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The sharp click of your heels echoed through the hallway, each step amplifying the urgency of your pace. You were running late—frustratingly, maddeningly late—as you powered forward, trying to make up for lost time.

Your breath came quick and shallow, each inhale a reminder of the meeting looming ahead. The sketches p tightly against your chest felt heavier with every step, the thought of presenting them making your skin break out in a cold sweat.

Whether it was the weight of the presentation or the caffeine from your third cup of coffee that sent jitters through your body, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was both. Either way, your nerves were on edge, a storm threatening to break inside you.

You let out an annoyed huff, wincing as your new heels pinched at your feet with every step. Damn these shoes. They made you look polished and professional, but they were far from comfortable—and definitely not broken in.

Finally, you reached the elevators, skidding to a stop and allowing yourself a moment to breathe. The faint sting in your feet and the hammering of your heart reminded you to steady yourself. They’re not going to laugh me out of a job… right?

Your hand trembled slightly as you pressed the elevator button, the quiet ding of the arrival chime feeling louder than it should. Watching the numbers tick down, you took a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. The anticipation tightened your chest. It’s going to be fine. It has to be.

When the elevator finally came to a halt at your floor, you didn’t hesitate to step through the eerily empty space. Nervous energy coursed through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from going over your presentation for the millionth time in your head.

As the elevator door slid shut behind you, you pulled out your phone, scrolling mindlessly to distract yourself. You quickly answered a few messages from Diego, who wished you luck and confirmed you were still on for tonight’s date.

He was the first guy you’d worked up the courage to see—albeit casually. You weren’t exactly in the right headspace to open your heart again, and the thought of letting someone in still felt daunting. Sighing, you pocketed your phone and tilted your chin up, watching as the numbers on the elevator panel continued to rise.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of screeching metal broke through the silence. Before you could process what was happening, the elevator lurched violently, and you were falling. It wasn’t far—only a few floors—but your mind went into overdrive as you instinctively dropped to the ground, covering your head and bracing for impact.

But it didn’t come. The elevator jolted to a stop with a bone-rattling force, and the lights flickered off completely, plunging you into darkness. Your heart hammered in your chest as you lay there, disoriented and trembling. Slowly, you felt along the floor for your phone, your fingers shaking as you finally found it.

You didn’t hesitate to open it, though every nerve in your body screamed at you to stay perfectly still, afraid any movement might trigger another fall. Swallowing hard, you hovered your fingers over the keypad, finally typing the three digits you never thought you’d need.

The line picked up almost immediately.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a calm woman’s voice asked, the faint sound of typing accompanying her words. You could hear a faint accent in her words— maybe Australian?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak through the panic constricting your chest. “Hi, uh, I think the elevator I’m in just fell a few floors—and now I’m stuck.”

“I understand,” the dispatcher said smoothly, her tone steady. “What’s your name?”

Your grip on the phone tightened as you shut your eyes. “Y/N.”

“Got it. Are you hurt, Y/N?”

“No,” you said shakily, “I don’t think so. Just… shaken up.”

The faint sound of rapid typing filled the other end of the line as you fought to focus on her voice rather than the silence around you.

“Okay, you’re doing great. Can I get your location?”

Your mind scrambled to recall the address, your body trembling with a mix of fear and adrenaline. Stammering, you recited the address, silently praying you didn’t get it wrong in your panicked state.

“Alright, I’ve got it,” she said reassuringly. “Now, can you tell me approximately what floor you’re on? Are there any indicators?”

You glanced toward the panel where the floor numbers usually lit up, but it was useless. The screen was dark, just like the rest of the elevator.

“I have no idea,” you admitted, frustration and fear lacing your voice. “I got on at the seventh floor, and it was around the fifteenth when the elevator… dropped.”

More typing came through the line before the dispatcher spoke again. “Understood. Help is on the way. Please stay still, try not to move too much, and keep the line open until they get to you. Can you do that?”

“Yes—yes, thank you,” you gasped, a rush of relief making your head spin as you slumped against the floor. The cool metal pressed against your back as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“Ma’am, are you still with me?” the dispatcher prompted gently, her voice cutting through your haze.

You blinked, jolting out of your trance. “Yes, I’m here,” you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice.

“Is there anyone else in the elevator with you?”

“No,” you replied, glancing around the empty space. “It’s just me.”

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as you sank further into despair. The dispatcher on the other end of the line did her best to keep you calm, her steady voice a fragile lifeline in the oppressive silence. Of course this would happen to you—especially today, when you had such an important meeting.

Your gaze drifted to your scattered sketches and plans, lying just a few inches away on the elevator floor. At least they were still intact. Maybe, just maybe, if luck was on your side, you’d still have a chance to present your idea.

The dispatcher checked in periodically, asking how you were holding up. You wished you could unload everything onto her—every fear, every frustration, every ounce of emotional baggage that threatened to drown you. But you held back, knowing how frantic and borderline desperate that would sound.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, a muffled voice broke through the suffocating silence, followed by the faint clatter of tools.

“Ma’am, this is the Los Angeles Fire Department. Are you okay?” a man’s voice called from above, it sounded almost familiar.

Relief flooded through you, almost overwhelming in its intensity. You scrambled to respond, your voice trembling. “Yes! I’m okay,” you managed. “Please, just hurry!”

“Hang on tight,” the firefighter said reassuringly. “We’ll have you out in just a moment.”

For the first time since the elevator had stopped, hope blossomed in your chest, fragile but bright. Help was finally here.

The sounds above you grew louder, they were unnerving enough to set your nerves on edge yet again. You could hear voices coordinating, tools working against the metal. It was slightly overwhelming.

You remained frozen on the floor, clutching your sketches tightly to your chest and trying to regulate your breathing. Every muscle in your body felt tense, your grip on your phone firm as if it were the only tether keeping you grounded.

The dispatcher’s voice broke through your thoughts again, calm and steady. “They’re doing their best to get you out, Y/N. Just hang tight and stay as still as you can, okay?”

You huffed quietly, biting back a sarcastic retort. Liz had been nothing but kind and supportive; she didn’t deserve your misplaced frustration. “I’m trying,” you said through gritted teeth, your voice softer but strained.

The elevator shuddered violently, and your breath caught in your throat. “What the hell was that?” you exclaimed, panic spiking again.

“They’re securing the elevator,” Liz reassured, her voice soothing. “It’s normal, I promise. You’re in good hands.”

Your chest rose and fell in rapid breaths as you closed your eyes briefly. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “What’s your name?”

There was a pause on the other end before the dispatcher gave a surprised laugh. “Oh, I’m Liz, honey.”

“Thank you for staying on the line, Liz,” you murmured, trying to focus on her voice instead of the fear clawing at you. “I probably sound so dumb right now—”

“Not at all,” Liz interrupted, her tone firm but kind. “It’s perfectly normal to be scared. This is a terrifying situation, and you’re allowed to feel that way.”

Before you could respond, a faint beam of light broke through a crack above you, and you instinctively squinted as the sudden brightness filled the confined space. The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed as firefighters pried open the emergency hatch.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathed, a nervous laugh escaping as relief flooded through you.

The firefighter’s voice, now much clearer, called down to you. “Ma’am, we’re here. Are you okay?”

You froze as the familiar voice registered. Your head tilted up slowly, your heart skipping a beat. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you recognized the face peering down at you—the warm brown eyes, the tattooed forearms.

“Calum?” you whispered in disbelief, your voice barely audible.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his lips curled into a surprised smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N!” he said brightly, as if running into an old friend at a coffee shop instead of in the middle of a rescue. “Fancy seeing you here. You okay?”

Before you could respond, a sinking realization hit you. Calum was never alone—not back in college, not ever. Wherever Calum went, he followed.

But no, it couldn’t be. There was no way.

And just like that, your worst fear materialized as another figure popped up beside Calum, peering through the hatch. Hazel-green eyes met yours, familiar and devastatingly beautiful— the eyes you had dreamed about for half a decade.

“Good God,” Ashton said with a laugh, his grin infuriatingly charming. “If you really wanted to see me that badly, you didn’t have to call 9-1-1.”

Calum shot a look at his best friend, his brows furrowed in mild annoyance. “She doesn’t control who gets sent on calls, Ash. Maybe ease up?”

“She really doesn’t,” Liz interjected from the other end of the line, startling you. You hadn’t realized she could hear everything being said. “Sorry if I’ve put you in an awkward situation, Y/N, but these are good guys. You’re in safe hands. I’ll let you go now.”

You tore your gaze away from Ashton’s infuriatingly familiar green eyes, your frustration bubbling over. “Actually,” you muttered, “is it too late to send another team? Because, honestly, plunging to my death in this elevator sounds kind of appealing right about now.”

Liz laughed, clearly unfazed by your sarcasm. “Definitely too late for that. It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” you grumbled, biting the inside of your cheek as the call disconnected, leaving you alone with your rescuers.

Ashton’s grin widened, his confidence as aggravating as ever. You couldn’t help but notice how much he had changed since the last time you’d seen him—over a year ago. His once sandy blond hair was now jet black, styled effortlessly to frame his face. He’d filled out considerably, his uniform clinging to his broad shoulders and toned arms.

Of course, the universe had to serve this moment to you on a silver platter. As if being trapped in an elevator wasn’t humiliating enough, now you had to contend with him.

Calum rolled his eyes, clapping Ashton on the shoulder as yet another head peeked into the hatch. This one belonged to someone unfamiliar—blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a face that looked significantly younger than the others. “What’s going on here?” the newcomer asked.

Ashton groaned, his tone dripping with irritation. “Mind your business, Probie.”

“Mate, get it together and help her out,” Calum interjected, shaking his head. Turning to you, he added, “I promise he’s not always like this on the job.”

You tightened your jaw, your patience already wearing thin. “No, I’m sure he is,” you snapped, pocketing your phone and grabbing your sketches.

“Alright, Y/N,” Ashton sighed, clearly trying to temper his frustration. “I’m here now. Let me get you out of there, and then you can yell at me all you want.”

Anger flickered in your chest as your gaze locked with Ashton’s. The man standing above you bore no trace of the love you once felt for him—no spark, no butterflies. Just pure, unfiltered irritation.

Calum leaned over, lowering a harness through the hatch. His voice was calm and professional, a sharp contrast to Ashton’s flippancy. “Slip this around your waist. Make sure it’s secure, and we’ll pull you up nice and easy.”

You nodded wordlessly, avoiding Ashton’s penetrating gaze as you secured the harness snugly around your waist.

“I’m good,” you called, looking up to meet Calum’s eyes.

He nodded, his tone steady and reassuring. “Great. We’ll get you out in just a second.”

Ashton leaned over the edge, his smirk softening into something resembling concern. “Are you okay down there, Bambi?”

You froze, your frown deepening. “Don’t call me that.”

Ashton let out a slow exhale, glancing briefly at Calum. “Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Old habits die hard? You could’ve laughed if the situation weren’t so precarious. It had been over a year since you stormed out of Ashton’s apartment, tears streaming down your face, your heart splintered in ways you didn’t think were possible. Whatever love you had for him was long gone.

Choosing to ignore his comment, you focused on Calum’s steady movements.

“Y/N, are you good?” Ashton pressed, his tone sharp and impatient.

Your patience snapped. “Oh, now you care how I’m doing? That’s some interesting character development, Irwin.”

Calum winced, visibly uncomfortable as he turned back to the two of you. “Here we go again…”

He had been there by Ashton’s side for every single one of your tries at a relationship with him. Calum had been there every time it inevitably crashed and burned.

“Don’t ‘here we go again’ me,” Ashton snapped, his nostrils flaring as he glared at Calum. “Can we just get her out of here now?”

Calum’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to do, but maybe focus on actually doing your job instead of running your mouth.”

“Making sure she’s alright is part of my job,” Ashton shot back, his tone biting.

“No, Michael and Luke are supposed to handle that,” Calum retorted, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You’re supposed to help me lift her.”

In any other situation, their bickering would’ve been amusing, but the creaks and groans of the unstable elevator made you far too anxious to appreciate the comedy of the moment.

“Can you two lovebirds please focus?” you snapped, crossing your arms as you glared up at them.

Calum had the decency to look sheepish, but Ashton simply stared at you, his gaze intense and unwavering. The weight of it made your skin prickle, as if his very presence was an inconvenience you couldn’t escape.

Ashton let out a long breath through his nose. “Probie, help me out,” he barked, motioning for the younger guy to assist him.

The kid—too pretty to be working such a dangerous job—looked just as confused as you felt but stepped forward nonetheless.

Finally, you felt the rope begin to lift you out of the elevator. The ascent was slow and steady, yet you clung to the harness with white-knuckled determination.

“Hey,” Ashton called, his tone suddenly commanding. “Look at me.”

Against your better judgment, you did. His hazel eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the chaos of the situation melted away. His voice softened, steady and reassuring. “You’re doing so good, Y/N.”

The words struck a nerve, too reminiscent of moments you’d rather forget. You bit your lip and broke his gaze, willing the heat rising to your face to subside.

Finally, with one last pull, you were hoisted out of the elevator and back onto solid ground. Relief washed over you as you took a shaky step forward, only to realize the entire floor had gathered to watch.

As applause broke out around you, mortification set in.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Calum gave you a soft, reassuring smile as he steadied you. His warmth was a stark contrast to Ashton’s fiery energy, and it always left you wondering how the two managed to remain so close.

“You doing okay, Y/N?” he asked gently, his voice calm but tinged with exhaustion. Whether it was from the rescue itself or the constant wrangling with Ashton, you couldn’t quite tell.

“I think so,” you replied, brushing off your skirt and taking a shaky breath.

