his destination, and he could only fake so many smiles. He could only force empty hellos for so long before someone was bound to pull him aside. Their skin burned his.
Because it had been you, and every touch was a pain unlike any other.
âHey, hey, birthday boy,â you said, grinning from ear to ear. âMiss me?â
Ashton stared at you in awe. Not because you looked stunning, which you did. You always did. But because he hadnât seen you in four months. He had hardly spoken to youâ he felt like he hardly knew you.
âHoly shit,â he muttered as he wracked his brain in search of something to say. Or rather, the right thing to say. Heat trickled up his neck and into his cheeks.
âIâll take that as a yes?â you asked. The drink in your hand had hardly been touched. Meanwhile, your fingers toyed with the small plastic straw.
Ashton felt his smile grow. His stomach was on fire. âYesâ yeah. Give me a fucking hug.â
Your arms wrapped themselves around his torso, your head burying into his shoulder while he tried to memorize the feeling of you against him. He missed being held by you. It came with a sense of belongingââ like he was always meant to be here.
âDid Michael fly you in?â asked Ashton, and meanwhile, he kept his hands on your upper arms. His gaze on you was intenseââ that he knew, but he couldnât tear his eyes away. Had you always looked that beautiful?
You shook your head. âWanted to surprise you myself.â A smile grew on your lips.
Ashton smiled as well, but it ached to falter. He just wanted to be happy around you.
The drinks poured on, night crawling with sweat and glitter and everything Ashton had wanted to avoid. As the hours passed, you stuck to him like glue. And the more alcohol in your system, the more you kept your hands on him. Unsteady fingers scraped down his arms whenever a good song came on through the speaker. You were in constant movement, and all Ashton saw was a gaussian blur of colors and smiles.
He locked himself in the upstairs bathroom.
He sat there for at least an hour, knuckles drumming against polished tile while the bass reverberated through the floor. It had been months since his last interaction with youââ he never knew when he would see you next. And then you were dancing with his friends, mind elsewhere while you tried to forget about the dried tears over your ex-boyfriend. You were swaying and laughing, looking like an angel kissed you just that morning, and he hadnât been ready for any of it.
In all honesty, Ashton would have preferred not seeing you at all. Your presence taunted him. It reminded him of all of the mistakes he made, and it reminded him that you would never love him the way he loved you.
Before leaving the bathroom, he washed his face. He washed away the past couple of hours in order to prepare for the next few. In order to see you again, he had to forget all of his feelings for the night.
But he couldnât. He barely took a step downstairs before retreating to his bedroom. It was his own birthdayââ he could be miserable if he wanted to be. Did he even want to be?
Ashton changed into a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. He could still hear the music through the floorboards, but it no longer bothered him. His phone remained silent with no phone calls or texts asking where he was. And then the door opened, and you walked in.
âUh oh,â you said. âBirthday boy went missing.â
âYou found him.â
You smiled softly. âYou okay?â
Ashton shrugged. âTired, sâall.â
You kept your arms crossed as you looked at him. He felt like you were analyzing everything about him. Perhaps you could read minds. Perhaps you already knew how he felt about you.
âYa wanna sit?â he asked you, motioning to the empty spot next to him on his bed.
Your smile grew. âDuh.â You rushed over, flopped down against the comforter, and nestled into him. He hadnât expected that last part. âMissed you,â you mumbled against his shirt, and your arm twisted around his. You were warmââ it was a good warmth.
âMissed you, too, bug,â he whispered. He leaned back against the pillows and took your body with him.
You hummed. A comfortable silence settled in, albeit the soft music from down below, and all Ashton could feel was you. He felt your skin, your heartbeat, your smile... He felt the happiness he had been looking for since the night began. This was why he needed you.
You turned to look at him. âWhy havenât we kissed yet?â
Ashton raised an eyebrow at you.
âWeâve been friends for like ten years,â you said. âIâve even kissed Luke. Why havenât I kissed you?â
âYou kissed Luke?â
You pressed your palm against Ashtonâs chest. âShould we kiss?â
âI donât thinkâââ
âWe havenât even tried it.â
Ashton shrugged. His heart rate had doubled, and the temperature in the room spiked. âYeah, well...â
âDo you wanna?â you asked.
His limbs felt numb as he sat up. âMaybe nowâs not the best time, bug.â
âOh.â
Ashton wiped his hands against his thighs, and when he looked over at you, a pout had found its way onto your face. The soft light from his bedside lamp reflected in your watery eyes and in the moisture on your lips. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Shit.
âWhy do you wanna kiss me so bad?â he mumbled.
You glanced down. âIâve always wanted tâkiss you,â you said. You looked back up at him, and he saw something in your eyes that he had never seen before.
It gave him hope.
He nodded, swallowing thickly while he fought back conflicting thoughts. âOkay,â he said.
