"Did you hear about that stuff that went down with Lauren Jauregui?" Ashley asks as she slides under the white sheets to your left.
You set your book down and look over at your girlfriend in her silk top and pajama shorts, eyeing her Little Prince tattoos until they vanish from view. "Uh, no. What happened?"
Ashley's head is in your lap before she responds. Hazel eyes looking up at you while you run your fingers over her shaved head. The short hairs tickle your fingers. "She got outed," she says solemnly. "Like some fans got some pictures of her and her girlfriend, Lucy, and leaked them. Can you imagine?"
Your heart sinks in your chest. Being outed prematurely as a normal person is hard, but being outed with a fanbase? That must fucking suck. Flashbacks of the coming out you never had distract you. "Poor girl," you mutter after a length of silence. "God, that's awful."
"I know. People are so fucked up. I hate it. Why couldn't they respect her privacy? You know how it feels so I can only imagine." A frustrated sigh blows Ashley's minty breath into your face.
"That is truly awful. It's giving me flashbacks and anxiety just thinking about it. I can't imagine what it's like to do that to someone so popular and famous. Contracts ruined those girls, I swear."
"Yeah, for sure. They were so young and desperate to do what they love that they got hosed on the business and legal sides. I feel so bad for them, but especially Lauren. She's literally the most chill and kind person I've ever fucking met. All of this is fucked up to the max."
"Is there anything we can do?"
"Probably. Can you hand me my phone?"
You reach over to Ashley's nightstand and grab her phone with its cracked screen that she refuses to get fixed. Her cold hands slide up your shirt after it rises up due to your shifting and reaching. "How are you supposed to use a phone with no hands?" You smirk down at her.
She smiles coyly back up at you. "I figured you'd text her." A hand runs up your back while the other caresses the underside of your breast. "Please?"
"Ashley, quit it. Plus you're the one who's good with words."
Her hands retreat. "Fine," she pouts, "hand me the fuckin thing."
"It was your suggestion don't get short with me."
"Bleh, bleh, bleh." The brown-haired girl mocks you and you pinch her side. "Fuck. Okay, I'll stop. What should I say?"
"Just tell her that we're here for her and if she needs anything to let you know."
You watch Ashley type for a few minutes, deleting and retyping at least five times. Her forehead is scrunched in concentration and her tongue is poking out of the corner of her mouth. She looks so cute and tiny, especially with the way she's positioned on your lap.
"Okay. How about this: 'hey, lauren. i heard about what happened. first off, i'm sorry. that is such bullshit that you do not need to deal with. second, me and y/n are here for you no matter what. shoot either of us a text if you need anything. we both love you to death and want you to be happy, healthy, and safe. with so much love and adoration, ashley."
"That's perfect, baby."
"Cool. I sent it. I feel like it's not enough though..." she trails off. You're fairly sure that you know exactly where this is going.
"Twitter rant?" You ask her.
"Twitter. Fucking. Rant." She says and sits up against the headboard, fingers flying 140 characters a second.
Your social activist and vigilante. Righting the world one twitter lecture at a time. The love of your life. Stealing pieces of your heart one day at a time.
