The flight home is tedious and you’re left alone with nothing but the look in Ashton’s as he watched you get into that taxi.
Your arrival at the airport is even worse.
The arrival gate is full of loved ones reuniting and you look through the crowd for a minute before you remember that no one is here for you. That no one is coming. That the one person you know would’ve waited for you, would’ve met you exactly as you are, is 3000 miles away in London right where you left him.
You sigh, shouldering your bag and trying not to think about Ashton’s eyes, how he looked at you like you hung the moon and how that shattered when you jumped away from him. But how could you explain it to him, that you knew eventually he wouldn’t want you, that he’d get bored and show up with trash bags to collect his shit just like Miles. How could you look at him and tell him that you knew you didn’t deserve him and he’d never let you stay. How could you tell him when you knew he’d disagree until one day he just…wouldn’t.
You wait in the blistering cold, taking a drag from the cigarette you bought in duty free and watch as a taxi rounds the corner. You flick it into the trash next to you and open the door, flashing a smile and telling the cabbie your address.
And as you watch the airport fade from view, you can’t decide which feels worse. Going back to that house, reliving those memories, or living in your mind and watching as you crack Ashton’s heart over and over. Each path leaves you with the same sinking feeling in your gut, that horrible mess that leaves you reeling each time and biting back tears as your eyes burn. Your stomach tightens as you turn onto the last few streets leading back to your house and bile stings the back of your throat.
And maybe it’s then you realise you can’t live like this anymore. Can’t war with yourself over Miles and the house and the manipulation that meant he somehow blamed you for the breakup when he destroyed the relationship on purpose for his own fucking gains. When you know now it had nothing to do with you, that he was jumping ship and had to find an excuse no matter how hard you tried to fix something that you didn’t break in the first place.
And maybe it’s the feeling when you open the door and it’s not sadness and heartbreak that’s trapped between the walls, but pure white rage that makes you finally realise that this wasn’t you. Maybe it’s Ashton’s words ringing in your ears, maybe it’s everything, everywhere all at once and finally, finally, you’re realising that it wasn’t you and you can’t keep punishing yourself for it.
Maybe it’s then you finally take the first step to return home to yourself.
You’re checking the lease agreement before you quite realise what you’re doing and emailing the agent to tell them that you won’t be renewing. That you won’t be staying in the area or the city for that matter. You catch the cabbie just before he pulls away and ask him to drive you to the store. He even helps you unload the moving boxes when you get back to the house.
And then an hour later you’re packing up the house with cardboard boxes and plastic bags. Not looking twice as you shut the door for the final time and trap all that rage and sadness and desperation where it belongs, in a space you don’t exist in anymore.
Not looking twice as you take that second step home to yourself.
***
The new apartment in the new city is empty, a blank canvas in the best way and you stare around the space for a solid few minutes before you start thinking about moving all of your stuff in. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this, anything like this, completely by yourself, but the challenge sparks something within you that you haven’t felt in a long time and so you decide to embrace it. You have to, otherwise the silence gets a little too loud for you.
You’re lugging some of the final boxes up the steps to the building, when you stop, taking a deep breath and letting yourself feel the sun on your face, just for a moment. And it’s quiet, there are birds chirping and the soft hum of traffic and for the first time in a long time, you realise there’s not an angry echo rolling around in your head.
And it is so beautiful to be able to hear yourself think without Miles’ voice or face or cold, horrid laughter filling that space in your head.
You turn back to the door of the building, pulling the boxes to the elevator when your phone buzzes.
5 Seconds of Summer, coming to a city near you!
The photo of Ashton almost takes your breath away, physically makes you stop in your tracks and the cardboard box you’re holding hits the floor with a soft thump.
His eyes, those eyes, the very same ones you’d looked into when you’d dodged him in London, when you watched him crumble as you left and you didn’t turn back. His smile is so wide, an armed draped over Calum as he grins into the camera and you want to reach out and touch him, cup his face, feel him beneath your fingertips like you had that night.
Your finger hovers over his name for a minute before you shake your head, slip your phone back into your pocket and pick the box back up. You’re fine, you’re better than fine and Ashton is thousands of miles away getting ready for tour, not giving you a second thought. So you have to do the same, have to move on like London doesn’t matter, like that spark, that ache between the two of you, doesn’t exist.
But your eyes drift back to that photo again and again until the door to the elevator slides open and you find yourself wiping a tear from your face with your sleeve.
***
The sun stays firmly in the sky for the rest of the week and you manage to get outside every day, soaking up the joy of your new life. The little street you live on is littered with cafes and bars, small tables with colourful umbrellas crammed onto the sidewalk. For the first time in a while you notice how happy everyone is, how free, and you realise how much Miles truly took from you, how he changed your perception of the world around you. How he ruined it. And how you’ll never let anyone do that again.
