Catharsis || Lashton AU - boyxboy

17. eliberare

I know there are some things we need to talk about,
And I can't stay,
Just let me hold you for a little longer now.
Shawn Mendes, Never Be Alone

l.h.

Work the next day was quite horrible, if I did say so myself.

As someone who'd never actually owned a dog, I always assumed it was easy business.

Except that taking care of dogs is worse than taking care of children, probably. Or at least just as bad. You have to feed it and water it and give it attention and play with it and keep it quiet without abusing it in any way (not that I would ever hurt a dog, or even a human, really) and it's just far too much responsibility; not to mention its biting problem. Andrea wasn't lying.

No matter what I do, that damn dog nips at my hand. Try to put food down--it bites my hand. Try to pet it--it bites my hand. Try to play with it--it bites my hand. I just can't win. Children hate me, and apparently animals do too. Great. Just great. I'm gonna die alone because even cats will reject me.

Anyway, I had bandages wrapped around both of my hands because of all the biting Mido had done the night before, and I had gotten, at most, three hours of sleep. When he wasn't biting or barking, he was taking up almost the entire bed. And he's not even that big! He just lays right in the center and sprawls out so I'm left out on the edge. It's horrible.

So I was spilling coffee left and right and letting down almost every customer that came in here, though most seemed to excuse my unmannerly behavior due to the fumbling caused by my damaged hands. But once it came into the late afternoon, things had slowed, and I was half asleep against the counter with my arms folded over my chest.

"Hemmo!" his voice was loud and, honestly, terribly obnoxious, and a part of me want to reach up and smack him right in the back of the head.

I didn't answer him, rather, I just continued to doze off in the empty shop where I may inevitably--if I was not careful--fall to the floor and crack my head open and (hopefully) die. Then the damn dog that I didn't even want, would've been Sully's responsibility instead. That would've been a great thing.

"Hemmo!" he shouted again, somehow louder than before and almost scaring me to the floor.

"Jesus shit, Van Gogh, what?" I snapped, though I still hadn't opened my eyes in a fiery protest towards him and his insistent yelling.

He didn't speak for a moment.

"There's, uh," he stopped, clearing his throat rather uncomfortably. "There's someone here to see you, I think."

My eyes snapped open, and there he was. All red eyes and messy hair. He looked like he'd been trampled by a waterfall and then beaten down a little more.

And he wasn't even injured this time.

He hadn't even come here beaten this time.

"Luke." he said, like he was trying the word out for the first time and was unsure of whether or not it felt right in his mouth.

I kind of wished it didn't sound like that.

I froze at a standstill, in the same position before except with open eyes now, and I was very frigid. I though that if it came down to it, I wouldn't have been able to move at all.

"Ashton." I responded in the same manner--or, at least I tried. Because his name tasted very soft and familiar in my mouth, unlike with mine.

Sully glanced between us both an uncomfortable amount of times. He coughed to himself, wiping his hands on his apron and running them down his legs and just trying to do anything with them to try and avoid the tension lingering in the air, but I didn't think it worked, because he cleared his throat after a moment and walked out the back door with his smokes.