Chapter Text
Shane
1 year ago
The first time Shane's boyfriend hurts him, they had been dating for six months.
It seemed to come out of absolutely nowhere. In hindsight, in a way, it always seemed to be like that.
He and Ash had just finished eating dinner. Shane took the plates and glasses to the sink to do the dishes, Ash took his beer to the living room to watch some sports game Shane never cared for.
Shane was exhausted from working a double at the bookstore, and now that his stomach was full and his hunger was finally satiated, his body was ready to practically give out on him.
But the dishes had to be done. Ash hated doing them, and not having them done would drive Shane crazy, so he always took the task upon himself no matter how tired he was.
Looking back, he knows he should've just let it go. He should have kissed his boyfriend on the lips and told him he was turning in for the night early— to come to bed when the game was over.
But no. Shane just couldn't control his impulses, just had to make sure everything was spotless and in its place before he could rest.
It should've been fine, normal. It was a simple task. And yet, somehow, Shane fucked it up.
It was an accident, to be completely fair. Still, that didn't negate the fact that Ash's favorite mug had (very loudly) slipped from his soap-slick hand when he went to put it into the dishwasher, shattering against the tile at Shane's bare feet and splitting into a hundred ceramic fragments, broken beyond repair and spread all over the kitchen tile.
"Fuck." Shane muttered, wincing. He was less worried about the mess and the fact it was just a cup, and moreso about the fact it was Ash's favorite one. It wasn't necessarily sentimental as it was just a little bit pretty to look at— with an earth-tone colored sweater pattern stretching around the glass. He'd probably be upset, and Shane hated making Ash feel bad. If it was Shane's mug, he knows he'd be upset over the situation. A little sad, probably. He already dreaded seeing Ash's reaction.
It's okay, Shane reasoned, accidents happen, I'll just buy him a new one. We have other cups to use in the meantime.
"Babe?" Shane heard Ash's concerned voice come from the living room. "What was that?"
"Uh..." Shane swallowed, guilt already swirling in his gut, "Nothing. I just— fuck."
Shane hears the footsteps coming before he sees him. "It doesn't sound like nothing—"
Ash rounds the corner into the kitchen, and Shane stares at him as he takes in the scene; Shane, standing at the center of an absolute mess he created himself. His hands were still dripping wet, and his shirt was soaked in water stains. He stood still, cringing, stuck in place in fear of accidentally stepping on any of the stray pieces of glass.
Stupidly, he felt like a child that had been caught doing something bad, like scribbling on the walls of his mother's bedroom with thick sharpie. Except, he supposed, this was probably a bit more dangerous.
Shane couldn't help but be honest.
"Sorry, I dropped your mug." Shane admits, his heavy eyelids blinking down at the mess. "I didn't mean to. It just slipped from my fingers, and—"
"Are you serious?" Ash cut him off.
Shane froze. Something about the question and the way his boyfriend said it made something in him tense up.
"I— sorry?" Shane stuttered, surprised at his tone.
"I asked you, are you serious?" Ash repeated, looking down at the broken pieces, careful of his step. "Is that— that's my mug?"
"Yeah," Shane said, hesitant. "I'm really sorry. I promise I didn't mean to. I can buy you a new one if—"
"No." Ash says, raising his voice. It was just— it was so unlike him. Ash rarely ever spoke to Shane like this, let alone after he makes a dumb mistake. Usually he comforts Shane, helps him to relax when he overthinks. But Ash's entire presence right now just feels wrong. Unusual. Shane can't explain it.
His eyes are all blown wide, his dark hair a mess. He's still got his beer bottle in his hand, the other hand running over his face, stressed at the sight before him.
Stressed out because of Shane's actions.
"Ash, it's okay." Shane tries to soothe.
"No, Shane, it's fucking not." Ash said, clearly growing agitated at him. "Are you seriously that clumsy? What happened?"
"I was— Ash, it's just a mug. My hands were wet, it slipped from my hand." Shane tries to reason, his own tone raising just the slightest amount at Ash's unnecessary dig at him. "I get you're upset and I apologize, I feel terrible. We can go to the store and I'll buy you a new one if you want, okay? I really am sorry."
Shane felt like his head was spinning, like maybe he was in a dream and wasn't awake at all. Because Ash never got angry at Shane— not like this. He had a bit of a temper on him, sure, but it was never directed towards Shane. Because Shane was his boyfriend, Shane was the man he loved. And the man he loved never got yelled at.
