“Ash, listen,” Link says hesitantly. “Only like, five people in the whole world aside from my publisher know about this. It may seem stupid or whatever to you that I’m…closetedabout my writing, but it’s just how I am, so if you’re gonna judge me—”
“I would never judge you,” Ashton interrupts. “And my comments weren’t about that. I said and I meant in front ofme.You should work on overcoming your shyness and shame in front of me.”
Mouth snapping closed, Link's expression shifts and he looks Ashton over appreciatively, like that’s exactly the reaction he was hoping to get. In response, Ashton quickly thumbs open his remaining shirt buttons before shrugging the fabric down his arms and tossing it away. It lands on the back of the chair facing Link's desk.
Now, Ashton is neither naive nor new, and he is not remotely ignorant to the way Link's eyes roam across his skin. They’re hungry, greedy as they take in his array of tattoos, curves, and probably the mole above his right nipple, plus everything else that’s on display. Theoretically, this would be the part where Ashton’s nerves and anxiety take over and threaten to freeze him in place, but surprisingly, it seems as if Link's revelation actually did its job.
Ashton feels fine.
Still, he begins the show by facing Link and closing his eyes to activate the magic in his wings. In the darkness behind his lids, Ashton can see the room brightening with the lighting effects that accompany their appearance, likely casting some interesting shadows against Link's bedroom walls. A sharp intake of breath follows, and Ashton—while he’s no longer feeling embarrassed or ashamed—can’t bear to watch Link's reaction.
Instead, he recounts in his own mind what Link must be seeing: the sparsely-feathered stretches of irreparably damaged bone and muscle, ultra-real in appearance and all the more devastating for it.
Ugly. Broken. Useless.
“Ash,” Link says gently, prompting Ashton to reluctantly open his eyes. Since he isn’t sure whether or not Link is done looking, he holds the magic steady—he’d rather not draw things out or have to start over. What Ashton notices when he glances around is shocking, has him blinking wildly, just in case his vision is still clearing and he’s seeing things wrong.
He’s not. Link's expression isn’t atalldisgusted, it isn’t filled with pity or distaste. If anything, he looks… awed. Heisstanding awfully close, though, and that’s distracting. He’s peering intently over Ashton’s shoulder, presumably to get a close look at the ink’s details, and when he turns his head, they’re nearly nose-to-nose.
“I know how you feel about these, Ash,” Link murmurs, his voice almost reverent in tone as his hand reaches out, seemingly only remembering at the last possible second that the wings aren’t tangible before pulling it back. “So don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not dismissing the hurt you feel, and I’m definitely not trying to change your mind. But these—they are fucking incredible, Ash, and you look… ” He pauses, shaking his head and stepping back a few paces to admire the entire picture while Ashton shifts uncomfortably. “Fucking incredible.”
When Ashton doesn’t say anything in return, Link holds up his camera in question. “Okay if I… ?” he asks, and Ashton nods, swallowing the discomfort he feels at the idea of having pictures of this travesty floating around out there in the world.
No,he corrects himself.Not, “out there in the world,” just with Link. And Link is trustworthy.
“This way, you won’t have to demo it again, not if you don’t want to. But Ash,” Link adds, clearly no better than Ashton is at leaving barely-scabbed-over insecurities unpicked, “these suckers are fuckin’badass.Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not suggesting what that douchebag did to you was anything less than completely fucked up and shitty beyond the telling. Give me a tire iron and five minutes alone with the dude, that’s all I need, I swear, but—”
Link waves his hand dismissively before pulling it down over his mouth and continuing. “It’s not about him at all. It’s about how you carry them, buddy.” As he talks, Link focuses his camera and starts grabbing shots while Ashton remains quiet. He’s definitely a rambler, filling the silence as he clicks away.
“They’ve got this kind of cool, death metal vibe, I think. Makes you look like you went through some seriously wild shit. Like… maybe you were thrown into an epic battle, one where you had to fight for your life, and then against all odds, you made it out the other side. Beat to hell, obviously, but alive all the damn same, and that’s what matters.” He huffs, glancing up over the viewfinder to make solid eye contact before dropping what Ashton understands is perhaps the most meaningful compliment he has to give.
“Dean would absolutely dig these things, man. Seriously, you know it’s true. Oh—shit, I dunno how to—” Link cuts himself off suddenly, fumbling the camera and motioning for Ashton to turn around, which he does, still without comment.
In his peripheral vision, the tips of the destroyed wings sway, charred and painful to look at, even indirectly. It’s uncomfortable to think about viewing them as anything but a hot mess, a mistake, but at the same time, Link's words settle heavily in the back of his mind. Despite all of the anxiety and frustration he harbors towards the tattoo, what Link saiddoesmake Ashton think.
Not that he believes onanylevel that he could ever learn to love his wings. Not the way they are at the moment, at least, butperhaps,in time,he should consider examining them a bit more closely. Not literally, of course, but the idea of them. At minimum, enough to process the trauma surrounding their origins.
Maybe someday. He’s just not ready yet.
The problem is, if hedoesn’t—and this is always something that’s persisted at the back of Ashton’s mind—even covered up, the scars of what Whitaker did to him will always be there, just beneath the surface. Itwouldbe better for Ashton if he could own his wings and their history, enough to stop them from owning him.
Maybe,with Link's help, he can find a way to do just that.
?
Chapter 4
The truck has barely come to a full stop in its spot outside of Ashton’s apartment building when his phone vibrates between his thighs and sends a shock of interest rolling up his spine. The culprit is Link, which feels ridiculously on the nose after this emotional rollercoaster,teaseof a night. Alone and cloaked safely in the darkness of his vehicle, Ashton doesn’t need to pretend. He allows himself exactlyonegoofy grin while swiping open the screen.
Link
home safe? Just checking. Rough stuff tonight, you did great.
Link
but don’t text and drive. unless you have an auto-stop charm on your truck. I’ll be here.
Ashton
