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“I didn't know you were visiting.” The detective looked at you from his seat across the table that belonged to the many cafes at Duomension City Planarcadia seemed to prefer. The place the both of you decided to sit was in an alley between the café itself and another building, it housed a low table and three folding chairs, perfect and private for the both of you.
It was later in the afternoon when you stopped by his office. And by stopping by, you unceremoniously opened the door to his office, greeted Mister N and swiftly took him by the hand to drag him out of the dark. Telling him that both of you should eat out. Eat out!
Having food delivered straight to you would've been easier, but when Ashveil brought it up as you dragged him with a firm grip. You looked back at him with a dead pan expression and said: “It doesn't matter what food delivery app you're using, either the one with the panda mascot or the green one. Those things are expensive even if you have a voucher or something.”
So, eating out it was.
Ashveil tried to protest, don't get him wrong. But you seemed to have gone deaf to his complaints and Mister N just ignored him! The audacity.
Putting aside the fact that he hasn't been hired in awhile and all he's been doing was splurging his very tight funds on Detective Mercator merch, he was still busy. Very busy! But neither you or Mister N listened to him!
“I happened to have time to stop by Planarcadia.” You replied, Ashveil narrowed his eyes at you, but you still sported an innocent smile as both of you waited for your orders.
“Care to enlighten why you stopped by here?” Ashveil asked again, suspicion creeping in his voice.
You let out an annoyed sigh, although it sounded a bit exaggerated. You swept your eyes between the detective and the opening of the alley, the folding chair creaked in protest when you leaned back. “Am I not supposed to check up on my friend when I'm so close? You wound me, Ashveil.” You feigned a look of hurt as Ashveil's suspicion fell flat.
Ashveil shook his head at you, half from fond exasperation, half from disbelief.
“I know that y'know I'm fine, you worrywart. I haven't keeled over and died yet.” Ashveil said, smiling slightly as you let out a small chuckle. While the both of you have been friends for a while, even before Ashveil decided to settle in Planarcadia. You have an unfortunate tendency to check up on him. A fact that Ashveil doesn't mind in the long run, but while it softens a part that Ashveil tried to bury, he sees the… unwanted attention it may bring. Notably, people from his past.
Maybe that's why you decided on a more remote table, even to this day, you seemed to have his wants in mind.
Ashveil looked at you with a mix of fondness and sadness underneath the shadow of his hat, he watched you take the two cups of hot coffee from the tray the waitress carried, thanking her softly with a smile. Ashveil looked away when you looked back at him. Coffee placed on the low table between you, its steam rising up in the air as you smiled.
Ashveil felt as though he doesn't deserve that sweet smile, not when it's directed at him.
“How's the business?” You asked, although Ashveil felt it was more for the sake of a conversation as both of you waited for your coffee to cool down.
Ashveil took the bait nonetheless, “Could be better. A lot of kids nowadays are coming by again for parent-teacher conferences since it's almost the end of the school year.” He offered, subconsciously leaning forward as you tilted your head with an amused look.
“A lot of kids seem to trust you enough to present you as their guardian to their teachers.” You noted, humming in thought as Ashveil shrugged.
“I don't know why either. But, hey, as long as there's pay. Even if their form of payment is a bag of candy.” Ashveil sighed wistfully, he opened his mouth to speak again but paused when he saw the contemplative look on your face.
“You would make a good father.” You mumbled under your breath. Ashveil blinked at you, a look of surprise crossing his face. He doesn't know what to say to that nor does he want to think about the implications of it.
Ashveil doesn't know a lot of things apparently, even when you noticed the look of surprise on his face, you only chuckled and waved it off. Way back when, he could read you like an open book, but now he doesn't seem to recognize the words.
“Other than that–” You added on that mumbled train of thought, a thought that was apparently not supposed to be heard. Not from him at least. “Maybe they recognized how old you are too.”
Ashveil gripped on that change of subject within his dirty grasp, “I could never understand kids these days.” He sighed while shaking his head, he reached down to pick up the coffee cup to take a sip. Even if it was still piping hot, he wanted to drink away that lump in his throat and he wanted to do something with his hands. That damned prosthetic has been bothering him these days, maybe he should've stayed in the fridge, you seemed to leave him alone when Mister N tells you that he's in there.
“I could never understand their language either.” Ashveil brought up, setting his cup down when he felt a familiar throb run through his joints. “Do you know what ‘peepaw’ means? They've been calling me that, and whenever I ask what it means, they only say ‘it's you’ then change the subject.”
Ashveil looked back at you and blinked when he saw an… actually he doesn't know what expression you're sporting. Your face seemed to twist in a mixture of shock, disgust, exasperation or maybe all of the above.
“You seemed to know what it means though.” Ashveil observed, slightly amused by your expression. You shook your head to will away the look on your face, still you sighed in disbelief. “Yeah, it refers to an old person. It's just a… unique way the kids are saying these days.”
“Oh, so you know a lot of their lingo, huh?” Ashveil asked, amused at your change of mood. He could take this more than the scrutinizing gaze you hid under a sweet smile moments ago.
