Chapter 5 - Fool
Fool
"Where were you?"
It was late. It'd take Ashton all day to work up the courage to come down here and try to find out Dylan’s schedule. He wasn't certain now whether he found it lucky or not to find the man instead.
Not, he decided, eyeing the left side where Logan and Oz had set up camp again at one of the computer stations.
Both of their heads were down, and Oz was wearing those ridiculous can headphones of his.
Ashton could only hope that meant they really were as dead to the world as they appeared, unaware of his attempts to prod at something he suspected was better left alone.
"?Ah, cabrón! Don't fucking sneak up on a guy like that!" Dylan snarled, bringing Ashton up short.
Dylan was holding a big beige piece of machinery that clearly belonged to the printer cartridge, and — "Think you got ink on your hands," he pointed out.
Turning over his left hand, Dylan scowled down at the mess.
"?Me cago en tóner que mamaste del pezón de satanás!" Dylan hissed at the lab's massive printer, slapping its pale side with the palm of his — still clean — right hand.
The machine began to whir, and Dylan quickly shoved the cartridge into an open slot, looking suspicious but pleased. Until he turned to face Ashton, when his satisfied expression instantly dropped into a glower. "What do you fucking want?"
"You weren't — " Hastily, Ashton swallowed back his words. He glanced over at Logan and Oz again, uncertain.
"You weren't upstairs," Ashton tried again, dropping his voice low so they wouldn't be overheard. “At the party.”
"Never said I'd be, did I?" Dylan shrugged, wandering over to the computer lab's help desk as Ashton followed. "Said that if you went up there, you'd have your answer. So did you go?"
Ashton glared, but gave a slow nod.
"Really? Why?" Dylan asked, and Ashton wanted nothing more right then but to wipe that stupid smirk from his face — except for a spell that could erase that irritatingly knowing tone from his voice.
Why? He fucking asks me why?
"Why? Uh, because you said — " Ashton cut himself off, scowling, then lowered his voice again. "I mean, I thought we were gonna…"
"Gonna what, straight boy?" Dylan taunted, scowling down at where the toner was stubbornly clinging to the —
Oh. The three fingers of his left hand.
Wonder what happened there?
Feeling eyes on him, Ashton glanced over to find one of Dylan's coworkers watching them both. She wasn't even trying to be subtle about it, either; scissors held mid-cut on one of the snowflake chains that'd been taped up all around the lab, adding a desperate sort of cheer to the place.
"Hey, Paige," Dylan said, holding up his hand. "Can you cover the desk for a bit? I inked myself."
She laughed, but waved him on. "Twenty minutes, then it's my lunch break. And you gotta swear to keep three feet on the floor at all time!"
"Him?" Dylan shot her a disgusted look. "Please, I have standards."
Hey!
"Uh, no you don't, Dill," she countered with an unrepentant grin. "Didn't I see you disappear last week with the new guy on the janitorial staff who doesn't speak a lick of English — or Spanish — and you'd met him, what… five minutes before?"
Oh?
"Um, excuse you. It was at least a half hour, and we have a connection that transcends language." Dylan wadded up the stained paper towel he'd been using, lobbing it in a long and beautiful arc right into the trash. Ashton glanced back up at him, impressed.
"Whatever you say," she said, the laughter thick in her voice.
"I do say." Dylan gave a mock sniff. "Besides, Pavlo is hung like a horse. If you ever see it, you'll understand."
"Ah," Paige nodded sagely. "Now that I believe."
Dylan grabbed a water bottle from behind the desk, then indicated the double doors at the back of the lab with a tilt of his head.
"C'mon, fresa." Dylan grunted, already heading for the exit.
"What's that mean? Ashton asked, frowning at the unfamiliar term as he hurried to catch up.
"Fresa?" Dylan replied, cocking his head. "Oh, uh… slang for tough guy."
Oh. Really?
Ashton couldn't seem to contain the small smile curving his lips.
"Like that anime character?" he asked, glancing over curiously.
"Uh, sure," Dylan answered him without slowing down, heading right for… Wait.
Ashton abruptly froze in his tracks, as it suddenly clicked just where they were going.
Never had the sight of a men's room given him pause before. But then, he'd never kissed a guy before the other night either, had he? Nor tried to follow him after to do… whatever. And now here he was, following after Dylan for reasons he still couldn't quite work out, and —
"Not that one," Dylan called over his shoulder from up the hall, not breaking stride.
Wait, what?
Confused on far too many counts, Ashton jogged to catch up.
