𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓⁰²ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ

ㅤㅤㅤ v ──spider web

"Ase?" He managed to say my name first, face of confusion changing to one of delight. "Are you okay?"

He gestured to the street in front of us, only then I noticed I was about to walk through a busy pedestrian lane. Busy with cars, rather than people.

"Oh..." I blankly gape at the packed street, cars whipping past and making me imagine what would've happened if I'd interrupted their drive with the sudden impact of my body.

Ashton gave an awkward chuckle, taking back his arm once he was sure I was aware of the situation. "You seemed quite distracted with whatever you were thinking of,"

I nodded. "Mhm," I was a few steps away from meeting my brother. I wasn't sure why I felt so apathetic about the prospect.

"You would've died," Ashton added the obvious.

This didn't seem like such a serious thing to be contemplating about, but I would've been gone.

"Mhm," I nodded again, tearing my eyes away. "Um. Thank you,"

Strange it was how quickly your breath could be taken away.

"Did you just get off work?" Ashton asked, shoving his hands in his pocket and looking down at me inquisitively.

I took a moment to notice how he looked to be a little laid back, wearing a simple band tee and a leather jacket, concealing his tattoos from my sight.

"Um, yeah. I did. You?" I shuffled to look up at him properly as I realised that I hadn't even known he was so tall since in all our interactions, he'd been sitting down and I'd been standing.

He nodded and looked ahead at the street, eyeing the red stop light. "Yeah, me too. I'm headed to a flower shop to meet up with a friend,"

"Oh? What do you do?"

"I'm a group therapist," He answered, his pride in his job lighting up his face. "It's at this church almost an hour from here,"

I looked away for a moment, a couple things lining up in my mind with what he'd said. Group therapy and church, Michael and Liz. Funny how that made sense.

"What were you thinking of?" He nudged my side with his arm and smiled, a small dimple making itself be known. "Right before you almost died,"

I shoved the thought of the church and group therapy away from my mind and anchored myself to his and my conversation. "Nothing. Just work,"

He gave a knowing nod. "Ah. Was it a good working day?"

A small smile featured my lips when I observed that he was quite good at making you feel heard, or that he was paying full attention to your every word. Then again, he was a therapist - there wouldn't be any a more successful bet than to put your money down on the fact that he'd talk to you as though you were the most interesting person he'd met by far.

"Yeah, I'd say so," I answered, recalling to the hour when Liz took her leave and left a pretty generous tip. "Got to serve a couple nice people today, except for that one guy who just refused to acknowledge me," I rolled my eyes at the memory. He barely looked at me, told his friend his order so his friend could tell me his order, and left a quite a weighty tip of a whole dollar.

He nodded, pursing his tips. "You've served me, right, so tell me,"

I kept my eyes peeled at his playful features. "Mhm,"

"Am I a good tipper?" He laid the question out and looked at me, and I could sense he was trying to read me. "I tipped twenty for what was ordered, I'm sure that's a good tip,"