The regular waitress in your new favourite café gives you a broad smile as you settle into a chair on the sidewalk.
“Hi! Having the same again today?’
“Please” you smile. “Thank you.” You tilt your head to the sky, letting the sun wink down on you and you hear it. The waitress returns to your table and you quickly ask, “Sorry, do you know what song this is?” Because you’re not sure and it would be too much of a coincidence for him to be here, now, in your new life.
The waitress pulls her phone from her pocket and glances at it, “She looks so perfect, by 5 Seconds of Summer. It’s good, right?” You nod slowly and the waitress continues, “Yeah, if you like them I’m pretty sure they’re performing here soon. They’ve just announced their tour.”
“Yeah,” you reply, and you sound hollow and broken and the sun may as well have fallen from the sky, “yeah it’s a good song.”
The boys grin at you as Luke sets down his guitar. “So, did you like it?” Luke asks.
You grin right back at them, “I loved it. What do you think you’ll call it?”
Ashton looks up at you through the mop of messy hair that’s fallen over his eyes. “She looks so perfect.” He says, giving you a wink and making your heart soar. “At least, that’s what we’re thinking.”
“Anyway,” the waitress chirps, “enjoy your day!”
“Thanks.” You reply quietly.
You take a deep breath and when it’s not enough you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to rid yourself of the memory, trying not the feel that ache, that pull when you meet Ashton’s eyes in your mind over and over again.
It runs deep, whatever this sickly new feeling is, right into your gut and it turns your world on its axis.
When you do make it back to the apartment, the empty space doesn’t feel welcoming anymore and the silence wraps itself around you as you sink down onto the couch.
You scroll through video after video of Ashton at his drumkit, of the boys on stage, of them taking their final bow while adoring fans scream their names and you miss him, you realise, that deep ache becoming a permanent fixture in your stomach. Your heart tightens when he grins at the camera and you meet his eyes over and over again and you wish you could go back to London, to that night, and do it all over again.
But you can’t. And its harsh but it’s the truth and you have to face where you are now, have to exist in it, have to live in it.
Have to find a way through, on your own.
***
A week later the furniture for the apartment arrives, and you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by unpacked boxes, and a half-eaten take away in front of you. The TV hums in the background to something you stopped paying attention to a while ago and the sun sets outside of the window.
But you don’t notice any of it, how the movie finishes, what colours crack across the sky because your phone is in your hand and it has been for a while now. Ashton’s name sits at the top of your messages, pinned right where you left him, untouched, unopened, like if you don’t press it then it didn’t end in the way you remember. Then London never happened and it’s just a text from before this whole mess started.
You steel yourself and open it anyway.
And the conversation is still there. London. Before London. Directions to countless venues and parties and houses and it’s years of him woven into your life in a way that feels impossible to unpick now. Your half-typed message still sits there, has sat there for days now, ever since you moved into your new apartment and you thought you’d finally found the right way to apologise or to explain or just to hear his voice again. You thought maybe the fresh perspective would give you a new idea of what to say, of how to, how to tell him how sorry you are and how you wish you could take everything back and just start fresh, erase that horrible feeling that passed between you the day you left.
Hey, I’m sorry about how I left London, I just—
You stop, delete it, hate whatever it is you’re about to say. Everything just falls flat and it’s a slow, painful realisation that nothing you can say may be good enough to fix the damage you’ve done, that no apology can counter what you did.
I miss you.
You stare at the words for a moment before you delete it, hating the feeling of your chest tightening when you look at the empty line. You let your head fall back against the wall with a quiet thud, surveying the mess around you. “Pathetic.” You mutter to yourself, but there’s no real anger there anymore and you’re just so tired.
Because the truth is more complicated than just that you miss him. It’s that when you close your eyes you don’t see London or the airport or the way he looked at you when he saw you for the first time in years. You just feel his hands on your face, just feel that ache that hung between the two of you for the entire fucking time and how you felt when you met his eyes. And for a moment you let yourself think about what would’ve happened if you didn’t run, if you hadn’t side-stepped him, if you hadn’t been so fucking scared.
Your phone buzzes in your hand and you scramble, heart racing, stupid and hopeful and ready with your apologies.
But it’s not him.
You don’t know why you’re surprised. It’s never him. It hasn’t been him since he messaged you when he picked you up from the airport.
You know he’s probably giving you space, thinks he did something wrong and that you’ll reach out when you’re ready but you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready, if you’ll ever find the right thing to say to him, to explain what happened. And you know he won’t push, won’t force you to confront something by popping up unexpectedly because that’s Ashton, always looking out for you. Always having your back
You lock your phone and toss it onto the couch, turning your attention back to the boxes.
