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It was a cloudy September day in New York City.
Ash and Shorter were standing by the windows at the Dear Irving on Hudson bar—overlooking the city they grew up in.
They didn’t speak but that didn’t matter. Shorter knew what Ash was thinking and Ash knew what Shorter was thinking.
The dullness of those green eyes of his as they overlooked the city with resentment, a life he never wanted that was built on this city and around these skyscrapers.
A playground they knew like the back of their hand.
Ash broke the silence, followed by a sigh, “Let’s get out of here. Let’s drive away from everything.”
He turned to face Shorter, eye to eye. Shorter was weak to his knees. Those green eyes finally lit up as they stared at him with a longing desire and a rare naivety—a small piece of it that hasn't been burned off yet. Lively proof that Ash was still a child.
Heaven couldn't help him now. He couldn't resist. And how could he? An angel was standing right in front of him, entrusting him with a wish and filling him up with hope.
But he knew it was temporary.
Nothing lasts forever. And he knew that by being alongside Ash for a couple of years now. He knew that this wasn’t going to end well.
Shorter knew he was in trouble when he let himself be taken by the green eyed angel he met at juvie. Even more so when he got closer to him once they were out on the streets.
He will admit that he hadn't expected Ash to remember him, let alone be comfortable enough that they would end up having small conversations from time to time.
A partnership that turned into friendship and then into something words can’t even explain.
“Friends” was downplaying what they had but “Love” was too much—something that scared both of them.
Love.
What Shorter desired but what Ash feared.
Shorter was straight as hell.
He had never felt or looked at a man twice or for longer than a second. That was until he met Ash.
But Ash was just too pretty to be a guy.
He admits he found Ash scary at first but now? Even when he sees it with his own two eyes—Ash murdering people, torturing them and blood scraping his face and ruining his white t-shirt, he looks as graceful as ever.
As if murdering people was second nature to him. Which he later learned that it indeed was.
He learned about why Ash was the way he was.
Weary, cold, and observant.
They were alike in some ways but different in many.
Ash would have nightmares about all the devils who roamed this Earth and reigned over both Heaven and Hell who had ever done him wrong.
He’d wake up shaken, sometimes, even from the bottom of the bunk bed Shorter laid, he could feel Ash’s body jump, an audible gasp—only heard by him.
Sometimes Ash would sit up instantly, right when a hairy fat warm arm was about to grab him and grasp his neck.
Ash wouldn’t be able to sleep after that.
Shorter stayed quiet whenever it happened, but once he got closer to Ash, when Ash would crash over at his place there was no way he could ignore it.
He would wake up alongside Ash, trying to calm him down without touching him—never touching him.
He didn’t know the kind of reaction Ash would have.
It was always something with Ash. Something Shorter didn’t even know himself. But he tried and that’s what matters most. Or at least that's what Nadia tells him.
He’d go down and get a cold water bottle from the fridge and make his way back up to his room, giving it to Ash.
They’d lay down. Sometimes facing each other, tangled up limbs and faces too close to each other for only being friends. But that was only recently, when Ash learned to trust Shorter more than anything.
Most of the time they’d lay with their backs facing each other. Ash’s breaths were quiet—fooling Shorter into thinking he was asleep. But even then, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. So they’d be awake through the night, being foolish.
One thing Ash liked most about New York City—the only thing he liked about such a place—was the sunset. Even more so when he went with Shorter, which was always.
They'd hop on Shorter's red motorcycle and drive off to the Hudson river.
Entering the port and walking by the rails, they stood in silence, this time however, Ash’s face was softer. More appreciative.
Shorter could see the pink, orange and red hues of the sunset reflect on Ash’s pale skin.
Coloring him in feelings he knew Ash buried deep down inside of him. Some, he allowed to let out.
He figured Ash could tell he was staring at him for a bit too long, so he turned to face him.
Shorter expected a tskk or a remark but instead, he was faced with rosy cheeks and a smile hidden by a pout.
“What are you staring at me for?”
…
“…Would you miss this? If we actually left the city, would you miss it?”
“No.”
No hesitation.
A chuckle left Shorter's mouth at the fast and blunt response, a grin appearing on his face as he turned to face the buildings that blocked parts of the horizon.
Completely oblivious, Ash kept his gaze on him.
Jade eyes admiring the way the sky’s warm colors made his best friend's skin shine. He felt his heart skip a beat as he saw the whole vision.
A sun glassed boy staring at the pink skies with a grin plastered on his face.
Shorter turned to face him, catching Ash off guard and making him jump.
Eyes wide as—“Let’s run away” fell out of his best friend's lips.
Not even in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine he’d have hope. Ash knew it was a gamble but now, he could actually feel it, taste it, envision it.
Out of the sudden, it didn’t seem so unachievable as he had thought.
Shorter had been conflicted.
He didn’t know who he was anymore, let alone what Ash and him had.
So he called Ash over.
They walked up to his room where he stood by the window as Ash sat on his bed, a confused expression barely visible on his face as he blocked the moonlight that shone through his window.