âOkay?â
Ashton nodded once again. âYeah. We canââ we can try it.â He squeezed his eyes shut, meanwhile wishing he had let the whole thing slide. He wished he could turn back time and never let himself feel like this.
But then you smiled, and he thought that, maybe, it wouldnât be such a bad idea after all.
You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He didnât get the chance to think about anything else before you pressed your lips to his. It was quick, almost as if it had never happened. You moved away slowly, and he nearly pulled you back.
âWell,â you whispered, chuckling once more. The heat of your breath met his skin. With your arms still around his shoulders, you looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing you had laid eyes upon.
He wanted to believe it.
âWell,â he said in return. A small smile grew on his lips. He hardly remembered the kiss, but he knew he needed more. So, he placed his arms around your waist.
You leaned in again, this time capturing his lips gently between yours, but he held you close.
And then he pulled away. He pulled away because it meant too much to him. He pulled away because it didnât mean anything to you.
SIX: NO ONE WILL EVER BE THEM
Ashtonâs hands were numb.
The sun had only begun to rise. Its golden hue cast long rays through his blinds, the light taking shape and giving the dust a chance to shine. The colors washed against her back, but he wasnât looking at that. He didnât want to look at her.
He arose slowly, careful not to wake her before making his way to the bathroom. He kept his shower brief, and soon, the memories of the night prior infiltrated his brain. They had been together for a few weeks now. A few weeks of late-night hook-ups and early morning goodbyes. And last night, he called her by your name. She didnât even notice.
Ashton wasnât sure how he felt anymore. It was all numb. He could hardly feel the loofa as it scrubbed against his skin.
The morning was quiet around him. He thought about her while he spread jam on his toast. She was beautiful. She had kind eyes. But Ashton had to quit lying to himself. He never wanted to get used to the scent of her perfume on his sheets. He didnât want to lose himself in the color of her eyes. He didnât want to memorize her.
He grabbed his keys and drove off, skimming the coast with his tires as he dreamed of easier days. And then he called you.
âGâmorninâ, Mister West Coast,â you said, and the stress of his mind eased with the tone of your voice. âYouâre up early.â
âYeah,â he mumbled. The sky was lilac above the ocean. He wished you were here to see it. âMindâs racinâ, and such. Miss you.â
âAw, miss you, too,â you replied. He could hear your smile. âHowâs Sophia?â
Ashton nearly slammed on the brakes. He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel to keep his knuckles from turning white. He wanted to say, âsheâs not youâ, but instead, he said, âsheâs okay. A little sick.â
âWasnât she just sick?â you asked.
He bit his lip. âDunno.â And he truly didnât. He didnât know much anymore. He felt like he was a floating entity. He felt like he was living someone elseâs life. âI really do miss you, stinky.â
âStinky?â You scoffed. âIâm not stinky. Youâre stinky.â
âYou canât smell me through the phone, idiot,â he said, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.
âMaybe I should just come visit and find out for myself.â
Ashtonâs smile grew. âMaybe you should.â
âFine.â
âFine,â he said.
You huffed. âFine.â
Ashton was grinning now, cheeks burning while he stared at the road ahead. He still loved you. He didnât know if he would ever stop.
SEVEN: IT WOULD NEVER WORK
âDonât fucking skip my favorite song, you asshole!â
Ashtonâs stomach burned from laughter. He held his phone high, yet the roof of the car kept it within armâs reach. Meanwhile, you were fighting for dominance as he kept one hand on the steering wheel. You huffed once you gave up, and you fell back into your seat.
âCâmon,â he said, poking your thigh to earn a response. You didnât budge. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry. Look, Iâm changing it. Here. You control the music now.â
That pleased you. You grinned, taking the phone from his hands while he let out a laugh. This was how the week had played out. Back and forth playful bickering until you pulled out your infamous pout, and he had to keep himself from falling harder and harder in love with you.
It was a dynamic he had missed over the past year. His friends noticed as well. His feelings hadnât changed, yet he was happy. He could finally allow himself to be happy.
You set his phone down in a cupholder and took his hand in yours. Ashton couldnât deny the shift in energy between the two of you, yet he refused to let it overwhelm him. He refused to let his hopes get the best of his behavior. Instead, he just smiled at you and returned his gaze to the road ahead.
âHave your hands always been this big?â you asked him, holding his hand up in front of your face to examine it.
He laughed. âAre youââ are you flirting with me?â
You set your hands back onto your lap. âMaybe,â you mumbled as you traced his knuckles.
Ashton continued to smile, and a fluttering stirred in his stomach.
âIs that okay?â
His laughter quickly faded, and he cleared his throat. âY-yeah,â he said, gripping your hand a little tighter. He traced his thumb along your thigh. A comfortable silence settled in, one full of smiles and unspoken words that kept his mind racing.