***
The café is loud today. Not in a terrible way, just enough to make you feel included, make you feel alive. Conversations overlap, cups and cutlery clink and the low hum of music plays somewhere behind the counter.
You like it here. It feels like a place you can finally start to be yourself.
The same waitress as all those weeks ago comes to the table. “Same as usual?” She asks with a grin.
“Yes, please.” You smile back, settling into your seat. The two of you have overcome the awkwardness of that first conversation about the band and their music hasn’t been played here since. It’s nice, finally letting someone see you, know you, even if it’s just a stranger.
You look around, a faint smile on your lips and sigh. For a moment you just let everything feel easy.
It shatters just a moment later when you open Instagram without even thinking and Ashton is there, right in the middle of your screen. It’s a video this time, of him behind his drum kit, laughing at someone off camera, hair falling into his eyes as he shakes his head. The red hair from London has almost completely grown out now, leaving him with that familiar shaggy brown. The boys are deep into their tour now, and that smile on Ashton’s face is pure joy. Your heart soars when you see it, feeling just like the kid he played that song to all those years ago.
You watch the video once. Then again. Then a third time just to hear him laugh again, just to see that smile.
There’s a girl in the comment section that says you’re so cute marry me and you almost laugh at it. Almost. But you can’t ignore that your chest tightens when you read it, that part of you feels like its splintering again.
You set your phone down forcefully as the waitress returns and she gives you a concerned frown. “Everything okay?’ God, she must think you’re such a mess, always having some kind of crisis in this damn café.
You blink, forcing a smile to your face and trying to rid yourself of Ashton’s laugh that just rolls around and around in your head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thank you.”
And you are, that might be the strangest part, you are good. Your life is good. You feel like you can breath for the first time in months, finally feel in control. Nothing is wrong, really, you just…miss him.
***
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” You hiss to Jade as she forces you out of the car.
“What are you talking about? It’s a great idea! You saw his profile, you know he’s exactly your type.”
You adjust your dress as you step onto the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. “I don’t know, something just feels a bit off.”
Jade throws you a smile, half pity half excitement. “It’s supposed to,” she says gently, “this is the first date you’ve been on since Miles.” She doesn’t mention Ashton and London, there’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you that it’s just a bit too delicate, especially on nights like tonight.
“Okay.” You sigh. “How do I look?
“Like a million bucks.”
You look at her, unimpressed and she gives you a wink. “You’ll pick me up after?”
“Of course. Now, go get ‘em!”
Jade pulls away from the sidewalk before you can say anything else, so you take a deep breath and walk to the door.
The restaurant is nice, with soft jazz music playing, good food and ten minutes later you find the date going well. He’s nice and funny and he’s easy to talk to. He’s just the kind of person that you used to think you should end up with. But something now is just off, just wrong but you can’t place it and so you do your best to meet his eyes and try to ignore whatever is settling uncomfortably in your gut.
Your date leans forward and gives you a warm smile. “So, what made you move here?”
You pause, glass halfway to your lips and consider which direction you should take this in. Finally you say, “fresh start.”
He nods like he understands and maybe he does, but it doesn’t feel like Ashton and it isn’t that hotel room in London where you felt seen and safe and understood.
The memory hits you so suddenly that you almost flinch and you set your glass down with shaking hands. You push it down, try and get his eyes out of your head, try and get rid of the feeling of his hands on your skin, try and focus. This is why you here after all, to move on, to give someone else a real chance.
He reaches across the table and brushes his fingers lightly against yours and you try desperately to feel that pull or that ache or even a spark but there’s just nothing.
He clears his throat and pulls his hand away but you don’t even look at him, can’t. Because it’s hitting you all at once, pieces fitting together in a way that they haven’t before. That it wasn’t just the comfort of Ashton or the emotion of that night in London, it was that you could’ve felt something for him but you ran before you gave yourself that chance. Like you were trying to stop yourself. Like you knew what would’ve happened if you stayed and you couldn’t let that happen. Like you were punishing yourself.
But that’s over and it has been for a while now, the self-deprecation, the blame you forced yourself to take from Miles that you shouldered for all these months. The feeling you had when you ran away from Ashton that you’d never been good enough, that you’d never be good enough and that you couldn’t put yourself back there with the threat to feel that kind of pain again. Not then, not with Ashton. You couldn’t even bear the thought of that being ruined too.
But you know that you did feel something, even when you ran. Even when you were convincing yourself that you didn’t, that you couldn’t.
And really, that you do feel something. Still. Even now.
You finally meet your date’s eyes and give him an apologetic smile, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I just—I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
He looks confused, and maybe even a little disappointed but he’s kind and offers you a small smile back. “That’s okay.”
