Work Text:
“So, are you doing anything today?” Shorter said, placing his glock on his hip after firing a shot at a can. Aim practice. In the middle of a trash filled alley. Stupid graffiti, painted dicks on the red brick walls suffocating him.
It was a sunny day in Chinatown. A good day to have courage. To build courage.
He had planned everything. A grandiose goodbye.
It was sudden but not new for them. In fact, it was something they did all the time. A few times. Here and there.
Ash would be done with Dino, work, everything.
“Let’s leave.”
And Shorter would.
He would call Nadia beforehand. Tell her to not worry and further reassuring her by adding that he was leaving with Ash. As if that wouldn’t worry Nadia even further. She’d understand. Maybe.
Leaving meant a lot of things for them. They knew that they could never truly. No matter how badly Ash wanted to. But dreaming about it wasn’t finite. Dreaming was still free.
Shorter had most of his family in New York. He had Nadia—which he’d never leave alone to take care of the restaurant, let alone to live in solitude—his cousins, uncles and aunts.
Ash had someone who would follow him to the ends of the earth if he ever left: Dino.
They’d try anyway.
They’d drive Shorter's red motorcycle down to Jersey. Crash in Neptune. Chase freedom on roads across as many southern states as they could. They would make lots of stops to gas stations. Shorter cursing under his breath everytime he checked in with the cashier, pulling out green crunched up bills and shiny shards of cheap silver. Amount of money that could have been put to good use. He needed a charger for the clogged pen Sing had left in his room. Or buy a new one, something clean. Instead, all he had was a jar of months old weed he hadn’t been able to sell.
Ash appreciated the calmness—the silence of a big white house surrounded by acres of green.
Shorter had told him it was the white man in him.
During such escapes they would stumble upon bars here and there. Bars filled with old drunk men were the ones Ash steered away from, which were basically all of them.
Ash became familiar with the ghost towns of Philly and Maryland, as well the empty dry roads of Virginia.
He briefly mentioned it to Shorter once as they were leaving. Afternoon settling in as the sky filled crimson red with small layers of orange and yellow saying their goodbyes. The smoke of the blunt they were hitting faded with the whistle blow.
“Do you like it here?”
Shorter steered his focus from the country road to Ash. The road was empty. No other cars in sight besides the ugly truck they were in. Probably borrowed. Most likely robbed. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t know if he should answer honestly or say what he thought Ash wanted to hear.
“I think it’s nice.”
He heard Ash hum in response.
Silence filled the car for a couple of seconds before Ash spoke again.
“What do you think about having a family?”
The high was really settling in.
Shorter had told Ash before—how he wanted to be a father, once he got out of New York. He knew he never would. But if he ever did, it wouldn’t be in that city. Never there
Shorter stayed silent. He thought about his answer. He gripped the steering wheel. The song on the dusty radio top itched his skin. He didn’t want to answer the question. He didn't know what to say. He didn’t know what Ash wanted to hear.
“I think it’s nice.”
Ash scoffed.
Shorter turned back to the road and Ash leaned back into his seat, inhaling the hot air as if doing so would hush the noise that rose in him whenever he was high. As if doing so could help him forget the fact that he already knew how Shorter would answer.