Not until that night.
"You made a fucking mess, Shane!" Ash exclaims, and Shane flinches at just his noise level.
Ash rarely used to drink. Only recently had he really been starting crack open a bottle more regularly, but even then he never got drunk. Tipsy, maybe, if he had enough. But that was barely ever the case. Shane never thought anything of it. Because until then, until this moment, nothing had ever been different between them when either of them drank alcohol.
But it's the only reason Shane can come up with that might make sense as to why his boyfriend is suddenly being so aggressive with him. It makes a pang of pure shock surges through him.
Ash had never treated Shane like this before. He felt completely out of his depth.
"Why are you freaking out like this?" Shane asks, hating to argue with him but slowly growing confused and irritated, "I'm going to clean it up, just relax. You need to breathe. It's not that serious."
Ash scoffs, waving the bottle of beer around. His dark eyes look like two voids, ready to swallow Shane hole. "Oh, okay. So it's fine to just break other people's things?"
"No, that's not what I said." Shane shoots back at him.
"But it's 'not that serious', right?"
Shane rolls his eyes. He's too fucking tired to argue any longer.
"I'm not doing this with glass all over the floor." Shane deadpans, leveling his voice. "Can you please just hand me the broom?"
"Fuck no." Ash says, and his mean attitude hits Shane right in the gut. "Get it yourself."
"Ash," Shane takes a deep breath, letting it out, desperately trying to calm the storm now raging inside his chest. "I'm asking you nicely, please get the broom for me."
Ash narrows his eyes at Shane.
He had never seen such danger in another human's eyes, let alone someone who loved him— who he loved so much. Someone who he trusted.
"Who do you think you are?" Ash asks, shaking his head, as if Shane had just committed the most appalling act in the world and deemed it dismissible. Suddenly, he sets the bottle down on the island table roughly, sending another sharp sound echoing through the kitchen.
Shane blinks, and Ash is moving. He rounds the island, and Shane turns toward him, because why wouldn't he? Sure, Ash was pissed off and sure, Shane had never seen him this mad. But it was still Ash. He had no reason to feel the need to run or be afraid— not of the person who meant the most to him.
Except, it happens like a car crash— so fast that he didn't even know what happened until it was over.
Ash stalked towards him. He raised a hand, and slapped Shane across the face.
Shane gasped, his head snapping to the side with the impact of it.
He managed to catch himself with one hand on the counter when he lost his balance, just narrowly avoiding stepping on a particularly sharp looking, palm-sized shard of glass.
A wave of shock ran through his body like a bolt of lightning. After that, came the dizzying disbelief.
What the fuck.
What the fuck?
A throbbing pang spreads along the side of his face, sharp and absolute. Shane blinked hard, tears already brimming on his waterlines, and mindlessly reached up and touch his right cheek. Sure enough, just grazing the skin there sent a quick, brief stinging sensation pulsing through the nerves up to the bottom of his right eye.
Shane felt like maybe he might be sick, when the disbelief melts away and the realization officially sank in that, yes, his boyfriend really just slapped him.
He barely had any time to process it. When his own dismayed eyes returned to Ash's— when one traitorous tear spilled over Shane's stinging cheek— he looked horrified.
"Fuck," Ash breathed, looking utterly panicked, as if it was someone else that harmed Shane, "Fuck, Shane I— I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— I promise I didn't."
Shane's heart stuttered sorely as his breathing hitched on a sob. He just couldn't help it. There was glass everywhere, the dishes still weren't finished, he was so fucking tired, Ash got mad at him, and now this?
He just couldn't believe it. Ash had never gotten so angry at him— not like this— and never over something as simple as a broken cup. He never lost his temper this way, especially never towards Shane.
He tries desperately to hold it back, but as the first sob tore from Shane's throat, Ash closed the distance between them, hastily pulling Shane into a hug.
Shane fell into his arms without even thinking, sagging into his hold like it wasn't Ash that had caused Shane this pain, but someone else. Someone crueler.