But you’re barely listening to him because your mind is somewhere else and you’re looking at someone else, in a hotel room in London on a carpeted floor, one sitting one kneeling, holding each other like it’s the only thing that matters.
***
Christmas and New Year pass in the blink of an eye and you host a New Year’s Eve party in your new city with your new friends, screaming goodbye to the shittiest year of your life with alcohol and sparkles.
And it is the best you’ve felt in a long fucking time.
And maybe that’s why it happens when it does, a few months later as you’re coming up to the one-year mark of the breakup and your trip to London and you’ve never felt more content or at peace with yourself.
You’re sitting on the balcony, coffee in hand when a number you haven’t seen in years lights up the screen of your phone.
You hesitate and then finally say, “Hey, Luke.”
He knows you’re cautious as soon as you answer, but you hear the smile in his voice anyway. “Hey you. It’s been a while.”
You nod, tucking your legs up onto the chair. “It has.” You say. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you in London, it was a bit of a whirlwind.”
Again you can hear Luke smile as he says, “I know, I heard all about it.”
You don’t say anything for a second. “So,” you start, because you don’t know what Ashton has said, if he told the boys what you did, if he said anything at all. “it’s great to hear from you, but why the call?”
Luke clears his throat and you’re sure you hear someone cough behind him. You raise a brow but wait patiently. “Well,” he says finally, “we’re in the area.”
“In the area?”
“Yeah. We’re playing a couple of shows and I wondered if you wanted to come? We’ll get you a backstage pass and all that, of course. Just like the old days.”
The old days. The old days where Ashton looked at you and you looked right back and there wasn’t fear that hung over you and shame tinging your words when you spoke. The old days when he had stupid floppy hair and red bandanas and their Greenroom meant a fold out table and Vegemite. The only days, before everything. Before Miles. Before you let him turn you into someone you didn’t recognise, someone that cracked your best friend in two. And Ashtons eyes are there in your mind once again, that shattering, that breaking as you jumped away, the hurt and confusion because he had been there for you and you both knew that something was still there between you, still alive and you’d run away.
“The old days.” You murmur quietly. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”
Luke breaks out in a grin, you can feel it in his words. “Great. Hold on, let me get you the info. It’s next week, okay?”
“Okay.” You smile, meeting Ashton again in your head. Then, quietly, “has he said anything?”
Luke’s quiet for a second, “Just that he misses you.” He murmurs in reply. “And that he’d love to see you.”
“He said that?”
“I mean I inferred it.” He says, “but I know I’m right.”
You let out a quiet laugh, “Yeah, you say that a lot.”
“Only because it’s true.” Luke pauses again and lowers his voice, “but we really would all love to see you. It’s been too long.”
Miles’ face flashes across your mind and your ears ring with the memory of him shouting. “Yes it has.” You look toward the horizon and think about exactly how far you’ve come, how you’ve rebuilt from nothing and how you get to decide what you do now, who you are now. “I’ll be there.”
“Then I’ll see you soon.”
***
You stare at half of your wardrobe sprawled across the bedroom floor, hands on your hips. “Well.” You say, thoroughly unimpressed.
“Well what?” Jade pushes through the pile of clothes and raises an eyebrow.
“Well I can’t go.”
She scoffs. “What?”
“I can’t go. I don’t have anything to wear.”
She looks at you, disbelief plastered across her face. “You’re not serious?”
“Oh, I am very serious. Look at this!” You glare at the clothes. “There’s nothing in that pile.”
“You’re being very dramatic today.”
You gape at Jade as she grins. “I am not.”
“Look,” she says, walking over to you and taking you by the shoulders. “I get it, okay. You’re worried about seeing him. It’s natural, especially after everything that happened. But you heard Luke, he wants you there. They all want up there.” She meets your eyes and smiles. “This is a good thing.” She says gently.
You sigh, meeting her eyes. “Is it?” You whisper back. “Didn’t I fuck everything up?”
Jade shakes her head. “Not even remotely. You weren’t ready, that’s okay.” She hesitates and scans your face, “but maybe you are now.” She lets you go, “But either way, you got him back and I see that as a good thing.” Jade knows everything, all about the trip to London, how you lived inside that memory for months after. She knows how you rebuilt yourself too, brick by brick, until you became someone you were proud to know. So she knows how worthless Miles made you feel, how Ashton replaced that with safety and peace and how you weren’t ready then, how you were too scared and didn’t know yourself and couldn’t handle it. But she knows you now, knows that you can and that you should and that really, it has been him all along.
You stare down at the pile, “Maybe I’ll wear that.” You say quietly, pointing down at some jeans.
“Exactly!” Jade beams, “jeans and a nice top, how can you go wrong with that?”
You give her a reluctant smile. “I guess I can’t.”
