i will carry out my life,

"We're definitely not missing out on that. Em'd have my head if I didn't taste test what she helped out Charlie bake," he told her as he rolled his sleeve down over the newly covered injury, praying even harder to the powers that be it didn't scar and leaving a reminder he couldn't forget. "And I'd be a pretty shitty boyfriend if I let you end out the night alone huh," he added, the title rolling off his tongue before he realized he'd even said it. "Besides that, if I remember right, you do still owe me one more dance for getting Ash out there twice, so I guess I can justify showing my face back there after what Aspen pulled," he went on playfully reminding her of their bet, holding up two fingers as he buttoned his shirt cuff.

Regardless of what Ruth thought, he still felt sorry for everything. It hadn't been fair for to her, or anyone really for that matter, to have been forced to witness the airing of Oscar's dirty laundry - if one could even call it that. He hadn't been particularly ashamed of what had gone on between him and Aspen, but he was a private person and had hated how vocal she'd just been about it. "I'm still sorry," he reiterated. "Whether you think so or not, you deserve the apology. So instead of saving it, I promise to do my best not to need as little of them as possible in the future. Fair trade?"

"fair." the small smile that found its way to he could have told her nothing about what happened, insisting that it was personal, and she would have found a way to forgive. she would have reminded herself of the fact that he'd lived plenty of time without her in his life, when she'd been running around the halls of the building with sleepless nights ringed around her eyes.

though, she could hardly think of a single misstep that would result in needing such a somber statement. their time together had been marked with simplicity. the easiness of being happy, the problems arising being solvable as a team. she needed the apology about as much as she needed him to question her own dating history.

"i'll let you know the next time," she held out her hand, offering it to him as the littlest gesture, the solidarity of walking back into the wedding as a couple. "give you time to put together a bouquet too."

"I.." Ruth asking a singular question back wasn't what he was bracing himself for, as if being held a mirror in front him to confront it. His voice cracks in the words murmured into the shared space between them, "..I'm just so scared," even here, even now, trying to decipher her expressions on her features, soft caresses trying to smooth out the creases that formed. "I seem to break every relationship I touch," Ash exhales lightly looking down trying to find the words to answer in earnest, "at some point- it just seemed.. safer, to be the one broken instead." He couldn't live with himself if they lost what they already had, for being greedy of wanting more. Can she still say he wasn't a coward? Was it even a satisfying answer? Probably not. And it's not as if in all their years they haven't seen each other try and go off on dates, try and be in relationships, laughing over dates from hell and swearing never again, ending up sharing cans of ginger beer and talking nonsense into the night. He's been so scared to lose that constant in his life, that no matter what shitty thing hits life, he would always Ruth, and she would always have him.

Ash shook his head when she continued, immediately sweeping in with reassurance, "-and I would never ask you to, not unless you want to." Whatever layers of complexity that came with the kid, it honestly came down to one person and the promise he made to him, a burden he was willing to take on alone if he had to. Though it made him realize the two of them never talked about it since it happened, just letting assumptions fester, "this was.. I had to do it for Lindsay," maybe not the name Ruth might've thought. It was complicated, in the history with his mentor, everything he owed him, but maybe now with his mother around, things could pan out smoother.

was she breaking now? a crumbling of each and very thought she'd held true. somehow having misread all the signs that were meant for her to decipher as her own superiority. that it was she who was too good to be asked if she would consider a date, a future, a lifetime together. his answers don't solve her own dilemma. they only serve as a confusing map, the road signs pointing her every which way but towards a clear answer.

"i thought you knew." there had been no action for her to take before, because there hadn't been interest. she'd thought he'd been pushing her out the door for concerts, trivia, work, because he didn't want it to be misconstrued— had he really been scared? "roman knew." he'd waited just as long to tell her, long after the clock had run out and the score had been called.

why did she think she was wrong, as she sat here with their foreheads pressed together. because she was wrong. she would give up everything she'd built here at the wexley if he'd ask her to. forget the council, the work, her own already happy relationship. sabotage was , for the briefest moment, an option on the table. and that was her problem, that was why she couldn't simply lean the rest of the way into the words that she'd finally made her reality.