Ash kept apologizing, and he didn't stop. He said things like, I didn't mean to, and, I was just overwhelmed, and please don't be mad, I love you, I love you, I love you—
Ash held Shane tight as he cried into his shoulder, running his fingers through the dark hair on the back of Shane's head. He was begging for a forgiveness that Shane didn't have to hesitate in thinking about giving him. Because, no, Shane was not happy about Ash snapping the way he did and scaring the fuck out of him— hitting him, for fuck's sake— but this was still Ash, still the love of Shane's life.
Everyone got a little angrier than they think they will at one point or another, right? Shane had made a stupid mistake, he had clearly hurt Ash by breaking something he loved, accident or not. He knew it didn't mean he deserved such a rash reaction, but shit happens, right? Ash was just irritated, he wasn't thinking, he hadn't meant it. He was just upset.
"I'm really sorry, please— please, love, please forgive me—" The words came, on and on and on.
At some point, Ash had started crying too. Shane tried to find his voice, to reach deep within himself and yank it to the surface so he could speak, so he could say, it's okay, it's okay, but it felt impossible. All he wanted to do in that moment was comfort Ash, to stop hearing each broken cry he let out, but Shane's mouth was a useless thing. It was as if his vocal chords had stopped working completely. Shane worried maybe, with his boyfriend now crying harder than Shane even was, that he was caving in on himself. That he might not be able to help Ash, or comfort him the way he needs. In the end, guilt was the thing that ate away at his insides like parasites.
Maybe Shane's problem was the fact that he only had enough backbone to defend himself to a certain extent. That he folded so easily in Ash's hold and under his apologies because he loved him so much. He loved him more than he loved himself, whether he realized it or not.
Eventually, Ash would figure that out too. In hindsight, this moment left a marker of where things were about to change, and Shane was too achingly blinded to have the foresight to realize it.
After Shane had long stopped crying and finally Ash did too, Shane realized he was practically falling asleep against him, Ash's arms wrapped around his shoulders. When Shane's voice finally decides to return to him, his whispers hoarsely, suggesting that he take Ash to bed. He was probably exhausted from all the crying. Ash had nodded, something so small that Shane nearly missed the movement. Carefully, he maneuvered them both carefully around the glass, trying his hardest not to let either of them step into it.
When he successfully manages to get the stumbling Ash into their bed, Shane tucks him in carefully, gingerly kissing his forehead even though Shane knew he was already fast asleep. When he leaves, the lights are out, and he closes the door softly behind him.
Numbly, Shane returns to the kitchen, grabs the broom and sweeps up the glass into a dustpan. He does it for probably about twenty minutes, just to make absolutely sure he got all of it. Then, he finishes the dishes, taking his time so his big mistake wouldn't be repeated.
After that, he drifts a bit, finding himself in the hallway bathroom.
He turns the light on, and forces himself to look in the mirror at the damage.
For how much it pulses with a dull throb, the sight of his cheek is nothing to truly fret over. It must just be mental. There's no scratches or laceration on his face, just a slight, pink tint to his right cheek bone that he's sure will fade by the time he wakes up tomorrow. He seriously doubts it will even leave a bruise. By the morning, the physical proof of any incident will be faded into nothing.
Shane doesn't have to think twice about letting it slide.
It wouldn't leave a mark. It doesn't count if there's no mark, right? It was a small hit— nothing to even really worry over.
The thought— more specifically the word worry— sinks heavily in his stomach, as he thinks about his friends and family.
Hayden, his best friend, and his parents, who he tells practically everything to.
Hayden, his best friend, and his parents, who he can never tell about this.
He knows it will feel like lying, in a way. He isn't sure why he feels the nauseating guilt of it now, even though it's nearly 11 o'clock at night and he hadn't even spoken to them yet let alone anyone else.
You should text them, a small voice in the back of his head suggests. Shane tells Hayden especially about almost everything that goes on in his relationship, just as he does with Shane about his wife, Jackie. The good and bad. It's just something they do.
It's not that bad, Shane had reasoned with himself, looking in the mirror. Even still, he knew anyone he knew would probably freak out if they found out about this. Even though it was fine, Shane was fine, stuff like this probably just happens in relationships sometimes, he just isn't sure how anyone that knew him would feel about this.
It was better not to risk Hayden getting angry with him too, right, for letting this happen?
Would he even be angry?
Shane didn't know anymore. He was still so tired, and now his brain felt like it was made of a bunch of tangled live wires, buzzing with a constant electricity. He wanted to sleep, but he really, really does not want to lay in bed.
