A loud honk from the bustling street below his stirs Ashton from his blissful sleep. He parts his eyelids a microfraction only to snap fully alert when he realizes you aren't in the bed next to him, where he left you gasping and sweaty last night.
He sits up, the starchy white sheets sliding down his chest as he scans the room for you.
"Y/n?" he calls out groggily, his voice raspy from and the noisy night he'd just spent with you, "where'd you go?"
You pop your head out from the bathroom, your arms up by your head as you tried to comb out the tangles his fingers had made. "I'm here. Good morning, sleepyhead."
Ashton smiles lazily as he props himself on one arm, enjoying the view of you in nothing other than his old 5SOS shirt.
"You're up early," he comments. His face then lights up with that cheeky grin he knows you love, "you usually can't be budged until noon when I've had my way with you."
You tried to glare at him but end up cracking a smile. "Yeah, I was thinking about going to the coffee shop on the corner, but there's no way I'm gonna be able to hobble that far for the next couple hours. Besides," you give up on your hair and throw it into a bun before rejoining him, "you've given me a couple marks that I can't really go out in public with." You pull the collar of the t-shirt back to reveal several spots along your neck and collarbones, ranging from pink to dark purple.
Ashton puffs up proudly, "well, you're mine. And everyone should know." He wraps his arms around you to pull you in for a cuddle, only for you to gently push on his chest to keep some space between the two of you.
"Ash, we've talked about this," you say with a frown, " I am not 'yours.' We are not official. Nobody knows about us and they never will." Sure you guys hung out and snuck in "adult sleepovers" regularly, but you had made it clear that there could be nothing more between you two, not when you relied on his management team for your paycheck. Your contract clearly states that, as their publicist's assistant, the relationship between you and all band members must remain professional. You never thought that would be difficult to hold true to since the whole "pop punk" persona never appealed to you. But then Ashton's stunning smile and endearing demeanor left you smitten, and once he made it clear had his eye on you as well...
"Come on, y/n," Ashton sighs irritably, "we both know that we've moved past the FWB phase."
You scoff at him, "did you really just say 'FWB?'"
"Y/n, I'm serious." He looks straight at you, the usual playful gleam absent from his eyes. "I can't do this whole fuck buddy thing anymore. I'm sick of falling in love with you behind locked doors and then having to act like strangers everywhere else."
You close your eyes and let your head fall back onto the wood headboard. "I can't Ash! You know it's against my contract and it's unfair for you to put me in a position like this."
"Fuck your contract!" Ashton fumes, "why should it matter if we're in a relationship? I mean, it's not like it's going to interfere with our work! We're adults for Chrissake! They can't tell us who we can and can't see!"
You frown, Ashton's tantrum quickly growing weary, "well, they can tell me. They're my bosses."
"And you're just okay with that?" he snaps as he rolls out of bed and steps out onto the open balcony, gripping the sheet around his waist so hard his knuckles turn white. He leans onto the railing with his free arm, his delicious back muscles visibly tense. "I would like to think that you'd see me as worth challenging the rules for. That we're worth fighting for. Don't you want to give us a chance?"
"You know I do, Ash!" you retort, "I've told you over and over if I could do something, I would. I wish we could walk down the street without having to watch how we act with eachother, that I could hold your hand and kiss you whenever the hell I want. But-"
His harsh laugh cuts you off. "There always a 'but' with you. You know, if you really meant what you said, you would think of something. I know you, y/n. If you really want something, you don't take no for an answer. So stop fucking playing with me!"
"You are so selfish!" you spit, rolling out of bed and picking up your clothes from where you discarded them last night, "you're asking me to put my job on the line! They could fire me Ash! Everything I've been working for would be gone! I'd be known as the publisher who sleeps around with clients to get hired! I know you can't understand that-"
"Do you really think that I'd let them do that?" he snaps, whirling around to face you, "that I wouldn't do everything in my power to get them to see you're more than another late night fling? I wouldn't just throw you out there to fight this alone! We'd be a team!"
You freeze, your leg halfway through your leggings. You want nothing more than to run over to Ashton and hold him tight, to trust everything he's saying and believe that everything would work out. But you've worked too hard to get where you are now. Years of sleepless nights waiting at agencies and burned relationships finally resulted in a tiny window of opportunity that you knew not to take for granted. This was your chance to make it in the big leagues, and you couldn't afford to compromise it for anybody. Not even this beautiful, golden sweetheart who makes your stomach tie knots like a familiar pair of sneakers.
"I wish I could make you understand.." you murmur, "if things were different, we could make this work. But right now I have to focus on my career. I owe myself that much."
"I get it," Ashton voices unconvincingly. "I do. But you should probably go."
"Ash..."
"Please."
You silently gather your things and head toward the door. You open it a hair before turning your head and murmuring so quietly you doubt he heard you.
"I love you, Ashton Irwin. I really do."
And just like smoke through bare fingers, you're gone, the door clicking softly behind you, leaving Ashton alone on the balcony looking down at the bustling street below.