He figured he might just get it over with.
“Ash, what are we ?”
Shorter could tell the question surprised Ash. His eyes grew wide but he later composed himself—acting as if he had no clue what he was talking about.
“We’re friends.”
Shorter bit his lip, he knew that Ash wouldn’t actually respond, especially not to a question like this one. But he still hoped that maybe, just maybe— “Are we ?”, his voice cracked.
Panic creeped into him as he felt himself shiver from looking at Ash’s almost distant face as he realized where this was going.
He fucked it up completely. Or at least that's what he thought until Ash stood and slowly walked towards him. He could barely see him by how dark the room was but when he did, boy was he relieved.
Ash’s eyes were sparkling and a soft gaze was what was staring at him.
He felt thin fingers grazing his cheeks and caressing his face delicately.
Shorter knew it was coming. But he’d be lying to himself if he said he hasn't dreamed of this exact moment in his dreams for some time now.
Their faces inched closer until Shorter made the final move and closed the gap of their mouths, connecting his lips to thin softness.
Ash backed away, still close enough that they could feel each others warm breath on their cheeks, he spoke in a silent voice, a mandate that sounded more like a question as it fell out of Ash’s mouth,
“No one has to know what we do.”
Ash’s hands were playing with Shorter's hair. Bringing his other hand at the back of Shorter's neck to bring them closer, even with their kiss already deep enough.
Shorter had taken off his own shirt, hovering above Ash and helping him take off his jacket—throwing it to the floor and coming down to take his mouth yet again.
The remains of their clothes were thrown onto the floor, scattered in a messy pile.
Ash’s voice was such a familiar sound.
An angel whom called to curse and cure a wandering soul from Earth. To test, to hurt, to love, to experience.
Shorter remembers the exact feelings he felt when he heard Ash’s laugh.
It was like a bell rang inside his heart, music to his ears. It filled him with warmth and relief as he was provided with an assurance that such purity was still alive in Ash.
He wished for the days that Ash could continue to laugh into today and beyond. Into forever.
Shorter felt like he was going crazy.
He’d have this feeling that he was going to die.
Bleed out to death by a gunshot wound.
He dreamed about it like crazy. But he also dreamed about Ash.
The sharp gaze and smirk that Ash put on to tease him.
It could end in either flames or paradise.
He wonders if Ash ever dreamed of him.
Ash recalls the memories he had with Shorter.
He hated himself for being a coward. For not being able to drive on a red motorcycle without wanting to hug the person he’d trust with his life from behind. For not being able to look at sunsets anymore without wanting to look to his left to see how the tones of the now meaningless sky would make his best friend's brown skin gleam—a reflection of a soul he admired greatly.
When he lays down on the cold hard beds whether it be from cheap hotels or Dino’s own mansion it doesn't feel the same.
He accepted the fact that the squeaky soft bed that he would sleep in while having a warm body next to him was no more.
Alas, the wishes they shared were no more. All Ash had were memories of such naive interactions. He said them as a bluff. He was not entirely serious when he said them but also not entirely lying.
The memories they had made, the spots of places only they knew were now empty.
If anything, it made Ash want to leave the city more. The suffocation was at its peak but he had a job to do. He still had people to protect.
Ash reached Central Park and sat down by the fountain. He placed his hand down, gripping on the stone as he breathed out.
This was the last place he had been with Shorter.
It was late at night as they walked hand in hand along the fountain.
Shorter stopped walking, making Ash turn and give him a confused look.
Ash’s hand was pulled forward until their chests were brought together. Shorter leaned down to place a small peck on Ash’s lips.
“Usually you ask”, Ash had said as he pulled away, hand wrapped around Shorter's neck. A playful tone to it so Shorter wouldn’t take it personally. Ash knew he always apologized whenever he felt he had crossed boundaries. Ash understands but he wanted to move on from it, or at least forget about it in the very rare moments where they weren't out killing or stealing.
Shorter replied with his own exaggerated tone, “My apologies then, I would like to make a request.”
Ash laughed at Shorter's voice impression trying to act mighty. “What’s your request ?”, he asked curiously, playing along.
Shorter grabbed one of Ash’s hands and brought them to sit down by the mountain. His once playful demeanor switched to a tense voice. His eyes squinting as they wandered.
His eyes locked into Ash’s pool of emerald green, seeing how they were painted by an equal amount of fear.
Shorter answered slowly, voice cracking. He wanted to be truthful.
“I ask that you never forget me.”
A low whisper that would get lost in the air forever but engraved on Ash’s mind for the rest of his life.
“I never would,” Ash replied, a silent promise shared between them.
“Even if it's just in your dreams,” Shorter murmured, his voice barely audible, “remember me.”
“I will,” Ash vowed, knowing that even in the heart of his that was taught to hate and kill, he had a spot that would always remain for Shorter.
His mind, a collective of all the memories he keeps of them, ones that not even his nightmares are able to tarnish.
“Even in my wildest dreams, you’ll be there.”