"because—" she has to take a breath, shuddering as it is, to prevent the drip of tears down her chin. "i am terrified," and no matter what she did next, she was going to make the wrong move. she was in a stalemate with her heart and her mind, two presents converging. "i can't lose you." when there was so little left of what had ever made them come to new york in the first place.

In the micro seconds of him blubbering out words of apologies and and offerings to leave the current situation, he pondered of the seeming finality of decisions, the worse case of her responses, whether he should pull away to a respectable distance and letting each other's warmth leaving skin, he felt like he lost the right to be close to her anymore, physically, emotionally, no longer deserving it. But it was so fleeting in the instantaneous words that followed; they were short but they meant the weight of the universe to him.

Despite all the pain, the tears, the terrible mess that he was, she still wants to be here.

He quietly nodded as his took in her words, smile cracking through quivering lips before the last string snaps and his shoulders jerked lightly in sharp inhales akin to silent hiccupping sobs. Ashton took a few moments to let that all pass through, choked laughter bubbles through, "don't know what I did to deserve you," wiping the tears away alongside her when he properly meets her gaze again, meeting her tears and smiles with his own.

They've shared these words too many times before, he's heard and said those three words to each other countless times, yet something about this one sat differently. Maybe just another way Ruth could always decipher his messes and know what he's trying to say, his heart squeezed at the sound of those words, deep watery blues searching through dark watery browns for proof of the way it was said. It was that exact fear Ashton had mentioned that gripped his lung tightly, maybe it the sobering up from the crying that begun making him more aware of things again. But Ashton placed the empty bottle away, this time not reaching for another, but leaning forward to Ruth, doing the opposite of creating a respectable distance, for his hands to reach over and carefully cradle her face, thumb brushing over to wipe the tears that still stained her cheeks, ignoring the cowardice that had a vice grip around his throat and heart to at least properly tell her, slowly, carefully, almost afraid to break everything, but adamant to say it before he never gets the chance again,

"I love you," his smile grew as he took a beat to sit in that truth that escaped almost as easy as a sigh, words exchange so many times yet now differently, he meant it in a way he was always afraid to, slowly teetering on a line of wanting to close the space between them, though knowing he shouldn't, "always will, no matter what, you never have to doubt that."

"why did you wait?" blame can't be so easily settled, it hasn't found its home just yet among the time and her own played part. troubled thoughts line her face, trying to settle when she should for once be relieved to hear that she hadn't been crazy all this time. she waited and waited and she heard endlessly about jeremiah. she danced with strangers, she lost roman, she turned back to life alone again and again and again.

here after all this time were all the words that she'd been waiting to hear. tinged with tears and alcohol, the lingering hint of sadness in the air that he hadn't shaken off. she would turn her entire life inside out for him if it was real, as though she didn't have anything to hold on to. from the second he leaned in, her own work, her relationship, everything she built, seemed to freeze.

"i can't just—" she leans into his gentle hold, pressed closer together than she'd thought possible. "i couldn't raise maisie. i thought—" the riddle which could never be solved, the thorn driven into her thoughts. how now did it make sense that she should get the wish on a shooting star from a decade before. "i don't know why i didn't say anything before." she searches his eyes, trying to let herself be comforted, to follow through with this just the once. she didn't want to hurt his feelings, she didn't want to hurt anyone.

..But that was it, wasn't it? It felt like a line was drawn, a boundary laid out, an answer that was definite, a fullstop before a sentence could get too carried away in a fantasy, to stop him from even wondering if they could've started and tried again on a different foot. He was stupid, and selfish for thinking something in this moment would change and make everything better. Just always too late. This same hurt must be what she felt back then, and he didn’t even know it, truly, what an asshole he was. "And you deserve to be happy." She was already happy with Oscar, wasn't she? It may not be a happiness Ashton might ever get to find and experience without her, but he can't get in the way of that for her. Perhaps this was just the confirmation that he wouldn't be able to make her happy. She certainly didn’t seem happy being here with him right now - that was his fault. Ashton silently drank down the rest of his bottle, stopping whatever selfish things he might've wanted to say that might just cause a further rift between them. He had to remind himself, whatever they already have, is more than enough. He can't lose that too.

