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Orym is hovering.
Ever since Ashton’s Titan form fucking dropped and left them face-planting in the Ruidian dirt, Orym’s been buzzing around them like the world’s most concerned bumblebee. He hasn’t said anything about Ashton’s collapse since helping them up, but he also hasn’t left their side for more than a minute or two at a time. He’d padded along next to Fearne’s Direwolf form for as long as she’d been able to carry Ashton, but she’d eventually had to drop her Wildshape– forcing them to continue the journey on foot.
(Don’t get him wrong, he’s grateful Fearne was able to carry him at all. It’s just that having to walk when his entire fucking body is screaming at him like this… it’s a special kind of torture.)
Orym had spent the rest of their long trudging slog through the desert walking close to Ashton’s hip, helping to shore them up whenever they stagger. Orym’s not really big enough or strong enough to provide any meaningful support, but the feeling of his steady hands pressing carefully against their side gives them a focal point that helps them keep their balance when they stumble.
Now Bell’s Hells has stopped for a rest (finally, fucking finally) in the shadow of a large rock formation. They’re all huddled in a shallow hollow in the stone– not deep enough to qualify as a cave, but enough to provide a little shelter from the blistering winds. The exact second that the group agrees to take a break, Ashton lets their exhausted fucking body drop– flopping on their back in the dust and refusing to move any further. He throws his forearm over his eyes and breathes, trying to stop their head from spinning.
Fuck, everything hurts. Not that that’s anything new, but this is the worst he’s felt in a long-ass time. Fuck the Hishari for ever thinking that fusing a Primordial fragment into a person was a good idea. His head is pounding in a way he can tell will escalate to a raging migraine pretty soon. They feel like they’re going to split open along the lines of their impact fractures, each aching throb pulsing deep into their bones. Every muscle is cramping intermittently, leaving them completely locked up and unable to move.
This is such fucking bullshit.
“Ashton?” Imogen’s voice– quiet, tentative, but echoing like a cannon blast in his over-sensitive ears, “You okay?”
“Fuck off.” Ashton grits out. He pauses, realizing belatedly how harsh that sounded, “Please.” They hope that’s enough to soften the blow of their previous words– they don’t actually want to drive away their friends. Everything is just a bit… much right now. Also, if they try to open their mouth again, they’re not sure exactly what will end up coming out– it’ll either be more curse words, or his breakfast. Ashton swallows hard, fighting back a wave of nausea.
There’s a brief silence (blessed, blessed silence), then a conversation conducted in indistinct murmurs. Ashton can’t hear what any of them are saying through the pounding of their own pulse in their ears, and their brain’s refusal to focus on anything outside their own body. Much to their relief, the others actually do fuck off a little bit– but only far enough away that their voices don’t add to the pain.
Well… all of them except one.
With his forearm blocking out all visual input, Ashton obviously doesn’t see Orym approaching. They hear the soft shifting of his leather armor, and feel the faint vibration of his careful footsteps through the earth as he approaches. Ashton’s mouth quirks up slightly at the corner as they realize how hard Orym is trying to keep quiet. They still don’t lift their arm to look at him– the impending migraine has them deeply fucking committed to not seeing shit.
“Th’ fuck d’you want?” Ashton groans weakly. They’re not as worried about offending Orym. He knows not to take anything they say personally when their pain is acting up. He can sense it when Orym slowly, hesitantly, kneels in the dirt near Ashton’s head.
“We’re all really sorry, Ash,” He murmurs softly, his voice sad and regretful, “If we’d known how much using your Titan powers would cost you, we wouldn’t have pressured you to use them today.”
“First off, nobody pressures me to do shit I don’t want to do,” Ashton grumbles, ignoring the doubtful little noise Orym makes in response, “And second, it was gonna fucking happen eventually. S’not your fault I’m a busted fucking wreck.”
“You’re not a busted wreck.” Ashton snorts derisively at that.
“Fucking look at me, man. I’ve literally been smashed to pieces and glued back together.”
“You’ve been injured badly enough to leave permanent damage. That doesn’t make you broken as a person.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Ashton would be rolling his eyes if the vertigo wouldn’t make him puke. Orym sighs and shifts his weight slightly, the dirt beneath his boots crunching with the movement. Ordinarily Ashton probably wouldn’t even be able to hear it. In their current state it grates on every nerve.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could take me around the back and put me out of my fucking misery.”
