Heterochromia ● a.i

27

(WARNING: Sexual Content. Nothing really happens in this chapter so if you wanna skip, go right ahead. If not, here ya go. Merry Christmas, here's your Christmas present: smut.)

(Ashton's P.O.V.)

I turn around to see Dylan standing in a white t-shirt that drops to her mid-thigh and hangs loosely over one shoulder. She isn't wearing pants and her hair is wet. I expect to see hurt laced in her features, but instead her cheeks are red and her chest moves slowly up in down. The tips of her hair are dripping onto her shirt making her chest translucent through the white fabric. Her breathing is slightly rigid and I her eyes are blazing with fire.

"I asked you a question," she says through gritted teeth.

I place the picture frame down, "I was just looking, sorry."

"Don't touch things that aren't yours."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion, "I didn't know it was yours, I'm sorry."

"I'm in the picture, how the fuck did you think it wasn't mine?"

"I was just looking at it. I didn't think it was a big deal," I shrug, looking around the room.

"Don't just assume things."

"Why are you getting so defensive, it's a fucking picture."

"It isn't just a 'fucking picture' to me," she uses air quotes.

A knock sounds at the door and Dylan and my attention turns from each other's. The door opens and Luke steps in. He keeps his hand on the door handle.

"Hey, just thought I'd let ya know that Violet, Michael, Laith, Aubrey, Cal, and I are gonna take a little night-beach-walk thing. You guys can come if ya want," he says.

"Not now, Luke. Maybe another night," Dylan says as she moves the front section of hair behind her shoulder.

My eyes dart to her slightly reveled chest then back to her face, "yeah, Dylan and I need to talk."

She shoots me a glare and we both gaze at Luke. I watch as Luke's eyes rake up and down Dylan's body. He licks his lips and stop for a moment at the visible section through her t-shirt. I feel anger prick at my skin more so than before.

"Alright, see you guys," he says with a smirk and walks out.

"Close the door," I shout.

When he doesn't I groan and go close it myself. When I turn around, I see Dylan trying to go back into the bathroom. I stride over to the door and stop her before she can close it. She jumps back out of shock when I open the door wider.

"Dylan, we have to talk," I demand.

She rolls her eyes and walks back into the room, "what do we have to talk about?"

"Why the fuck that picture is so damn important to you."

She directs her gaze at the picture then back at me, "it's my picture."

"That's Harry, isn't it?" I cross my arms over my chest.

Her face twists with confusion, "what?"

"That's Harry. Is it not?"

"It is," she mimics my actions.

"Why does it matter so much to you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Yes, Dylan, it kind of is. I've kind of out two and two together. But you need to get over it, Dylan. He's dead, okay? You're supposed to be mine, not his," I use her previous words against her.