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The first time he ever heard Ash laugh, it was when they said goodbye.
Ironic, isn’t it? For weeks he’d thought nothing but that boy has devil’s eyes. Cold and empty, like he couldn’t care less. That was, until they argued. And damn, did they argue.
“You were just using Ricardo,” Shorter had said. “Leading him on until you thought you could sick him on Frankie and get him to do your dirty work for you.”
“Anything wrong with that?” Such cold eyes.
“I’d say there’s somethin’ wrong with using people as tools.”
“So what?” Ash snapped, startling him. “Like he didn’t want to use me as his sex toy. It’s not like he was after me for love or anything.”
Shorter studied the smaller boy. Ash looked tense, brow furrowed and every muscle taught, poised to bolt. But that look in his eyes was fading- melting into something white-hot, anger as bright as the sun.
“None of those bastards ever do- they don’t fucking realize I’ve got feelings! What would you know about it, anyway?”
He didn’t dare interrupt the blonde. These weren’t his words to take- it was Ash’s fury towards all those who had treated him like dirt and tried to dominate him.
“You don’t have a clue of half the crap I’ve been through,”
“Sure I do,” Shorter said. Maybe not his best decision, in hindsight.
“Gimme a friggin break!” Ash screamed.
“I know how you feel Ash, and I gotta say this anyways!”
Shit. In too deep to stop now, he supposed.
“Don’t go playing games with people’s feelings, and don’t go manipulating people like that! By doin that- you’re no different than the assholes you hate!”
Is that too much? Off the deep end again.
Ash was crying, tears silently running down both of his cheeks while he glared at Shorter with all the intensity of a thousand suns.
“Damn you to hell, you sonofabitch!” Ash screamed, startling Shorter. “Pain in the ass, melon-head jerk!” He yelled, then ran out of the library, slamming the door behind him.
“Kid sure called me a lotta names…” he muttered.
…..
It took several weeks, but over the course of their respective stays in juvie the two of them became grudging friends. People started treating Ash like a capo, and Shorter gained traction in part, because of that. So for a few weeks, at least, it was meals taken outside in the shade, and free time spent together, and Ash working with Shorter at the library.
And it was pretty decent, too, y’know. Unlike most of the world, Shorter preferred Ash’s company to the others in block C, and Ash slowly came to trust Shorter. It happened slow, in bursts of bad jokes and novel descriptions and sly smirks that Shorter came to associate with trouble. It was Ash making bald jokes and Shorter calling him pasty. It was friendship that fit hand in hand so perfectly, it was as if it had always been there. You don’t notice until it's gone.
But as all things inevitably must, it too came to an end. An end where the two said nothing over breakfast, where it was so quiet the only sound was the steady sipping of brackish coffee. Rounds were made, glances were passed, and still, Ash wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I’m leavin today,” he said, finally daring to break the quiet.
Ash nodded.
“And yer stayin here.”
Another slow nod..
“What about it, then?”
“It’s stupid,” Ash said, voice hoarse. “But when I think about you leaving, I feel almost…” he trailed off, and Shorter didn’t speak, not feeling the need to take up more air time. God knew the kid had enough taken from him already.
“Sad. Disappointed.” He paused again. “None of them fit quite right.”
“Well,” he stood. “I sure don’t have the words for ya. Walk me out?” he gestured towards the door.
“Y’know, you can always visit me,” he said. “My sister- Nadia, I told ya ‘bout her, right? She owns a restaurant, called Chang Dai, in Chinatown. Even if I’m not there, she can tell ya where to find me. Or, if ya need a place to lay low for a couple days, we can help.” Shorter was rambling. He was gonna shut up now.
“Why would I want to visit your second-rate cafe?” Ash asked, but he was smiling.
“I dunno, I jus’ thought ya might wanna come see yer old pal.”
“Shorter, let’s go,” A guard said, tapping his shoulder. Shorter waved him off.
“By the way,” Ash reached into his pocket and pulled out a faded magazine clipping. “I’m keeping this. Your angel.”
“Huh? Where- why??” How did he get that?
“I said, let’s go!” the guard said, angier this time.
“It’s a sin to jack off to this, you know!” Ash cackled, then raced away, laughing.
Shorter let the guard pull him away, stunned into near silence.
It was two whole months before he had seen Ash laugh. It had seemed impossible that he was even able to feel that sort of thing, after everything that had happened. It had seemed like a miracle when he smiled, even. When he breathed.
But his laughter? My god. That laughter- it was like an angel’s.