***
Your heart careens against your ribs as you wipe your hands on your jeans, taking a deep breath as the taxi pulls to a stop.
The venue has a line snaking its way around the block, a picture of the boys on the side of the building. You look up, meet Ashtons eyes and grin despite yourself. It’s been almost a year since London and you miss him, miss those eyes.
That gnawing, sinking feeling worms its way into your gut and you blanch, freezing on the sidewalk and looking back at the taxi that’s disappearing around the corner. It occurs to you then that Luke might be lying, that Ashton never said anything like that, that he doesn’t want to see you and he doesn’t miss you and Luke is trying to orchestrate a reunion. He’s always been a romantic.
Your phone rings before you get the chance to take another step forward.
Miles’ names is on your screen.
Your hands begin to tremble then and the gates that you’d shut and locked in your mind burst open, everything that happened, everything he did and said rushing into your head all at once.
Too hard. You’ve worked too hard to be derailed by him again. You’ve been through too much, changed too much.
You don’t answer, take a shaking breath and put your phone back into your pocket. But it’s too late, the damage is done.
Worthless. Damaged. Broken.
Words Miles used, words he meant, things Ashton has thought since that night. Since you cracked open the one person who stuck by you through everything.
There’s a door to the side of the venue where a bouncer is waiting to let you in but you can’t bring yourself to walk those few steps. Ashton won’t want to see you, you’re sure of it. After what you did, after how you behaved in the face of someone trying to love you? That feeling, that sickening feeling creeps its way to your throat and Ashtons eyes flash into your mind, followed closely by Miles, his face, his hands holding those trash bags outside of your house and you find yourself leaning heavily against the brick wall, struggling to catch your breath.
You take a deep breath and when it’s not enough you take another until you feel like you can rise without your head spinning.
It’s like you can see the two paths in front of you, the fork in the road, where you either walk towards that door or you go back home. Something inside you know this is your last chance, knows that this is the way to fix it, the only way to fix it and it’s right there in front of you, begging to be chosen. And you can. You’re not the same person that you were with Miles, not the same person who believed everything he said, as if your value was tied to your worth to him.. You’re not the same at all and if he saw you now he wouldn’t even know you. Wouldn’t even recognise you.
And so you walk towards that door and give your name to the bouncer.
And maybe that’s the third step.
He opens the door with smile and music thumps faintly through the hall. Your heart is in your mouth as you follow the signs to the green room. You turn the corner, smile threatening to lift the corner of your mouth and then you see him, shaggy hair and green eyes, twirling a drumstick in one hand,
And holding someone else’s with the other.
And that sinking feeling turns into your chest cracking open as the girl he’s with swims into view.
Gorgeous, is your first thought, and exactly his type. Exactly what he wants, someone uncomplicated, someone doting, someone that he won’t get too attached to and that won’t break him wide open when he was just trying to help. When he was there for you and you pushed him away. Miles was right, nothing you could do would be enough for anyone and you’d made it worse, so much worse when you blew the only chance you had. When you looked him in the eyes and shattered him to pieces.
You don’t deserve him even if he wanted you. Even if he hadn’t already moved on.
You catch your reflection and it’s pure loathing that stares back at you, pure hatred clouding your eyes, poisonous with rage as you realise you are not good enough. Never have been. And the worst part of the whole fucking thing is that you should have known. Coming here was pointless and humiliating and everything Miles had said was so fucking true.
And of course he was right and of course this was a mistake and you were so stupid to think this would end any other way. Stupid for thinking that Ashton would wait for you to get yourself together, to realise that he has been there the whole time, just waiting for you to see him. And as you stare at him, hand in hand with another girl, you know that he’s given up on you and you’ve been kidding yourself thinking that you can just waltz in and get your fucking fairytale ending.
You’re frozen to the spot even as your eyes begin to burn and your chest keeps cracking, keeps splintering and there’s nothing you can do except force yourself to move, put one foot in front of the other and never come back. That will be enough, has to be.
“Wait.” You barely register the voice over the roaring in your ears and march forward until that voice splits the air around you again. “Wait.” Footsteps catching up to you that you can barely hear. “Will you just fucking stop.”
And then his hand is on your arm, locked around you as he spins you and you meet Ashton’s eyes for the first time in almost a year. And fuck you could swim in those eyes, drown in them if he’d let you, if you were ever so lucky.
The rage in the pit of your stomach rolls and rolls and disappears when his eyes soften and he searches your face. Never letting go, though. He never lets go of your arm. “Hi.” You choke out and those tears begin to fall. You pull your arm but he doesn’t let go. “I have to go.” You whisper, wishing you could hold on to some of that rage because it would make this so much easier.
“No you don’t.” He murmurs back. “Don’t. Please. Don’t run away from me.” Again, the unspoken word hangs between the two of you. Don’t run away from me again.