Calum nodded, his tone taking on a more professional edge. “I’d like to have you checked out by the paramedics, if that’s alright. Just to be sure there’s nothing hidden under the adrenaline.”

You gave a small nod, letting him guide you away from the crowd of onlookers that had formed. Ashton was nowhere in sight—likely cleaning up the gear or bossing around the “probie” you’d seen earlier.

The paramedics were waiting for you just outside the commotion. One of them stepped forward, his kind smile instantly putting you at ease.

“Hi, I’m Luke,” he said, his grin wide and warm, his voice tinged with a similar accent as the dispatcher who took your call. His tall frame loomed a little, but his bleach blond curls and sparkling blue eyes softened the effect. He turned slightly, gesturing to his partner. “And that’s Michael. Mind if we check you out real quick?”

You glanced at Michael, who was quieter but no less striking. His blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and his green eyes studied you with careful precision.

“Sure,” you said, nodding, though your gaze flicked back to Calum. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping away, his reassuring presence lingering as you turned to face the paramedics.

You sat quietly as they worked around you, their movements seamless and efficient. Luke took your blood pressure while Michael prepared a light to check your pupils. Despite the strange tension in the air, their coordinated rhythm was oddly comforting—like watching a well-practiced dance.

Luke had just finished shining the light in your eyes when someone cleared their throat behind you. Michael turned first, heading toward the source of the noise, but you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Of course, Ashton stood a few feet away, shifting his weight awkwardly. He glanced at Luke and Michael with a sheepish smile. “Do you guys mind if I talk to—”

“I’m feeling quite faint, actually,” you interrupted loudly, catching Luke and Michael’s worried gazes before turning back to Ashton. “I think I should go to the hospital.”

Ashton sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Bambi, please,” he muttered, the nickname grating on your nerves. “You don’t have to try and run away from me, you know?”

Michael raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “What did we miss?”

Luke looked equally perplexed, exchanging a silent question with his partner before shrugging.

You crossed your arms, leveling Ashton with a glare. “Is there a form I can sign that gets me the hell away from this guy?”

Luke hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “Uh… well, leaving against medical advice is an option. You sign, and we’re off the hook for anything. You’re free to, uh… run.”

Michael snorted, leaning casually against the wall. “Or, you know, restraining order. That works too.”

Ashton shot Michael a sharp glare, his jaw tightening. “That’s not funny.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, the sound cutting through the tense air. Watching Ashton squirm for once was a welcome change; in your relationship, he’d always held the upper hand.

“Alright,” Luke said, his serious tone cracking into a grin. “Make that against Ashton advice.”

Michael chuckled, his mischievous grin widening. “Yeah mate, now is not the time to pick up girls. You’re on the clock, not the cock.”

For a second, the room was silent. Then Luke and Michael burst into laughter, both doubling over as their shoulders shook. You couldn’t suppress your own snicker at Michael’s remark. Despite everything, their lightheartedness made you feel oddly at ease.

“Exactly,” you nodded in agreement. “So hop off mine.”

Your words only prompted another round of laughter from Michael and Luke. Ashton, however, was not amused. He crossed his arms, his expression equal parts annoyed and desperate. “Could you two please stop siding with her?”

Luke rolled his eyes dramatically. “Mate, you’re working, and it’s obvious she’s not interested in you.”

Michael nodded, smirking slightly. “Exactly. She’s not that into you, Ashton.”

You caught Ashton’s gaze then, his hazel eyes softening as they met yours. For a moment, his usual cocky demeanor fell away, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that caught you off guard.

But you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction of winning this round. Turning back to Luke, who was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “Am I cleared or what?”

Luke sobered quickly, exchanging a glance with Michael. “I mean… yeah, mostly. But there’s a couple more things I’d like to check.”

Ashton stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Michael and Luke both froze, exchanging a look of disbelief.

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, surprising even yourself. “He can do it.”

Ashton puffed out his chest slightly, clearly relieved. “See? She doesn’t mind. Besides, we’re all EMT-trained. She’ll be fine.”

Luke shot you a sympathetic glance before stepping aside, muttering under his breath, “Better him than me.”

Michael shook his head with a teasing grin. “Don’t back down so easily, Hemmings,” he said, turning to Ashton. “You can take over on one condition: you tell us what the story is.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Ashton with a playful, expectant look. “Yeah, Ashton. What’s the story here?” you echoed, blinking at him with faux innocence.

Ashton clenched his jaw, visibly irritated but resigned. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, “That’s my ex. Y/N. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

The humor you’d been feeling vanished instantly. You had half-expected Ashton to brush the situation off or leave everyone guessing. But the casual, almost smug way he admitted it hit you like a sucker punch.

You clenched your jaw. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered angrily. “I’ve never met you.”

Ashton sighed, looking at you with a defeated look in his eyes. “Seriously Y/N? You’re gonna act like this?”

Michael let out a low whistle, clearly taken aback. “Yeah, nope. Not touching that one,” he said, shaking his head. He nudged Luke, motioning for him to leave.

Luke hesitated, shooting you a quick, apologetic glance before following Michael out of the room. And just like that, for the first time in over a year, you were alone with Ashton.

He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the door his teammates had just walked through. “Appreciate that,” he muttered, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Now this will be the hot topic for the rest of the shift.”

You met his gaze, crossing your arms. “Serves you right, don’t you think?” you replied, your tone laced with sarcasm. A smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head. “You know, after everything.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly grin as he grabbed a flashlight to replicate Luke’s earlier tests. “After everything, hmm?” he repeated, his voice smooth. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

You let out an exhausted sigh, leaning away slightly as he moved closer. “What do you want, Ashton?” you asked softly, your adrenaline draining and leaving behind nothing but weariness.

He paused for a moment, his expression softening. “I don’t want anything,” he said evenly. “Just saying… it’s been a while. You look good. Happy.”

There was a sadness in his eyes that only seemed to fuel your simmering anger. You scoffed, shoving him away with more force than necessary. “I am happy,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “That’s what happens when I get over a leech.”

Ashton barked out a laugh, the sound disbelieving. “A leech?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Damn, alright. Wow.”

You spun on your heel to face him fully, your glare sharp enough to cut. “I could say so many things to you right now, Ashton Irwin, but I’m choosing peace.”

Ashton cocked his head to the side, his hand resting casually on his hip as he stared at you with an unimpressed expression. “Peace?” he echoed, his tone both mocking and curious.

“Yes,” you nodded firmly. “I’m over you, and wasting my breath on insults isn’t really my thing anymore.”

“You’re really over me, aren’t you?” he asked, a small, amused smile creeping onto his face.

You struggled to keep your composure, but you met his gaze without faltering. “Yes, completely,” you said, your voice steady. “It’s all pins and needles here, babe. You’re dead to me.”

Ashton raised his eyebrows, clearly entertained. “Dead is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“My feelings for you are dead.”

“Great,” Ashton said with an infuriatingly charming smile. “So let me take you out—catch up a bit. It’s been a long time; we’re overdue, don’t you think?”

You laughed, disbelief shaking through your tone. “Are you serious right now?” You turned to him fully, eyes narrowed. “You want to catch up?”

He blinked, completely unaffected by your reaction. “Well, you’re over me, right? We can have a simple outing as two mature adults. You’re doing great, and I’d love to hear all about it.”

You opened your mouth to shut him down, but a sly thought bloomed in the back of your mind. What if you did go out with him? Just a casual outing, nothing more. It would be the perfect opportunity to show him firsthand how much better your life was without him. Let him see for himself how unimportant he had become.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, letting the idea take root as you weighed your options. After a moment, you let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” you said coolly.

Ashton’s grin widened, but you didn’t miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “Let’s catch up.”

He smirked, clearly pleased, but you were already imagining the look on his face when he realized just how much you’d thrived.

“Perfect,” he nodded, backing away. “I’m halfway through a shift, but I’ll text you as soon as I’m off?”

You shrugged. “Might have to unblock your number first.”

Ashton smiled, a true, wide smile. His dimples flashed, and you could catch a glimpse of his infuriatingly adorable bunny teeth. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—

The first week of college was already off to a rough start.

Not only had you been late to every single one of your classes due to your inability to navigate the campus, but the past few days had been drowned in a perpetual cloud of pouring rain.

You were on your way to an Intro to Philosophy class, after having sourced the massive textbook and spent twenty five dollars on express shipping to get it to your dorm on time, your pockets were empty and your soul was crushed when you realized just how goddamn heavy it felt when sitting in your backpack.

Your roommate wasn’t a peach, either. She was kind of standoffish, mean in a way that seemed so effortless as she berated you with passive aggression every time you’d forgotten to turn off a light or drop a dish into the sink.

All of these things combined left you frazzled, and once again, late, trudging through the rain in lightweight Converse that allowed the water from puddles to seep through and wet your socks.

You grumble to yourself as you adjust your bookbag on your shoulder, attempting to dodge the raindrops that splashed down like hail and occasionally got in your eyes. It was even harder to focus on the sidewalk as the sky got darker— you’d wished they’d turn the street lamps on a little earlier when it came to shitty weather.

Or, you wished you’d remembered to put your contacts in.

The walk from your dorm to the Social Sciences building seemed like an eternity. Puddles grew larger, the wind was getting stronger. You could only see the silhouettes of the other students walking past you, which felt as eerie as all hell. There was absolutely no way you were getting to this class on time. Especially not before stopping to collect yourself.

You eventually did stop, landing beside a lamppost before you let too much water fill up your shoes. Leaning against cold, wet metal, you tug at the straps of your bookbag. The entire bag tightens against you, reminiscent of strapping a cinder block to your shoulders, and making your newfound stress headache worsen tenfold.

In the midst of your adjustments, you glance across the way to the opposing side of the street. All of the squinting and toppling back and forth due to the sheer weight of your belongings must’ve had you looking like a madwoman.

Beneath the other streetlamp stood two figures; you could hardly make them out due to the bucketing rainfall— but they seemed to be lingering around with an umbrella. Something you desperately wished you had right now.

You were always told that approaching strangers was the best way to go about making friends in college. The theory of being in a new place with people who share the common goal of earning their degree was like a magnet for new interpersonal relationships.

It seemed morbid to think about friendships in this way, but with an already shitty roommate, the beating heart of rainclouds and the horrid feeling of soaking wet socks, you were starting to think that asking to walk alongside the only people for miles with an umbrella may be your best bet.

After steadying yourself and working up the courage to do the strangest thing you’ve done all week, you set off to cross the street. Puddles were becoming more and more plentiful with each step you took. It took everything to avoid them all, and you regretted wearing such slippery shoes to trudge to class in the rain.

“Hey!”

You call out into the dark air, the two figures whipping their heads in sync to face your now embodied voice.

As you walk, you wave your arm, trying to shield yourself from the bullets that nature called raindrops. But having the two figures’ attention made any and all semblances of words disappear from your mind. They just watched you, halting their own interaction.

“Hey! Hi, I’m sorry to—”

Right as you take one more step to join them onto their side of the street, your ankle is suddenly immersed in water. A pothole, disguised as a shallow puddle, engulfs your entire foot.

Your arms wave to catch yourself, but to no avail. It isn’t long before you’re falling face first towards the concrete, and the hand you attempted to steady yourself with is completely drenched in rain water.

“Oh, shit.”

“Holy fuck, are you okay?!”

Concerned exclamations and courtesies were expected— you’d just fallen flat on your forehead. But what you didn’t expect, nor wanted, to hear after your blundering trip was laughter.

“That was fuckin’ gnarly,” you hear a deep voice get higher, as laughter fills the air and clouds over the embarrassed shade of red dawning your face.

Shaking yourself off, you attempt to stand up, still being pelted by rainfall as the two strangers before you squatted down to your level and attempted to help you up.

You see a hand reach out to you, and you take it in a daze, getting back to your feet with minimal injury from your fall. Your knees were definitely a little banged up, with a new hole ripped into the front of your jeans that stung when you straightened your legs.

“I’m— oh, dear God,” you chuckle wryly, still attempting to hide the humiliation, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Your knees. Are they scraped? Are you bleeding? Do you need a bandaid?”

When you eventually look up to face the concerned voice of a stranger, you’re met with dark brown eyes and a mop of soggy brown curls.

Behind his shoulder stood another guy, his energy a bit less frantic as he continued to just— laugh.

“No, no. Not bleeding, I don’t think. I just wanted to uh, ask if I could walk under your umbrella. Guess the campus potholes had other plans.”

Before you could muster up another sentence, the kid who helped you up extended his free hand once more, “I’m Calum. And I am— so sorry we had to meet this way.” Calum’s face pinches in second-hand embarrassment as you nod to him wearily. His handshake was firm, his fingers trembling a bit as he held you tightly.

“Y/N,” you reply sheepishly, “And your friend?”

The friend in question was still doubled over, getting an absolute kick out of the fact that you’d just busted your ass in the rain. But that high pitched laughter and sturdy white smile made up for the annoyance you suddenly felt.

“Holy shit— oh my God,” he wheezes between faltering chuckles, “I’m Ashton. And unfortunately, that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.”

In an attempt to ease the awkwardness, you laugh along, now uncomfortable in your wet, tattered jeans and palms covered in gravel.

“Ashton, fuckin’— seriously? Stop laughing! It’s not funny!” Calum tries his hand at defending you, but it seemed as though Ashton had his mind made up. As if he were replaying the incident in his own little world, his laughter strikes up like a match once again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just— you should’ve seen the way you fell. It was like the ground disappeared from under your feet! Just one step and woosh, you were gone.”

“Well, to be fair— it did disappear. I uh, stepped into a pothole.”

“Oh my God, I think that makes it better.”

You grumble at the thought of being Ashton’s laughing stock of the day, self consciously wiping your palms off on your sweatshirt and now looking visibly uncomfortable. You could see Calum out of the corner of your eye, wearily glancing between you, Ashton, and his watch.

