One hand resting on the cool metal doorframe, Ashton pokes his head around to peer inside, blinking in abject surprise at the sight that meets his eyes. Link's room is…transformed. Well, perhaps not by magical standards, but at least from how Ashton has become used to seeing it.
The space, while always tidy and homey (unless Link is in a bad mood and hoarding pizza like the apocalypse is nigh), is a place that its owner clearly regards as serving a function, nothing more. Link is absolutely not the kind of person who nests, decorates for fun, or uses any particular space in and of itself to bring him comfort. According to Link, beds are for sleeping (or sex), and bedrooms are for changing, storing one’s personal items, and achieving alone time when common spaces are occupied. They are not extensions of one’s personality.
Ashton finds this incredibly strange and has poked and prodded at Link more than once regarding his views. He’s teased Link about the way his decor reads incredibly sparse for such a visionary and gifted artist, to the point of being shockingly utilitarian. Somewhat defensively, Link explained that despite having an artist for a father, his upbringing was a lot more militaristic than it was creative and that old habits die hard.
The thing is, Link's decorating deficiencies don’t actually bother Ashton. He simply finds them interesting, incongruent with who Link strives to be in all other ways. At the end of the day, though, Link's space is functional forhim, and itishis, so that’s all that matters.
Something has changed. Today, Ashton has to flick his gaze to the numbers nailed to the door in order to be sure that he’s in the correct room.
For starters, the space is bathed in a hazy, subdued light that’s both gentle and romantic, courtesy of the gauzy scarves draped over each bedside lamp. The bed itself is different, too, the mattress sans its usual army green knitted blanket and instead dwarfed by a veritable mountain of pillows and soft things. Draped over the top of it all is a particularly colorful, fuzzy-looking blanket with a large set of blue wings in the center—it has the shortened version of his name, “ASH,” printed beneath them.
Down at the foot of the bed sits Link's laptop, opened, on, and presumably queued up for the movie they chose earlier. To the side, there’s a cooler full of beers tucked close enough to reach from the mattress. It’s sitting on the floor in the shadow of a tray table that boasts two (huge) freshly-cooked cheeseburgers and a big pile of fries that smell like heaven.
“I spelled the food so it’d stay warm, and the ice in the cooler so it wouldn’t melt,” Link pipes up, sounding slightlyoff,somehow. If Ashton didn’t know any better, he might say that Link seemed nervous. Having not yet moved from where he’s lurking near his dresser, Link clears his throat and falls silent again as he waits for Ashton to take in the scene.
The comment makes Ashton blink—Link doesn’t usually waste magical energy on common things, says he doesn’t believe in it. The only other occasion he’s seen him do so was for their river picnic, and at the time, Ashton assumed that was because he made the meal hours beforehand and needed it to last. Now, he wonders.
Either way, if the display alone wasn’t enough to clue him in that Link's trying todosomething here,thatcertainly would have.
“I know you’re nervous. About tomorrow, I mean. Feeling antsy, probably all up in your own head about stuff,” Link continues, stepping forward but remaining on the far side of the bed, providing space for Ashton to control what happens next. No expectations—that’s very clear. “Just wanted to do something nice for you.”
Just wanted to do something nice for you.
Link's voice echoes in his head, and everything about this hits Ashton at once, slamming into him like a freight train. The fact that Link has been away for days, hasheapsof his own work to contend with, the fact that he arrived home only hours prior (and spent most of that time working with a client) and chose to dothiswith his first free momentsis not at all lost on him. As he surveys the comforting, serene space Link has createdfor him, Ashton very suddenly—and very clearly—knows exactly what he wants.
Stepping forward, he presses two fingertips to the top of Link's laptop screen and pushes it closed until the lid clicks. Carefully, he scoops the computer up and places it on Link's desk, out of harm’s way. Turning back to Link, Ashton is unsurprised to see him looking confused, perhaps a bit disappointed.
“You don’t like it?” Link asks softly, his expression held carefully blank and yet terribly transparent for anyone who knows him well enough to look.