Orym is silent for a long time at that, which makes Ashton think that maybe that was the wrong thing to say. His instinct is confirmed correct when Orym finally speaks, his voice sounding bitter and hurt, “That’s not funny, Ash.”
“Sorry,” Ashton grimaces, “If I don’t try to joke about it, I’m gonna fucking scream.”
“S’okay. It’s just… we almost lost you only a few days ago, and seeing you collapse like that… it scared me a little, I guess.” There’s a subtle disturbance in the air above Ashton’s arm that makes him think that Orym was starting to reach out to give him a comforting pat, but the touch never comes. They appreciate his consideration and restraint, “I know you deal with pain a lot, but it– I’ve never seen you like this. Most of the time you seem pretty unstoppable.” Ashton has to smile a little at that.
“Imagine how jacked I’d actually be if I didn’t fucking hurt all the time.”
“That’s actually kinda terrifying,” Orym chuckles, “But seriously, though. Is there anything that helps? Or at least takes the edge off?”
Ashton thinks about that for a moment. Normally they just get blackout drunk and lie in the dark for two to three business days, but that’s not exactly possible right now. And it probably wouldn’t pass muster with Orym anyway, little fucking health nut that he is. They shrug and immediately regret it, as it sends shockwaves of pain through their scars.
“Short of passing the fuck out for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours? No, not really. Grass might be able to help a little, but it’s not gonna be enough to get me back to full strength today. They should save their magic anyway– I don’t trust this fucking moon not to throw more monsters at us right now.”
“Well, I can talk to the others about us taking an early night. Letters can top you off before they go to sleep, and they’ll have all their magic back in the morning.”
“I… don’t get me wrong, that sounds really fucking good right now, but… we’re still so far from the capital, and I’m already slowing you all down. You shouldn’t have to stop for me.”
“Ash,” Orym’s voice is gentle and warm with compassion, “The only reason you overextended yourself so badly is because we asked you to, and you did it because you’d do anything for this crew. I know this mission is a little time-sensitive, but I think we can take an early rest to get you back on your feet.” He pauses for a moment, then adds hesitantly, “Do you remember what you said to me in the Shade Mother’s lair?”
“My brain is fucking mush right now, dude. I can’t remember what we had for breakfast.”
“It was after we fought off that first wave of Shade Creepers. You were telling everyone to take a rest for a moment, and I asked how long a moment was supposed to be.” Ashton can hear the smile in Orym’s voice, “You said a moment is however long it takes to make sure we’re okay. Ash, we want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m never okay,” Ashton mutters bitterly, “I always hurt, remember?”
“As okay as it’s possible to be, then.” Orym concedes, “Besides, with everything we’re about to walk into… we’re gonna need you in fighting shape. I know we can’t really fix this for you, but will you at least let us help you in the ways that we can?”
Ashton can’t really argue with his logic. He doubts he’d be able to get back up and keep walking right now anyway. Everything is completely seized up, with even the tiniest twitches sending sharp twinges through every bone and muscle. They clench their teeth (ow) and try to swallow around the lump of emotion in their throat.
“Okay,” they whisper from beneath the shield of their forearm, “I– yeah. Okay.” They hear Orym give a soft sigh of relief.
“Alright. I’m gonna go talk to the others real quick, but I’ll be right back. Promise.” Ashton senses Orym reaching out to touch him again and pulling back before making contact. He rises from his kneeling position and walks back towards the rest of the group.
Ashton just lies there and breathes, and listens to the conversation being had in hushed voices somewhere off to one side. They swallow compulsively against a wave of nausea that rises in response to the pounding agony in their skull. Fuck this. Fuck this so hard. There’s a lot of things Ashton would like to experience while he’s on the moon, but a simultaneous migraine and chronic pain flare-up is not on that fucking list. He’s so busy focusing on not throwing up that he doesn’t notice Orym coming back towards him until he’s kneeling down at Ashton’s side again.
“Hey. We’re gonna get set up here for the night. Do you think you can move a little? Just to get closer to the fire?” He asks gently. Ashton groans weakly.
“Absolutely fucking not. If we’re not being actively attacked, I’m not fucking moving.”
