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They’re meeting without Eiji, and maybe it’s because they’re talking about Eiji. Or maybe Ash is just getting protective of him all over again.
Ash opens the door before Max can even knock.
“Hey.” Ash is far from young, even if he could pass for fifteen. The apartment lights are dim, and in the dark, his face casted in soft, low shadows, making him look smaller than a pinprick. Thinner too. Tinder and smoke, Max wants to light a cigarette, but stops himself. Like any sudden movement could stop whatever is happening from happening: time branching off the wrong way.
“Hey.” He replies. They both have their hands in their pockets. Ash copies his stance, sometimes. Does he do that with all of his kinda-not-really father figures? It’s not like Max has much competition.
Ash smiles at him—soft, without much double meaning. If he pays close attention, maybe just a flicker of fear. Which is why he can’t pay close attention. This isn’t how anything is supposed to be.
“What’s going on, Ash?” It’s like he’s waiting for permission, switching between ruthless confidence and the shaking hands of a kid. Does Ash know how young he is? At what age or point in time did he wake up and decide not to be young anymore? This isn’t right. The unease is palpable. He feels safe with a gun in his hand but can’t put on a baseball glove.
“It’s not about banana fish,” Ash clears his throat. He’s felt enough pain to last the rest of his life. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” Max promises, “you can tell me anything you want.” And it’s true, because if there’s one thing more horrific than the details, it’s the idea of Ash carrying them all on his own.
It works, because Ash steps back with softening eyes, holding the door open to let him inside. They pass through the office and towards the sliding door, Ash peeping through the glass before unlatching the lock, and stepping out onto the balcony.
He’s leaning over the railing with his back turned like a symbol of trust.
Despite everything, Ash does trust people. It’s like he’s searching for something. He knows there’s good in the world, even if he hasn’t quite found it yet.
“Are you proud of me?” The tip of his sneaker bumps the concrete, the side of his jaw hidden in the swell of his arms, sleeves pulled over his hands into fists. What happened to you? Who kept your baby teeth?
“Yes. Always.” Always. Always always always. At the end of the night, perched on the balcony like he’d rather jump off than go back inside, he’s wide eyed and begging: are you satisfied with me? Am I good? Max steps forward and stands flush to his side. “Why are you asking me that?”
“I don't know.” Ash swallows and turns his head, but doesn’t move. “I was just wondering.”
“I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you. I never want to shut up about it.”
“You already never shut up.” Ash retorts, voice cracking. He sniffles, wipes his face on one of his sleeves. So much lost time. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Max puts a hand on the back of his neck, “are you crying?” Ash shivers, cold sweat—recoils from the touch like everything is a trap—even if he wants it. Safety nets are nets, first and foremost. Does he know what it means to be cherished?
“Shit—sorry,” Ash whips around, careful to spin the route that won’t leave them face to face. “I don’t know what my issue is. I had a rough night.”
“I don’t think you have an issue,” Max grabs at his wrist. “Hey—there’s nothing wrong with you. Ash—“
“Don’t give me that shit,” he pulls his hand away, drawing it back up towards his neck to hide his face. “You know exactly how I am.”
“You’re right, I know exactly how you are—and it’s my job to give you this shit.”
Ash glares at him, without any heat. “You’re not old enough to be my dad.”
“Yeah, well I’m old enough to try,” Max grabs the back of his head, somewhat annoyed. “And how come I’m only ‘old as fuck’ when it’s convenient for you?”
“Whatever.” Ash clicks his tongue.
“I thought the firstborn was supposed to be the easy kid,” He’s joking, but Ash goes soft in his hands when he talks like this. “Ash. Come on. Come here.” He opens one of his arms, and Ash, despite the glare he’s sporting, sinks into his side. Eyes full of tears. He really is just a kid.
“I’m very proud of you.” Max scrunches his hair, and intentionally or not, Ash pushes into his hand. Ash says nothing, no notorious bite back or comeback, just pure affection, squeezing his eyes shut and curling into the embrace.
“There’s another thing.” Ash mumbles before pulling away. The anticipation doesn’t feel tense, and Max hopes that somewhere deep within himself, Ash isn’t afraid of him either.
Eiji and Japan—the most complicated matter of the century, if you were to ask the great Ash Lynx. Does he send him back, or allow him to continue tagging along?
”He’s an adult, Ash. Older than you, even. Staying is his choice.”
Ash mumbles something under his breath, about how it’s his job to protect the damn kid, because somewhere along the line Ash made Eiji Okumura’s safety his life’s purpose.