Ashton finished the bottle, taking a breath before his head cleared enough to stop the mess he created, "-sorry that was shitty of me to have said anything at all, I shouldn't have-- that's not fair to you, I just-" he pulled his knees further into his chest, turning away so that the moonlight wouldn't catch the tears before he could wipe them away. "I know you said you wanted to be here- but if that's changed.. you don't have to, don't let Oscar worry," he pushed out as big and warm of a smile as he could, giving her another out of this painful place if she needed to, wondering if her opinion on that earlier statement has changed. Now, perhaps Ruth had truly seen all of him. Nothing left to hide. And perhaps that last piece of him might be the end of them, he didn't know, he was afraid to find out.

she wants to be happy, she wants be be able to smile, feel the lightness, to be chosen first, asked to dance. she wanted so many silly unattainable things, that they all came out as tear drops that she was quick to try and wipe away. was this the confession she'd been waiting to here? something that swelled with cinematic grandeur, and confirmed the delusions that she'd spent years creating for herself. they could have been happy together, aren't they so happy now?

his emptying of the bottle answers the question for her. even if it is the truth, even if there's something that he's not saying fully, it's not going to result in anything but more hurt. now is her chance to push, to ask the questions, to fully understand what he means— what happened. and yet, she still can't bring herself to do it.

"you don't have to apologize." her tear-stricken voice is a new sensation. she does not cry easily, she can count on one hand the times the end of the world has brought her to this point. "we tell each other the truth." or at least they tried. some things hurt just as much to say as to hear, she refused to drive a knife in too far. she knew he was sparing her all the same. "always."

she can't blink without tears falling, so she chooses to stare at the ground. "he's not worried." the words are instantaneous, they assuage guilt non-existent. why would he be after all this time. they're short, her next sentence just as chopped with her settling emotion "i want to be here." even if it wasn't what she predicted, miles away from the night that she'd hoped to help him have.

"Casual," he answered her unspoken question with a soft sigh. Which was why he was so surprised at her obvious upset. Oscar gave Aspen the same opportunity as Ruth and she hadn't taken it. That wasn't his fault. And he was at a loss as to where fault lay for how things turned out with him and Ruth for that scene to have just unfolded.

"We were friends with benefits at best but it was over awhile ago," he explained further, watching Ruth as she worked. It ended when he'd figured out how he felt about her in fact, but Oscar never was one to rush things - always wanting to make sure before jumping into things like love.

"I'm sorry." He wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for, but he felt like Ruth was owed one. Although he was hardly sorry for the choice he'd made between the two women - Aspen would just have to learn to deal with it.

she turns his answer over in her head while she finishes wrapping up the wound. she hadn't even been paying attention a while ago, so wrapped up in her own interpersonal dramas. it wasn't as though she expected to need to tell oscar about each and every regrettable decision she made in the time since she'd made it back to the wexley.

this was fine. she could live with it, just as he seemed to survive her accidental ribbing, the poke at a still tender bruise.

"save the apology for when you really need one." her smile is already forgiveness, pushing way the impulse to ask any more questions about what had happened. she's never needed to ask, she's never been the one to provide answers. in fact, perhaps its all best left in the before of the wedding. "like if we miss the cake."

He turned at the sound of her voice, glad she hadn't immediately pointed out the fiasco. Although he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Despite how it may have always seemed throughout his life, Oscar wasn't well versed in these kind of situations. At the very least he hoped it meant she was going to give him a chance to explain.

"I do. Yea," he accepted with a glance down at his arm. "We never went over this in any training I know of so I have no idea what I'm doing," he tried keeping light of the situation as he willed his heart to keep from pounding out his chest.

the wince is quick and visible, another misfire. she doesn’t want to imply anything about aspen, she’s not sure how she’s supposed to approach the conversation at all. “no, sorry i don’t mean that.” she doesn’t clarify what there was to interpret or misinterpret, just continues on with her task of cleansing the wound.

