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are you satisfied?

Summary:

He is always so very careful in how he asks for things.

(or; two minutes in ashton lovelock's head)

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

He is always so very careful in how he asks for things.



He has to be- because in this house, every word is a knife. Everything is vivisected, picked apart and analyzed and if it’s found to be improper, lacking grace, lacking respect then it’s just another reason for a talk in front of the family hearth with Great Grandmother.

(they call it a talk, but he never speaks)

So he’s careful. He sits with perfect posture, his face impartial but his heart slamming against his ribs and his muscles one twitch away from spasms, and he rehearses how he’s going to ask them. He looks at the dark, ornate walls and he thinks-



May I-

no

If I may-

no

There’s this boy-

no

Fuck.



Try again.

He takes a breath. Holds it for a ten count. Then he exhales, his eyes fluttering shut, and he tries again.

I finished my schoolwork. And I was invited to an event tomorrow evening. May I attend?

Don’t mention the schoolwork. She’ll just tell you to do next week’s work too.

Try again.

I was invited to an event tomorrow evening. May I attend?

What event? With who?

(and he knows what he wants to say, he wants to say it’s a boy, it’s a really cute boy and a really nice boy and one of the only fucking people to treat me like i’m worth something but he can’t say that so instead he thinks)

A classmate invited me. It’s a small get-together. Social.

Don’t bore her with details. Just the facts. Just the facts and just leave out that “small” means “the two of us” and that “get-together” means “date”. Because if he says that then he knows she’ll look at him with those dead eyes, flat and unfeeling and she’ll say

Ashton. You know better.

(because the family comes first, the family and the legacy and every single ounce of responsibility that comes with being a lovelock and it doesn’t matter if he’s suffocating because they’re all suffocating together)

Put it all together.

Event. Tomorrow evening. May I. Classmate. Social.



He takes a breath. Composes himself. And as he stands up, walking evenly down the winding staircase, he prays that he doesn’t have to try again.

Notes:

Wrote this as a flash fiction drabble for my 1980s traumatized Legacy magical boy Ashton Lovelock (art by Chealinks on Twitter).