Well, his stepdad would be pissed, grumbling as he wrote out the check for a 'small donation to the school'. Ashton's mom might not even notice; with Christmas coming up, the station was in full crunch mode, pre-taping holiday segments now to cover the break. Some years it got so bad, she almost seemed to forget she’d ever had a son.
Be one way to get her attention, though, having the police call to say I've been arrested for trespassing…
"Relax, fresa," Dylan said, shoving open the second heavy metal door at the top of the stairs, his mohawk fluttering in the newly unleashed wind like a wild thing lashing its tail. "First off, I'm Staff. And segundo: one of the professors in this building jerry rigs that door to keep the alarm from going off. There's no cameras, and it's pretty much the only place on campus without something overlooking it, so they all come up here to smoke where the students can't see and report them for it."
"Oh," Ashton said quietly as he followed Dylan out onto the building's roof, the gravel bright and sharp as it crunchedwhywhywhyloudly under his sneakers.
"You, uh — " Ashton wracked his brain for the name Dylan's coworker had so casually dropped downstairs, unable to account for the bitterness lacing his tongue. "You bring Pablo up here?"
"Pavlo.He's Ukrainian, not Hispanic," Dylan corrected him, stressing the ‘v’ as he led Ashton uncomfortably close to the edge.
What if someone sees?
"At least… I think he said Ukrainian? His English is not so good, and our accents kind of clash.”
Ashton frowned, dragging his attention back from the problem of privacy to this new puzzle Dylan had just presented him. “How do you guys understand each other then, if you can’t talk?”
“Who says wetalk?” Dylan leered, flashing Ashton an unrepentant grin that sent the heat rushing to Ashton's cheeks; no meaning lost in that far-too-tantalizing expression.
Ashton had hooked up withtonsof chicks, and — alright, so maybe not as often or to the extent he'd brag about to the guys. But still, he'd dated around enough to feel like he had things figured out. Love 'em and leave 'em wanting more; that was his motto.
And yet, talking with Dylan now, Ashton had to wonder: how many actuallyhad?
“He’s just a hookup, fresa. Not my boyfriend," Dylan said, and it was odd the sigh of relief that brought to Ashton's lips. "I don't know what his deal is, and honestly? Given everything going on over there, there’s a good chance it’s more than I can handle and still stay on top of my own shit.”
“And me?” Ashton asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
“Aw, you’re easy.” Dylan winked. “You're just fucked in the head."
Ashton scowled. "Gee, thanks."
"I'm serious man,' Dylan told him, gesturing out at the campus and city beyond. "Look where we are. Look at everything around you right now. Did you even notice?"
What?
Twisting to follow the line of Dylan's gesture, it dawned on Ashton that he hadn't been paying attention to anything that wasn't Dylan. It was his words, his face, his hand in Ashton'sown that held Ashton’s focus, tuning everything else out as unimportant until Dylan directed him to look.
Below them, the quad was awash in the cheerful glow of streetlamps; the paths and fountain and statues all edged in golden glory. And in the very center was, hands down, the biggest, gaudiest Christmas tree Ashton’s family could probably convince the school to let them erect on its campus. It was a twinkly confection of chintzy lights and Instabooklr post-worthy reflective ornaments of a size to rival even his grandfather’s ego; all with an entire department store’s worth of red ribbon tucked everywhere else that could be found.
Even the buildings surrounding the space had been roped into participating, their pale concrete columns bound with an irresponsible amount of greenery and festive red bows. There was one building among them that had, unsurprisingly, been singled out among the rest; the red and green lights projected upon its surface casting the words ‘The Navarro Center for Mass Communications’ into even sharper prominence.
Beyond it all lay the midnight blanket of the city, with its towering skyscrapers of glossy black reflecting the light of the stars above. Woven through were rivers and rivers of cars, all taking people to dinner, to shows, or back to their homes. Free and unafraid to go wherever they wanted, to live their lives how they pleased.
And still Ashton’s eyes kept sliding back to Dylan’s face, to the angle of his cheek, the line of his neck, the glint of the piercings curving around the shell of his ear. Breath caught in his chest, Ashton watched Dylan watching the skyline, his scowl fierce and determined, as if challenging whatever he saw outthere.
“The tree’s pretty with those lights, huh?” Dylan said into the quiet eventually, dragging Ashton back to face yet another monument to his family’s thirst for attention, for control.“Everything perfect, everything in its place. They said it was a new one this year. A donation from some company with more money than sense.”
“Navarro Media,” Ashton whispered, his eyes locked on the sight. “They own the San Morado Chronicle and Channel UBC31. The one with the, um, the 'Grime in the Ice Makers' guy? And, uh…yeah.”
“Pretty common last name, Navarro,” Dylan mused.
“Yeah,” Ashton said from off somewhere very far away, throat flexing as he swallowed hard.
"Don't come across many of them with a first name like Ashton though."
"…Yeah," Ashton replied softly.
It says Gastón José Ruiz Navarro on my birth certificate, Ashton wanted to tell him.But my stepdad couldn't say Gastón right, and my teachers wouldn't even try. Then the kids started singing that song from the movie, and…