“i didn’t realize that you and aspen had, were—” together? still together? something she didn’t know how to label. how could she, after years of pathologically avoiding labels of any kind. or had it been something else entirely, some unknown drama that had nothing to do with butterflies at all. “she seemed upset.”

Fuck!

And Ruth. Oh my God, Ruth. He knew she'd seen and heard everything. The whole Goddamn community had witnessed the dramatics. There was no way she hadn't. He'd fucked up. So. Goddamn. Bad. He knew it. He just knew it. She would never want to have anything to do with him after hearing all the dirt of his and Aspen's relationship. Which was supposed to mean nothing.

Needless to say he was a mess.

Oscar was reeling from the blowout as he paced just outside the reception, opening the bottle of whiskey and taking a generous swig to try and calm his nerves. His thoughts had been so preoccupied with worry over damage control that he hadn't heard the approaching footsteps behind him.

whatever words were being exchanged hadn't caught her attention at first. she'd danced with aspen, it felt like most people had at this point in the night. she'd turned away from it with the same nonchalance she'd assumed oscar had when she'd been the partner.

is she nosy? is she caring? she's never been put in the position to have to think about it before. it's clear that he's upset about the exchange, something akin to a break-up with raised voices. had she caused it? should she be here? more questions than answers continued to pop up, reminding her how new she was at life.

instead of emotion or accusation, she leans on what she knows. the first aid kit is held out like a peace offering as she greets, "need help sterilizing that?"

"you know why oscar let you come out here with me?" it seemed pretty obvious to roman. "it's because he knows i'm not dumb enough to let you die."

remove the details. the wife, the kids. ignore the fact that he is a man with reasons to keep living that should far outweigh the life of another woman. forget the repressed feelings between them or the singular kiss shared half-dressed in the w's bathroom. oscar knows none of that would stop roman from laying down his life for ruth because none of it was sustainable without her. how long would any of it last without a doctor? especially one they trusted? one that believed in this place?

roman offers her a container from the bottom of the pile. there was black sharpie written across the lid. slaw ♥.

"when june learned it was basically just cabbage she started calling me popeye the sailor." a nickname that had stuck so far.

"he lets me do it because i'm immune." she says finally, pointing out the silly obvious fact that's been part of their daily lives for years now. she could take a bite and walk away just a little worse for wear. it wasn't a death sentence, it merely was.

the difference between cabbage and spinach is mentally noted, but she does not poke holes in the life that he has set up for himself. it doesn't involve her, it never did. she has learned to phrase questions of contentness better than her first thoughts would allow. is this what you always wanted is easy to shift in her mind until it becomes "that's a pretty normal choice."

the reintegration of domesticity has smoothed over their edges. she has a boyfriend and a steady job, an elected seat on the town council. he has a wife and children, runs a company more or less, comes home every night in time to hear his daughter poke fun at him. it was all nice, and yet they were both out here just the same.

"see, judgement free."

He couldn't really parse out what exactly he was feeling either. It was a jumbled mess other than the steadfast unwavering truths; he loves her, he wants her to be happy, he's sorry. Everything else he didn't understand; the selfish sting seeing her with Oscar, the heaviness in his chest that the more he thought about the heavier it got. He had no right to feel that way anyways, he's not here to guilt trip her out of what could be something actually wonderful in her life, and he'll just have to accept the possible fact that it doesn't include him.

"But I do," Ash was quick, yet sluggish at the same time, to reply, shaking his head once again, "I've hurt you, and I'm sorry." He tried to sound as sober as he could so that she knew he meant it. Digging into this ached more than he was anticipating it too though, and he swapped his empty bottle for another full one. Numb, he just wanted to be numb. "If I wasn't a coward, then why am I so scared to love you?" He still did love her, he still was scared. Ash paused after listening to the words that escaped his lips, as if it was a question he was asking himself more than asking Ruth. Confronting it himself with no other answer than the explanation he already gave. So he mirrored her and drank.

