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It was going to be one of those nights, Ashton realised. Their body hating them and letting it be known by thrumming with ten different kinds of pain. Their mind hating them even more, pushing bitter thoughts to the forefront of their mind.
They think you're some sort of hero. That's why they look at you like this. That's why they were so eager to bring you alcohol, to do anything you asked for. And you like this feeling, don't you? For a long time now, you've craved to feel something like this.
A pair of soldiers walked by, their heads turning in Ashton’s direction before continuing their patrol.
See that girl? How old is she? Twenty? She looks like the type to say “Smiley fuckin’ day”.
He tilted his head back against the wooden beam supporting the tent and closed his eyes. Exhaled.
Ashton was tired. So, so tired. But he didn't want to go to sleep. Or rather: he didn't want to dream. He didn't want to see what dreams were awaiting him tonight.
If only somebody could knock him out hard enough to wake up in a week when things were less shitty. Maybe, with enough determination, he could knock himself out by hitting that wooden beam with the back of his head.
(Probably not. The wood wouldn’t hold and there would be just more shit to explain.)
Someone walked out of their tent and stood next to Ashton, waiting silently to be acknowledged, but Ashton refused to open their eyes just yet. They’ve been running around the bloody moon for what felt like weeks. That should have earned him a moment for himself, right?
“Are you okay?”
It was a stupid question, the type you didn't necessarily answer aside from maybe shooting someone a dirty look. Unless the person asking this was someone who was almost as not okay as you.
Fearne looked exhausted. Still lovely, smelling strongly of flowers like they haven’t spent past days crawling through caverns, but exhausted. She used her staff more like a walking stick. Her eyes half-closed, like she was fighting to stay awake.
Another question, unbearably heavy with its implications, was sitting on Ashton's tongue and refused to go away. It has been there for a long time, from before their kiss in Whitestone and Ashton’s entire world quite literally exploding.
(“You can always just ask. What do you want?”
“I want to not ask.”
I want you to just know. I want you to save both of us the embarrassment of me asking for too little or too much or the wrong kind of thing.)
But that was then and this is now and there's an infinity between those moments, so Ashton managed to say:
“Do you want some company tonight?”
Fearne blinked. Not really in surprise, at least Ashton didn’t think so. More like she needed a second to make sense of his words. He knew the feeling.
“I would love some company but…” Fearne reached one hand to her hair, started to twist a lock of her seafoam hair around a finger. “Can we just hold on to each other?”
Something that could have been a chuckle if it weren’t so bitter bubbled in Ashton’s chest. They shook their head.
Fuck he really was bad at this.
“That’s exactly what I meant. Fuck, sorry. Everything hurts and it’s just…” he kept talking, even if it probably made things even worse. Deep down, he had an inkling that he was making Fearne uncomfortable. You don’t ask a woman you’ve almost blown up while almost killing yourself to cuddle with you. Even if it was Fearne with her brilliant humour and endless supply of love for her friends.
But then the unthinkable happened and Fearne agreed. And she simply turned around and walked into the tent, beckoning Ashton with her finger to follow. Like any of this was normal. Like this was expected, even.
They didn’t talk on their way inside and once they’ve reached an empty bed, Fearne climbed onto it, scooting to the edge and patting the mattress, leaving Ashton with no choice but to be a little spoon.
(They didn’t mind. Quite the opposite, really.)
It felt nice to feel somebody so close - Ashton didn't know if it was the shard of Rau’shan or Fearne’s innate fire magic, but she was hot like a furnace, making relaxing into her so much easier. It still hurt when she gingerly moved an arm around their chest, but when Ashton grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her closer, she immediately understood. Soft touch became more purposeful, grounding. Seafoam green hair spilled over Ashton’s shoulder as Fearne moved closer, her green only slightly brighter than his.
“It sucks,” Fearne’s whisper was right next to his ear.
“Yeah, it does,” Ashton didn’t have to ask her what she meant. The shape of the golden coin was easy to feel in their pocket. They didn’t even realise when they’ve reached for it with their free hand.
“I kind of want to break something. Not right now, though,” she found a way to nuzzle even closer into Ashton’s back, the smell of flowers enveloping them like a secondary blanket.
“Not right now,” he had no idea what those flowers were called and he kind of wanted to ask.
In the morning. When things are a little more normal. When he won’t be so tired.
Half asleep, Ashton felt Fearne shift behind them, her arm sliding lower, to rest on Ashton’s waist like a belt. Like that ridiculously huge earring he had stolen from Fearne on their first meeting in Jrusar.
“Don't try to steal my shit, ‘kay?”
“You know I can't promise that.”
“Fair.”
When he fell asleep, Ashton dreamt of a forest fire.