The next morning, he helped you pack your things. The security line at the airport was short, and you were already running slightly behind schedule. Your plane would begin boarding within the next half hour. So, he kept his goodbye brief.
And then you kissed his cheek, and he wanted to pull you back in and hold you forever.
âI love you, Ashton,â you said with a smile. A warm smile that held meaning. You spoke words that he had heard before, but they felt different as they settled in his chest. You turned away before he could say anything else, and he spent the drive home with tears in his eyes.
Because he loved you, and you possibly loved him, too. But he could never have you the way he wanted. There were too many miles in between.
EIGHT: YOUâRE NOT READY FOR COMMITMENTââ RIGHT?
His feet ached. His knees did, too. Sweat coated his forehead, and he carried on up the steep trail.
Ashton had been thinking about you for weeks. He was caught up in your smile and the soft words you spoke. He climbed mountains to get you out of his head. His muscles burned while his brain ached with the idea of you.
You left him with a thousand questions. Did you feel the same way? Did he still feel the same way? Is this what he wants? Does he want commitment?
Ashton was caught up in scenarios left and right. He was stuck on a house in the hills, or maybe a small town on the eastern seaboard with a mile to the ocean. He felt the waves on his shins, and he felt your hand in his with a silver ring imprinting on his skin. He saw children, and he heard their giggles. He saw his life with you.
But, even after all of these thoughts, he wasnât sure if it was what he wanted. He still didnât know. The mountain had yet to clear his head.
He set his keys in the bowl beside his front door. The cold shower felt like an old friend, and a familiar song echoed in the tiled room. Your favorite song. Ashton smiled.
He still loved you, even if you didnât love him. He still wanted you. He wanted you for the rest of his life.
NINE: IT MIGHT WORK
snail butt:
hey whatâs the address for mikeyâs party
oh also!! surprise!
i'm coming to mikeyâs party
Ashtonâs leg bounced as he awaited your arrival. He felt trapped in some small room at the back of a club while his friends chatted around him. Michael wore golden party decorations around his neck, and he couldnât stop smiling. Meanwhile, Ashton couldnât hold back his fucking nerves. He hadnât told a soul that you were coming.
When you stepped in, the room was yours. Your name was sung in a booming chorus, bodies making their way toward yours for one big group hug, and you were smiling, too. Ashton stayed behind. He felt like he couldnât move.
Your eyes met his only seconds later, your smile growing while you shot him a wink. Michael talked about something that reminded him of you, and you laughed along. Ashtonâs heart swelled at the sight of you. He wished he could have it every single day.
The night carried on slowly, and the conversations between the two of you were cut short. But the shared glances flooded the atmosphere. There was something heavy behind them, like a beckoning almost, but he couldnât force himself to move in your direction. He wanted to look at you from afar.
âStranger danger,â you said after approaching him later on in the night. You folded your arms and smirked, and Ashton was suddenly aware of how tight your dress was on your figure.
âMe?â he asked, mirroring your grin. âWhat dâya mean? Iâm the least terrifying person youâll ever meet.â
âSay that to the fifteen-year-old kid who dressed up as Freddie Krueger to scare the shit out of his innocent neighbor,â you replied. You took a few steps toward him.
âTo be fair,â he began and placed his hands against the small of your back, âyouâre just an easy scary.â His smile grew. âHi, bug. Missed you.â
You fell into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders while your breaths quickly fell into a rhythm. âI missed you,â you mumbled against his jacket. You pulled away suddenly. âI have a surprise for you.â
âA surprise?â
You nodded. âCome along,â you said.
The two of you said a quick goodbye to Michael, wished him a happy birthday, and made your way out into the chilly night. You had yet to let go of Ashtonâs hand, even as he drove down streets that he hardly recognized. The address you gave him was one he had never seen before.
Ten minutes later, he was pulling up to an apartment complex fifteen or so miles away from his place.
âYou gonna murder me?â he asked you.
You shook your head and smiled. âNope,â you said.
A billion questions ran through his head as you led him up a staircase. But he stayed quiet. Even when you pulled out a set of keys and unlocked a numbered door, he still kept his mouth shut.
A lamp in the corner of the room lit up the small space. Boxes were stacked upon other boxes, and it hardly looked lived in. Yet, that didnât matter. Ashton had realized what was happening. He felt sick to his stomach.
âI was offered a job,â you said.
He stared at the mess of boxes and mismatched furniture. Even through the clutter, it was thoroughly you through-and-through.
âAnd I was tired of having to constantly come visit you,â you continued with a laugh. âI didnât wanna tell you until it was set in stone. But, yeah, welcome to my new home.â
Ashton turned to face you. You appeared nervous as you awaited his response. You were waiting for him to tell you it was a stupid idea, that you should have thought about this before packing up your life and moving to Los Angeles. But he wasnât going to do that.