She's right, they had been through so, so much, together. That harsh months of winter was probably the longest they've ever gone not speaking since they've met. And Ash wouldn't know what to do with himself if he fucked up and didn't have her at least in some, any, capacity in his life. Another statement was made by Ruth, and he didn't quite understand it. "Why wouldn't I want it?" A question so simple yet so complicated of what was really asked. But Ash shook it off, it didn't matter what he wanted, "what do you want?" Ash asked softly, a knee gently nudging hers. Then being reminded of their current circumstances, eyes meeting before darting away to rephrase it out of respect, she was already with someone else, self aware enough to know that it had probably changed by now, "or what did you want?"

"i wanted—" you, some forever version of us. it was always supposed to come easily, the dawning realization that after all this time it was still the two of them over and over. celebrating christmas in his childhood home, moving across the hall from each other in new york city. there was no other person, in her entire life, who had been there for her as constantly. even in the bad times, even now when he thought he was to blame. "i wanted you to be happy."

that's all it had been. listening to him finally talk about jeremiah, feelings that couldn't just be forced had found their home with the eldest rose. he couldn't have known how it was going to end, none of them could have. but here they were, still dealing with the ramifications two years later. how is it that even now, the answer to his question why wouldn't i is so passively simple: you didn't. you choose other people. the words are on the tip of her tongue. she could say them now and turn the whole scene inside out.

"i want to be happy." she says finally, choosing a more careful line. and it's still selfish. she couldn't find happiness in raising maisie, in stepping into a ghost role. occupying the shadow of jeremiah for not just ashton, but for everyone else who needed that gap filled. perpetually standing on the table and shouting look! i am just as good. "that's all."

Not that he was terrible terrible, but the liquid courage always made it easier for him to stop caring that he was more like Napolean Dynamite than Fred Astaire when it came to busting a move. Unless of course the song was slow and meant to be savored. That he could manage to follow. Although he enjoyed debunking the myth that being devoid of rhythm meant his bedroom capabilities would match.

"But there are definitely more than a few dances saved for yours truly," he assured her. "You think Ash will dance with me?" he joked of his meaning over the statement. "He'll just have to wait because the first one is yours," he quickly went on as slower paced music floated through the air, leading her out to the floor by the hand and easily sliding his hand along her waist to hold her close as he began to sway waith the music.

her continued topic of conversation is halted as the action itself finally takes precedent. less talking of dancing, and actually dancing. finding herself in the arms of the man who's somehow managed to see her through every version of a hot mess in the past two years. and he's come out still liking her, still wanting this dance. "it's an honor."

"Oh, talk to them? Heck, I would maybe be really good at medicine. Though, whenever I come to help in the hospital you always chase me off, too." Grinning at her, there wasn't a hint of resentment or anything of the sort, just a playful grin on her face as she waved it off, already seeming to forget what they were just talking about.

Reaching down for Ruth's hand, though, Aspen did her best to try and drag the doctor back onto the dance floor. There was no point wasting such a good song, and Ruth always looked like she needed to have some fun.

“i thought you liked where you were at.” she doesn’t say that the more people in the hospital made her feel less valuable. she is doing her best to not give in to the voice that has preached selfishness, extraordinariness. she didn't hold anything against apsen, how could she. it was a compliment that the other woman somehow still looked up to her despite their equality on every other front. “you seem really happy these days!”

"Well, should've practiced with the shoes." Ashton's laughter this time rang out like a wind chime finding wind. Worries let go for the day, this felt like the start of a good day as the tension from his shoulders evaporated. He hummed in agreement to the answer she settled on, "you're our Ruth," ending with a wink before they begun their path. One and only Ruth, no one could replace her. It was a strange novelty feeling, Ash doubt he'd ever walk down an aisle so it was.. fun to just experience it, without eyes without fanfare just dumb laughter, with their Ruth. "I'll pretend to be in the bride's heels."

practice didn't make much of a difference, her mind tangled in the conversation instead of in the gestures. pretending ashton was the bride, winking with the easy smile she didn't think had been possible to recoup. her laughter bubbles up without care; the walk is easy with the right person by her side. they get to the end of the aisle, and there's a moment where she almost says something serious. she's sure there's a question on his face, an inkling of a conversation they've been avoiding. one that she skips over again under the beautiful archway.