“I hate to leave so quickly, but I’ve got class in about three minutes.”

“No no, it’s fine—”

“It was lovely to meet you, and I’m sorry to leave you with this demon,” Calum smiles warmly, adjusting the two textbooks in his arms, “Ashton, be nice.”

Before you could even spare him a parting word, Calum is rushing off towards campus. It starts as a slow jog, morphing into a full fledged run.

Calum also took the umbrella.

“How can I make it up to you?”

Ashton’s voice from behind you snaps you out of your spaceout; he’s still standing where he was before, his hands dug into the pockets of his jeans as his long, shaggy brown hair starts to get wet from the still falling rain.

“Fall. Face first,” you murmur, pointing out, “into that puddle right there.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as thunder crackles in the distance. “Don’t think so. How about instead of that, we get out of this rain and I grab you some ‘sorry that you busting your ass was the highlight of my year’ apology ice cream? My treat.”

“Oh boy, ice cream in the cold. Sounds like a riot.”

“I appreciate your sarcasm,” his lip twitches up into a smile, as he extends his arm for you to hold onto, “But ice cream is good during any weather. And you know it, too.”

The sheer switch in Ashton’s demeanor, from absolutely dogging on you to being a gentleman, gave you what seemed to be whiplash. His eyes switched from mockery to sincerity in a matter of seconds, as he waited for you to latch onto his elbow.

“My clothes are wet,” you comment awkwardly, shaking out your sleeve.

“Doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t want you to fall. Plus, I don’t think I have enough air in my lungs to spare laughing like that again.”

After battling with yourself for a moment, stalling the amount of time spent in the now rolling storm, you take Ashton’s arm. He chuckles when you hold onto him, still seeming like he was coming down from laughing.

“So, where were you headed before the accident?” Ashton motions to you with a tilt of his head while you walk with him down the sidewalk.

“Well, I was headed to class. But honestly I’ve been so stressed this week that I think I deserve to miss this one.”

“You’re saying that was a stress-induced blunder back there? Jeez, wouldn’t want to be you right now.”

As much as you wanted to be annoyed with your new friend’s constant jabs, the bigger part of you knew how funny the entire situation was. A puff of air leaves your lips, Ashton’s giggle fit starts up once more.

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.” Ashton says, a lot more sincerely than you expected.

“I agree with you. I don’t think I deserved to be ankle deep in a pothole either.”

He shakes his head, using his arm to guide you to the start of the crosswalk and press the button, “No, I meant— you don’t deserve me being such an asshole about it. If I were you, I’d probably be so pissed and embarrassed that I’d drop out.”

You scoff at Ashton’s words, taking a lead once the red light turns to green, “Dramatic much? I’m sure within my four years of college I’ll embarrass myself like that at least ten more times.”

“A bold statement for the first week,” Ashton chuckles, as he now has now passed you and you’re attempting to keep up with his slender, jean-clad legs, “We should make a bet.”

“A bet?”

Your eyes narrow with challenge, your deeply-rooted competitive nature coming to a front. You glance at Ashton as you reach the opposing side of the sidewalk, stopping right in front of the ice cream shop.

“Mhm. I bet you’ll embarrass yourself less than ten times before our four years are up.”

“That’s awfully generous, Ashton,” you scrunch your nose, finally able to study his features shielded from the rain, “But unfortunately, you’ve only just gotten a taste of how badly I can embarrass myself.”

“Isn’t that the fun part of a bet, though? To prove someone wrong?”

The smile that dawned Ashton’s cheeks was playful, the corners of his mouth curved up into a point and highlighting the slightly outgrown stubble gracing his jaw. You’ll admit it now, he was attractive. The long shaggy hair added a bit of that indie rockstar vibe to him that you always favored in a guy. His eyes were a bit too green for your liking, burning holes into your face as you let the silence hang in midair after his question.

“You’re right. I do love proving people wrong. Especially if it’s the guy who laughed so hard at me that he almost passed out.”

Ashton shakes his head, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before he’s holding open the door of the ice cream shop, “I’d let you prove me wrong any day.”

Soaking wet and now a little less uncomfortable, you walk into the ice cream shop. The bell rings as you enter, and the inside is quiet, as expected. Who but you, and a stranger you met twenty minutes ago, would be getting ice cream on a cold, rainy day?

The attendee greets you warmly, as if she’d been waiting to speak to someone all day, “Hey guys! What can I get for you?”

Ashton steps back, gesturing with his head for you to order first. You smile inward, having known what you wanted since he asked you here.

“Can I get two scoops of cotton candy in a waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles?”

The cashier nods, tapping your order onto the screen and immediately rushing to put it together for you, all while you can hear Ashton snickering quietly behind you.

You whip your head around, squinting at him, “What? What’s so funny?”

“You’ve got quite a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“First you make fun of me for busting my shit, now you ridicule my ice cream order? What’s your fuckin’ deal?”

As Ashton opens his mouth to reply, the cashier hands you your ice cream. You take it from her with a grateful smile, mumbling ‘thank you’ before spinning back around to lock eyes with him. But now, he’s taking out his wallet, and leaving your question unanswered as he tells the cashier ‘that’ll be all’.

Ashton brushes past you, glancing down at you over his shoulder as he hands the girl his debit card.

“You’re not getting anything?”

Your question comes off more as a whine, which left you feeling more embarrassed than you were earlier.

“Nah.”

Ashton pays, and you continue to eat your ice cream with a sour face, eyeing him scornfully as the two of you sit down at a small metal table in the corner.

“Why didn’t you get any ice cream?” you ask, the thought of only you enjoying ice cream twisting your heart strings in a very strange way. Ashton just shrugs, pulling himself closer to the table so that he could fold his arms and get a better look at your soggy features.

“I’m lactose intolerant. But you should’ve seen how your face lit up at the mention of ‘apology ice cream’. How could I turn down those big doe eyes, all soaked from the rain?”

You scoff, a mix between taking offense and a sliver of laughter, “You’re lactose intolerant and your first thought was ice cream? Do you have a death wish?”

“Why do you think I didn’t get anything? Just because dairy is hell for my insides doesn’t mean I have to rob you of the joy from eating an ice cream cone.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t shit yourself from laughing earlier, jeez.” You’re back to your playful tongue, taking your time in licking off all the sprinkles.

“That’s not how it works like, at all,” Ashton puffs, leaning back into his chair and crossing his eyes, “The ice cream was a lucky guess. For all I knew, you could’ve been severely allergic to dairy and smacked me for even offering.”

“Now why would I smack you for offering? That’d be silly.”

You could tell now where Ashton’s eyes fell; directly onto your tongue. Each time you jutted it out to eat your ice cream, his gaze wandered. Almost like he was hypnotized.

“Dunno. People these days. They’re weird.”

Stewing in his seat, Ashton clears his throat. But you continue on eating, playing your little unspoken game of catching his viridian eyes each time they linger off to where they don’t belong. Suddenly, you sit up, and he flinches as if he’d been caught.

“So, that bet. Are we still on? Because I think I’ll embarrass myself those aforementioned ‘ten times’ within my first semester.”

After collecting himself slightly, and bringing his mind back down to earth, his lip twitches up into a smile, “Well, that would mean we’d have to keep in touch. Y’know, so you can update me every time you walk into the wrong classroom or take a nosedive into concrete.”

“Is this you asking for my number?” you smile, halfway through a bite of your slowly dwindling cotton candy ice cream.

“I suppose so,” he shrugs, the wet t-shirt beneath his jacket moving fluidly against his chest and making it harder for you to concentrate, “Would you mind?”

“Not at all. As long as you don’t mind me considering you as the first friend I’ve made in college.”

Ashton’s smile doubles in size, as he sits up to reach for his phone in his back pocket.

“So it’s settled then. We’ll concede the results of this bet a week before graduation.” Along with his phone, Ashton smacks his black leather wallet onto the table, “Whatever’s in that cash pocket at this very moment is how much money’s on the line. I expect you to hold me to it, and you can expect me to do the same.”

A small smile plays on your face as you reach for his wallet, the obvious choice, and hold it open with one hand. Inside of the cash slot lies a singular twenty dollar bill, a twenty dollar bill that seems to carry a lot more weight to it than only the amount of cash that Ashton has on him at the moment.

“Twenty bucks. Not bad. That’ll come in handy for our next ice cream date.”

“Already planning our next date? She’s efficient, I like it.”

You chuckle heartily, sliding him back his wallet, and grabbing his phone to give him your number, “Consider that a date for after graduation. Cap, gowns, tassels and all. In this very chair, at this very table.”

“Deal.” Ashton agrees.

The two of you shake hands, but when your palms touch, a spark ignites through your forearm. Like a wave of static shock, you remain frozen in time, with a stirring feeling in your gut.

You couldn’t place your finger on what it meant, nor did you really want to. But you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be your last time sitting at this table with Ashton.

“What’re you doing later?” Ashton asks, after you’d exchanged a few giddy glances to one another since giving him your number.

“Standing in front of a hair dryer to get a handle on these stupid wet clothes. How about you?”

“Hm, sounds like a drag. I, however, am going to that karaoke bar on the campus strip with Calum at nine. Cowgirl. You should come along.”

The mention of karaoke freezes your senses. You never had a complete aversion to karaoke, however, the thought of singing at a dive bar in front of Ashton and Calum made you nauseous. You’d just met them— they don’t know you, and you don’t know them. Surely you’d have a good time, but stage fright was always one of the many thorns in your side. You weren’t sure you had the confidence.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

Damn it.

“You twenty one yet?” Ashton raises his eyebrow, fighting a cheeky smirk that gives you the impression that he already knew your answer.

“In Tennessee, yeah.”

“I see,” he scratches his chin, eyeing you teasingly, “I’ve got a friend who’s twenty three in Arizona, so— I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down.”

The two of you laugh once more. And the more you share smiles and shied away glances, the more you really get to know about Ashton.

He’s twenty one, having lived in Australia for most of his formative years until moving to the US to get his bachelor’s in communications. Ashton almost didn’t make it to college, you learned, after taking two travel-packed gap years that left him with a lot of knowledge on European culture and even more numbers in his phone. You wanted to keep asking him questions, but by the time you’d really gotten to the meaty bits of his life, your ice cream cone was down to the wrapper it came in.

“I still can’t believe you took, not one, but two gap years. And you still made it here. That’s honestly super impressive.”

Ashton tosses his hand at you, his seat somehow shifted much closer to you than before, “Meh, not that impressive. Parents were on my ass about actually doing something with my life. They shipped me off here with practically nothing. I felt like I got dropped in the middle of the woods with two twigs and a rock.”

“Well, regardless of your wilderness exploration, you seem to have it figured out at least a little now, right?”

You and Ashton were now only an inch apart, your knees occasionally brushing against one another each time Ashton got particularly animated when telling his story. He went on to tell you about his random roommate pairing, and how meeting a friend, Calum, from across the hall basically saved his ass one night during random room checks. He and Calum both moved into school three weeks early, sharing the common ground of being gap-year freshmen, and were currently inseparable. They sought refuge in each other’s dorms due to unfortunate roommate pairings, and became attached at the hip.

“Funny that you met probably the only other Aussie on campus,” you comment, twiddling with the empty cone wrapper on your thumb.

“Mhm. It’s us blokes against the world. But, y’know— I have a feeling that may change after tonight.”

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Even though he was off like a shotgun earlier, I think you’re really gonna dig Cal’s vibe. You guys are really fuckin’ similar. Down to those big ass eyes whenever you're scared or embarrassed.”

You giggle, tilting your head down and subconsciously hiding your eyes beneath your hair. But Ashton isn’t having it. In an unforeseeable turn of events, Ashton’s thumb is there to catch your chin and pull your gaze back up into his.

“Don’t go shy on me now, Bambi,” Ashton hums, his voice the softest it’s been since you met him, “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell ya’ how pretty I think your eyes are.”

“Thank you,” you mumble meekly, your knees suddenly feeling like jello and your cheeks as hot as the surface of the sun.

“I’m serious. I swear, I saw some stars twinkling in there.”

In the heat of the moment, you press your palm against his knee, the one that’s been touching you since he scooted himself closer. You freeze, not knowing what else to do with this moment other than to let it be.

“Are you doing anything else today besides karaoke?” you ask, your heart rate speeding up by the second.

“Not particularly. Why?”

“We should hang out.” You blurt out the words faster than you can actually process them.

Ashton chuckles at your eagerness, “Aren’t we hanging out right now?”

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean.”

The air around your bodies had you feeling like you were floating on a cloud. Ashton’s hand folds on top of yours, supporting the growing weight of anticipation you felt boiling in your chest.

“I can’t read minds, but— you could hang out at my place until Calum gets out of class. I’m supposed to be off doing something studious right now too, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

“Sure. If I’m gonna miss class, why not do something fun?”

“That’s the spirit. It’s week one of classes and I’ve already got you playin’ hookey.”

You giggle at him, feeling more and more comfortable with his hand in yours as the moments pass, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Trust me, Bambi. I’ll make your life hell.”

After a few more minutes of playful banter that was quickly shaping up to be unabashed flirtation, the two of you set off to Ashton’s dorm. He told you that his roommate wasn’t home; and talked extensively about how his roommate tends to leave the room for days at a time and never tell him where he’s going.

The rain had since subsided, leaving the sidewalks muddied and damp; but Ashton kept you on his arm to prevent you from slipping and falling once again.

“Do you maybe have a shirt I can borrow?” you ask Ashton shyly, as he leads you towards a large steel door and taps his university key card against the lock.

