Work Text:
It’s 3AM on a Thursday when Caspar gets the call from Ashe.
He’s at his cramped, little desk in his dorm-room playing FIFA online with some rando on the other side of the country. Linhardt’s sleeping in one of the library’s study rooms that night, so Caspar doesn’t feel as bad about how loud he’s being every time he fucks up (which is often).
Ashe’s ringtone plays loud and clear in the otherwise empty room—it’s some 2010 pop-punk song from a Canadian band. Ashe was obsessed with them and played their short discography like, ten times when they took their first road trip together last summer.
Truth be told, if it had been Ferdinand or even Hubert calling that night, Caspar thinks he would have ignored it; he doesn’t think he’d have it in him to care about whatever drunken and-or depressive monologuing they had in store for him.
But it’s Ashe, so of course Caspar picks up.
His desk is littered with empty cans of Red Bull and old water bottles—several of them fall to the floor when Caspar mindlessly fumbles around trying to pick up his phone.
“‘Sup,” Caspar says after turning on the speakerphone. His team doesn’t have possession of the ball yet, so Caspar couldn’t pause even if he wanted to.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Caspar gets possession of the ball. Fumbles. “You what-”
“I- I don’t know, man, I just-”
“Dude, are you drunk?” Caspar spins around in his chair. Ashe doesn’t drink. If he does, it’s two sips of a lukewarm beer at someone’s birthday party. “Where are you? Do you need someone to come get you, because I can-”
“I’m not drunk!” Ashe says it all in a rush like he’s embarrassed—Caspar wonders if his ears are red. “It’s- I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, okay? Like, a lot, and-”
“And you had to call me at two in the morning to tell me you- what, love me?”
“Well… yeah?”
Caspar laughs. Ashe sputters.
“Are you laughing at me you- why the hell are you laughing at me?”
“Because,” Caspar manages, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye, “because we tell each other ‘I love you’ like what, every other day?”
“Not like that, Caspar,” Ashe groans. “I meant that…” It’s quiet for a moment. The digital audience in the game is loud. Caspar’s lost. “You know what, nevermind.”
“No, tell me.” Caspar turns around and shuts off his monitor. He takes the call off speakerphone and lays on his bed, staring up at the light-up star stickers on the ceiling. Ashe has a matching set on his—they drove out to a dollar store and bought a pack when they were sophomores. Ashe said he missed living out in the country, missed being able to see the stars without having the city lights fight for attention. Caspar put a chair on top of Ashe’s bed and stuck up as many as he could before he nearly tipped over. Ashe steadied him with his hands against Caspar’s waist. They were so warm. “Tell me what you mean.”
“...Are you gonna laugh again?”
Caspar scoffs. “No.”
“Promise.”
He starts to cross his heart with a finger before he remembers Ashe isn’t in front of him. “I promise I’m not gonna laugh.”
“What are you gonna swear on?”
“My deadbeat cousin.”
“Good enough,” Ashe laughs, light and sweet. Caspar smiles to himself—Ashe doesn’t sound nearly as nervous as he was minutes ago. Plus he’s just always liked the sound of Ashe’s laughter.
Ashe sighs audibly on the other end. “I guess… what I meant was that I think—and this is gonna sound really stupid—I think I might be in… love love with you.”
Caspar doesn’t breathe. It barely registers in his mind and he feels a little delirious, like he's floating away on the Pacific. It isn’t until Ashe says his name a couple times does he remember where he is. “What- no, yeah, I’m still here… you love, love? Me?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Ashe’s voice is quiet, restrained, pulled tight.
“You… you might have to.”
”That was rhetorical, Caspar,” Ashe mumbles. Caspar barely hears it—he’s back to floating away on the Pacific, eyes transfixed at the neon stars on the ceiling. “I mean, I don’t know… “
”You don’t know why you love me?”
”No!” That brings him back—Caspar nearly drops his phone. “Ugh, I feel like a kindergartner,” Ashe continues, “calling up my… my crush and talking about things like ‘love, love, whatever that means.”
Caspar imagines Ashe cringing while laying on his bed like a little shrimp, all curled in on himself; it brings him immense joy.
”... I think that’s just what being with you does to me.”
”Huh?”
”Just… I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
”Nothing you say is stupid,” Caspar is swift to respond.
”See, right there, that’s what I’m talking about,” Ashe says, “you always say things that make me think you’re lying, or that you’re trying to get something from me like all the other rich legacy kids at this school.” Caspar’s heart drops at that, at the implication that Ashe had ever thought Caspar would see him that way. “I used to think you must be the world’s greatest actor to be able to say the things you say with such… earnesty.”
Caspar’s breath catches. “A-and? Is that, like… bad?”
Ashe sighs again. “No. And that’s the problem. I really, really like you, Caspar. And I’m kind of embarrassed at how much I’ve said that tonight.”
Caspar swallows, his heart pounding in his ears. “Well, I think I know what might make you feel better?”
”Oh yeah?”
”Yeah. I think… that I love you too… “
It’s silent. Caspar fucked up, somehow. He’s thinking of ways to play it off when Ashe responds with a quiet “I see.”
”That’s it?” Caspar asks with an indignant squeak. “That’s all you have to say?”
There’s another moment of quiet, but it’s not nearly as suffocating as the ones prior—it isn’t long before they both burst into laughter. Caspar wishes they weren’t talking on the phone and that he was in Ashe’s room instead, revelling in the moment as they fold in on themselves with the force of their laughter.
Only when the moment subsides and all that’s left is the ache of Caspar’s jaw muscles does he realize that the sun has started to peek through the blinds, his computer still whirring softly.
“So,” Caspar starts, suddenly shy, “are- are we?”
”I… I think so?”
”You know, I’ve never-”
”Really?” Ashe asks.
Caspar nods, again forgetting that Ashe isn’t in front of him.
”Well, I have.”
”Shut up, no you haven’t,” Caspar rolls his eyes.
”I have! I had a girlfriend in the fifth grade, actually,” Ashe huffs. “There’s a lot of things you still don’t know about me.”
”Well… I guess I have a lot of time to find out, don’t I?”
”... Yeah, I guess you do.” Caspar imagines Ashe’s soft smile.
They talk long after the sun rises, until they they both drift off to sleep, Caspar’s phone still pressed against his face, until his heavy eyes draw close and he dreams of stars and Ashe’s gentle touch.