Smiling, Ashton steps forward and shakes his head. Wrapping confident arms around Link's waist, he yanks him in close, kissing him with a determined, intense energy that Link allows but doesn’t quite match. When their lips part with a softsmack,Link's eyebrows are knitted together, his eyes darting anxiously around Ashton’s face, trying desperately to figure him out.
“I adore it.” Ashton says firmly, course-correcting a bit, because the last thing he wants is for Link to hurt. He needs to explain. “I’ve never—this wasunbelievablythoughtful, Link, and just when I thought that I couldn’t possibly adore you more. Seeing you do this for me… ” He shakes his head. “It just made me realize that I know exactly how I want to take my mind off of things. I know exactly what I want fromyou, and I don’t need to see the outcome of this tattoo for that to be perfectly clear.”
He pauses, stroking a hand down the side of Link's jaw. Instinctively, Link leans into it, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment as he relishes the touch.
“Link,” Ashton says, a little breathlessly, “I’m so very sorry if I stacked your worth against the outcome of your work. That wasn’t fair, and to be clear, it wasn’t something that I was consciously attempting to do. I fear, however, my actions may have led us to the same effect, regardless of intent.”
“Ash,” Link replies quietly, still nuzzling away at his hand. “If you’re trying to say that you want me to bang the tomorrow-related anxiety out of your system, you seriously don’t have to make a whole speech about it. And you don’t need to worry ’bout me and my feelings.” He huffs, as if it’s ridiculous that someone would waste their time and energy worrying about him.
“Iwantto worry about you and your feelings,” Ashton shoots back, tangling fingers into the front of Link's shirt as he tries to duck away, visibly embarrassed. “No,” he growls, placing two fingers at the bolt of Link's jaw and applying enough pressure that Link can’t really escape. He relents after a prolonged moment, reluctantly making eye contact and sighing.
“Fine,” Link grunts. “Speak. If we’re defining the relationship, let’s do it right the first time—Tombstoneain’t gonna watch itself.”
“Good,” Ashton says, pleased. His fingers release Link's jaw, drifting down his chest to rest near the hand already tangled in the fabric of his shirt. Ashton holds him there, keeping their bodies only inches apart (and thereby rendering Link unable to look away, at least in any meaningful fashion). “I have you figured out,” he continues. “Took me a bit of time, but I get it now. You are forever letting me—others—vent and trauma dump on you. Nothing is too much or too far, because as long as I’m talking,youdon’t have to be. Am I close?”
Link's freckled cheeks are tinged red, and he’s huffing, doing his best to look anywhere but at Ashton. He hates this, but he takes a breath and then meets Ashton’s gaze head-on. He nods.
Ashton softens, searching his expression. “You shoulder everyone else’s pain to avoid feeling your own. You’re a beautiful, selfless human, Link. Your passion, your grace, yourlove—it makes me want to care about the world more than I do. Believe that coming to this realization has changed me, that who you are hasn’t gone unnoticed. That all the ways youhaveopened up to me, the things you’ve shared—they’re the furthest thing from unappreciated.”
“It’s not even as serious as all that,” Link says, practically whispering, but it’s barely a protest.
“I understand that you hate this part. Talking, sharing—at least, face-to-face and with the lights on.” Ashton smirks and Link rolls his eyes, but he’s not finished. “We don’t have to, don’t need to turn this into some big, dramatic scene. But Iamasking for you to listen tome, because what you’ve done here—” Ashton sweeps his hand wide to indicate the atmosphere Link's created, “speaks volumes about your feelings. I hear you. I alsoseeyou, and I can tell that for whatever reason and despite these grand gestures, you don’t feel worthy. Surely, I’ve contributed to that by keeping you at arm’s length, by not being crystal clear about where my head is, and that stops now.”
Link perks up, interested. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I’m ready, and I want—you know, what you offered.”
Grinning, Link wiggles his eyebrows. “For me to fuck the anxiety out of you?”