The door creaks open, Ashton holds it for you with an arm above your head, “I’ve got plenty of shirts. I’m sure you’d want pants, too. Those jeans have seen better days.

“Knock it off. My jeans are fine,” you chuckle, sliding past him into the dorm stairway.

“Yeah, okay,” Ashton glances down judgmentally at the wet spots on the knees of your jeans, “I’ll lend you a pair of sweats. No big deal.”

You roll your eyes, a sucker for his sarcasm, as he leads you up a few flights of stairs to his floor. The journey to his door was quiet, and awkward. He’d occasionally poke your shoulder, making jabs at your soaking wet hair. But you just brushed him off— boys are stupid and dumb.

“Well, this is the place,” Ashton sighs, pushing his door open and leading you into the room with a pat at your back.

You take a second to glance around. One side of the room was almost completely barren— not a single poster, picture, or sign of life. Only dark blue bedspread with a single pillow, and an empty desk.

However, the opposite side of the room was decked out to all hell. Music and movie posters on every conceivable area of the wall above the bed. A plaid, black and grey bedspread with a few comfortable looking throw pillows that were clearly picked out by someone with taste. A mason jar filled with drum sticks, broken and intact. You smile to yourself, lucky that you landed the roommate with a personality.

“This is nice. Who taught you how to decorate?”

Ashton scoffs, setting his backpack down on his desk chair, “Myself. Didn’t need to be taught. It’s called having a vision.”

“You get more and more annoying the more I get to know you,” you smile, finding yourself a seat on the floor to rid yourself of your muddied Converse. Ashton paces around the room for a moment, before landing on a drawer and pulling it open. He puts his hands on his hips, and taps his foot.

“Let’s see— are you a Ramones fan? Or more of a ‘Stones girl? What about Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Trying to figure out which shirt I can spare you. It’s likely that I’ll never get it back, so. I wanna see which I’d be most fine parting with.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that question, then?”

Ashton scratches his head, tucking a lock of his sandy brown hair behind his ear, “Damn. You’re right. You’re pretty good, Bambi.”

“At making obvious decisions?” you raise an eyebrow.

“No, at keeping my head on straight,” Ashton reaches into the drawer, tossing a black T-shirt over his back and letting it whack you in the face, “Rolling Stones it is.”

After removing it from your face, you hold the shirt tightly to your chest. Ashton slams the drawer shut and smiles, spinning around to face you with a pair of grey sweatpants in hand.

“Last chance. Do you want these or no?”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing around the room for any sign of a bathroom door, or even a closet.

“Do you uh— have a bathroom here that I can change in?”

“It’s communal. All of them are.”

You let out a puff of air, shaking your head and smacking your palm to your forehead, “Right. Dumb question.”

“Nah nah, it’s not dumb. This is an all dudes floor, too. If you wanted to change in here I could just— turn around.”

Blush pink falls across your face, while Ashton does a dumb hand movement and spins around to face the wall.

“I don’t want to get changed in here!” you protest, indignant. “I just met you today. I don’t need you seeing my delicates.”

“I told you I’d turn around,” Ashton shrugs, already spinning back, arms crossed. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not as far as I can throw you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you fold his clothes neatly in your lap. You’re fully aware of how dramatic this is getting—but part of you enjoys it. Ashton matches your banter beat for beat, always taking it just a little further.

It’s amusing. It’s entertaining. It’s… hot, if you’re being honest.

You shoot him one last skeptical glance—just to make sure he’s not about to peek—then reluctantly reach for the hem of your soaked shirt and peel it off.

“Y’know,” Ashton pipes up cheerfully, “usually when girls wear my clothes, they at least let me get a peek.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. You yank the shirt up over your chest again like a makeshift shield.

“Well, usually when guys take me out for ice cream, it’s not as an apology for being a dickhead,” you snap.

He laughs, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Hey, I more than made up for that. I’m lactose intolerant and I still did that for you, Bambi. I’m basically a saint if you think about it.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. You just stand there, holding the shirt against yourself like armor.

None of this is going how you expected.

“Can I turn around now?” Ashton asks, softer this time. The teasing edge has faded. Now he just sounds unsure—cautious, even. Like under all that swagger, he might actually be nervous.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hesitating. Would it really be so bad? What would he do if you just… let him look?

Ashton—annoyingly comforting Ashton—was not what you thought he’d be. Hot and cocky, yeah. But also weirdly sweet. Weirdly attentive.

“Fine,” you say, the word escaping before you can stop it. Your arms fall to your sides, shirt clutched in one hand as you brace yourself.

“Okay, sick—” Ashton spins, grinning wide—until his eyes land on you. His whole expression shifts. You, shirtless. Standing tall despite the nerves.

And just like that, he stops smiling.

Ashton’s grin falls mid-spin, his eyes going comically wide as they take in your state of undress. He stumbles back half a step, like the sight knocked the air out of him. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again—completely speechless for the first time all day.

Your heart beats loudly in your chest as you bite your lip, holding the moment for just a second longer before slowly beginning to lift the shirt up.

The air between you turns molasses-thick—warm with tension, humming with something sharp and sweet and unspoken. You know Ashton’s probably seen a hundred girls naked. A guy like him? A revolving door, easy. But the way he looks at you—eyes blown wide, throat bobbing with a hard swallow—feels… like it means something.

“Nice,” he breathes. Then his brain catches up. “Shit. Fuck. I mean—”

He presses a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly like that might somehow reset him. “Jesus, Bambi. You—you’re just—” He exhales hard. “That was… a lot. In a good way. The best way.”

His hand drops and he gestures vaguely in your direction, as if trying to find the words to explain what he’s seeing. “Like, I thought you were hot before, obviously, but now I think I might have to call a priest. Or a therapist. Or both.”

Your cheeks heat, but you smile. The shirt slips over your head, hiding your chest again, but Ashton’s still staring at you like he’s trying to memorize every second of what just happened.

“Yeah?” you grin, feigning nonchalance. “Thank you.”

Ashton blinks. “No, thank you,” he repeats dumbly, almost reverently. “I feel like I should buy you ice cream again after that. Or, like, dinner. And a house. I don’t know. What’s the going rate for a spiritual awakening?”

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh and shoulder past him, flopping down on the bed like this is all completely normal. “You can start by telling me your favorite karaoke songs, so I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Ashton turns, still blinking like he hasn’t quite recovered. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he sits carefully beside you, like getting too close might make you vanish. His cocky confidence has melted away, replaced by something quieter. Awed. A little wrecked.

“Okay,” he says, voice low and breathy. The smile that creeps onto his lips is slower now, almost shy. His dimples deepen, and he glances at you from under thick lashes. “After that, I think I’d do just about anything for you.”

You giggle, chest warm from the switch-up—the complete shift in his energy. He was adorable like this. Dangerous when flirty, but downright endearing when undone.

Then, as if remembering himself, Ashton shoots you a crooked grin. “I hope you like Radiohead, Bambi.”

You groan and flop dramatically onto the pillows. “Please don’t say Creep.”

He laughs, leaning back on his hands. “Too late. I’ve already got my falsetto warmed up.”

—

You took your time unblocking Ashton, convincing yourself it was purely to drive the point home—he meant nothing to you. Still, when his indignant text finally came through about being unblocked, you couldn’t help but smile.

You shut that down immediately. There was absolutely no reason to smile at his texts, not when he’d done nothing to earn it. You knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to let yourself soften around Ashton. If you weren’t careful, you’d slip right back into his arms.

Just like you had so many times before.

Part of you expected Ashton to never actually follow through on the plans to catch up. In truth, you sort of hoped he wouldn’t. Being in his proximity wasn’t ideal, not when your track record with him involved losing all sense the moment his hands lingered on yours for even a second too long.

But this time would be different—you swore it. You were over Ashton. The fiery feelings he used to stir up had been reduced to nothing but numbness.

You had Diego now. He was stable, reliable, and had a normal job. He wasn’t going to destroy every part of you the way Ashton had.

Ashton was always one to surprise you. When he texted asking if you wanted to meet him at the bar you two used to frequent during your college days, you could only gape at your phone.

Meet me at Cowgirl tonight?

You considered blocking him again, pretending you hadn’t run into him at all. Of course, he’d choose that place—the one you’d been too afraid to return to after your last encounter with him.

But you knew you had to go. If you ghosted him after he suggested such a significant place, it would confirm that he still had a hold on you. You sighed, begrudgingly typing out your confirmation, silently praying the night would pass without incident.

A flicker of guilt surfaced as your mind wandered to Diego. You had canceled your date after the elevator ordeal, still too shaken to do anything but stew over Ashton’s sudden reappearance in your life.

You reminded yourself that you and Diego weren’t exclusive. There was no need to feel guilty about this outing—Ashton meant nothing to you anymore. He’d dug his own grave, and you hadn’t even shed a tear over it.

Still, as the evening approached, an uneasy knot formed in your stomach. Getting ready felt like a battle in itself. You didn’t want to overdo it, but the confidence boost makeup gave you was undeniable. If you looked good, you’d feel in control—and you needed every ounce of control tonight.

Besides, would it really hurt to rub in just how much you were glowing without him?

The drive to the bar was surprisingly smooth. LA traffic, unreliable as always, decided to work in your favor for once. But when you pulled into the parking lot, the fear hit you like a brick.

You stayed frozen in the driver’s seat, anxiously chewing on your lip as you debated whether to go inside or turn back. Before you could make a decision, a sharp knock on your window startled you.

Ashton grinned at you through the glass, his smile wide and obnoxious as he waved like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you.

Suppressing an annoyed sigh, you rolled down the window.

Ashton leaned casually against the car door, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your pep talk,” he teased. “Or maybe I’m glad I did—you looked like you were contemplating jumping off a bridge.”

“Now I am,” you grumbled, glaring at him.

He chuckled, completely unfazed. Dressed in simple black jeans, he looked deceptively casual—until your eyes caught on the bright red mesh sweater he wore. The sheer fabric exposed his tattoos and pale skin beneath, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself.

“Well, aren’t you dressed like a slut,” you retorted, brushing him away so you could open the car door.

As you climbed out, Ashton’s grin widened. “Not very woke of you, Bambi,” he quipped, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

A stray black curl fell across his forehead, and you had to stop yourself from brushing it away. Instead, you shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, determined not to let him get under your skin.

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” You snapped, not waiting for him to catch up as you began to walk towards the bar.

Ashton, with his infuriatingly long legs, didn’t take long to reach you. “Sorry, I forget you’re in your heartless era,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “My apologies, Y/N.”

You spared him a sideways glance, your eyes catching on the bright sliver of the chains that decorated his neck. Apparently you hadn’t been the only one to want to dress your best for such an occasion, because Ashton looked good.

But that didn’t matter to you, not anymore. No amount of beauty would ever rekindle the feelings that you had laid to rest so long ago. That part of your heart had gone ice cold, breaking off and dying in a corner of your brain that you never choose to revisit.

The bar looked just the same it always had, familiar in every way. The music blared and for a bit you almost felt as if you had traveled back in time— a doe eyed freshman who had feelings too intense for an unpredictable frat boy.

You could feel Ashton’s gaze glued to you, and it made your skin prickle with sweat. “What?” you snapped coming to a stop before an empty table.

“Nothin’, just didn’t realize we decided to match,” he slid into one of the stools effortlessly, eyeing your red leather jacket as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly.

You begrudgingly took the seat before him.

It was loud and crowded, and you briefly questioned what it was that had you so enamored with this place in the first place. The answer was simple, and he was sitting right in front of you.

“Oh don’t even,” you huffed, looking over at the bar and reading through your drink options. “You were never the type to dress like this before.”

Ashton put down his own menu, staring at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you saying that I look good?”

You raised your gaze, leveling him with an unimpressed glance. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Irwin,” you warned.

Ashton’s grin was wide and he leaned closer. “I used to put a lot of things in your mouth, Bambi.”

Your eyes widened comically as the words Ashton had said registered fully. “Nope,” you shook your head, standing up from the table. “I am too sober for your stupid jokes.”

Ashton followed you, sliding off of his seat. “Let’s fix that then.”

He was standing too close, close enough that you could catch the faint scent of mint from the gum he’d been chewing since he found you in the parking lot. You considered telling him to back off, but the effort felt pointless.

Instead, you let him follow as you wove your way through the crowded bar, bodies pressing in from every direction. The air was thick with sweat, spilled drinks, and memories you wished you’d left behind.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Tyler, the bartender, grinned as the two of you approached the counter. “Ash and Y/N, been a while since we’ve seen you two here.”

Ashton returned the smile, casual as ever. “Good to see you, mate.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music. “Good to see you.” You avoided Tyler’s knowing gaze, already regretting your decision to come here. Because you and Ashton had frequented this bar so often throughout the course of your relationship, you were known by some of the staff. Still, you couldn’t deny the slight hope you had when walking in that no one who knew your history had been working.

“What can I get y’all?” Tyler asked, his grin widening as he winked in your direction before turning to Ashton.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Ashton beat you to it. “We’ll have the regular,” he said without missing a beat.

Your head snapped toward him, stunned. The regular? Your so-called regular was a ridiculous, oversized Sex on the Beach, meant for two and always consumed as part of some dumb competition to see who could drink it faster. It was a relic of your shared history, and the audacity of Ashton assuming you’d want to relive it left you speechless.

He didn’t even look at you, his focus still on Tyler as if nothing about this was unusual. You stared at him, your irritation bubbling up, but you swallowed it back. If Ashton didn’t matter to you anymore, then why should this?

“You’re not gonna kill me for that?” he asked suddenly, leaning against the bar with a smirk. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, daring you to react.

You met his gaze head-on, your chin tilting up defiantly. “I told you, I don’t care anymore.”

