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Being your friend is love.

Summary:

Being Ash's friend is turning your head as he turns tricks.

Paranoia.

Never knowing if he'll come back. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

Being Ash's friend is coaxing a smile out of a demon, an angel.

Loving someone who loves you back without knowing it, without realizing that he can. Loving someone who thinks that love only means one thing.

Being the only one to love him any differently than that.

Crying yourself to sleep, knowing he's probably doing the same somewhere.

Well, you know where, if you're being honest with yourself.

Shorter sobs.

Friendship in winter.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Shorter isn't sure when he started sleeping in Ash's spot in his bed when Ash isn't there.

It isn't Ash's spot, strictly speaking at least. It is Shorter's bed, after all. But Ash always chooses the same spot in the bed, curled up in the fetal position and pressed against Shorter's chest. 

Shorter realizes it suddenly, that he's been copying that same posture when he tries to sleep for—days? Weeks? Over a month now?

Shorter isn't sure when it became harder to sleep without Ash by his side.

It's not necessarily Ash's presence that makes the sleep easier. Shorter's slept alone since he was a kid, only ever sneaking in with Nadia for a while after their parents died. He doesn't need someone next to him in order to feel safe.

It's more that ...

He needs Ash next to him to know that Ash is safe.

At least for now.

To know that Ash still only shies away from his touch when he's awake, but moves closer to Shorter the moment he slips into sleep. To know that, just for now, nothing can touch Ash without tearing its way through Shorter first. To know that Ash is safe. Shorter will keep him safe. Ash is safe.

... God, Shorter wishes he could keep it that way.

Anything—anything, for Ash's safety.

Shorter sighs into the darkness, curling in on himself a little more. Emulating Ash. Sending thoughts of peace and safety and protection into the world, all aimed at Ash Lynx.

Come back to me, he thinks. Safely.

— — —

Being Ash's friend involves a lot of guilt.

A lot of—wanting to change things. A lot of being unable to change things.

A lot of powerlessness.

Ash spends Christmas on the Golzine estates.

— — —

And New Year's.

— — —

Ash shows up sometime around the second week of January.

He looks like shit.

"Oh!" Shorter says, as though he just remembered it and hasn't been thinking about it for the last three weeks. "I got you something for Christmas. Hope that's okay."

Ash eyes him carefully. "I didn't know we were doing gifts."

"Oh, we're not really," Shorter says, waving a hand. He doesn't want Ash to feel like he owes him. He doesn't want Ash to owe him. Not that.

"I can pay you back," Ash insists, and Shorter holds in a sigh.

"You haven't even seen what it is, buddy. You might not like it."

"I'd like anything you think to give me," Ash mumbles, rubbing his palms against his jeans.

And your presence is gift enough, Shorter thinks in return. But he can't say something like that.

He produces the box from under his bed, shitty wrapping job and all. Clearing his throat, he shifts a little.

"I bought them legit," he says. "Secondhand, but still." He doesn't think Ash would really care if his gift was stolen, but Shorter wanted it to be—real. As real as anything in their life can be.

Ash meticulously picks at the tape on the wrapping paper, despite Shorter's impatience. He doesn't rip the golden paper at all as he pulls it away, opening the box to reveal a pair of red Converse All Stars.

Ash's eyes widen.

"You always get rid of the shit the old man gives you, and the pair of shoes you keep around are so beat up, so I figured ..." Shorter trails off.

Ash is silent for a solid minute.

Two.

And then Shorter realizes Ash is crying.

"I—I'm sorry—" Shorter stutters out. "Are you okay?"

"You didn't have to," Ash whimpers. "I'm sorry ..."

"Why are you apologizing?" God, Ash is the one crying, and yet he feels the need to apologize. Shorter hates the world.

Ash throws himself at Shorter, and Shorter takes him into his arms.

"Hey, it's okay, buddy. Don't worry about it, yeah? No biggie."

