Clean Slate » a.i. au

Fourteen

         "Ash?" I call, shivers running up my spine as I walk into the rather chilly hallway, compared to the hot bathroom I'd previously spent half an hour in. "Where are you?"

         "Bedroom." Hm, that was a silly question. Whenever the door of our room was open – and to my annoyance, it was open practically 24/7 – it meant that one of us was in there.

         In most cases, Ashton.

         I walk across the hall, my body a little tense as my bare feet pad across the cold parquet, until I get to the doorway; sure enough, he's in a half-lying position in our bed, his eyes intently fixated on the box TV on the other side of the room. I smile, and then roll my eyes at the screams coming from his video game- I swear, one day he's going to get so caught up blowing up zombies, he's gonna forget to eat.

         "What'cha doing?" I ask in a playful tone, though I already know what his video games are about from start to finish, and walk over to him. He actually starts talking about it – for God knows what time – right until I grip the towel I wrapped around myself tighter, so it doesn't fall off, and place my left leg in his lap. He winces at my action, the screams from the TV becoming louder as he loses focus and averts his stare to my extended leg; his parted lips and otherwise blank face are very well becoming my favorite sight in the world.

         "What do you want?"

         Oh, he's so cute, wanting to act all tough when I'm more than obviously making him all flustered.

         "Butterfly."

         He sighs, pretending to be irritated by me, and picks up the permanent marker from the night stand next to him- he already knew I'd ask for this. He was prepared. "When are you gonna get off my back with this butterfly shit?"

         "Whenever you want me to," I reply meekly, ruffling his hair as he sits up to get a better hold of my leg, as he draws a new butterfly over the old, faded one. "So never."

         He snorts, "And people say I'm the asshole in this relationship."

         "You are."

         Ashton doesn't react, as he's finishing the outline of his masterpiece, situated northwest of my knee; afterwards he leans back, falling onto his pillow with a sigh, and absentmindedly throws the marker away- he's back into the asshole character, that's for sure.

         "Now I need you to do me a favor," He says in a relaxed, almost bored tone as he picks up his joystick again.

         "What?"

         "I'm gonna save this city, and by the time I finish, you lose the towel and lie next to me."

         I raise my brows, impressed by his boldness. "But my hair is wet."

         "There's only one part of you that I care about being wet, and it's not your hair."

         This time laughing, I shake my head and turn around to agonizingly slowly walk out of the room. "Dream about it."

         "Lucy!" I bite my lip as I hear him yell when I get out of our room- I'm smart enough to know he won't come after me or anything, saving the city from zombies is way more important. "Baby, you can't work me up like that and then-"

         "Watch me!"

         "...Choke on air."

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