This would be where Ashley gathers what she sees and skips away into the night. Subject: night, no rest crusting her eyes, no skin-to-skin, no attempts to keep her warm. An apology rests on her tongue, but not a regret —
"I don't think I could regret anything with you."
That apology still sits, half-formed and straight laced, then sugary and swift, then nothing. She should apologize for this, because it's complicated now, and -- he probably thinks it's a rebound, and she wouldn't blame him for it, because what else do you call all of this?
Something deeper than that, something beyond an evening of kiss-swollen lips and exploration, something that carried foul feelings whenever he announced a date, came home not alone, something stuffed down, down, down, because it's complicated, and he's not this or that, he's something Ashley dares to want, hope for, but...
"Zeno..." she sighs, light and heavy all at once, because he's so sweet it makes her teeth hurt. "I'm going to assume I'm special in this department. If I'm wrong, don't tell me."
She likely is; streaks of sarcasm don't cut the overwhelm of his goodness. No too-tight-a-grip can mar the good he's done, and even if his insistence continues on particularly downcast days, where he can't rid himself of the blood on his hands no matter how hard he scrubs, where he can't look in the mirror because it resembles someone he knows but someone she doesn't, his good - Zeno's, the type he planted himself, the harvest he's ensured would die and flourish season after season - overpowers all of the DNA he spends so long cursing. For the sake of this moment, Ashley doesn't think of someone else in her position, receiving the same careful handful of loving. Heaven knows she's done that enough.
Ashley jostles a bit in his hold, grimacing at some residual (good!) ache, sharing in his, she ventures, hopeful gaze. He's got a special glow at this time of day, not an uncovered secret for her, but it pierces through her all the same.
"You mean more to me than anyone else has," no 'I think,' a rarity. "And I don't know what to do about it. I mean, I guess I did something about it..."
How can she be flustered in a time like this? This is far from a first moment, but that bubbly feeling bounces around in her chest anyway like it is, and she has to dart her eyes elsewhere to scrounge up what courage she does have.
"What do we do about this?"
Ashley noses along his throat, lacking any visible marking despite her damndest. It's her own way of soothing him despite the scare-inducing words; this won't separate us.
"I should uphold some hospitality and get up, make you something, but I'm still jelly. Wanna' revisit that conversation later? Sleep in for now?"
Wait. He doesn't do that.
"You're too comfy to leave. So, unless you want to deal with the ramifications of that, we're in for a couple more hours."
Besides, he has the strength to peel her off come need-be. She needs the moment, because if she thinks too hard on every minute touch (the palm at her arm, his breath ghosting her ear, the kisses he seems incapable of stopping), her heart--does something, and he can probably hear it, feel it like this, and she's got to get herself in-check.
Ashley leaves the spaces blank, the sides lacking connection. Even she isn't too sure how far that sentence goes, but however he catches it--