"always." she settles on with a grin, the official titles conjuring up serious people in suits. she's not sure it's them, but someone else has already decided that. "my hangover care packs are at the ready." she learned from the long ago birthday party what people wanted after an evening of an open bar, and she'd taken notes. "one has your name on it."

"okay." there are too many maybes and what ifs that he would drown under the weight of them if he dared reach for one. so instead he thinks of the child he's going to have with charlie and it gives him the resolve needed to keep his hands to himself. to let whatever this was die on the bathroom floor before either of them had time to grow attached to the idea of a life together.

she, girl to be kissed and left, to smile and dance on the street with nothing more. she could laugh and laugh among the tables of people, and here was the truth of it all. she still walked back to her apartment alone. there were plenty of reasons for why this might occur. a fundamental truth about herself that need not be stated while he steps away from her and looks for the exit.

could she ask him to stay? what would she do when he said no?

his words choke her. she's unable to swallow, to speak. she did the right thing, and she was keeping her distance. he's only responding to what she said first. she was trying, trying, and her hands were trembling as they tried to hold onto the counter top. so she nods, gives him the space to leave where she's not looking at him with a red face and blurred eyes.

"thanks." she manages finally. whether he's heard it or not is a different matter entirely. she'll be there regardless, waiting on and on.

"i can see it. plaid blue dress. with ruby red slippers." because dorthey seemed to be the only thing he could picture a kid from missouri in, who had no interest in princesses or vampires. "did clicking your heels three times get you to the er?" roman teased, making light of the information that's been shared between them tonight.

"no place like home." she tries a smile, the familiar refrain picking up at the end when it finally takes home. she did love what she did, even if at the time she'd only picked it as an exit. the route to supporting herself. he understood that, she knew that much from what they've pieced together about each other.

no one was a transplant to new york city because they'd loved their own life, and then back and forth and back to the same apartment because it was perfect. those in glass houses, those who bargained for a dinner of more than ramen. "i knew it." she pulls her own coat off the rack, a familiar worn trench coat, the cracked red leather bag that contained everything her backpack didn't. the warmth underneath the veneer which healthcare put over every student. "the extra pillows on the couch."

Ash shakes his head though it felt more like a loll from side to side as Ruth tried to apologize, that wasn't his intention, he didn't want to make her feel bad-- "no- no.. you've always been there for me. You've done more than enough." Desperate to clear the air on any guilt she felt. She owed him nothing. Ashton doesn't want to really say it out loud but the culmination of the guilt and misinterpretation and alcohol had his self control of his thoughts completely unhinged from conscientiousness.

Still he paused for a short while, having to close his eyes shut to stop the world from spinning and finding the willpower to face some semblance of a truth he's brushed aside on. Only the sound of a deep breath and his quiet raw words cut through the silence, "..I've always lost everyone I've ever fallen in love with. One way or another." Cursed, he was certain of it. When he falls, he always falls hard, and it just hurts even more every single time. "But you?" blues only peered open then to look across to Ruth, can of worms yanked open, nothing could be put back, "I'm too scared to ever lose you."

Did it take seven, eight, nine bottles down of self wallowing and self pity and a knock on the door from her to really face that truth he's found excuse after excuse for? Maybe. He wouldn't know. Whatever the recipe was stirred up tonight, Ash couldn't keep back whatever that was already spilt. He's lost her once, even more so he couldn't lose her again. The raw reason why he'd never made a move - fear, a lot of it. And the contentedness of having his best friend with him was more than enough and then some. He'd never be greedy, lest he lose it all, but perhaps the turmoil of feelings only really all culminated now that it felt like he lost her to someone else.