“Eiji’s a good friend to you, yeah?” Ash goes quiet, and stops swinging his legs, drawing them up to rest up under his chin. He’s so still.
“He’s really kind.” Ash mutters, “I think that I uh—I might—“ he pauses, letting out a shaky breath. “Nevermind.”
“You think that you what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know for sure? I have a hard time— understanding some of the things I think. Or the ways that I feel. I just—“ Ash pauses, and as always, there’s the pressure to say the right thing to him. “I like his company.”
“That’s good. It’s good you have someone like that in your life,” Max shrugs, and he leans down to sit so they’re at the same level. “It’s all that matters, really.”
“It’s like—sorry, can I keep going?” Max nods, encouraging him. “Thanks—so I think I’ve felt like this before, right? But it’s been a really long time? And also it was with like—a girl? But I can’t be completely sure? It really sucks that I never actually stop and think about these things.”
“I mean, if it helps, I personally think it’s clear that you like Eiji.” Glad that Ash is somewhat aware of his—situation. Even if his pure unadulterated love for Eiji is still tucked away into the “unknown” category—recognizing it is the first step. The poor thing didn’t get his emotional intelligence from Griff, that’s for sure. They’re almost polar opposites on that spectrum—Ash can’t even begin to define half the thoughts and feelings in his head.
“The worst part is—I think I do like him, sometimes. Sometimes I feel the same way towards him that I felt towards Shorter—or like, even Alex sometimes, or you, but then there’s just—“ Ash exhales, and places two finger tips against the nape of his neck. “There’s something else. And I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” Max asks, and Ash shivers, so he slips his jacket off his shoulders, almost on autopilot it’s so natural. Ash puts it on without second thought.
“Because I don’t want to drag him down to my level. But also—“ he swallows. “Sometimes I think about him, and I do want to. Not actually but—I shouldn’t prioritize my happiness over his.”
“Eiji’s his own person, Ash. I know you don’t really—“ ah, he pauses, turning so they're face to face. “I know you don’t know much about healthy relationships. I’m not saying you’re not capable of having one, because you’re a good boy, and I know you’d never mistreat anyone, but in this scenario, you’re not making Eiji do anything, or dragging him down, or manipulating him. He just wants it too, plain and simple.”
“Crazy how that can like—happen.” Ash laughs nervously. “Like—Eiji liking me too.”
It’s painfully sweet—heart clenchingly-sweet. Ash gripping the railing with one hand and smiling behind the other, comfortable enough to talk about something so intimate but shy enough to avert his gaze.
“Yeah,” Max grins, nudging his shoulder. “I’d say the chances are actually pretty high.”
Ash nods, and clicks his mouth like a kid, turning pink up to his ears. God, Max loves him. Only a special type of person could find time in the middle of whatever this is to embark on some sort of teenage romance side-story. And of course it’s his Aslan—bad news and even worse attitude. Intentions so good they could ruin his life.
“I’m so proud of you.” It comes out the second he thinks it, and Ash’s lips quirk up into a smile, even if he tries to hide it.
“That’s all I need to know.” Ash’s grin isn’t one you’d think to find dangling from a balcony, or behind the bars of a prison cell, attached to the arm of a trigger finger—but most people are just people—in situations they don’t necessarily own. Ash is no exception.
“I already know what Jim would—what Jim does think about me.” Ash continues. “I just wanted you to—I wanted you to not care or mind.”
“It’s fine with me,” Max nods, the earnesty in Ash’s tone makes him want to apologize. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I don’t know if that will ever happen,” Ash jokes, but they both know he’s not exactly joking. “But thank you. You’re like—one of the only people I have who I know means that when he says it.”
Ash steps forwards, wrapping his arms around Max’s neck, dipping his head onto his shoulder. It’s so quick and hesitant that he barely gets a chance to hug him back—Ash pulling away before he gets too close.
“You should go before Eiji gets back.”
“Where is your Eiji?” Ash flushes at the your, scoffing out of the corner of his mouth.
“Getting coffee with Bones. So you should probably go.”
“I bet he’s talking about you—“ Ash groans in annoyance, putting his hands on each of Max’s shoulder blades and pushing him out the door. He’s like Michael, but way stronger, and he grins at Ash the way he would a son once he’s back out by the stairs.
“I love you.”
Ash’s face flickers, and the second of softness is worth every year Max has ever wasted.
“Yuck.” Ash clicks the door shut and locks it.
He’s not getting his overcoat back.