A long corridor, two lefts, and then Dylan brought them up short in front of an elevator, an awkwardness growing in the space between them as they waited for the doors to open.
Even when it arrived, it was as if Ashton wasn't even there as Dylan got on the elevator and pressed the button, not looking over once as they rode up in silence.
Ashton didn't know how he did it. It was as if there were ants on his hands. He had no idea what to do with them; crossing his arms then uncrossing them, sticking them in his pockets, before crossing them again.
What are you even doing here, man?
Ashton scowled up at the little line of numbers above the door, at a loss for anything like an answer.
You should ask him about your MassComm assignment.
You should ask him about his hair, or his piercings, or the patches on his jacket, or his classes, or – or something. Tell him about the house, or the 4P3$ concert you went to last week. Anything would be better than this silence.
Opening his mouth for a second, Ashton then shut it immediately on the question that'd almost come spilling out.
Not about kissing. Or…or anything else.
Geez, there wasn't even any elevator music to distract himself with.
Where are we going? I just thought we could, I dunno, talk about the other night. See if he was coming out to Luke's party, ask if he wants a ride or something. Could go hit up the bars and pre-game first.
Maybe then his hands would lose this itchy, twitchy feeling, his throat not feel so dry. Certainly would make Ashton feel less awkward, having this talk with a bit of a buzz going. Not drunk; he didn't get drunk. Just, y'know — something to take the edge off.
It was fine.
Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Ashton willed the elevator to go faster.
What if he's planning something? Do I want that? Where would we even —
The doors opened before Ashton finished chewing on the questions whirling round and round in his head.
Leading them immediately to the right, Dylan headed down another slightly shorter hallway before ducking into a men's room that, to Ashton, looked no different from the one downstairs.
It came complete with that same blend of staleness and yesterday's bleach that was baked into all the others on campus, making Ashton wrinkle his nose at the sullenly clinical scent.
Dylan continued to ignore him, their silence stretching out uncomfortably long while he scrubbed at the ink covering his fingers.
"Why are we all the way up here?" Ashton grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the cold, grey tile.
"Well, I am up here to get this stupid mess off my hand," Dylan growled, reaching for more soap from the dispenser on the wall.
"And I figured if you're going to follow me around like a lost puppy, then maybe you'd prefer the bathroom that’s always empty this time of night, instead of the lab's downstairs that's busier than Zócalo on the Day of the Dead. "
Breath stilling in his lungs, Ashton shifted back as Dylan leaned perilously close; shouldering his way into Ashton's personal space far more than was strictly necessary.
Is…is he…? Is this it? Is this where we'll —
Ashton flinched as Dylan yanked the paper towels free of the silver box mounted on the wall just beside Ashton's shoulder. His face flamed, fanned even brighter at the self-satisfied smirk curling Dylan's lips.
Damn it.
No, Dylan hadn't missed Ashton's reaction one bit.
"The question is — " the damned devil purred. "Why are you here?"
Ashton was quiet for a long while. All night, he'd been trying and failing to come up with an acceptable answer to that question himself. All night, and all week, and…
And all year. Several years. Ever since he left, and —
"Why?" Ashton finally got out, his dry throat making his voice sound strained.
"Yeah." Dylan rolled his eyes. "That's what I’m asking."
"No, I mean…" Ashton looked away as he clenched his hands, his fingers numb and cold with old fears. "Why'd you say all that? About — "
"About you maybe being gay?" Dylan asked, eyes wide and incredulous. "Because I was messing with you, dip shit. I was bored, and stuck in that closet, and you were being an ass. You really think I care if you are or aren't? Because — Hello! Wake up! — I don't."
"Oh." Ashton's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to make the jumbled snarl in his head make sense. That couldn't be disappointment he felt, but strangely, it felt nothing like relief either. "I didn't know if, like… I mean, obviously, I'm straight. But if I'm giving off a, uh — a sense…"
"Your giant 'Insert cock here' tramp stamp's a bit garish for my taste, I'll admit," Dylan shrugged. "But you aren't pinging some kind of gaydar, if that's what has your nips in such a twist."
Alright, and there was the relief — so strong it made the room spin around them as Ashton shoved those old, taunting little voices down.
"Look," Dylan said with a sigh, and Ashton bristled at the pity woven so heavily through it.
"It was just a kiss. It doesn’t have to be this serious.
But are you really gonna chase me all the way up here, then try and tell me you weren't into it?
I was there, güey. Your tongue was in my mouth, and it was hot. "