Heterochromia ● a.i

47

(Dylan's P.O.V.)

"This morning I got a call from Gemma, Harry's sister, and she asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner tonight. Would that be okay?" I ask as Ashton loads the dishwasher with dishes we just bought from Target.

He puts a plate in the rack and shrugs, "I mean, I don't see why not. It's not my decision. Do you know how long you'll be?"

"No, it's only dinner, but they probably expect me to stay over." The words slip before I can catch them.

Ashton turns to look at me with a confused expression. "What?"

I swallow. "I usually stay over at their house whenever I go over. It's mainly because they live almost an hour away. Now, only like twenty minutes. It's just something I do, I guess."

He sighs, "just text me if you plan on staying over, okay?"

I smile. I'm so glad he's being open to this. God I love him. Speaking of that, I still haven't told him I love him and I currently feel like complete shit. I threw up twice this morning and then had a coughing fit twenty minutes ago, so I'm great. It's day four since I officially moved in with Ashton. Things have been lovely and simple. We don't do much. I've been helping Ashton look for a job and I turned in my application to Books and Company. I'm waiting for them to call me about setting up an interview.

Once all of the dishes are in the dishwasher, Ashton turns it on and walks over to me. I'm sitting on the counter and he steps in between my legs. I wrap my arms around his neck and he rests his hands on my hips. He kisses me softly and when we pull away, I rest my head in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around me and I do the same to him. One of his hands runs soothingly up and down my back.

"How're you feeling?" He asks softly.

"I'm okay." I whisper.

"You need to eat something."

"I know."

"What do you want to eat?"

"Your dick." Ashton pulls away and I start laughing uncontrollably. "I'm sorry! I had to!"

"You really didn't!" He tries to suppress a laugh but fails miserably.

"Okay, okay. But seriously, I have no idea."

He sighs, "we have cereal," he says as he looks through our cabinets, "we have noodles, we have chips, we have sandwich stuff in the fridge. I could make you something? When is your dinner?"

"I'm supposed to be there at six."

"It's one now, so would you want something small?"

"You don't have to make me anything-"

"Dylan, you threw up your dinner last night at two in the morning and then threw your breakfast up in the middle of eating it. You have to eat something."

"I will just eat over there. I'm okay."

"If you don't stop vomiting like this by next week I'm taking you to the doctor."

Panic fills me instantly, "no, Ash, you don-"

"Yes, Dylan! I do! You hardly eat and when you do you vomit almost instantly! This isn't healthy! You've lost probably thirty-five pounds now!"

"Ashton, I don't weigh ninety-five pounds."

He raises his eyebrows to challenge me, "really? Let's go weigh you."

I hop off the counter reluctantly and follow him to the bathroom. We bought the scale along with our dishes and Ashton set it up while I was in the shower. He pulls it out from under the sink and sets it on the tile. I give him a do-I-have-to look and he nods. I step on and watch as the number fluctuates between one-hundred-two and ninety-nine. It finally stops at one-hundred-one and I sigh. I've lost nine pounds since the last time I weighed myself.