Ashton
Gavin was staring at his phone, lounging across two seats. Laughing at his screen.
He was a good friend, biscuit theft aside.
When he learned I was going to have dinner with Robbie’s family today, he interjected himself into the mix.
Few friends would be that considerate.
Not buying it? Nah, me neither.
He was, however, a nosy-parker, chaos goblin. Who suffered a bit from F.O.M.O. As in Fear. Of. Missing. Out.
If there was the possibility of there being some drama, then there was no way he was going to stay home. Hence why he was tagging along, under the guise of offering moral and emotional support. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I just got a cat...
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket.
Robbie
That’s how it started, that first Sunday with messages.
Late-night ones.
Early-morning ones.
The kind that made my chest feel too full.
He sent a shy emoji after that. I stared at it for a full minute, smiling like an idiot.
That, and every day since.
It wasn’t just texts; it was video calls and days out visiting museums.
I remember our first day out. The British weather was not cooperating, and it was raining cats and dogs. I never understood that saying, but ‘when in Rome,’ or London, you just go with it.
I’d suggested the Wallace Collection. A Museum that had a bit of everything. Not knowing what kind of thing Robbie would be into.
As soon as we walked through the door and saw the exhibits, Robbie’s eyes turned to me, wide and overcome with excitement.
“I want you to explain things to me,” Robbie said. “You light up when you talk about stuff you love.”
I didn’t know what to do with that.
No one had ever wanted my explanations before.
So, I told him everything: about the paintings, the sculptures, the suits of armour. He listened like every word mattered.
At one point, I was rambling about the way the artist had used light and shadow to create depth when I noticed a woman nearby watching us with a thoughtful expression. She approached, smiling.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you studying art here? Your knowledge is impressive.”
I blinked. “Oh, no. I’m not studying anymore; I graduated from The Royal College of Art a few years ago.”
Robbie snorted. I elbowed him.
The woman handed me a card.
“If you’re ever interested, we take interns. Paid ones. You’d fit right in.”
I stared at the card long after she had left.
Robbie nudged me gently.
“You should do it,” he said. “You’d be brilliant.”
No one had ever said that to me before.
Not like they meant it.
My head was buzzing with so many thoughts, and at the very top of the list was Robbie and the fact that I’d never have been offered this opportunity if it weren’t for him.
As the weeks went by, we found a rhythm of meeting halfway — Richmond, Waterloo, Southbank.
We tried new cafés.
Robbie always ordered something safe.
I always stole a bite.
He’d pretend to be outraged.
I’d pretend to be innocent.
We talked about everything — his dad, my work, his writing, my fears.
He never flinched.
Never judged.
Just listened.
And every time he looked at me, that knot in my chest loosened a little more.
When we said goodbye at stations, he’d linger.
Always linger.
Once, he kissed me on the cheek before boarding.
Just a brush of lips.
Soft.
Quick.
But it stayed with me all night.
I replayed it like a favourite song.
Somewhere between the texts, the calls, the museums, the stolen bites of cake, and the way he’d say “Ash” like it was a secret...
I realised I wasn’t performing anymore.
I wasn’t pretending.
I wasn’t hiding.
I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I was just...me.
And he liked me anyway.
Maybe even because of it.
And for the first time in years, the future didn’t feel like a blank page.
It felt like a story we were writing together.
I’m not sure I know what love is; I’ve never really felt it. But to me...
This could be.
Love.
The train wheels squealed and clanked as we pulled to a stop; the sudden lurch snapped me out of my thoughts.
Exiting the platform, we stood outside the train station, scanning up and down the road toward the car park.
I heard Robbie’s car before I saw it.
When he’d said he owned a sports car, I didn’t know what I was expecting — but it definitely wasn’t the cutest little German coupe rolling toward us like it had just strutted out of a 90s advert.
“Wow. No way.” Gavin frowned.
“No way! Why?”
“Mate, that’s a Mark One Audi TT. And it barely seats two people. There’s no way we’re all fitting in that.”
Robbie pulled up beside us and lowered the window, all sunshine and smiles, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Gavin, on the other hand, looked like he’d just witnessed a crime.
“Can I give you a lift?” Robbie called out.
“Not unless you’re strapping Ashton to the roof,” Gavin muttered.
Wait. What?
I stared at my soon-to-be ex-best friend. “Why am I getting strapped to the roof and not you?”
“Because you’re smaller than me,” he said, completely unapologetic. “And I’m a guest. So, you should give me your seat.”
“But I’m a guest too. So...who gets the seat now?”
“Flip a coin?” Gavin was already digging in his pocket when Robbie stepped out of the car.
“You two are being ridiculous,” Robbie said, pointing inside. “It has a back seat.”
Technically true.
If you were the size of a hobbit.
“Found one!” Gavin announced triumphantly, holding up a coin. “Heads or tails?”
Robbie was barely holding back an eye-roll as we bickered.
“Heads,” I said quickly, before Gavin could call it.
He flicked the coin, caught it, covered it with his hand, and gave me that chaos-goblin smirk. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“Nope. Heads.”
He lifted his hand.
His defeated sigh told me everything before I even saw the coin.
Robbie’s shoulders shook with soft giggles spilling from his very kissable mouth.
Watching Gavin contort himself into the back seat was...honestly the highlight of my day. He folded in on himself like a human pretzel, knees jammed against the back of the passenger seat, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestled with the seatbelt.
Good thing he managed it, because Robbie didn’t drive like he had Miss Daisy on board. More like he was auditioning for a rally team.
We zipped through streets lined with everything from Victorian terraces to shiny new builds before pulling up outside a mid-century house with oversized windows.
Gavin groaned as he emerged from the car backwards, feet-first onto the pavement like he was being birthed by the Audi.
I turned — and spotted another car parked nearby. A guy leaned against it, matching Robbie’s description of his housemate, Evan.
Looks like dinner was about to get even more interesting.