“I thought..” you hesitate and glance back to the green room. “Luke said-” you shake your head, letting out a long breath. “I thought you wanted me here.”
He looks at you in disbelief. “I do want you here.”
“So what was that?” There’s the rage, red hot simmering beneath your skin as you stare down the empty corridor. “Who was that?”
“What?”
You shake your head. “I’m not doing this.” You say. “I’m not having a fight about you holding hands with some girl when we’re not even together. When you didn’t even have the balls to ask me here yourself. Okay?”
“No, no that’s not,” he shakes his head and takes a breath. “I am not with her, okay. We had a couple of fans we had backstage. That’s the music you heard too, okay? We were just having something to eat and some photos with some fans. I swear to you. She grabbed my hand, I’m not going to shake her off”
And in your head it makes sense, makes a lot of sense, actually, why he wouldn’t push a fan away, why it wouldn’t even cross his mind. But that gnawing feeling in your gut is still there, still clawing at you and who you finally meet Ashton’s eyes, his face shatters. “You don’t believe me?” He asks, eyes searching for your answer that will change everything.
“I just think that’s pretty fucking convenient.”
“So you don’t believe me, then?”
“I…” Ashton’s face that night in London tumbles into view once more. You can’t do that to him again, you won’t. But he’s already standing there with that look on his face, staring at you like you’ve cracked him wide open all over again. And you want to say something, you have to say something but the words don’t form and he’s shaking his head before you have the chance to say anything at all.
“You don’t do you?” He runs a hand over his face and looks at you in disbelief and you can see the cracks in his face starting to form. “Why not?” He inches closer and something in him starts to snap. “Why don’t you fucking believe me?” And that’s rage on his face, clouding his eyes, and his grip on your arm begins to tighten. Restrained, you realise, he’s been holding back for you but something’s different now, something’s changed and that restraint is slowly disappearing.
“I don’t… It’s not that, you know I just…” You stop yourself again, stammering, falling over your words, tripping over the horror that this has become, the disappointment and the anger plastered to Ashton’s face. You’re about to lose him forever, you realise when you look at him again. He’ll be gone this time for good. “Ash, it’s not that I don’t believe you. I don’t…” you rake a hand through your hair and meet his eyes, “I don’t trust you.”
Another blow you don’t mean to land but Ashton takes a step back from the force of it and finally lets go of your arm. Really lets go and it’s foreign, how cold you suddenly feel, how empty. He stares at you, waiting for an explanation, waiting for you to say anything else but the truth stands tall between you and there’s nothing else you can say. Ashton shakes his head, his eyes turning cold as they rake up and down you. “You know I’m not too happy with you either, right? I mean did you forget about London?”
You scoff and stare right back at him. “No, Ashton, I didn’t forget about London.”
He nods, lips pressed together and takes another step towards you. And you let him, stare him down as he does and fucking dare him to take another one. “Really? I haven’t heard from you in almost a year.” It’s his turn to land a blow, straight to your gut.
“Yeah,” you laugh and its bitter and its cold and nothing like the way you should be talking to him, “and it looks like that really fucking tore you up.”
He laughs right back at you. “How would you know? You weren’t fucking here!”
Everyone can hear you, you’re sure of it, the two of you facing off against one another in the hallway, trading blows neither of you want to give.
“I know I wasn’t here Ash. I was trying to put my fucking life back together.” And you know now would be the perfect time to tell him about the date, about the text you never sent, about how you feel but you can’t. The image of him here with that girl, the knowledge that he didn’t know or didn’t care that you were here, that he probably didn’t even want you here has you doubling down. ‘I’m so sorry if that was inconvenient for you.”
“Inconvenient? I would’ve helped you. All I wanted to do was help you but you didn’t fucking let me. You. Just. Left.” He bites out his words, glaring at you and you can feel something between the two of you snapping.
You take a sharp breath and shake your head, feeling tears burn your eyes. “That’s not fair, Ash.”
“Bullshit it’s not fair. You left me in London.” And it’s so final the way he says it, so resolved. The words you’ve been so afraid to hear, the truth you’ve been dreading and the Ashton’s eyes make you splinter, just come apart at the seams.
“You have no idea,” you start, voice hard as you fight to keep it from breaking, “how fucking hard that was for me. You have no fucking idea.” You cross your arms, squeeze hard like you can keep the rage and the pain and the sadness locked inside. You nod in the direction of the greenroom. “But it seems like you’ve been having your fun. What do you need me for?”
Ashton gives that bitter laugh again, “Right. Yeah. I’m having a great time around people I don’t want to be around. With people that don’t fucking know me.” He takes another step then and you let him. “What about you then?”
“What about me?”