Instead, he cupped your cheeks and kissed you.
And you kissed him back.
TEN: THE FEAR OF FALLING OUT OF LOVE
He could hear the screams from backstage. A venue full of thousands of fans, all waiting to hear him and his band. He wished he hadnât become numb to the feeling. It was his jobââ it was normal. And the music he created no longer held the same meaning.
But he heard the songs differently now. He played with more passion, adrenaline rushing through his veins as his drumkit became a solace. Venues were his sanctuaries. Every night was filled with a new sensation he desiredââ no, he craved.
His friends took notice. They fed off of his energy, and he wasnât sure they had ever played this well before. It was something he wished he could share with you.
Ashton didnât like remembering the thin line the two of you had drawn out. It was unexplainable, something unnamed that he was desperate to make sense of. Conversations were full of old jokes and stupid pictures he always saved into his camera roll. However, he never bothered to ask you how you felt. He never pressed about the one thing that stuck itself to his mind for well over a year.
He wanted to tell someone about how scared he was. Past relationships failed on his partââ he would flee instead of looking for reasons to stay. He chose to leave because he never saw things escalating further. Ashton had gotten used to the escape.
He felt different. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what he needed. Yet, the lack of reluctance created an unwanted fear. Ashton was afraid that, if you ever opened up to loving him back, then maybe he would stop loving you in return.
This fear showed itself in his performance. It fueled an anger that terrified him. But the shows were fucking phenomenal, he told himself. His hands bled after every night. And he still called you every night.
He was afraid of losing feelings. He was afraid of losing you. The idea of loving you was more beautiful than he could imagineââ the idea of you filled his heart with so much joy. That was where Ashtonâs love for you differed from past relationships. He was used to falling in love with ideas, but this time, he fell in love with the honest you. He loved every little thing about you.
âHi, bug.â
âHey, how was the show?â
Ashton pushed sweaty strands of hair out of his face. His heart was pounding through his skin, fingers sore and shaky from an incredible set. His lips were numb. âHi, um, it wasââ yeah, it was good.â
âYou sound out of breath.â
He inhaled as best as he could. âSorry, yeah. I am.â Anxiety crawled up his forearms and into his chest.
âYou okay?â you asked him.
He swallowed. He wasnât okay, but it didnât matter. âYeah. Iâm good. How was your day?â
âOh, it was fine,â you said. âDidnât do much. Watered your plants, ate your food, had a good nap on your couch, and then Iâââ
âIâm in love with you.â
You were silent.
Ashtonâs throat burned. Everything was numb. His entire body had fallen numb. He wanted to end the call and never come home.
âYou are?â you whispered a moment later.
His heart ached. âYeah,â he said.
âPlease come home soon.â
Ashton tried to laugh through the nerves building. âCanât do that, bug. I got like forty shows left.â
âPoopy.â
This time, he could laugh. Maybe he had been nervous for nothing. Nevertheless, he now believed that he had nothing to fear.
ELEVEN: THEY MIGHT LOVE YOU BACK
The door to his home creaked as he stepped inside. A thick black night greeted him, not a single light to be seen as the white noise settled. He held his breath while he set his belongings beside the couch. It always felt like this when he came home. He was always welcomed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He would shower and crawl into bed, and he would spend the entire night in a restless state.
Ashton hadnât expected to see you curled up in his sheets. That was where the night different from the many others. He hadnât expected his heart to fill with such warmth at the mere sight of you. Two in the morning had never felt so good.
You held his pillow tight, and he wondered if it smelled like him. He wondered if you had spent the past few months here, and he wondered if it felt like home to you. Because you looked like home to him. It was like you were meant to be there, all curled up in his bedsheets with his shirt on your back.
Ashton knelt beside you, a smile etched on his features as he ran his fingers through your hair. He had never felt this much love before.
âHey, bug,â he whispered, grazing his thumb against your cheek while your eyes fluttered.
You stirred beneath him and hummed.
ââm gonna shower, then Iâm gonna hug you after,â he said. âOkay?â
You nodded, but a moment later, your eyes snapped open. âAsh!â you yelped. You tossed your arms around his shoulders and pressed yourself against him. âYouâre fucking home.â
He chuckled, yet he didnât reply. He held you tighter and took in your warmth. He took in your scent and the weight of your breaths. He wanted to hold you forever.
You were the first to pull away, a smile never fading as you rested your forehead against his. Your legs had wrapped around his waist, and your fingers twisted in his hair; it was a feeling heâd never let himself forget.
âYou forgot to text me when you landed, asshole,â you mumbled.
He laughed again, raising his hand to cup your cheek before kissing you softly. And, like always, you kissed him back. Ashton had loved you for over a year, and perhaps, you loved him in return.
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