"I'll buy you anything you want," Ash mumbles. "You and Nadia—anything. I'll get the money somehow." Shorter knows exactly how. "Or I'll pay you back somehow. Just let me know what you want. Anything."

"No, dude, I'm serious. It's okay. We're cool. We're even." Even. As though Shorter could ever pay back a quarter of what Ash has given up for him.

Being Ash's friend is guilt.

"Let's just head to sleep for now, yeah?"

"... Yeah."

Being Ash's friend is watching him leave.

— — —

Being Ash's friend is turning your head as he turns tricks.

Paranoia.

Never knowing if he'll come back. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

Being Ash's friend is coaxing a smile out of a demon, an angel.

Loving someone who loves you back without knowing it, without realizing that he can. Loving someone who thinks that love only means one thing.

Being the only one to love him any differently than that.

Crying yourself to sleep, knowing he's probably doing the same somewhere.

Well, you know where, if you're being honest with yourself.

Shorter sobs.

— — —

"I got you this," Ash says, shoving a box of condoms at Shorter.

Shorter laughs. "I know I'm a fuckboy, but I can buy my own condoms."

Ash averts his gaze. He looks down at his shoes.

At the Converse Shorter bought him.

"... Oh," Shorter breathes.

"I know you've said—"

"I won't—"

"But if you change your mind."

"I won't."

Ash's eyes dart around the room. "But if you do," he says. Voice quiet, tense. "It's okay. And these are for—that."

How many nos until Ash says yes to being safe?

— — —

It's cold out.

Shorter should have bought Ash boots instead of shitty secondhand shoes.

Or a goddamn winter coat.

Being Ash's friend is doing everything wrong, always.

Guilt.

Remorse.

Shorter's never good enough.

He never has the money, the means, the power to change things.

Being Ash's friend is hoping that making Ash smile once is enough to get him through to the next.

The next reprieve.

Before ...

— — —

Ash shows up in the middle of the night.

Shivering.

Shorter knew he should have done better.

"How long have you been on the streets?"

"Just a couple days."

"Why didn't you come here sooner?"

Ash shuffles into the restaurant. "Didn't want to bother you," he mumbles.

"It's never a bother. You know that, right?"

"It's 'kay," Ash breathes. "I needed to earn some cash anyway."

"Do you need—I mean—I have an old coat? It'll be huge on you, but it'll keep you warm."

Ash shakes his head. Steps past Shorter. "Can't wear shit like that out there," he says. Shorter isn't sure if his voice is weak from what he's saying, or from how fucking cold he is. "Wouldn't pick up any johns dressed like that."

"Right," Shorter croaks. "Sorry."

"You're good."

Shorter is anything but good.

— — —

Ash looks dazed.

"Sorry," he says, before Shorter has even figured out what to say.

"It's okay," Shorter replies. Resists the urge to take Ash into his arms and never, never, never let him go. "You all right?"

Ash nods. "Just a little—confused." He sways on his feet. Shorter will catch him if he falls.

"Do you need help?"

"I'm okay."

"What are you confused about?"

Ash stumbles forward, dropping his head against Shorter's chest. Shorter wraps his arms around him without thinking. Rubs his hands up and down Ash's cold arms. Safe, safe, safe.

"Sleep with me?" Ash blurts.

Always. Fuck. Shorter thinks of the untouched box of condoms in his closet, a fucked up gift from someone who thinks this is how the world works. Never. "I'm not going to—"

"Shorter," Ash breathes, and Shorter cuts off with a hiss. "Shorter, sleep with me the way you always do. Sleep with me without ..."

"Sleep next to you?"

Ash nods, nestling against Shorter's frame. He's so small. He's so ...

How could anyone ... ?

"Sleep with me without pain," Ash pleads.

Being Ash's friend is love.

"I will do everything for you without pain," Shorter whispers. His stomach is sick and his heart is full.

Being Ash's friend is love.

Notes:

me realizing it's well past the appropriate time for a Christmas fic: "it was the second week of January—"

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