And it’s so angry, the way his voice just drips. “Seems like you’ve been fucking fine.” Without me are the words he lets linger.
And it’s all wrong, this fight and this sickening feeling between the two of you that sours as the minutes pass by. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, isn’t what you pictured when you stood outside and convinced yourself you had the strength to see him.
After a moment you muster what’s left of your anger, “Well you wouldn’t know, would you?”
“Right so tell me.”
You laugh in disbelief. “Tell you?”
“Yeah. Fucking tell me. Fucking tell me whose been there for you to help you put your life back together. Tell me what you decided to do after London. Because you sure as shit didn’t call me.”
You stare Ashton down. “Why do you fucking care?” You know the answer and so does he but you’re silent and you can’t bring yourself to tell him, you can’t risk it.
Two thundering heart beats pass between you and Ashton shakes his head. “Fuck this.” He mutters and he turns away from you.
And you almost can’t believe it, staring at his back, feet frozen as he walks toward the greenroom. You choke on the words you can’t get out, and you can feel yourself splintering, knowing you had this chance and you ruined it. Knowing that he had waited for you, that you were right to think he would and you’ve just thrown it away.
“So you’re just going to walk away from me?” Your cracked voice echoes down the hallway. “You’re just going to walk away from me and that’s it then?”
Ashton’s footsteps stop.
And he stands with his back to you for a minute, breathing hard, eyes on the ground. You can see the rage rolling from him and you know he’s done his best to control himself for you, but when he turns around and sets his gaze firmly back on you, you can feel it.
And it sets your fucking soul on fire.
“Walk away from you?” He asks and then he’s moving down the hallway, striding towards you until he’s right in front of you, until he’s cupping your face with both of his hands and asking, “Don’t you fucking get it?”
You can barely get the question out, barely breathe. “Get what?”
“That I have to walk away from you. That I can’t keep giving myself to you over and over again and you just don’t see it—”
“See what?”
“That I fucking love you!”
And your world tilts on its axis. Just fucking tips.
“What?” you breath out.
Ashton searches your eyes but he doesn’t let go, you’re not sure he ever will. “I love you.” He says and all of the rage, all of that pain just disappears from him. “I love you. I loved you in your apartment, burning that fucking lasagna. I loved you in London when you were breaking in my fucking arms over a guy that doesn’t fucking deserve you. I have loved you through all of it. I didn’t stop just because you left.” He looks at you, holds you like you’re the only thing that matters. “And I was trying to give you your space and I thought if you moved on then I’d find a way to be okay with it because it would mean you’d be happy but I—”
“Ash.” You start but he shakes his head and begins to pull away from you, so you catch his hands and meet those eyes that you’ve been drowning in for a lifetime.
And you stare at him for a breath then another one and he doesn’t move, stands there frozen as you hold him until finally you say, “Ashton. I love you too.”
He wipes a tear from your cheek and your noses touch as you grip his shirt, pull him towards you to tell him that you feel it, that you’ve felt it all along and his beautiful, joyful grin breaks across his face.
And when he kisses you there’s no force on earth that could pull you from his arms. You lean into him, sink into him, come home in all the ways you never thought possible.
And when you pull away and rest your forehead against his, you feel your soul slowly, carefully sparking back to life.
scenario : Luke tries to convince his sleepy and reluctant girlfriend to join him for a morning run.
warning : none – pure fluff.
note : English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes or weird phrasing that slipped through. Thank you for reading, and I hope you still enjoy it!
"Why are you doing this to me? you whined, voice still thick with sleep, buried under the blanket.
“Did you already forget what you told me yesterday?” Luke replied with that infuriatingly calm tone he always used when he knew he was right.
“That was yesterday. Today’s a new day, so…” You waved your hand lazily out from under the sheet, like that could dismiss the entire conversation.
For the past half hour he’d been gently shaking you awake, radiating that annoyingly healthy energy only Luke seemed to have at six in the morning. He kept insisting you’d “agreed” to go for a run together. According to him, you’d said yes. Twice.
A long, sigh escaped his lips. You heard his muffled footsteps approach the bed again until the mattress dipped under his weight.
“Fine… you leave me no choice,” he whispered, sounding way too amused.
Before you could process the veiled threat, the blanket was ripped away in one swift motion. The cold air hit you like a slap. You lunged desperately to grab it back, but it was already too late—his strong arms wrapped around your waist and, in one fluid movement, he hoisted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.
“Luke! Put me down right now! I don’t want to go!” you yelled, weakly pounding his back with your fists while he carefully carried you down the stairs.
“Stop hitting me.”
“Not until you put me down.”
“I’ll put you down when I finish going downstairs.”
“Do you really think I won’t just climb right back up the second my feet touch the floor?”