There was something magical about it- about seeing that kind of unadulterated happiness persevere.
-----
There is a boy in his arms.
Shorter can feel his pulse, steady and strong, and watches as his chest rises and falls with each new breath. He is curled in on himself, face flush to his chest, limbs wrapped around his body like Shorter’s were mere minutes ago.
It had taken a while for the tears to subside, and that was still after the nightmare that had caused all this, in the first place. It was worse than the others- Ash had been crying before he even woke up, a choked scream half caught in his throat, limbs flailing in the tangled sheets while he fought to free himself from whatever phantoms plagued his nights.
He recalls the staccato heartbeats and ragged breathings that he’d tried to soothe, tried to even out, to do absolutely anything to balm, pulling Ash gently to his chest and rubbing circles into his back, whispering quiet nothings until the blonde had finally started to relax.
There is something so pure, so unconditionally loving about this kind of embrace. Nothing sexual, not even sensual- just gentle comfort. Arms in arms, hand over hand, they pull themselves away from the cliff’s edge, away from the aches and pains of the past.
Carefully, slowly, he reaches out and puts his hand on Ash’s head, shakily stroking his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, head bowed, nearly in prayer. “I’m so sorry,” and now it's his turn to cry, tears dampening the hair of his best friend, his best fucking friend that he’d give anything to keep safe.
Damn the world, so long as he got to hold on to Ash for one more second. Damn them all, as long as he could offer some safety, a moment of rest.
There was something to it; a conflict, a juxtaposition of wants and needs. He wanted to hold Ash, to let him know how he cared, to soothe the hurts and kiss the wounds goodbye. He needed Ash to be safe. He needed Ash to be happy.
Rationally, Shorter knew none of that was possible. So for now, just for now, he would hold the blonde in his arms and hold both of them together.
So he cried, where nobody could see him and when nobody would know.
-----
“Ash toldja to come for me?”
Eiji nods. “He said if anything happens to him, I should go to Shorter. And you are Shorter, no?”
“I mean, I am, but…”
He trusts me that much?
Maybe it was something he already knew, sure. But it didn’t hurt to hear it.
Shorter shakes his head. “What does he need?”
“He’s getting a crew together to take down Arthur.”
He’s doing WHAT! Absolutely not. It was insane, even for him.
“Waitaminute,” he says, cutting the brunette off. “Why’re you involved in this? Aren’t you a tourist? And a kid, at that.” he adds, muttering.
Eiji bristles. “I’m a photographer! And I’m older than you!”
“Alright, alright. I’m just….”
terrified. Images of broken, bloodied bodies and hands futilely pressed to chests, arms, necks as they try and stop the bleeding flash through his mind.
“You could get hurt,” he says. “More than you already are.”
Eiji tilts his head, studying Shorter. “You’re not talking about me right now, are you?”
His neck gets hot beneath the collar. “Dunno what you’re saying.” He mutters.
“You’re worried about Ash,” Eiji intones, impossibly gentle. “But you’re taking it out on me, because he isn’t here for you to worry about.”
Literally how did he know that.
Shorter doesn’t say anything. Just stares.
“You care about him a lot, don’t you.” Eiji poses it as a statement.
Something heavy, hot and strong, fills his chest. Because he does, don’t he? He cares about Ash more than anything. More than his life, even. More than his own safety, for sure. He’s the only long-standing connection he’s kept.
Ash is all vinegar and hot needles. He can be harsh, violent, and aggressive, razor blades and razor-sharp comments. But Shorter’s been around long enough to know the sly smirks and harsh jabs are all an act, and underneath is a scared, cold little kid who just wants to be loved.
He just wants to be loved.
He wants to show Ash just how much he is loved.
“You know he cares, too, right?” Eiji’s voice is so soft, so gentle, and Shorter wants to bottle his words and listen to them on repeat.
He clears his throat. “In theory, yes. In practice? ...Not always.”
His foot is tapping. He stops, fidgeting with his hands instead, interlocking and unwrapping his fingers, trapped under Eiji’s knowing stare.
What is it with this guy?
“Maybe you should talk to him about it.”
No. Because everything with Ash is fleeting. None of it ever lasts, and that’s how he thinks Ash likes it. Because if he stays too late, or drinks too much from the same glass, or lingers his gaze a heartbeat too long, then Ash thinks Shorter will catch whatever he’s got. He can’t talk about how he feels with Ash, because then Ash will worry, and it’s his job to worry, not Ash’s- because Ash always felt like he caused more trouble than he was worth, damaged goods. Because he’d run away if he thought his presence was hurting Shorter at all.