Ashton nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the room. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low enough that you had to lean in slightly to catch it. “It’s all pins and needles, ain’t it?”

“Yup,” you said brightly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I feel absolutely nothing for you.”

Ashton nodded, completely unfazed. “So, if you’re so over me,” he drawled, his eyes trailing Tyler as he prepared your drink, “you seeing someone?”

Bingo. The long bragging train was coming, and Ashton was about to be flattened under it.

“Yeah, guess so,” you replied casually, leaning an elbow on the bar. “Been here and there, you know? Dipping my toes in the dating pool—making sure none of them have girlfriends.”

Ashton let out a low whistle, leaning closer with that infuriating smirk. “If you’re so over me,” he whispered, his voice teasingly low, “why do you still sound so bitter about that?”

You leaned back, putting space between you. “Because I don’t particularly enjoy the idea of one of your girls storming in here to beat me up,” you said evenly, your tone cool and detached. “Tell me, how’s Eve?”

Ashton’s tongue pressed against his cheek, and for the first time, the cracks in his confidence began to show. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, slipping his mask of indifference back into place. “Haven’t known for about a year and a half.”

“Bummer,” you sighed dramatically, clicking your tongue. “She was as good as you’ll ever do.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Enough about that. What have you been up to in the past year? Or year and a half, to be exact.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, deliberating what to share. “Well, I finally finished my architecture degree,” you said matter-of-factly. “Started freelancing, I was about to pitch designs for a new gym some company wants to build when the elevator decided to shit itself.”

Ashton let out another low whistle, his expression softening slightly. “Sounds real fancy,” he said, nodding. “But then again, you’ve never been anything close to ordinary. You’re doing great for yourself, Bambi.”

That damn nickname. Despite telling him countless times to drop it, it clung to you like a stubborn burr. You reminded yourself—again—that it didn’t matter. You were over him.

“Here ya go,” Tyler interrupted cheerfully, sliding the comically oversized cocktail across the counter. “Hope to see you two on stage later.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ashton replied with a wink. “Gimme a few to let the alcohol kick in.”

Tyler chuckled before turning to the next customer, leaving you alone with Ashton once more.

“Karaoke, huh?” you asked, taking a tentative sip of the drink. It was stronger than you remembered, and you silently prayed you wouldn’t end up completely wasted.

Ashton shrugged. “Just to get him off my back,” he admitted. “We don’t actually have to do it.”

“Yeah, empty promises,” you said dryly, a humorless chuckle escaping. “You always were good at those.”

“You sure love your jabs, Y/N,” he sighed, taking a sip of the oversized cocktail. “Doesn’t exactly scream pins and needles to me, if I do say so myself.”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. Just because I don’t have any positive feelings for you doesn’t mean I don’t have negative ones.”

“Right…” Ashton said with a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Enough about me,” you said, turning the conversation toward him. “You’re a firefighter now? All that college for what?”

Ashton pursed his lips, swirling the straw in the drink. “College was never for me,” he confessed. “I stuck it out mostly for you and Calum. After you left, there wasn’t much reason to stay.”

“Calum dropped out too, huh?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Sure did,” Ashton sighed. “But honestly, it was the right call for both of us. We’ve been with the 304 for about a year now.”

You narrowed your eyes, piecing together the timeline. “Wait, so when did you drop out?”

Ashton took another long sip before answering. “After we broke up. Before Eve.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth parted slightly in surprise. The last time you’d seen Ashton, he hadn’t mentioned anything about firefighting school—but then again, his education status had been the least important truth he had neglected to tell you.

“Damn,” was all you could manage, before wrapping your lips around the straw and sucking down as much alcohol as you could handle.

Silence settled between you as you continued sipping your drink. Ashton’s eyes stayed fixed on the stage, where a much drunker duo was butchering You Shook Me All Night Long. Despite their terrible performance, Ashton looked oddly enthralled, resting his chin on his palm as he watched them sway and slur their way through the song.

He must have felt your gaze because he turned his head toward you. You quickly looked away, pretending you’d been staring at anything—anything—other than him. Thankfully, he didn’t call you out on it.

“We used to be pretty good at karaoke,” Ashton mused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t you think?”

You focused on the stage, watching the performers lose themselves in the music. They might not have been good, but they were clearly having fun.

“Guess we made a decent duo,” you admitted with a quiet chuckle. “But there’s no way I’m doing that again.”

Ashton pouted, gently nudging your shoulder. “C’mon, you should go up there,” he urged. “Wow us all with that voice of yours. It’ll be fun.”

You bit your lip, trying to will his compliment away like it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, you knew the truth—you’d never have the courage to go up there alone. The only reason you’d ever done it before was because Ashton had been right there beside you.

And he’d sung to you.

Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the raven-haired man. “That’s not happening,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Not in a million years.”

Ashton threw his head back dramatically. “Aw, come on,” he groaned, slapping the table for effect. His grin stretched wide, mischievous like the Cheshire Cat. “I’ll bet you ten bucks and the rest of tonight’s drinks that you won’t go up there and sing karaoke.”

You laughed nervously, shaking your head again. “Ten bucks is nothing. But then again, imagine the things I could get you to do for five.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, his smile so wide and contagious that you couldn’t even be mad at the butterflies it gave you. “You callin’ me easy, Bambi?”

You scrunched your nose, resting your head against your fist. “If the shoe fits,” you hummed, taking a long sip of the drink. You glanced down and realized it was almost gone.

Ashton nodded, his grin never fading. “Touché. But come on—get up there, sing a breakup song. Prove to me how over me you are.”

You froze, locking eyes with him for what felt like the millionth time that night. His eyes sparkled with excitement and challenge—he knew he’d struck a nerve.

“Or,” you said, leaning closer, “you could keep your ten bucks and your dick in your pants, and go up there with me.”

Ashton shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Nope. This is all part of your healing process. Go on, Y/N. Sing your little heart out.”

You knew he was testing your resolve. Ashton always loved making you squirm, and the idea of singing in front of all those people was nauseating. Your hands gripped the bar table tightly.

“I hate this,” you grumbled. “Singing alone feels like standing naked on display for everyone to see.”

Ashton waved you off. “First of all,” he said with mock seriousness, “the saying is about imagining other people in their underwear, not you being naked. And second, you naked is quite a sight to behold.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him. “Enough of that, Irwin. You’ve never seen me naked. In fact, we’ve never even had sex.”

Ashton tilted his head, studying you with an amused expression. “Again with the ‘never happened,’” he said, laughing softly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bambi. But seriously, just get up there. Wow the crowd. Maybe you’ll catch someone else’s attention.”

You bit the corner of your lip, torn between anxiety and stubbornness. Against your better judgment, you nodded. “Fine,” you muttered, pushing yourself off the bar and heading toward the stage where the previous performers were just stepping off.

The alcohol in your system didn’t help nearly as much as you’d hoped. Ashton trailed behind you, weaving through the crowd until he reached the DJ booth. You were hunched over the song catalogue, flipping through the pages and willing your stomach to stop churning.

“Made your decision?” Ashton asked, leaning in to peer over your shoulder. His breath was warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your eyes landing on Before He Cheats. If Ashton wanted to play this game, fine. You’d play too. Turning to face him, you were startled to find his face just inches from yours. “Seems I have,” you replied coolly.

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned over and whispered your choice to the DJ. When he nodded in confirmation and handed you the microphone, you risked one last nervous glance at Ashton before heading for the stage.

At first, no one seemed to notice you as you stepped onto the platform. But as the music queued up and the DJ gave you a small thumbs-up, a ripple of curiosity spread through the crowd.

Your heart sank when you felt their gazes fall on you. Tyler, standing at the bar, looked stunned to see you up there alone. But as soon as he caught on, he let out an enthusiastic cheer, clapping loudly enough to make others follow suit.

The screen lit up with the first line of lyrics, but your throat closed up. Your mouth refused to move.

A wave of confusion washed over the room as people began to murmur, and you could feel your chest tightening. Your stomach churned with regret—why the hell had you agreed to this?

Your vision blurred with the sting of tears, and the microphone trembled in your hand. Everything in you screamed to run, but your feet felt cemented to the stage. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours, your body rigid with embarrassment.

And then the music shifted.

The original melody was replaced by a familiar rhythm of drums and bass. Your breath hitched as you turned to see Ashton climbing onto the stage, microphone in hand, a wide grin on his face.

He draped an arm over your shoulders, leaning in close enough for only you to hear. “One last duet for old times’ sake?” he asked softly, his voice warm and steady.

You nodded, still too stunned to speak.

Ashton brought the mic to his lips, his eyes locking with yours. Then he began to sing, his voice low and deliberate, the opening line of Creep spilling into the room.

“When you were here before…

Couldn’t look you in the eye…”

The crowd remained silent, entranced, as the two of you commanded the room.

“You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather in a beautiful world

I wish I was special, you’re so fucking special.”

Ashton’s grin widened as his arm slid from your shoulders, taking your clammy hand in his. His eyes held a flicker of worry, but the reassuring smile he offered steadied your nerves.

He sang effortlessly, not once glancing at the lyrics on the screen. Of course, he didn’t need to. You stood there, transfixed, as his voice filled the space, the memory of your first date in this very bar crashing over you like a tidal wave. Creep had been your song that night, and somehow, Ashton had chosen it again to save you.

As he finished the chorus, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Without hesitation, you joined him for the second verse.

“I don’t care if it hurts, I wanna have control

I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul.”

Ashton grinned, his hand giving yours a reassuring squeeze before he joined in.

“I want you to notice when I’m not around,

You’re so fucking special, I wish I was special.”

Your anxiety dissolved, replaced by a surge of confidence. The giddy realization that every eye in the bar was on the two of you filled your chest, but it didn’t feel daunting anymore. Your voices blended seamlessly, filling the room with a hauntingly beautiful harmony.

You never let go of Ashton’s hand, even as the song swelled into the bridge. Both of you grinned, moving in time with the music. Ashton’s hair clung slightly to his damp forehead under the bar lights, and for a fleeting moment, he looked otherworldly, as if he belonged to the stage and nowhere else.

Your heart thudded in your chest, each beat growing heavier as Ashton nailed every note with ease. While you knew you were a decent singer, his voice—rich and achingly sincere—was in a league of its own.

And then he stepped closer.

His hand released yours to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as his gaze bore into yours. The intensity in his eyes was staggering, igniting a fire in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want

You’re so fucking special, I wish I was special.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to brush away the weight of the moment, but Ashton’s voice wrapped around those words like a confession. Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to push through, shakily joining him for the final lines.

“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo

What the hell am I doin’ here?

I don’t belong here.

I don’t belong here.”

The song faded, leaving an electric hum in the air. Ashton’s hand lingered on your cheek for a beat too long, his expression unreadable. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely registered it. All you could feel was the way Ashton’s touch burned against your skin and the unspoken words lingering in the space between you.

The loudest cheer in the bar came from Tyler, but you barely noticed. Ashton’s hand left your cheek as he stepped back, as if suddenly remembering this wasn’t the past, and you weren’t the girl who would have followed him anywhere anymore.

You climbed off the stage, laughing with Ashton despite the sudden intensity you’d shared moments earlier.

“I’ll take another round of drinks on you tonight,” Ashton teased as the two of you slid into seats at the bar.

“I sang!” you protested, laughter bubbling up. “We both sang, so no one has to pay.”

Ashton shook his head, grinning smugly. “Nope, that’s not how the deal worked. I bet you wouldn’t go up there alone, and you didn’t. So, I win.”

You rolled your eyes, groaning. “I hate you so much right now.”

“All I’m hearin’ is that I got your ass,” he chuckled, nudging you with his elbow.

“You wish you could get my ass.”

His eyes darkened slightly as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Wanna bet?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You pushed him away with a laugh, forcing yourself to ignore the shiver that ran through you. “You’re impossible.”

“C’mon, I saved you up there,” he said, his own laugh slipping through. “I don’t even get a thank you?”

Before you could respond, a thought struck you. “Oh my God, I drove here,” you blurted, panic rising. “How the hell am I supposed to get home now? We’re both drunk.”

Ashton hopped off his stool, catching your arm to steady you. “Relax, Bambi,” he said smoothly. “I’ll get us an Uber, then tomorrow I’ll take you back here so you can grab your car.”

You bit your lip, glancing up at him. His easy smile was infuriatingly contagious, the kind of smile that could disarm anyone. “Do you mind if we leave now?”

Ashton shook his head, a rogue curl falling across his face. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed it aside. For a second, you swore he froze under your touch, but you were too lightheaded—too elated—to care.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said softly, taking your hand as the two of you stepped out into the cool night air.

You stood on the curb, giggling at nothing, your fingers still intertwined as you waited for the Uber. Once inside the car, you turned to him. “So… who’s getting dropped off first? I don’t even know where you live.”

Ashton shrugged casually. “Figured we’d both head back to my place. You can take the bed, I’ll crash on the couch, and I’ll bring you back here in the morning.”

The idea of staying with Ashton sent a wave of heat down your spine, but you nodded anyway. The ride to his apartment was quiet, though his hand never let go of yours.

When the car pulled up, Ashton helped you out, thanking the driver before closing the door behind you. As you walked toward his building, the air between you felt heavier, thick with unspoken tension.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, still wrapped around yours, warm and steady. Something about the weight of it felt familiar—inviting.

Ashton’s eyes were on you, his gaze tracking the length of your legs and lingering on the curve of your neck throughout the elevator ride. The hunger in his expression was painfully familiar, sending an electric tension coursing through the air between you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you whispered, breaking the silence as Ashton fumbled with his keys outside his door.

He froze for a moment, then turned his head to give you a small, soft smile. “Anytime,” he said quietly, pushing the door open.