“Do you really think I’m going to let go of you once you’re on the floor?” he shot back, completely unfazed.
“Luke.”
“You promised.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“But I asked seriously.”
Your feet finally touched the cold living-room floor. You tugged your pajama shirt back down where it had ridden up.
“I was distracted. You took advantage of my vulnerable state,” you accused, pointing a finger at him.
The tiny click of nails on the floor announced Petunia’s arrival. She appeared in the kitchen doorway, staring at both of you like she was judging the entire morning chaos.
Luke raised an eyebrow.
“I asked you twice to make sure. Both times you said yes.”
And then it hit you with painful clarity.
Yesterday afternoon you’d been sprawled on the couch, surrounded by messy notes, desperately trying to catch up on assignments you’d procrastinated into oblivion. Luke had mumbled something about “we could go for a run together, you in?” You, eyes glued to your screen and brain on autopilot, had thrown out a casual “yeah, sure, I’m in” just so he’d leave you alone.
Hours later, when you finally closed your laptop and dragged yourself to bed, he was still awake. You collapsed face-down and shut your eyes almost instantly. You vaguely remembered him murmuring something else… and you mumbling yes again, half-asleep.
“Luke… you know I’m terrible at running. I’m out of breath in three minutes. It’s not my thing.”
“But you can start today. I’ll help you. Step by step.”
“No thanks. I’m happy like this,” you said, turning decisively toward the stairs.
You didn’t even make it to the first step. His hand caught your wrist—gentle but firm—spun you around, and suddenly you were inches apart.
“I promise I’ll go next time.”
“That’s what you said two days ago.” His expression was the perfect mix of amusement and tender disbelief.
“That wasn’t me, that was zombie-me.”
A low laugh rumbled in his chest. He was already used to your excuses. He leaned in and pressed a slow, warm kiss to your forehead.
“What am I going to do with you?” he murmured against your skin. “Fine… but you’re not getting out of it next time. Promise.”
You nodded, still feeling the tingle from his kiss. You watched him crouch down to give Petunia quick ear scratches before heading out the front door.
“How about you come sleep with me instead?” you whispered to Petunia.
She stared at you for three long seconds—like she was silently judging you—then turned and disappeared down the hallway.
You stood there a few more minutes, torn between the warmth of the sheets and the horrifying mental image of yourself trying to keep up with Luke while running. Finally, with a resigned groan, you made a decision.
It was a terrible one.
Exhausted.
That word summed up your entire existence right now.
You’d been awkwardly jogging down the streets for a while, breath coming in ragged gasps, legs feeling like they were made of concrete. Every step reminded you of all the times you’d said “I’ll start tomorrow.”
Finally you spotted him in the distance: standing still, hands on his hips, catching his breath. You took advantage of the pause and “sped up” (what you considered speeding up) until you reached him.
“Luke!”
You raised a hand begging him to wait, then bent forward, hands on your knees. Air rasped in and out painfully.
“I think… I think my lung is about to come out.”
He let out a genuine laugh and gave your back a gentle pat.
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure out how to put it back in,” he teased, carefully brushing sweaty strands of hair off your forehead. “How long have you been going?”
“I don’t know… half an hour?” you exaggerated.
“I’ve only been out for fifteen minutes.”
“Well, it feels like forever. I almost passed out twice.”
He shook his head, still smiling, clearly entertained.
“Since I basically did cardio looking for you… that counts as running, right? Done. I fulfilled my part.”
“You’ve got a point, but…” he dragged the word out mischievously, “you didn’t run with me. That was the whole point.”
“Oh my God, Luke! I almost died and you still want more?”
Despite his laughter and calls after you, you turned dramatically and started walking back home. Every muscle screamed in protest. You decided you weren’t leaving bed for the rest of the day.
This was definitely not your thing.
Luke caught up in four long strides and fell into step beside you, glancing sideways.
“The important thing is you tried. We can go again another day, slower. No pressure.”
“No thanks. This was the last time I ever run.”
“You jogged.”
“Jog, run… I almost fainted either way.”
“Okay. I have a proposal.”
You both stopped. Turned to face each other. You gestured for him to go on.
“If you come running with me… I’ll make breakfast.”
You narrowed your eyes, pretending to think deeply while scratching your chin.
“Pancakes?”
“As many as you want. But only on the days you actually come with me.”
The offer was dangerously tempting. You hated cooking in the mornings and almost always left it all to him anyway.
“Deal,” you said, sticking out your hand to seal it.
Instead, Luke tapped his cheek with one finger.
“We’re sweaty,” you protested.
“I don’t care.”
You ignored him and kept walking, hearing his comment about how the deal wasn’t official until you gave him a kiss.
You smiled to yourself, already knowing you’d cave eventually… like always.