But Eiji wouldn’t get it.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
Liar.
-----
He watches Ash watch Eiji in the rearview mirror, reflections paraphrasing all that he was unable to verbalize. They’d been on the road for a handful of hours, running from everything and nothing. From a place Shorter coulda had a future- if you call being a gang leader a future. If you call shouting, shooting, 911-calls and shirts pressed to knife wounds a future.
Okay. So maybe it wasn’t a future. But it was somethin. Somethin he built by himself- no help needed.
He didn’t even know where they were going. Not really. Not even why.
If he was bein honest, that didn’t matter for shit. He’d trusted Ash this long, he could trust him to lead them out of- whatever this was.
But there was somethin about the way they were lookin at each other. Not that it was Shorter’s business, but he cared about Ash. And he looked at Eiji like - like
Like there was nothing else in the world worth keeping safe.
Or some dumb shit like that.
There’s a pang in his chest, just behind his ribs.
Shorter thinks about Eiji in the hospital, tired and hurt and nearly bleeding out but trying to help Ash. He remembers Eiji at the Chang Dai, looking terrified and determined and brave. So brave. He sees how worried Eiji had been when Ash nearly went mad from wanting revenge.
And he sees how Ash, who almost never cares for, or trusts or wants anyone or anything, lets Eiji sleep on his shoulder. How he ever so gently brushes his hair out of his eyes and makes sure the brunette isn’t jostled on the turns.
So small. So fragile looking.
Something cold twists around his spine.
It is well within his rights to be jealous. For years, he had been a constant companion in the blonde’s life. Always strong, always steady. He never wavered in their friendship, never doubted how he felt. How Ash felt. There’s just something about having been the person to hold his best friend together whenever he faltered for years, and having to watch as someone else slowly takes his place.
There’s just somethin ‘bout it.
But he doesn’t care for Ash so little that his feelings for Eiji else will get in the way. So he presses down on the gas pedal, taking extra care to avoid the potholes.
-----
It’s common knowledge that Ash and Eiji have somethin going on. The specifics, he doesn’t know. And doesn’t care about, really. He even has a list as to why:
- Ash deserves some motherfucking happiness.
- Eiji is really nice.
- It’s none of his fucking business. It isn’t. It’s not his fucking business what Ash does in his free time, unless he decides to share that with Shorter, and Eiji is kind and gentle and he fucking listens to Ash and he’s pretty and smart and strong and he’s -
The answer was clear. Shorter just hadn’t been good enough for Ash. He must have gotten bored.
You knew he wouldn’t wanna be around long, anyways.
And that was just it- he had always been aware that Ash was smarter, and stronger, and just better than him, and that he would inevitably get bored of Shorter. He’d been mentally readying himself for that ending since they had met- living life with the safety on. Watching from the backseat.
So why did it hurt so bad when Ash, completely inconsolable because of some piece of shit “father,” went to Eiji for comfort?
He wanted to be the one holding Ash, the one whispering soft nothings in his ear and promising that everything would be okay.
Imagine that. Imagine being loved like those two so clearly loved each other. Envy, green like Ash’s eyes, was his constant companion.
Everything would be okay.
So he watches as Eiji holds Ash together like Shorter had done so many times, and hopes, really truly hopes, that they are happy together.
-----
Well, shit. This wasn’t how this road trip was supposed to go but now it would seem that Shit Was Fucked.
That’s a lotta guns.
At least 6 guards, plus that kid- Yut-Lung? Was that his name? And he’d already done the creepy shit with the needle, and Shorter had a head wound. And there was Eiji to think of.
Keep him safe.
That was what Ash said. But Shorter wasn’t Ash- he couldn’t fight that many guys at once.
Better than you-
Not the time, brain! Focus! But he didn’t have his gun or a knife or anything he could use to fight, and the likelihood of his getting outta there unscathed with that many weapons trained on him was. Well. Not likely.
Fuck.
Time to be brave, again.
He pulled Eiji, still unconscious but with a steady pulse, to his chest.
Everything will be okay.
It would. It had to be. He’d keep Eiji safe until Ash came with backup, and then they’d fight their way out- knives flashing, guns blazing, because that’s how they did things. They never stopped fighting until one of them was hurt or passed out or dead. But that wouldn’t happen, this time.
Everything will be okay.
-----
The first thing he became aware of was the light. Fluorescent and hot, it burned his eyes and sank into his head, sending pain spiking around his skull.