He stepped inside first, but you lingered in the hallway, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he’d hear it. Curling your fingers into fists, you shoved them deep into the pockets of your jacket, trying to steady yourself.

Noticing your absence, Ashton turned back, his brows furrowing. “You alright?” His voice was low, almost tentative.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as emotions threatened to spill over. “This… this can’t happen again,” you said, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. Your voice shook, but you forced the words out anyway. “The hanging out, all of it. I’m glad you’re doing great, and I am too, but I’m over you, Ashton. I want to stay over you.”

His face remained blank, no emotion slipping through his cool exterior. Instead of replying, he turned sharply and walked inside.

You hesitated before stepping over the threshold, the weight of the moment sinking into you. Pressing yourself against the wall near the door, you tried to steady your breathing. Ashton was only a few feet away, leaning against one of the dining chairs.

The space was small, a simple studio with minimal decoration. It looked like a place he barely cared about—except for the electric drum kit in the corner, positioned by the window. That felt unmistakably him.

“I know,” Ashton finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, sharp and deliberate. “You love to remind me. All these goddamn pins and needles.” He took a slow step closer, his hands still in his pockets.

“But are you sure?” His tone turned colder as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for cracks in your resolve. He stopped just inches from you, one hand coming up to press against the wall beside your head, his body leaning closer.

His proximity made it hard to breathe. “I’m sure,” you managed to whisper, though even you weren’t convinced by your trembling voice.

Ashton’s free hand dropped to your waist, his fingers brushing lightly against the waistband of your skirt. He didn’t break eye contact as his hand trailed deliberately, moving down your side. When he reached the hem, his touch lingered, setting your skin alight.

Your resolve crumbled with every touch, the tension between you growing unbearable.

His fingers trailed higher, slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt, and you felt the warmth of his hand against your bare skin. Your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch even as your mind screamed for restraint.

“Ashton, this isn't a good idea,” you whispered, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your hesitation. You made no move to push him away, your breathing uneven as his hand lingered, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and full of restraint, though his actions spoke otherwise. His fingers grazed the edge of your underwear, his touch feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out even though they felt hollow. “I don't have feelings for you,” you said, but your voice wavered, lacking conviction. You couldn't even convince yourself.

A small, humorless chuckle escaped Ashton's lips as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Then why are you shaking?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jawline.

Your heart pounded as his fingers teased along your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear. A soft gasp escaped you, and you felt him smirk against your neck. “You're already so wet for me,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

“Ashton—” You started, but the words were cut off by a moan as he slipped his hand beneath your underwear, his fingers sliding through your slick heat. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your back arching involuntarily as he found your clit, circling it with maddening precision.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your legs threatened to give out. “I shouldn't be doing this,” you whispered, but your body betrayed you, pressing into his touch as he slipped a finger inside you

“You're not doing anything, Bambi,” Ashton murmured into your ear, his voice a low, teasing growl. He slid another finger inside you, the stretch pulling a breathy moan from your lips. “I am.”

You shook your head weakly, your voice trembling. “But—”

Before you could finish, Ashton withdrew his hand, leaving you empty and aching. Your eyes flew open to meet his piercing jade-green gaze, and your breath caught as you watched him raise his slick fingers to his lips, cleaning any trace of you from them deliberately.

The sight alone made you whimper, your knees threatening to buckle. Ashton smirked, the gleam in his eyes dangerous. “Still convinced you feel nothing?” he challenged, his voice dripping with smugness. “Still telling yourself I never made you scream my name before?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, shaking your head as though that would drown out the memories threatening to overwhelm you. “Ashton, stop—” you pleaded, but your trembling legs and flushed skin betrayed your words.

His red sweater clung to him in just the right way, highlighting the curve of his shoulders and the tattoos that inked his forearms. Even with your eyes closed, you could picture him perfectly—the smooth expanse of his skin, the strength in his frame, and the way his gaze alone could make you fall apart.

Ashton leaned in closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Tell me again how over me you are,” he demanded. “Tell me you don't miss how my cock made you feel. Tell me, Y/N.”

Your eyes fluttered open, locking with his, the truth written all over your face. The intensity in his gaze burned through every excuse you'd clung to, every lie you'd told yourself. Even now, the ghost of his touch lingered, your body betraying every word you wanted to say.

There was no getting over Ashton Irwin.

“I miss you,” you gasped, the confession slipping out before you could stop it.

In one swift motion, your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down to you.

His lips collided with yours, the hunger and urgency behind them unmistakable. They moved against yours with practiced ease, igniting a fire in your chest. His hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer, erasing any space between you.

A whimper escaped your lips when Ashton's teeth grazed your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. The two of you stumbled across the apartment, the kiss never faltering. Your tongue traced the outline of his lips before delving deeper, tasting him fully, as his hands guided you blindly.

The back of your knees hit the armrest of the sofa, halting your movements. Ashton didn't hesitate; his hands gently but firmly pushed you down onto the cushions. You fell onto your back, your breathing uneven as you propped yourself up on your elbows, your gaze locked with his.

His smirk was devilish, his eyes dark with desire. Ashton leaned over you, his frame towering yet familiar, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along the bare skin of your thighs. Every touch sent sparks skittering across your skin, and all you could do was watch him, entirely at his mercy.

“God, I missed having you like this,” Ashton groaned, his fingertips trailing up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until it bunched at your waist. The distant hum of the city filtered in through the window, a sharp contrast to the heavy, uneven breathing that filled the small apartment.

His calloused palms roamed every inch of your exposed skin, lingering just enough to make your body tremble beneath his touch.

His fingers brushed over the waistband of your underwear, teasing. “Let me see that pretty pussy,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, before pulling the fabric down your legs and discarding it without a second thought. “You don't even know how many nights I thought about stretching you out, fucking my hand and wishing it was as tight as you.”

“Ashton,” you panted, your hands gripping his biceps as he hovered over you. A stray curl fell over his forehead, dangling above you along with the glint of the silver chains around his neck. He wasn't in any rush—his deliberate movements drawing shaky gasps from your lips as he let his hands linger just above your heat, his touch tantalizingly close but never enough.

He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that sent a wave of heat coursing through you. His fingers finally found your clit, rubbing delicious circles, his touch so familiar and precise it sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

“I was so fucking mad when you started talking about dating,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and strained as he replaced two fingers with his thumb, sliding them inside you. The stretch made you whimper, your head falling back. “But then I remembered—no one knows you like I do. Ain't that right, Bambi? I've mapped every inch of your body, made you come so many times in one night you couldn't even lift your head afterward.”

His fingers picked up speed, curling into a perfect rhythm that had your thighs trembling. Sweat pooled at your collarbone, and your hips moved instinctively, matching the pace he set as the pleasure built steadily.

“You're so fucking needy for me, Y/N,” he growled, his eyes dark as they locked on yours. “Tell me—do you ever lie to yourself? Pretend it's not my mouth you think about when you get off?”

Your head fell back against the wall as a breathless cry escaped your lips. “N-no,” you moaned, your voice trembling. “I can't forget it. Can't forget you.”

Ashton smirked, his free hand roaming your body as his lips trailed lower, biting at the sensitive skin of your thighs hard enough to make you yelp. The sharp sting only heightened the ache building deep in your core.

“You're such a bad liar, Bambi,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “You think I didn't notice you tonight? The way you froze when I said you were doing a good job in the elevator? You've never forgotten, and neither have I.”

Finally, he settled between your legs, tossing one over his shoulder as his eyes drank in the sight of you. His thumb left your clit, and the sudden loss made you whine in frustration.

“Look at you,” Ashton rasped, his voice dripping with lust. “Taking my fingers so well. But fuck, I need more—I need my mouth on you, your clit between my lips, your legs shaking around my head.”

Your hand shot down instinctively, tangling in his curls. The dark glint in his eyes and the cocky smirk that followed sent a fresh wave of heat through you just before he finally lowered himself.

The moment his plush lips wrapped around your sensitive bud, a moan ripped from your throat, your body arching as pure pleasure coursed through you. His mouth moved in perfect tandem with his fingers, the combination pushing you dangerously close to the edge.

The teasing, the tension, and the fact that no one had touched you like this since Ashton— all of it built to an unbearable crescendo. You felt yourself slipping, your resolve unraveling as his name fell from your lips until it didn’t even sound like a name anymore, just a chorus of pleasured moans.

His tongue moved over you with languid precision, every flick and swirl reminding you that Ashton hadn't forgotten a single thing about your body. He was attuned to you in a way that felt almost unfair—like getting you off was second nature to him.

Your back arched off the sofa, your stomach tightening with every second his mouth worked its magic. The heat of his tongue and the rhythmic motion of his fingers were almost too much, the sensations blending into an overwhelming wave of pleasure. His eyes fluttered shut, his expression one of pure bliss as he savored you, utterly lost in the moment.

“I'm so close,” you whined, your heel digging into his back, urging him on. Your grip on his hair tightened, shadows dancing in your vision as the tension in your body coiled impossibly tight. Each flick of his tongue pulled another breathless whimper from your lips, leaving you teetering on the edge.

And then he wrapped his lips around your clit one final time, sucking gently but with just enough pressure to send you spiraling. The coil in your stomach snapped, and a tidal wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your body shook violently, your thighs instinctively clamping around Ashton's head as the ecstasy consumed you.

He didn't stop. Even as your moans turned into overstimulated whines and your legs trembled uncontrollably, Ashton stayed buried between your thighs, his tongue and fingers working you through every aftershock. You looked down at him, your chest heaving, and saw the way he was utterly lost in you, his grip on your hips tightening as if he couldn't bear to let go.

“Baby—” The word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, soft and breathless, laced with a vulnerability you hadn't meant to reveal.

Ashton froze, his body going rigid at the sound of the endearment. His fingers stilled, and for a fleeting moment, you were certain you'd said too much. But when his eyes met yours, there was no anger, no hesitation—just a new kind of fire burning behind them.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he rose from between your legs, his movements deliberate, and scooped you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You didn't protest; you couldn't. Your body was boneless in his hold, your mind too hazy to form a coherent thought.

All you could do was cling to him as he carried you, your head resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady and grounding in the haze of the moment.

“I'm not done with you yet,” Ashton muttered, his voice low and gravelly, thick with need. His words sent a shiver through you as he carried you to his bedroom, the mirror doors of his closet catching your eye just before he laid you on the bed.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip before coaxing it open and slipping inside. Instinctively, you began to suck gently, your lashes fluttering shut as his other hand swept the hair from your face.

When he pulled his finger away, his gaze was dark and hungry, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, almost torturously, Ashton slipped your jacket from your shoulders, his eyes devouring every inch of newly exposed skin. You let him, your body pliant beneath his touch.

“You think you can forget how I make you feel?” he growled, his voice rough in your ear as he climbed onto the bed behind you. His hands gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your head until your eyes met your reflection in the mirror. “You're gonna fucking watch while I ruin you. Gonna make you look at yourself while I make you come so hard you cry.”

To emphasize his point, Ashton tugged your top over your head, trailing his lips along the curve of your neck as he unclasped your bra.

His grip on your jaw remained firm, holding you in place, while his free hand moved languidly down your torso, tracing over the soft swell of your breasts.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his voice tinged with reverence as he pressed his hips against your back, letting you feel the full weight of his arousal. “You're fucking beautiful. You think I could ever forget this? Forget you?”

You whimpered, frustrated by the fact that he was still fully clothed. It was almost as if Ashton could read your mind. He released you briefly, stripping off his mesh sweater and letting it fall to the floor. With one hand, he unbuttoned your skirt, sliding it down your legs, leaving you completely bare.

Ashton's hands found your body again immediately, one moving to your chest to knead your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. “My pretty, perfect girl,” he whispered, his voice softer now, laced with awe. “You're built like a fucking wet dream. You've always been the most exquisite thing l've ever tasted, ever felt.”

Your head lolled back against his chest, your body melting into his touch, but Ashton wasn't about to let you drift away. His hand slid up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes flutter open and meet his in the mirror.

“I said you have to watch,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. His grip tightened just slightly, grounding you, ensuring your gaze stayed locked on your reflection—on the way your body responded to him like it was made for his touch.

Slowly, Ashton bent you over, and your palms pressed into the mattress for support. His hands roamed across your back and down to your ass, squeezing and caressing before one slipped between your legs, sliding into your wet heat. You gasped, a moan tumbling from your lips as you fought the urge to close your eyes in bliss.

“That's right,” he purred, his voice thick and smooth as honey, withdrawing his hand before reaching for the button of his jeans. “Stay just like that for me, babygirl.”

Your breath hitched as you watched him undress in the mirror, his movements deliberate, teasing. When Ashton slid his jeans and boxers down, his erection sprang free, hard and heavy against his stomach.

The sight of him sent a wave of heat through your body, and when his eyes met yours in the reflection, they gleamed with mischief and hunger.

You watched as he wrapped a hand around his length, pumping slowly, his thumb brushing over the head. His voice was a low growl as he stepped closer. “Jesus Christ, you're still dripping,” he groaned, stroking himself faster. “God, Bambi, if I could keep you on your hands and knees like this for the rest of my life, I would.”

“Ashton, I need you,” you managed, your voice hoarse and trembling. Every nerve in your body seemed to pulse with anticipation, your walls clenching around nothing as you ached for him to finally claim you.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he teased the tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it slowly across your slick heat. Your fingers fisted the bedsheets, your body trembling as you felt him poised at your entrance.

“God, you're so pretty,” he muttered, his voice laced with reverence and lust. “Prettiest fucking pussy l've ever seen. So eager for me, aren't you? Not so sure about forgetting me now, huh?”

The head of his cock slipped in slowly, and you yelped at the intensity of the sensation. Ashton's grip on your waist tightened, his eyes squeezing shut as he began to push in deeper, sinking into you inch by inch.