If he had been sober, perhaps he would've backtracked and sweep it all aside with a joke, but tonight, he only had a genuine apology for fucking up them, " 'm sorry for being a coward." For someone that had faced so much, even death, in the face multiple times, he didn't have the guts to even give the what if of them a chance. "thas all- I just.. sorry." Did he unintentionally hurt her because of it? He's gotten enough teases from his mom all those years, simply assuming, or rather preferring to assume it was just a mother's daydream. He just could never risk her like that for something as selfish as love. But he did love her, in every facet of the word possibly understood in, all encompassing, too complicated to be condensed in the rudimentary idea of platonic or romantic. He just did. Nothing would change that, even if it was too late.

she listened to him, parsing out the explanation in everything that he offered, the new truths that had been etched in him since jeremiah. did it mean that he couldn't risk loving her, or that she was fundamentally unlovable in the same star-crossed way that everyone else he was destined to be with? or was it simply that she was thinking too much about herself, again and again and again.

she couldn't decide, just then, who was the coward. had she ever felt so strong as the moment when she was sure that she couldn't have him? sitting on the mattress of that room as he explained how he knew what love was, and it came in a particular shade of blue. the feelings which had buoyed her along for so long, now given particular tinges of jealousy and title.

maybe he had felt the same, seeing her there with oscar. something of loss, a crack in the foundation of their lives which had held almost as strong as the walls around them. "you don't have anything to apologize for." her voice wavered over each of the notes, finding purchase on nothing. the words were quicksand, they sank into the abyss as she said them. what did she want? it wasn't an apology.

"you're the furthest thing from a coward i could imagine." the word is spat back with another sip of her drink, as though it's the most brutal of the offenses which will be committed tonight. "you've— we've been through a lot." and they kept pushing, they found it impossible to stop finding new ways of exhaustion, to skirt around this. "i know it hasn't been what you wanted."

..What a shitty friend Ashton was. Had he been there enough for her? What had he done for her, was it fair for her having to deal with him like this every single time? It felt like the answer was generally a no. He was there for Ruth whenever she wanted and needed him and yet it never felt enough for the two folds she's been there for him in return.

Nothing was fair, that was as universally true as the theory of relativity. The way a massive object distorts space and time, in a curvature of inequality, some thrived in its gravity as an orbit, others get sucked in and crushed. They sat there silently and uncomfortably in that truth. Ashton continued looking for the 'why' at the end of the bottle, as if at least for one night, his sobriety never mattered. It was frustrating to not find the answer of why it wasn't fair even at the end of the bottle, maybe if nothing else, simply found more sense to shame his own feelings, "-sorry I just.. I know I'm being selfish right now, I don't know where else I get to be. You don't deserve to have to deal with-- me. I-" all he found at the end of that bottle was the key to the lock of the floodgates of feelings he didn't want to deal with.

"..I fucked up, didn't I?" Hands despondently wringing the glass neck of the now empty bottle as words escaped past his lips, not willing to meet her gaze, afraid to even, as if within the flooded mess there was at least one clear thought left, "I fucked up us."

"i see all of you ashton ryder." the good and the bad, the moments where she would have to pick him up off the floor. it was her choice each and every time, she would do it every day unending. he would do the same. "and there is nowhere else i want to be." it's not a toast, but she drinks all the same, trying to offer up the liquid vulnerability that they've become so unaccustomed to with their new responsibilities in this vast world.

"you didn't fuck up. you did everything you could, and—" she prepares some semblance of an apology, for what she couldn't do, the people she couldn't bring back. but, he catches her off guard. his sentence overlaps with hers, they're running in two different directions. she had not placed herself in the realm of his thoughts until he strikes the note she'd spent two years burying. her voice cracks along the edges, trying to imagine what he meant. "us?"

she thinks through a rapid pace of events, the small ways she'd pulled away because she had work, she was busy. she didn't know what to say around maisie, she didn't know how to talk to charlie or jp. she couldn't imagine where she fit into the way the dice rolled. that wasn't his fault. he'd lost someone, she knew that.

"i didn't— i'm sorry, if i wasn't there for you." selfish creeps into her mind again. all the ways that she might have been the problem, and him falling on the sword so that it has a succinct answer. "i can, i'll do better."