Fear, cold and hard, settles in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be there.
Eiji. Where was Eiji? He looked around wildly, nearly twisting his neck in the process. He couldn’t see anything past the light, and behind him was… shelves? Filled with glass jars or something. Straps kept him tied to the chair, and they’d taken his shirt.
“Fucking creeps!” He shouts into the dark, hoping it’ll lend him some courage. “Show yourselves!”
“My god,” said a man, stepping into the light. Shorter recognized him- he was the creepy bastard doctor who worked for Dino. “You really don’t shut up, do you?”
Dragged behind him, looking every bit as terrified as Shorter felt, was Eiji.
“Eiji,” he started, keeping his voice steady. “Are you hurt?”
A brief shake of the head was all that was needed to fill him with relief. Eiji was okay. That was good- priority one was taken care of.
The man shoved Eiji’s face close, right up to his own. “Remember this,” the doctor said. “Because in a few minutes, you’re going to kill him.”
Well. That was certainly something. But Shorter wouldn’t do that- he promised Ash. He promised he would keep Eiji safe, and he would, because that’s how he did things. He kept his fucking promises.
“Like hell I would,” he growled.
The man smiled. It was an eerie, unstable thing suited to Steven King novels and haunted houses.
“I’m afraid you won’t have much of a choice.”
He shoved Eiji to the ground and the small boy winced as his knees slammed into the concrete. In one smooth movement, the doctor pulled a needle from his coat and filled it with a clear liquid. Shorter pulled against the bindings on the chair, trying to get away from the man and the needle and whatever the fuck was going on. Where was Ash? And what was that thing?
There was a prick in his arm where the needle entered, and then nothing. For a few moments, everything was calm.
He became aware of the littlest sensations throughout the room; he could hear Eiji’s breathing, ragged with fear and adrenaline. There was a family of mice living in one of the vents. There was someone else in the room- no, several people. One of them cocked his gun, and Shorter’s head spun around towards him. He squinted, trying to make his shape out in the dark but still, nothing.
Then Shorter’s world imploded.
Terror, wicked and violent, ripped through his body. His pulse skipped a beat, his heart stuttered, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. He became a wild thing that hid in corners as wicked eyes swept the room in search of whatever it was that made him. It was like running from the sun. There was something so intrinsically violent about the feeling; an undercurrent of bloodlust just beneath his skin. He screamed and thrashed, but he wasn’t getting out anytime soon. He wasn’t anything or anyone. He was his fear, and nothing but.
The doctor shoved Eiji to his face and he pulled his head back, desperately trying to get away, get away, get away! He needed to leave, he needed to fight them off, he needed to find Ash.
“You see this boy?” he hissed, pushing Eiji closer. “This is your enemy. He is what’s causing you fear.”
But… he couldn’t be. Because Ash asked for Shorter to protect Eiji, so why would he do anything like that?
A fresh wave of fear swept over him, and he shuddered, accepting this reality. Eiji was making him afraid, so Eiji had to go. He nodded frantically, and the doctor slowly released one of the cuffs, then the other.
Eiji stumbles back, frantically saying something about friendship and a boy, and Shorter follows. But the longer it drags on, the more the feeling swirls and swells and burns inside of him, twisting and festering into something cruel. Something dangerous. He needs to hit something, to scream and bite and tear into himself until nothing else is left but his bones, bared at last, naked in the moonlight. He claws at his skin, at his eyes, tearing at his hair as if he could somehow take this feeling out of him until-
Blonde hair, snow-pale skin and green eyes, tears flowing freely down his face.
Shorter knows him. He loves him. Ash .
There’s a brief moment where everything fades away. Where the storm passes and the fear clouding his vision doesn’t pause, doesn’t leave, but breaks just enough for him to whisper only for Ash’s ears;
“Set me free.”
He hears someone scream- Maybe it was Ash, as the blonde picks up a pistol and, with ever-precise aim, shoots him clean through the heart.
Someone is crying. Someone is laughing. It might have been him. It could have been anyone.
The room is ice cold, but he’s never been warmer.
If they had been paying attention, they woulda noticed he was smiling, at the end. At what, nobody can really be certain, but somethin tells me it was a memory of high rises and summer winds and a postcard photograph of an angel. And yeah, it might have hurt, (it did) but I think that in those moments, he was more at peace than he had been in years. Your biggest weakness is that you’re so damn selfless, Nadia said. But what was selfless in death?
He sees that angel smile again, and the sun rises over New York City.