The sting was minimal, your body already primed and ready from his earlier teasing. Still, Ashton let out a guttural hiss as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his fingers digging into your hips as he held himself there for a moment, savoring the way you clenched around him.

You moaned, your head falling forward, but Ashton wasn't having it. His hand traveled up your back before tangling in your hair, tugging your head up so your gaze was locked on the mirror. “You gonna come for me again, aren't you, Bambi?“

His hips began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but even the measured pace had your body trembling. Your walls fluttered around him, drawing out a low groan from his throat.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his tone almost reverent. “So tight, so perfect—just for me.”

You licked your dry lips, nodding as his grip in your hair tightened, grounding you. His pace picked up, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in the room, each thrust making your body quake. You couldn't tear your eyes away from your reflection, watching your breasts bounce with each movement, your brows furrowed in ecstasy.

Every thrust sent stars dancing in your vision, your body so sensitive from earlier that every motion brought you closer to the edge. Ashton's chest glistened with sweat, and his grip on your hips tightened, using the leverage to pull you against him. His thrusts were harder now, deeper, each one forcing loud, desperate whimpers from your lips.

It didn't take long before he found that spot deep inside you, the one he never failed to hit. “Does that feel good, Bambi?” he groaned, his pace relentless. “Still think you could ever forget this?”

“No,” you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets. “No, baby, I can't—I'll never forget how your cock feels inside me.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough and breathless. One of his hands snaked between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with perfect pressure. The sensation overwhelmed you, and your arms gave out, your body collapsing onto the bed. Your cheek pressed against the mattress as you continued to watch, your reflection a picture of pure, unrestrained pleasure.

The edge was so close now, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust, every flick of his fingers. Your moans grew louder, the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

Your body convulsed as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your cries filling the room. In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of yourself—your mouth falling open, your eyes narrowing, and your brows furrowing as pure ecstasy consumed you.

As your orgasm subsided, Ashton pulled out, his movements gentle as he guided your trembling body to lie flat on your back. He positioned himself above you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other lined himself up with your entrance. His gaze was intense, his voice low and rasping as he said, “I need to see you when I come.”

He slipped back into you effortlessly, the stretch familiar but no less intoxicating. His nose grazed your cheek as he began to move again, his thrusts slow at first but quickly turning messy and desperate. You wrapped your arms around him, your nails biting into his back as you held him close, the sound of his labored breathing fanning against your ear.

“Fill me up, baby,” you urged, your voice trembling. “Don't let me forget what it feels like to be dripping wirh you.”

Ashton groaned deeply at your words, his teeth grazing your neck before he bit down lightly, his thrusts growing erratic. “You're so perfect,” he murmured into your skin, his voice raw with emotion. “You're everything.”

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak, his hips stuttering as he pushed deep into you, spilling inside with a strangled moan.

Your nails dug deeper into his back, grounding him as he gave a few final, shallow thrusts before his movements stilled. His forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathless, your bodies entwined.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Ashton remained buried inside you, your ragged breaths the only sound in the room. When he finally lifted his head, his gaze had softened, all traces of lust replaced by a quiet admiration that made your heart stutter.

“Hi,” you whispered, biting your lip, your cheeks flushing under his gaze.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice tender as he pulled out of you and rolled onto his side. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing motion. Neither of you spoke; it felt as though words couldn't quite capture the weight of the moment.

The night hadn't unfolded the way you had imagined, but somehow, it felt right.

As if sensing the thoughts brewing in your mind, Ashton leaned in and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, a crooked grin tugged at his lips. “We better clean up,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

You nodded silently, unable to resist smiling back at him. Whatever questions or doubts lingered could wait—everything else could wait. Not when Ashton was looking at you like that.

For now, it was just the two of you.

—

You were overcome with panic before you even opened your eyes. The steady pressure of Ashton’s arm draped lazily across your body was the first thing you registered, pulling you from restless sleep into an even harsher reality. A slight jolt ran through you as the weight of your actions crashed over you.

Ashton’s room looked starkly different in the soft morning light, the cluttered chaos of last night now clear and inescapable. His soft breathing brushed against the nape of your neck, and it made you shiver—not from the cold but from the flood of memories that followed. You had been drunk, sure, but not drunk enough to excuse what had happened.

The truth was unavoidable: you weren’t over Ashton. Not even close. For the better part of a year, you’d lied to yourself, pretended you were fine, moved on—or at least convinced yourself you had. But as his familiar scent surrounded you, the ache in your chest reminded you how far from the truth that was.

You didn’t dare move, paralyzed by the thought of waking him and having to meet his piercing green eyes. You could still picture them from last night, looking at you in that way they always used to. It was too much. You couldn’t stay.

Carefully, holding your breath, you began sliding out from under his arm. The bed creaked slightly as you shifted your weight, but Ashton didn’t stir. He had always been a heavy sleeper—especially when alcohol and sex were involved.

The chill of the air hit your bare skin as you slipped free of the bed. Goosebumps rippled along your arms as you crouched down, hurriedly gathering your scattered clothes. Your jeans, your shirt,—everything but your underwear.

You froze as Ashton mumbled something in his sleep, his body shifting slightly under the covers. Your heart pounded as you watched him, every second stretching out painfully. After a moment, he stilled again, his breathing slow and steady.

Biting your lip, you tiptoed into the living room, pulling on your clothes as quickly and quietly as you could. Your jacket was slung over the back of the couch, and you grabbed it with trembling hands, reaching instinctively into the pocket for your phone.

Dead.

Of course, your phone would be dead. Charging it hadn’t even crossed your mind last night, and now the blank screen mocked you, showing a dim reflection of your disheveled hair and pale face.

You exhaled sharply, trying to steel yourself. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. You slid your boots on, your fingers fumbling with the laces as you avoided looking back toward Ashton’s room. The shame burned in your chest, and every second you stayed felt like a punishment.

Without another glance, you opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, shutting it quietly behind you.

You hadn’t expected this—walking the walk of shame from the apartment of the one person you’d sworn to everyone, including yourself, that you didn’t care about anymore. And yet here you were.

Although your head spun and your throat ached with unshed tears of frustration, you refused to let them fall as you stepped out of the building. Your jaw tightened, and you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand: finding the nearest coffee shop and begging someone to let you use a charger long enough to call for a ride home.

As you trudged down the street, the original plan came flooding back. Ashton was supposed to take you back to the bar to pick up the car you’d left behind. It was a plan that had made sense last night, when things between you were simpler—or at least less devastating.

Everything felt like it was crumbling around you now. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each beat amplified by the dull throb in your head. It was only a few blocks to the nearest Starbucks, but by the time you arrived, your anger had simmered into exhaustion, and your clothes clung to your skin from the heat.

Thankfully, borrowing a charger wasn’t much of an issue. The barista barely glanced at you as they handed one over, and you ordered a small breakfast to settle the uneasy churning in your stomach while you waited for your phone to charge.

Still, you couldn’t relax. Your eyes stayed glued to the door, half-expecting Ashton to walk in at any moment. A part of you wished he would, even if you wouldn’t admit it. But he didn’t. And you didn’t let yourself dwell on the disappointment creeping into your chest.

By the time your phone had enough charge, you’d numbly arranged for a ride back to the bar. The drive passed in near silence, your body heavy with exhaustion. When you finally arrived, you thanked the driver halfheartedly and stepped out.

Your gaze swept the parking lot as you walked toward your car, instinctively searching for any sign of Ashton. But he wasn’t there. Of course, he wasn’t. You ignored the pang of disappointment that hit you and quickly climbed into your car.

The second you shut the door, the tears came. At first, it was just a few that escaped despite your best efforts to hold them back. But by the time you crossed the threshold of your apartment, the dam broke completely.

You collapsed onto the floor, burying your face in your hands as sobs tore through you. The ache in your chest was unbearable, and your cries echoed through the quiet space, raw and unrelenting.

A small, curious head peeked out from behind the sofa. Your cat, the one you’d adopted with Ashton by your side, cautiously approached. She studied you with those wide, knowing eyes before padding over and hopping into your lap as if to offer comfort.

“Hey there, Dani,” you croaked, your voice hoarse as you extended a hand toward her. She purred softly, curling up against you without hesitation, her warmth soothing your trembling frame.

As you stroked her fur, a bittersweet memory flashed in your mind—Ashton, grinning ear to ear as he insisted on her name.

“Dani Cattyfornia is hilarious,” he’d argued, his eyes sparkling in that way they always did when he was up to something. “Plus, it’s a fire song for a very spicy kitty.”

“We are not naming my cat after a Red Hot Chili Peppers song!” you’d exclaimed, appalled at his suggestion. But both of you had known, even then, that the decision was already made. Dani Cattyfornia it was.

The memory stung now, bittersweet in its clarity. You clutched Dani closer, the tears you’d fought so hard to suppress spilling over once again. Part of you wondered if she could smell Ashton on you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the way Ashton’s eyes sparkled when he teased you, or how his laughter could make the world feel lighter.

Your phone buzzed beside you, Ashton’s name lighting up the screen. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, triggering another wave of tears. Without even thinking, you grabbed the phone and silenced the call, dragging yourself toward the bathroom.

The hiss of the shower filled the space as you stripped off your clothes and stepped under the stream. Hot water cascaded over you, soaking your hair and washing away the tears, though it did little to ease the ache in your chest.

Sitting on the tiled floor, you let yourself be consumed by the memories you’d tried so hard to bury. Every hug, every kiss, every whispered “I love you.” They flooded your mind, vivid and inescapable. But for every moment of joy, there was a counterweight: broken promises, forgotten commitments, and feelings left unspoken.

The most vivid memory of all was the last time you’d seen Ashton before everything fell apart. It was during one of your attempts to patch things up, to see if there was anything left between you worth salvaging.

You’d been cautious then, agreeing to take things slow, but Ashton had seemed distant, dodging your questions and skirting around his emotions. At the time, you’d chalked it up to nerves. Neither of you knew what to expect from trying again.

That night, he’d invited you to his apartment with the promise of making dinner—an offer that had surprised you, given Ashton’s well-documented lack of culinary skills. You’d laughed it off, but when you arrived, any doubts about his intentions melted away in a flurry of kisses and wandering hands.

It was intoxicating, the way he touched you that night. His hands were tentative yet desperate, as if relearning every inch of you. Your laughter had quickly turned to soft gasps, and before you knew it, the sun had set, and dinner plans had long been forgotten.

The “fancy dinner” had been replaced by him ordering takeout pizza, which you had to convince Ashton to get because he was still dead set on cooking. He eventually relented, he always did when it came to you. You could still picture him, standing between your legs as you sat on the counter in nothing but his t-shirt, holding up two empty glasses of wine and a lopsided grin on his face.

“I’ll make the presentation worth it,” he’d joked, pouring you another glass of wine. “I’ll doll it up real fancy so you’ll forgive the fact that it looks like absolute dog shit.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you without hesitation. Taking a sip of your wine, you leveled Ashton with a playful glare. “This has to be the least fancy dinner I’ve ever had.”

Ashton rolled his eyes, his grin wide as he ran his calloused hands along your bare thighs. “Okay, but you’ve gotta admit,” he said, leaning closer, “sometimes it’s not even about the food.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, his smile soft against yours. “It’s about the company.”

“Well,” you snickered, swirling the wine in your glass, “it’s definitely about the wine… and maybe other things.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Other things, huh? Feeling up for a smoke?”

You smirked, leaning forward to kiss him slowly. “Oh yes. And I know how you get when you’re high,” you teased, your voice dipping. “Can’t seem to pry you from between my legs…”

Ashton laughed softly, pulling back and shaking his head. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll go get the stuff.”

As he turned, you didn’t hesitate to swat at his backside. He shot you a mock glare over his shoulder, but the playful smirk tugging at his lips didn’t waver.

You were still perched on the counter, swinging your legs and sipping your wine, when a knock came at the door. Assuming it was the pizza Ashton had ordered earlier, you didn’t think twice about your appearance—bare legs, his oversized shirt—as you padded toward the door.

With a carefree smile, you swung it open.

Your smile faltered instantly.

Standing on the other side was a woman, striking in her beauty, with dark hair that curled around her shoulders and wide, glassy eyes that immediately welled with tears.

The two of you froze, locked in a moment that felt like it stretched into eternity. Her gaze swept over you, lingering on your bare legs and the shirt that hung loosely around your frame. Slowly, her expression twisted, heartbreak and fury colliding in her tear-streaked face.

“Are you serious?” she choked out, her voice trembling as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“I—what?” you stammered, completely caught off guard, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation.

Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, her shoulders shaking as she let out a bitter laugh. “I’m Eve,” she said sharply, her voice cracking. “I’m Ashton’s girlfriend.”

It was like the ground fell out from under you. Your stomach churned as the pieces clicked into place.

He had been so dodgy, so hesitant. And now, it all made sense.

You were his side piece.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, stumbling back a step. “I’m so sorry—I swear I didn’t know—”

Eve’s tear-filled gaze cut into you, but she didn’t look angry with you—just devastated. Her voice softened, trembling under the weight of her emotions. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Before you could respond, Ashton’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Bambi, found the stuff—”

He froze in place the second he saw her, the color draining from his face. His eyes darted between you and Eve, his panic written all over his features.

“Eve?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She let out a hollow laugh, swiping at her tears. “Yeah, Ashton. Eve. Remember me? Your girlfriend?” Her voice cracked, her pain unmistakable.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Ashton opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

The rest of the night was a blur of screaming, crying, and running away. Ashton had tried to explain, but you couldn’t listen. You promised yourself you would never listen to him again.

