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your eyes still smile from your cheeks

todays headline: laziest human being in the world Actually Writes Something

i haven’t checked for mistakes and the tense switches a lot but please forgive

rated: i cant remember how ratings work but it’s literally just fluff / angst so focus: chris/ashley summary: 'It's okay, you're okay, I love you,' you whisper back, directly in her ear and in the way your fingers curl around hers and the way your voice shakes slightly as you speak. (on ao3)

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You used to have a list of things you love about her. It's not surprising, considering how long you've had to put one together and the countless hours you've spent thinking about it over the last few years. It would always change, though - you've never written it all down (because you know you're terrible at hiding things, and the others would give you hell if they found it), so it was always longer than it had been the day before. As you remember everything, it's newer - always so new that you never get tired of it, despite repeating it day after day. Eventually, you found yourself thinking you'd never get tired of her.

Sometimes you think that if you ever did get it on paper, it would fill pages; notebooks and novels and the entire Washington family library, assuming they have one of those (because, honestly, what don't they have?). It's almost frightening how long you used to be able to go on and on to yourself, focus darting about her face and body language and little habits during your every interaction, adding a few things onto the end and putting a few ticks next to some because you haven't been giving them the focus they deserve. Hundreds of little romantic thoughts bolded, italicized and underlined in your head.

Back in your old classes together, she'd sit with Sam or Hannah and you'd sit with Josh and your seat would be directly behind her's through some random streak of luck. Every now and then it would cause your focus to slip, because it's not your fault that you'd rather spend your time looking at her than taking notes you could easily get from the others (Matt) later. Beams of light entering through the room's large, dirtied windows would catch her hair in the brightest way, painting an already fiery colour with previously undiscovered reds and yellows, highlighting the little curl she always tried to hide that would end up poking a little bit out of the back of her hat. You flicked it once, getting her scolded for her reaction. She hit you on the arm afterwards. You laughed it off.

She'd often hold sleepovers a few years before it all started, back when you were less in love and more fighting with the constant surges of butterflies in your stomach, and you'd keep getting invites for them despite how many jokes you made in the past about her disney princess sheets. Before everyone would split off into the separate boy and girl rooms for the night you always came up with excuse after excuse to stay and talk for a bit longer, and somehow, it always worked. Even now, after so much has passed, you remember the way she smiled and played along, laughing at your jokes until she could no longer rub the sleep from her eyes and left you there in her dark living room, your chest in uproar and a pleasant warmth in your face.

For her last birthday, you got her a small purse, embroidered with your favourite name for her. Not a day went by afterwards when you didn't notice it just barely poking out of her pocket, and it always made your world a bit brighter.

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('I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry,' she repeats in her weaker moments, curled into a ball in your arms and sobbing into your chest where your heart is.

'It's okay, you're okay, I love you,' you whisper back, directly in her ear and in the way your fingers curl around hers and the way your voice shakes slightly as you speak. )

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Best of all is that you're sitting here in the dimness of a summer afternoon, your fingers drumming idly on her family's sofa, and she glances at you every now and then, giving you that surprised yet loving smile she always does when your gazes meet, and it all seems utterly impossible. For years she's been something like light; surrounding you and filling you with something cryptic that you could never quite get enough of. She's been the snort of laughter when you're tickled on your sides, the first breath of fresh air after a particularly long lecture, the hand wrapping around your upper arm when you couldn't stop your hands from shaking. She's been Ashley to Chris and Chris to Ashley, a bond that's not stopped growing since it started and one that no one could label because they never needed to.

But now, when you glance down only to find she's moved close enough to lean on your shoulder if she wanted to (which she does, in a matter of seconds), you smile as you see not light, not any manic pixie dream girl metaphors your sixteen year old mind used to adore, but a person. A person who can't wear a bracelet without flashing back to a memory too dark for either of them to handle, a person who sometimes forgets to take off her make-up and hates how you call her 'panda eyes' for days afterwards, a person that hates the taste of wine and drinks apple juice at parties. A girl who wakes up at 2am to fight back your nightmares, and is still surprised when you want to do the same for her. A deep sleeper who you can't wait to make breakfast for tomorrow morning.

And you think, as you lean down to kiss her nose and watch her flush and pout in response, that it's so, so much better this way.

-----

For her next birthday, you buy her a hat as opposed to a purse, and the word 'Ash' isn't written in red, but in the blue of her favourite hoodie. She doesn't wear it everywhere, but you know it's hanging off of her bedpost, and you catch her looking at it every morning.

It doesn't make the world - your world - brighter, but it does for her. And that's all you need.

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