“Okay. That’s okay. I brought some stuff over to make you more comfortable– I’ve got a pillow for you, and had Fearne warm up a blanket. Can I help you get settled at least?”
Ashton considers for a moment, taking note of where the worst of it is coming from. Their entire body is like a constellation of pain– every joint burning like a star, with the aches emanating out through their bones and scars to connect them all together. The heat from a warmed-up blanket might help with that, but just the thought of moving their head to make room for a pillow sounds fucking horrendous.
“Blanket yes. No pillow. Maybe later.”
“Okay. One sec.” There’s a ruffling of soft fabric, then the weight of a blanket settling over them. The touch grates on their every raw nerve ending for a few seconds, but then the heat sets in and overrides the more unpleasant sensory input. He lets out a long, trembling breath as the warmth begins to relax the tension in their muscles. The relief is actually a little overwhelming.
“Thanks,” Ashton croaks.
“‘Course. Do you have any sort of medicine you take when it’s this bad?”
“Booze. Strong. Cheap.”
“Yeah, sorry. Probably shouldn’t be getting that intoxicated while we’re on the moon.” Orym sounds genuinely apologetic about that, which makes Ashton give a snort of laughter.
“I kinda figured.”
“I have a blend of tea that might help. It’s got willow bark and a couple other things in it. D’you want me to make you some?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I really do appreciate you doing all this for me,” Ashton replies, “but if I try to eat or drink anything right now, it’ll just come right back up. Fucking migraine.”
“Ah.” Orym pauses, then asks, “Is that why you’ve been keeping your eyes covered?”
“Yeah. The light is like fucking knives in my brain.”
“Hang on a sec,” There’s a shuffling as Orym moves a little ways away to dig through his pack. Then the sound of a canteen being opened and water being poured. When Orym returns to Ashton’s side, he speaks softly, “Can you lift your arm for me? Just a little bit. Keep your eyes closed.”
Ashton groans, but acquiesces, moving his arm just enough for Orym’s nimble hands to slip beneath it. He gently lays a cool, damp cloth across their eyes and brow, murmuring praise and reassurance as he withdraws his hands. Ashton lets the arm he was using to cover his eyes flop into the dirt, wincing as it sends a surge of throbbing pain up into his neck and shoulder.
“Gods, fuck this shit.” Ashton chokes out angrily, “Fuck this, fuck the Hishari, fuck my parents, fuck the Nobodies for taking that fucking job, fuck Hexum for throwing me out her fucking window, fuck the gods, fuck the moon, fuck me.” He definitely doesn’t sniffle or hold back a sob at the overwhelming rush of frustration and bitterness. Orym shuffles a little closer to him, but still doesn’t touch. Ashton is forever grateful for Orym’s caution and consideration, but fuck if a hug doesn’t also sound pretty good right now. What the fuck is up with that?
“Oh, Ash. I’m so sorry.”
“S’not your fucking fault, man. I didn’t say ‘fuck you’, now did I?” There’s a soft huff of laughter in response to that.
“No, I suppose not. I’m still sorry though. I just wish I could help more.”
“You’ve already helped a lot, with the blanket and everything. I…” Ashton swallows and presses his lips together tightly before continuing, “I know I’m not great company, but having you here is… it’s nice.”
“Glad to hear it.” Orym pauses, and Ashton can almost hear him thinking. When he speaks again, he sounds hesitant, “There… might be one other thing we can try.”
“What’re you thinkin’?” There’s not much Ashton’s not willing to try at the moment. Fuck, they’d probably let Orym hit them over the head with their own hammer at this point.
“Well… back in Issylra, I did a bit of pressure point massage for you. It– I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but it seemed to help some at the time. If it wouldn’t help with this, that’s okay. Just thought I’d offer.”
Huh. Ashton mulls that over for a moment. If it was anyone else offering, he’d refuse them immediately, but… this is Orym. He’d never intentionally cause them harm. And if Ashton is being fully honest with themself, the hand massage in Issylra had been… good. Really fucking good. Like yeah, it had hurt, but it had provided a competing sensation to drown out their usual background pain and relieved the worst of the aching tension.
“Fuck it, yeah sure. Let’s try it. Don’t think you can make it any worse.”
