{ s w i n g }

he  had  spent  his  life  bent  -  necked  and  fingers  bloody,  built  up  and  through  the  cracks  in  his  own  foundation.  copacetic  -  clever  boy,  convincing  yourself  to  love  how  they  tell  you  to  love  ,  but  instinct  itself  is  restless  and  unavoidable  —  !  surely  even  that,  primal  as  it  is,  slips  through  every  now  and  again.  even  now,  veins  twice  their  size  and  heat  bristling  across  his  skin  like  a  flame,  he  denies.

DENY,  DENY,  DENY  …  mouth  dry,  he  clears  his  throat  and  swallows back that swelling instinct.  a  bar  was  a  perfect  place  to  hide  until  it  wasn’t.  ‘  me  —  …  ’ it’s  almost  a  question,  turning  up  at  the  corners  but  playing  hard  -  to  -  get.  he  tips  back  a  tight  -  throated  swallow  of  good  ol’  shiner  bock  ;  long  -  fingered  hand  through  still  -  damp  hair,  stumbling  through  eye  contact.  like  a  five  year  old,  tangled  in  a  lie.  ‘ uh,  hey,  man.  how’ve  you  been  ?  ’

A brow perked up, almost amused by his reaction--not that he’d expected anything different. Their moments were shared in the dark, and now they were brightened, granted it was by neon lights but who was Ashley to be picky. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” Bringing the bottle to his lips, he took a lingering sip, focusing on the musty taste of overly watered-down beer. It gave him a second to gather himself as if he wanted to pick and choose his efforts in front of the other. Because he hadn’t foreseen to find him here tonight, and he was left doubtful if fate was being twisted against them, or maybe even pleasant. 

“I uh, never got your name.” No one noticed them, in fact, there wasn’t a single gaze lingering on them, yet he felt nervous. “Mine’s Ashley,” It was a brief movement, most would hardly notice it, the way he lifted his hand, digits ghosting across the palm of the other in a short-lived dance before his arm fell beside him again.  Though he might swear that the tingle of promised heat which was left behind, wouldn’t be so easily disregarded. “Ashley Scott.” 

“Would you believe me if I said I was actually sincerely insecure?”

“Well I’m not blind, now am I–so I’m always having eyes on new people.”

Cleo: I have a lot to say. And when a woman has a lot to say, you let her say it, Ashley.

Cleo: Wow I'm...

Cleo: It's been a while since I've been stunned but I'm surprised you listen to me and my constant rants about coffee. I'm honored nonetheless.

Cleo: Now I see. My curiosity is piqued and I have to stick my nose in your business. How did that end up going?

Ashley: Let's just say, I'm triggered.

It had been a few weeks, and Ashley had heard nothing. As if the censorship between the two men existed solely to drive the other mad with its volume. Not that he was shocked, it had been just a one night, a delusion shared between two accidental strangers. But he hadn’t been able to drive it from his mind, not even in the earliest hours of the morning, and thus he found himself frustrated with the situation. As if he could untangle the mysteries behind someone whose name he didn't even know just by overthinking. How fucking miserable, at least for lesser words and thus he found himself at another bar. Avoiding all the faces he did recognize with his bourbon, swirling the golden liquid with such force, some of it even managed its way out of the glass. But between everything this little island reminded him of, the last thing he hoped to do was add to the nonsense and yet as the neon lights flashed, Ashley found himself catching the gaze of another, their orbs as dark as his own---and with long strides, he was carried over towards the other within seconds. 

“You, again.”

Cleo: Ew.

Cleo: Throw that extra coffee you have away and never mention coffee because it's the bane of my existence. I'm a tea bitch. Earl Grey only, Ashley Simpson.

Cleo: I can't believe you forgot I hate coffee. Oh my gooooood.

Cleo: Seriously.. you can't be stealing my brand on running late? For once, in the 32 years of my life, I am actually on time and you're late. I'm disappointed.

Cleo: My patio door is open. I may be blasting some Tame Impala so don't be alarmed if I don't hear you and nearly punch you in the face. I'm bopping.

Ashley: Why do you text in novels?

Ashley: And don't worry, it's an earl grey latte, I'm not a savage.

Ashley: Got the coffee, amongst other things.

Having only been back for a short series of days, Ashley hadn’t expected to find himself running into anyone in particular. Especially given the fact that he’d been purposely avoiding the busier areas of town, and mostly keeping to himself. However, when Cleo had expressed a serious need for caffeine and cornered the male into being the one to get it for them, he found himself trapped in the mid-day rush for coffee amongst many others. Thankfully, his hat worked to conceal his identity as he kept his gaze down and only nodded his head when one of the baristas noticed the baseball player, commenting on his runs from the season prior. “Hoping for the same this year.” He reassured the teenager, glancing around the cafe as he spoke. “It was a good season, with a great team.” 

It was as he spoke that he noticed her, at first just her dark-colored locks and then her figure. But it couldn’t be her, not here after all these years and all the time that had passed. Yet still, his eyes followed her movements, and just mere moments later, he found himself pursuing her out the door and onto the sidewalk. Not that he hadn’t been here before, with many other strangers, who he had almost sworn could’ve been her. But this time, on this island, the odds were in his favor as he cleared his throat. “Elle?”