“Say!” Ashveil perked up with enthusiasm, you seemed to wince at his amusement. “Do you know their lingo about the numbers? There's a few they often bring up, mostly when I count their payment, well candy. And they do some gestures? When they say them, something starting with a six–” Just as Ashveil was about to raise his hands to mimic the gestures a few kids seem to do these days. You stopped him with a hand on his own, your other hand pinching between the space between your brows.
Ashveil zeroed in on the hand placed on his prosthetic, knowingly or not, you didn't seem to pay it any mind. But the thing inside it did.
“Please stop it. I think we should stop talking about the new lingo, lest I start to form a headache. Plus it sounds weird coming from you.” You say with a troubled tone. Ashveil would've laughed, teased you even. But the hand on his own seemed to stop him, the hand that was making itself known by throbbing that made his fingers curl inwards.
The relaxed atmosphere immediately turned cold when his face pinched with pain, an expression he tried to hide but you already saw right through it.
“Alright?” You asked worriedly, scanning his face as he tried to smooth his expression to a more relaxed one. Ashveil seemed to fail at that though, when he met your eyes again, that same worry lingered.
Ashveil attempted to nod, but failed as the pain continued to pinch down on every nerve ending it could reach. Just his luck, he should've just stayed in the fridge. He should've said no to going outside. Curse this pain, curse this curse and the burden it carries.
Ashveil fought through that familiar but annoying pain, blood was rushing to his head, making the world spin around him. Damn, it got worse than the previous episodes he had.
He sighed when the worse of it passed, but the dull throb remained. Nothing he wasn't used to, still he was hoping it wouldn't flair up around you.
When Ashveil blinked away the spots in his vision, you were already sitting beside him, looking at him with a pinch of worry. A worry that he does not want directed at him.
You scanned his face with an unreadable expression, smoothing slightly when Ashveil met your eyes. “Alright?” You asked again.
Ashveil sighed then closed his eyes, he attempted to move his arm to massage the pain that appeared at his temple, but stopped when he noticed your hand on his arm this time. You seemed to move the hand that was on his prosthetic hand to his actual one instead.
You met his eyes, something small and pleading was looking back at him. Ashveil relaxed as your fingers pressed down his joints, he was glad you didn't take off his gloves. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if you did.
As your fingers pressed down firmly into his skin, from his fingers to his elbows, an apology itself in a silent gesture. Ashveil couldn't help but think. This whole thing, dropping by unannounced, dragging him out, treating him to food? Ashveil saw it as it truly was. It was your form of care. A form of care to make sure he hasn't faded into the shadows just yet.
The detective could understand your need to check up on him, he really did. But in his eyes, he doesn't need this. Doesn't need your firm fingers pressing down his muscles, doesn't need your silent observing eyes cataloging every microexpression on his face, and surely doesn't need that smile looking at him.
But, oh, how he wants it either way.
Ashveil tensed when you stood up from your seat beside him, the muscles from his hands to his elbows were softened by your own hands. And even beneath the fabric between the action, he could still feel the warmth of your touch lingering.
You tapped his shoulder, asking for silent permission.
Ashveil only leaned back into your hands as silent acceptance, you started to massage the creak in his neck, the fridge wasn't the most comfortable of places after all. Your deft fingers were as firm and gentle as always, expertly dodging the accessories littering his person, from his hands to his neck.
“I worry about you sometimes, y'know.” You whispered under your breath, but Ashveil heard it regardless.
He opened his eyes, not realizing he closed them as your fingers pressed into a particularly difficult knot. He grunted when your expert hold loosened it.
“You shouldn't, you worrywart.” Ashveil huffed out,
He could particularly hear your whispered reply behind him, your breath tickling his hair, “Yeah, well, you can't stop me.”
He heard you sigh, as you pressed down on the muscle in the middle of his nape, “Sometimes you’re too selfless for your own good. Someday that selflessness will come and swallow you whole, before I could even have the chance to say my final words.”
Ashveil tensed underneath your hands, he unconsciously looked at his prosthetic hand. The nails embedded into the wrist, the whispers echoed in his mind even as he closed his eyes. The pain was brought either in his muscles or in his memories. Still, you held it moments ago as if it wouldn't harm you, as if you accepted it was a part of him rather than the weapon and curse it truly is.
“I still have unfinished business to deal with.” Ashveil mumbled a half truth, hoping it would escape your keen eyes and even keener understanding of him.
“I know.” You replied, a hint of amusement creeping in your voice.
There was a moment of silence. The world around you continued on, the bustling streets of Duomension City were alive just outside the alley. Both of your coffees were probably cold by now. A fact that Ashveil knows will bum you out when you eventually take a sip later on.
Just when the world continued without the two of you. The little space the both of you occupied was still.
Ashveil leaning against the cheap folding chair that belonged to a café and you standing behind him, content to observe him from behind. Like a person watching time pass by, slipping through your fingers despite your futile attempts to hold on.
The Ranger was too old to wait any longer though, not as spry as he was way back when. Not when these past Amber eras took all of his drive. Ashveil opened his mouth, breath sucking in when you unknowingly interrupted him as you added some words of your own.
“Besides,” Ashveil felt cold dread when the next words left your lips, fingers still lingering on his neck,
“You're not allowed to die before me, La Mancha.”