“Okay.” Orym shuffles down towards Ashton’s right hand and gently repositions their arm to lay across his lap, “Hard and fast, yeah? Or would it be better to take it slow when it’s this bad?”
“Hard and fast. I’ll tell you to ease up if I need it.” He briefly wonders if this’ll feel different with the new, volcanic arm. Last time they’d tried this, Ashton had still had all his original limbs. He doesn't have much time to wonder about it, because Orym is suddenly driving his little halfling thumb hard into Ashton’s palm, “Fffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccckkkk…”
“Is that a good ‘fuck’, or a bad ‘fuck’?” Orym asks, stilling the movement of his hand but maintaining pressure. Ashton sucks in a deep, shaking breath through his nose and bites down hard on his lip.
“Good,” he grits out through his teeth, “S’good. I’ll tell you if it’s not. Fuck.” The pressure from Orym’s thumb is sending a wave of tingles all the way up his arm. He wouldn’t call it pleasant, exactly, but it’s also not unpleasant? It’s doing something to their brain that at least makes the rest of their pain easier to ignore.
“Okay. I’ll work my way up your arm to your shoulder, and then I can do your other side if it helps. If there’s anywhere I shouldn’t touch, just let me know.”
And that’s exactly what Orym does. He’s quick to get to work, pressing his thumbs hard into Ashton’s pressure points. He spends several minutes on their hand before moving on to their wrist and up their forearm. His clever little hands easily find every knot and point of tension, digging in and kneading at Ashton's muscles until they loosen and relax. Every so often Orym will switch from using mainly his thumbs to the knuckles of his first two fingers, driving the points of them deep into Ashton’s stony flesh with painful precision. Other times he presses and drags with the heel of his palm to cover a wider surface area.
On one hand, it hurts like an absolute motherfucker. On the other, the sheer relief that follows is almost overwhelming. Orym seems completely focused on his task, only speaking to check in with Ashton, or to murmur the odd reassurance. Ashton just lies there while Orym works his magic, trying to keep from squirming. He focuses hard on breathing through the pain, giving a choked groan occasionally or letting out long strings of swears. Eventually Orym is finished with Ashton’s right arm, and lays it gently down at their side. His boots crunch lightly in the dirt as he stands and makes his way around to Ashton’s left, pausing briefly to kneel next to their head.
“Do you want me to do the other arm too? I know the scarring is pretty bad there. I don’t wanna make it worse if it hurts too much to touch.” Orym’s voice is soft in Ashton’s good ear. They suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly as they take stock of how their body feels after Orym’s ministrations. Ashton’s right arm definitely feels… not good, but better… though the bar for feeling ‘better’ isn’t exactly high right now. Still, he’ll take what he can fucking get.
“Yeah. I– we can try. Just… maybe go easier around the scars? I’ll tell you to back off if I need to.”
“Okay.” Orym rises again and pads around to settle at Ashton’s left side. A rush of intense pain zigzags up their arm when Orym lifts it into his lap. Ashton bites back a cry at the motion, tears stinging under his eyelids. He’s suddenly grateful for the cool, damp cloth covering his eyes, though it does nothing to hide the strangled sound that escapes his throat.
“Easy, big guy. Deep breaths.” Orym encourages, setting his thumb to the pressure point between Ashton’s thumb and first finger. He gives Ashton a chance to catch their breath first before pressing in hard, slowly working his way up from their hand to their shoulder. By the time Orym is massaging around the joint of their shoulder– carefully avoiding the web-like pattern of their impact fractures– Ashton is beginning to tremble. Fuck, he really hopes Orym doesn’t notice.
“Ash, you okay? You’re shaking.”
Goddammit.
“M’okay. It– fuck–it's a lot.” He swallows around the lump in their throat, and definitely doesn’t fucking sniffle.
“Alright. I’m pretty much done with this arm anyway.” Orym releases most of the pressure on their shoulder, but doesn’t remove his hand, “Are you able to turn onto your front? I can do your neck and back more easily that way.” Ashton shifts experimentally and immediately stills as a surge of pain echoes through his scars and his skull.
“Nope. Fuck. No moving. Can’t.”
“Shhh, it’s okay. I can still work on your neck like this, it’ll just be hard to be as thorough.” Orym gives their shoulder a soft little rub, clearly trying to be comforting, “Do you want me to keep going, or do you need to stop? Or even just to take a break?”