Not while Ash was, too.
Shane, tearing his eyes away from the mirror, drifts.
He finds himself sitting on the couch, turning on the TV and laying down. He uses an old throw pillow to rest his head and covers himself with a spare blanket laying across the back of the couch.
He feels impossibly cold. Was their apartment always this cold? He figures he should probably get up and turn the thermostat up a degree or two, but ultimately can't bring himself to move. He only snuggles more into the blanket, blinking dry eyes at the glowing screen in front of him.
The TV was on, but Shane wasn't watching it. He couldn't— not with how blurry everything was going as his chest ached violently and tears began to build in his eyes again, replaying that moment in the kitchen earlier over and over in his mind. He was seriously scrambling to figure out what happened, where he went wrong, what he could've done to avoid it happening, what he can do to avoid it happening again—
No. It wouldn't happen again. Ash said it wouldn't. It was just a mistake, a thoughtless movement, a trick of the light. It wasn't the gnarly, ugly thing that the rational part of Shane's mind wanted to label it as.
Shane swallowed thickly, sniffling in the dark living room. When he slowly lifts his hand to poke at his cheek, there is only a slight ache to it, a distant feeling that would only keep fading.
Still, even if it was to such a small capacity, Shane couldn't deny that it hurt.
He cried some more, trying to keep quiet so he wouldn't wake Ash, until he couldn't anymore. Then, he just laid on the couch, his mind completely detached from reality.
With a heavy heart and conflicted mind, eventually, Shane falls into a restless and fitful sleep.
The next morning, Shane wakes to the sound of movement in the kitchen and the overwhelming smell of eggs and bacon.
He groans, back and legs aching from having to squeeze onto the couch all night. It takes him a long moment to wake up enough to remember why he was on the couch in the first place. At the realization, his cheek pulses once, twice, with a dull ache, his stomach swirling with nausea, and he immediately wishes he could go back to sleep.
But it's too late, as Ash comes sauntering into the living room and notices Shane is awake.
"Good morning, sunshine." Ash smiles softly, making his way over. Shane squeezes his eyes shut, willing the excess sleepiness lingering in them to fade.
His mouth feels dry. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.
"Hello." He says. Ash crouches down in front of his face where he is lying, and reaches out a hand.
Shane, without even thinking about it, moves away from it, his lungs stuttering in his chest. It's only a minuscule movement, the truly unconscious shifting of his head, but Ash must not notice it, as he only moves his hands closer to card his fingers through the hair on the side of Shane's head, frowning.
He doesn't say anything about Shane sleeping on the couch. He just does a once over of Shane's face— silently examines his cheek in particular— before sighing.
"I made breakfast." Ash says, trying for a hopeful smile. "And, I have a surprise for you."
He should be excited, happy, grateful. Shane swallows, and tries for a smile himself. It clearly doesn't reach his ears, if Ash's worried expression is anything to tell by. Shane's heart is thumping violently in his chest, as if it is swelling with too much blood each time it beats— as if it is trying to compensate for the periodic murmurs Ash's presence leaves it with.
Shane can't name the feeling flooding through him. It's unfamiliar, foreign, but he's too exhausted to examine how he truly feels or give it any label. Crying himself to sleep must have really taken a toll on him.
When Shane doesn't move, Ash pulls his hand away. Simultaneously, Shane's almost glad, but somehow also wishes maybe he didn't.
"Come on," Ash says, "You should eat, sunshine, hm?"
"Okay." Shane relents after a moment.
Ash sits him up, offering Shane a hand as his blanket slips from his shoulders, leaving a chill running down his naked spine and torso. Shane takes his hand without thinking, and Ash holds it as he leads Shane to the kitchen.
When Shane enters, his throat seems to constrict in a way it never has before.
There, on the kitchen table, is a big bouquet of flowers in a clear, glass vase with a fabric bow around it. On the island, there's a few plates with breakfast foods on them, along with a pitcher of orange juice— no pulp— which Ash knows is Shane's favorite.
"They're for you." Ash says, a beat after letting go of Shane's hand as he stands there, staring at the flowers.
Something hopeful in Shane's chest seems to arise, something like understanding.
Something like forgiveness.
"They..." Shane turns to him, feeling his eyes soften, "They're gorgeous."
"Yeah?" Ash smiles, his shoulders seeming to un tense, as if he had been holding his breath for the past however many hours he's been awake.
