//int. ashton’s apt #306 - dusk. 23rd april. @beauclary
After Charlie left that morning, Ash was really starting to feel the effects of being awake for one, the heroin withdrawals for another, physically and emotionally exhausted from crying for last. Yet he couldn’t do anything about it but lay in bed and ride it out. He was in and out of consciousness for most of the early day, battling the nausea, and headaches, and pain, vaguely aware of someone visiting - Beau? Ash couldn’t really remember. He was spoken to, he said some words, and then he succumb to some kind of surface level of sleep with the mixture of everything assaulting his senses.
By the time he clawed through unconsciousness and the heavy weight suffocating him, the sun had lowered to filter into his windows, looking to set soon and usher in the night. He groaned at the pounding in his head intensifying the more he pulled himself awake, the nausea getting him to at least sit up, feeling the room spin with him as he did. But once his vision could focus again, Beau was still seated on a chair by his room, reading one of his books. “You’re still here?” Ash rubbed his eyes and the tear stains away, blinking until the blurry figure cleared up to morph into Beau, "told you it's fine, you didn't hafta stay and sit here doing nothing," he weakly chuckled but gaze clearly appreciative of his friend's gesture.