“Keep going. Please.”
“Okay. I’ve got you.” Orym moves to sit behind Ashton’s head, “I’ll have to lift your head a little to get my hands under. I’ll be quick.” Ashton grunts in affirmation and holds his breath. Orym slips his hands under their head and neck, lifting just enough to slide his legs beneath. Once Ashton’s head is settled in Orym’s lap, he presses his fingers into the back of their neck and starts working on the knotted-up muscles. Ashton sighs with relief as the tension starts to ease.
“Thanks.” Ashton whispers. They hope Orym understands how much sincerity they’re trying to put in that one word, because they don’t think they can say much more than that right now.
“‘Course, Ash. Any time.” He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again, “I… get the sense you maybe don’t like talking about this stuff, but… you know you can always come to me if your pain is bothering you, yeah? Even if I can’t help, if you just wanna vent about it or whatever. I’m here.”
“I– yeah, I know. Force of habit.” Ashton winces, “When you have chronic pain, most people don’t actually want to hear about it.”
“What d’you mean?”
“When you mention that you’re in pain all the time, people just wanna tell you how to fix it. I’ve had more miracle healers and fad diet bullshit recommended to me than I know what to fucking do with. When they finally get it through their heads that there’s no fixing me, it gets real fucking awkward. They treat you like you’re breakable instead of just asking what you need from them, and other shit like that. It’s just easier not to bring it up.”
“I can kinda understand that. People are weird about grief too.” There’s a bitterness in Orym’s voice that Ashton can only remember hearing once or twice before, “Half the reason I left Zephrah in the first place was ‘cause I was sick of everyone acting like they were walking on eggshells around me. When you’re surrounded by people who know exactly what you’ve lost, they don’t really treat you like a person anymore so much as a fragile object.”
“See, I think that’s why I like you so much.” Ashton’s words are starting to slur together as the pain eases and the exhaustion sets in. Normally they’d never say half this shit out loud.
“Because I’m a widower?” Orym’s voice sounds bemused, but not offended. He’s still digging his fingers and thumbs hard into the muscles of Ashton’s neck, loosening the knots on either side of their spine.
“Fuck no!” Ashton growls, “It’s because you fucking get it. You know what it’s like to carry that shit around all the time, and you don’t treat me like I’m made of fucking glass."
“Part of you is made of glass,” Orym points out teasingly, referring to the implant in their head. Ashton snorts.
“That's slag glass, though, not that breakable shit. Same as my hammer. Sturdy as fuck.” Orym chuckles softly at that, and Ashton can’t help but smile slightly.
“Speaking of, how’s your head? Am I okay to touch near the glass?”
“Better not,” Ashton grimaces, “It’s real fucking bad right now.”
“Got it.” Orym’s thumbs move to the hinge of Ashton’s jaw and no higher. He kneads long, slow circles into the muscles there, reducing the tension from hours spent gritting their teeth. They give a heavy sigh and let their head rest limply in Orym’s lap. He tends to run warmer than Ashton does, and his little body is curled snugly around their head as he works. It’s almost enough to relax Ashton fully, if it weren’t for the sharp, jittering buzz that always creeps in with his migraines.
“You should probably try to get some sleep,” Orym murmurs, “The rest of us will take care of keeping watch tonight.”
“I dunno if I…” Ashton trails off and hums with uncertainty, “Have you ever been so fucking tired that you can’t sleep?” Orym pauses for a moment before resuming his ministrations.
“A few times. Mostly right after… the attack. I relived it every time I closed my eyes. I had periods where I wouldn’t be able to sleep for days.” His voice wavers, but his hands are steady, “Turns out, if you go without sleep long enough you start hallucinating. Eventually I just kept seeing it all the time. Waking or sleeping, didn’t fucking matter.”
“Shit. That… really fucking sucks, man.” It feels like the wrong thing to say, but Ashton’s bad at words on a good day– and today is decidedly not a good fucking day. Orym gives a huff of bitter laughter.
“Yeah. Yeah, it did. Nel had to start making a medicine for me that would help me sleep.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “She used to tell me not to try to force sleep to happen when I felt that bad. It’s better to get comfortable and let your body rest as much as it can, even if you can’t quiet your mind enough to fall asleep.”