"Yes." Shane nods, finding himself smiling back. He steps forward to pick them up, smelling them. They're only garden roses, but still, they give off a rich, sweet scent that Shane can't help but fawn over.
What could he say? Idiotically, brainlessly, he was still in love.
One bad night wouldn't change that. Besides, this was clearly Ash trying to make up for it. A bad boyfriend wouldn't buy flowers for his partner as an apology, right?
No, Shane decides, he wouldn't.
The heavy feeling he'd woken up with had dissipated by then, replaced by something softer. Ash picked up on it immediately.
"I... I threw away all the beer." Ash says, his voice small— smaller than Shane had ever heard it before.
Shane frowns, setting down the flowers and making his way over to Ash. When Shane reaches out to rub his hands over the sides of the man's arms, Ash's chestnut eyes go glossy in a way that makes Shane ache to fix.
"I'm so sorry, Shane." Ash says once again, his gaze falling away. "Last night— I— I don't know what came over me. I think I was just drunk. I didn't mean to—" He shakes his head, pursing his lips, his voice breaking as he repeats, "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Shane says, folding to his sincere apologies, "I know."
"I love you." Ash says, blinking. A tear falls down his cheek, and Shane immediately brushes it away with his thumb. "I love you so much, Shane. Please don't— please forgive me. Can you forgive me?"
He's practically sobbing at this point, and it makes Shane's chest hurt so bad he can barely breathe. He hates seeing Ash like this, however seldom it may be. Ash didn't cry often. Not like this, anyway. He feared it made him weak, even though Shane always disagreed.
Shane, unable to look into Ash's wet eyes any longer, envelopes him in a hug, whispering quiet assurances into his ear as his lungs breathed in a rocky staccato against Shane's chest. He rubbed his hand in small circles between Ash's shoulder blades the way he liked, hoping it would do the trick in grounding him.
Eventually, Ash had calmed and Shane had assured him that they could just forget about the incident. Ash seemed pleased with his idea, promising once again that he would never let it happen another time.
Shane took the promise easily, kissing Ash like he was apologizing in his own way, mostly for sleeping on the couch.
After, they sat at the table and had breakfast; eggs, bacon, fruit salad, and the like. Despite everything, was easy to fall back into their regular conversation, bantering and all. Ash poured him a cup of orange juice, and then another one after Shane had drank it all.
Soon, Shane's stomach was pleasantly full and he felt much lighter on his feet. After they finished, Ash offered to clean up while Shane went to brush his teeth.
When he got in the bathroom, without even thinking, Shane had met his own reflection in the mirror.
Sure enough, his face looked completely fine. Normal. As if last night had never happened at all.
Shane was right— there wasn't a single mark evident to prove of any argument that went down last night. There wasn't even the smallest ache anymore when he poked the spot he wondered might still be sore.
Shane was clearly being dramatic last night. Ash didn't even hurt him, not really. On the outside, everything looked normal. His freckles still shown beneath his eyes, his skin didn't show any signs of redness, his hair was a bit of a mess, but that was to be expected.
Shane, on the surface, was completely fine, if not a little tired from a lack of a good nights rest.
Something about it felt like being drenched in relief he hadn't known he had been desperately needing. I'm fine, Shane thought to his reflection, I'm okay, everything is fine— I look fine.
And yet, he refused to acknowledge that somewhere deep, deep down within him, a minuscule, almost microscopic, bitter thing he was helpless to name had been planted within him.
It was to easy to ignore, back then.
Because Ash had apologized, he bought him flowers, he made him breakfast— he cried in Shane's arms because of how terrible he felt. He dumped away his favorite beer, all for Shane, putting in so much effort to show he cared and he felt bad.
Shane loved Ash more than he had ever loved anyone before. He was his first real boyfriend, after all. They had been together long enough that Shane had moved in with him, promised him he wouldn't leave— that he would never have a reason to. He trusted Ash more than anyone, and Ash felt the same way.
It was just a dumb mistake. People slip up sometimes— nobody is perfect. Ash was drunk, like he said, he wasn't himself. Shane knew Ash never meant to let things go as far as they did. His effort to make up for the fact showed for it.
And he didn't leave a single mark on Shane. Not physically, anyway.
Really, in the end, the whole thing was just too easy to excuse.