Now, a week after waking up in Ashton’s bed, the same feelings from that night lingered—anger, confusion, and an ache you couldn’t shake. You had avoided his texts and calls like the plague, and eventually, he stopped trying.

You sat alone in your apartment, replaying every moment in an endless loop, the pain still raw. No matter how much you wanted to hate him, a part of you still missed him—and that was the most painful part of all.

Every day, your mind wavered between the night you discovered Eve and the night you had spent tangled in Ashton’s arms. The memories were a cruel contrast, leaving you hollow, drained, and exhausted from carrying the weight of your emotions.

You barely noticed the news broadcast about a small residential building collapse, half-asleep on the couch with Dani curled beside you. The world outside felt distant, like you were moving through it in slow motion.

The entire week had been a blur of sleepless nights, haunted by memories of a time when you and Ashton had been happy. You went through your daily routine like a ghost, trying to convince yourself you were fine when you felt anything but.

It wasn’t until the phone call that everything shifted.

Still half-asleep, you idly scratched Dani behind her ears, a random show playing in the background. For the first time, the ache in your chest felt manageable, like you might finally be able to breathe again. You knew forgetting Ashton would take effort, but you were determined to start over—no matter how much it hurt.

Then your phone lit up with an unknown number.

At first, you ignored it, dismissing it as another scam call. But when a voicemail notification appeared, curiosity got the better of you.

You played the message, your blood running cold as a calm voice began speaking.

“Hi, this is Dr. Theresa Bray calling from St. Matthew’s Hospital. I hope this is the number for Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve been listed as Ashton Irwin’s emergency contact, and I’m calling to let you know he’s currently in surgery—”

Your breath hitched, the phone slipping from your grasp as your mind struggled to process the words. Ashton. Surgery. Emergency contact.

The room spun as you tried to process the voicemail. Your heart raced, and your thoughts blurred, but one thing was clear—you needed to get to Ashton.

You shot up from the couch, fumbling to find your shoes and keys while the voicemail continued to echo in your mind. “…he’s currently in surgery due to injuries sustained in a building collapse earlier today. We’re asking you to come in and discuss his condition.”

The words repeated like a broken record, colliding with the image of the news broadcast you’d seen earlier. Ashton must have been responding to a call at that building, and somehow, he’d gotten hurt.

The weight of the situation settled on your shoulders like a storm cloud. Anger and worry fought for dominance inside you. You weren’t supposed to care anymore—not after everything—but the fire coursing through your veins told a different story.

Grabbing the first jacket you could find, you moved toward the door in a daze. Dani meowed softly from her spot on the couch, her curious eyes tracking your every movement.

“Daddy’s hurt,” you mumbled without thinking, your voice shaky. “I just… I have to make sure he’s okay. Don’t wait up for me.”

Dani’s blank stare felt oddly comforting, as if she understood. You allowed yourself to imagine that she remembered Ashton, how she used to follow him around as loyally as you had.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Your mind cycled through worst-case scenarios, each one more unbearable than the last. You told yourself it was just an obligation, that you were his emergency contact and nothing more. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

When you finally arrived, the sterile smell of the hospital hit you like a wave. You made a beeline for the front desk, ignoring the noise and bustle around you.

“I’m here for Ashton Irwin. I’m his emergency contact,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

The nurse behind the desk gave you a sympathetic look. “He’s still in surgery, but we’ll notify you as soon as he’s out.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you stepped away. Before you could settle into one of the cold, plastic chairs in the waiting area, a familiar voice called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned quickly to see Calum walking toward you. He was still in his firefighter gear—his T-shirt and gear pants smudged with dirt and soot, his face battered and weary.

Relief flooded through you, and you closed the distance between you, throwing your arms around his torso. Calum immediately hugged you back, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively, one hand cupping the back of your head.

“What happened? Is he okay?” you asked, your voice breaking as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

Calum sighed, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and worry. “We were at the scene, doing everything we could to get people out,” he began. “Ashton… he went back in to save a kid. The floor gave out beneath him.”

Your heart sank, and tears stung your eyes. “Oh my God,” you whispered, clutching Calum’s arm. “Why would he—”

“He’s a stubborn idiot,” Calum said softly, though there was no anger in his voice. Just a deep, aching concern. “But that’s who he is. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you scanned the waiting room, taking in the familiar faces of Michael and Luke seated in the corner. Both of them looked just as anxious as you felt, their worry etched into every line of their faces.

Calum’s hands tightened gently on your shoulders, grounding you. “He’ll be alright, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tension. “Ashton’s a fighter. Once he knows you’re here, he’ll claw his way back to you. I know he will.”

Your lip trembled as you dropped your head against Calum’s chest. “He doesn’t even know I’m here,” you mumbled, your voice cracking. “Why would he? I haven’t spoken to him in a week.”

Calum pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “Why do you think you’re his emergency contact?”

Your brow furrowed as you shook your head. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “Maybe he forgot to change it?”

Calum gave you a knowing look, his voice firm but kind. “He put you down because he knows you, Y/N,” he said slowly, his words deliberate. “He knows you’d drop everything if you heard he was hurt, no matter how mad you are at him. He put you down because you’re the one incentive he needs to fight like hell to stay alive.”

The weight of his words settled over you, leaving you breathless. Your mind swirled with memories of Ashton—the way he smiled at you, the warmth of his laughter, the quiet nights when it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

The waiting room buzzed with quiet murmurs as the minutes dragged on. You sat with Calum, Luke, Michael, and the rest of Ashton’s team, all of them waiting for news. Their captain moved between the group, offering reassurances that did little to ease the heavy tension.

When the doctor finally emerged, everyone in the room stood at once, but her gaze immediately sought you and Calum. She approached, her expression calm but professional.

“Y/N?” she asked, her tone measured.

Your grip on Calum’s arm tightened instinctively. “Is he alright?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor—Dr. Bray, you assumed—gave a small, reassuring smile. “He’s out of surgery. Ashton sustained multiple injuries, including several broken bones, but he’s stable. He’s going to be okay.”

The relief that swept over you was overwhelming. You gasped, tears spilling freely as you turned to Calum, wrapping your arms around him in an unsteady hug.

When you finally pulled away, you wiped at your face, your voice trembling as you asked, “Can I see him?”

Dr. Bray nodded. “He’s still asleep from the anesthesia, but yes, you can see him. Just keep in mind he’s going to need plenty of rest.”

You nodded quickly, barely processing her words as she motioned for you to follow her. Calum gave your hand one last squeeze before letting you go, his silent support a comforting presence as you prepared to face Ashton.

You followed the nurse numbly to Ashton’s room, your heart pounding as you stepped inside. The sight of him hit you like a wave—pale and fragile against the stark white of the hospital bed, his black hair in disarray with sandy roots peeking through. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with the steady beeping of the heart monitor, but the bruises and cuts that lined his face made your stomach twist.

Without a second thought, you sank into the chair by his bedside, your hand reaching for his. His fingers were cold and limp, but you held on tightly. “You know,” you whispered, your voice shaky but laced with an attempt at humor, “you didn’t have to get the floor to fall out from under you just to get me to see you.”

The silence was heavy, Ashton unmoving, but you didn’t let it stop you. You stayed by his side for hours, your voice filling the quiet as you talked about anything and everything that came to mind.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, and your eyes fluttered shut as you rested your head on the edge of the bed. Just as sleep was about to claim you, you felt it—a faint squeeze of your hand.

Your head shot up, your heart leaping in your chest. Ashton’s hazel-green eyes, tired but unmistakably vibrant, blinked up at you. A weak, familiar smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey, Bambi,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but warm. “Was scared I’d never see you again.”

A choked sob escaped you as you reached out, gently brushing his messy hair away from his face. “Hey, you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as tears spilled over. “Look at us—always doing the absolute most to get each other’s attention.”

His smile widened slightly, though it was laced with exhaustion. “At least this isn’t as embarrassing as you falling on your ass that one time,” he teased weakly.

You let out a watery laugh, wiping your tears quickly. “Yeah,” you said, your voice lighter for a moment. “At least there’s that.”

The room fell into a quiet lull as Ashton’s gaze wandered to the cast on his leg and the bandages covering his arms. His expression grew somber. “Guess I won’t be going back to work anytime soon,” he muttered, his voice tinged with regret.

“It’ll go by fast,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve always been one resilient motherf—fighter.”

But your attempt at humor didn’t lift his spirits. His brow furrowed, and he looked down at your joined hands. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past year and a half,” he said quietly, his tone more serious than you expected. “About my mistakes. And how most of them were with you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart tightening in your chest. “Ashton, we don’t have to do this now—”

He shook his head, cutting you off. “But we do,” he insisted, his voice soft but firm. He shifted slightly, wincing at the movement, and you shot up to help, but he waved you off. “I need to say this, Y/N. I owe you an apology.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with unfiltered emotion, leaving you speechless.

“You really don’t have to do this now,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but Ashton wasn’t deterred.

“I don’t know if you’ll still be here tomorrow,” he said softly, his tone laced with vulnerability. “Or the day after that. So, yes, I need to do this now.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “I love you. From the moment you looked at me with those big doe eyes of yours, I’ve loved you. I’ve always been a stupid kid, and my love for you wasn’t safe from my stupidity.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words striking something deep within you.

“I hurt you,” Ashton continued, his voice cracking. “Time and time again, and you still took me back. But then you left—and you seemed so sure of your decision that I tried to convince myself there was nothing left in my heart for you. Pins and needles, as you used to say.”

A sad smile ghosted his lips, and for a moment, you were both transported back to a time when those words meant something lighter.

“Anyway,” he said with a bitter laugh, “I threw myself at the first girl I could. That just happened to be Eve. For a while, everything seemed fine. But then you came over for my Cal’s birthday party, and everything I’d built crumbled. All my resolve—gone, just like that. I wanted you, Bambi. I only wanted you. And I knew, deep down, that no matter who it was, if you showed up at my wedding, I would’ve run away with you in a heartbeat.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his confession unraveled.

“So I was selfish,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared of losing you again, so I didn’t break things off with Eve when I should have, I kept her as a backup plan. I fucked up. I knew it then, and I know it now. I’m so fucking sorry, Bambi. For everything.”

He finally fell silent, his breathing labored but steady, his gaze fixed on you, searching for some kind of absolution.

“You made me an accomplice to adultery,” you whispered, the weight of your words finally matching the emotions you’d held inside since that night. “You made me hurt another girl—a sweet, completely innocent girl who didn’t deserve it.”

Ashton’s gaze dropped to his hands, shame clouding his expression. “I know,” he admitted softly. “I’ve tried to reach out to her, to apologize, but she never gave me the chance. Not like you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a flicker of guilt surfacing. “About that,” you sighed. “I didn’t agree to see you because I wanted to forgive you. I wanted to rub it in your face that I was fine without you.”

His small smile faltered, replaced by a look of quiet resignation. “Oh,” he murmured, his brows lifting slightly. “I guess that’s fair.”

You exhaled slowly, your voice softer now. “How do I know you’ve really changed?” you asked, tracing idle patterns on the hospital sheets.

Ashton took a deep breath, sitting up just slightly. “I could tell you about how being a firefighter has taught me to be less selfish,” he began. “How it’s forced me to confront my issues and given me a healthy outlet for all my restless energy. But honestly, that won’t mean much to you, will it?”

You frowned, glancing up at him. “No, because I don’t really know that Ashton, and I probably won’t for a while,” you pointed out gently, careful not to hit a nerve. “You’re going to need time to heal. How do I know you won’t just go back to who you used to be?”

Ashton pressed his lips into a thin line, his hazel-green eyes locking onto yours. Without a word, he nodded toward the small space next to him on the bed. “C’mere,” he muttered, shifting as much as his injuries allowed to make room for you.

Your brows lifted in surprise, but when Ashton pouted slightly, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Carefully, you climbed onto the bed, lowering yourself beside him and resting your head against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat filled your ears, strong and steady beneath you.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair. “You won’t. And I guess that’s the hardest part.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze for a beat. “I don’t want to be in a relationship with you right now,” you muttered, your voice steady but kind.

You felt him tense beneath you, but you pushed forward before he could say anything. “You don’t need the mess of our love on top of everything else you’re dealing with,” you explained. “But you do need someone to help you. Recovery is going to be long and hard.”

His eyes searched yours, a flicker of hope lighting them. “What are you saying?” he asked hesitantly.

You licked your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. “For now, I’m going to help you heal,” you said firmly. “Make sure you get back to being that firefighter who has his life together. And maybe, just maybe, when you’ve really proven to yourself that you’ve changed, I’ll think about giving us another shot.”

Ashton stared at you, disbelief etched across his face. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” you nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Plus, I think Dani misses her dad.”

Ashton’s eyes softened at the mention of your cat. “My sweet Dani Cattyfornia,” he murmured with a blissful sigh. “That really is the most ridiculous name, isn’t it?”

You smiled, shrugging slightly. “It’s a fire song,” you said softly. “A fitting name for a spicy kitty—even though she’s way more mellow now.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, but it was quickly replaced by a serious tone as his forehead gently pressed against yours. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“Maybe not,” you replied honestly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we won’t know that unless you try. Everyone deserves a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth—”

Ashton cut you off with a quiet laugh, his smile breaking through his sadness. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But thank you, Bambi. I swear, I won’t waste this chance.”

You hummed softly, your fingers tracing the heart tattoo on the side of his wrist. The thought of giving him another shot terrified you, but not as much as the idea of losing him completely.

As the room settled into a comforting silence, the truth became clear.

The only pins and needles you felt now were from your arm falling asleep, uncomfortably squished between the two of you.

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if you’re still here, i love you. thank you for reading this monster of one shot, and thank you again to soup for being such an awesome writing partner. as always, thank you for reading pookies <3