“Fuck, man. I’m just… I’m so fucking sick of this shit. Most of the time I can kinda just ignore it, but when it’s like this it…” Ashton trails off, leaving their frustration hanging in the air. Orym rubs a thumb soothingly over their right temple, keeping well away from the glass implant on their left side.
“The background noise gets too loud to ignore anymore.”
“Yeah.” Ashton presses their lips tightly together, wishing they could lean into that touch without causing the pain to flare back up again. “I’m… so tired…”
“I know. I’m here. Anything you need.” Orym reassures them in a low voice, still smoothing his thumb gently back and forth, “Sleep if you can. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ashton hums, too exhausted to talk anymore. They focus as much of their mind as they can on the warmth of Orym’s touch, and the aching relief in the muscles he’d so carefully tended to. They try to keep their breathing deep and slow, relaxing as much as they can with the lingering pain still clamoring for their attention.
Eventually Ashton manages to find himself in something like a meditative state. Not sleeping, exactly, but more restful than they can usually manage without drinking himself into a stupor. He’s not sure exactly how long he lays there like that, but at some point he’s roused by the touch of a cool metal hand and a wash of restorative magic.
“Wh– wha…?” Ashton fumbles the cloth (no longer damp or cool) from his face and squints blearily up at FCG.
“It’s just me, Ashton,” Grass speaks as quietly as they can muster, limited slightly by the volume regulator on their voice box, “I’m just comin’ off my shift on watch. Givin’ you a little top-up before I power down for the night.”
“Oh. Thanks.” He really does feel better. Not amazing, he’s still fucking exhausted, but… better. When Ashton looks around, they find their head is still pillowed on Orym’s lap. Orym himself is deeply asleep– still sitting mostly upright, eyes closed and breathing softly. They spot a pair of long, furry goat legs sticking out from behind him, and realize that Orym is sleeping leaned up against Fearne’s back.
“He started noddin’ off and we didn’t have the heart to move either of you.” FCG explains fondly. Ashton smiles tiredly at them, settling back down a little more comfortably.
“I appreciate that. Your spell helped a whole fucking lot, but I’m still not really up to moving around much.”
“Happy to help. You should get some more sleep. Hopefully you’ll be back up to snuff in the mornin’.” FCG pats Ashton on the arm and takes his leave, wheeling closer to the campfire and quickly dropping into stasis mode. Ashton follows soon after, finally able to sleep properly with the worst of his pain soothed by Letters’ restoration magic.
When Ashton wakes in the morning, he’s back to his regular, baseline levels of pain. It’s a little in-his-face upon first waking, but simple enough to push into the background once he gets more alert. His mind feels slightly removed from his body– as it often does after a bad migraine or pain flare-up– but that usually gets better as the day goes on. Ashton yawns and stretches carefully, pleased to find that the motion hurts no more than normal. Thank fuck.
They finally blink their eyes open to find Orym looking back. He hasn’t moved an inch since last night, not even to do his usual morning workout routine. Ashton’s actually a little touched by that realization.
“Morning,” Orym smiles warmly, “How’re you feeling?”
“Way fucking better. Back to normal levels.” Ashton sits up with a groan, rolling his shoulders to test their range of motion. When they look back over at Orym again, he’s watching them carefully– probably looking for any signs of pain.
Ah, fuck it, Ashton thinks to himself. They reach out and pull Orym into a crushing hug, wrapping their arms around his tiny body and almost lifting him fully off the ground. He makes a surprised little sound at first, but is quick to return the embrace. His arms reach as far as they can around Ashton’s ribcage and squeeze, pressing his face into their chest.
“Thanks. It– I just–” Ashton stammers and gives up on trying to explain, “Thank-you.”
“Of course, Ash. Any time.” He lingers in the hug for a long moment, then pulls back just enough to catch Ashton’s eye, “You hungry? There’s breakfast.”
“Fucking starving.” They finally release Orym from their arms and ruffle his hair with one hand. Then Ashton hauls himself to his feet, only wobbling for a second before finding his balance. Orym reaches up and holds onto their finger, leading them over to the campfire where the rest of their friends are waiting.
The pain’s not gone, of course, it never fucking leaves. It’s probably one of the few things Ashton has ever really been able to count on. But– dangerous though it might be– he’s really starting to think that maybe he can count on these people too.