Lashton One Shots (Reasons)✓

[ time has brought your heart to me ]

[ ch. 31 ]
[ time has brought your heart to me ]
By Gay5sos
AO3

-~-~-~

Germany, 1941

Luke and Ashton sat together on Ashton's bunk, each taking swigs of whiskey from a silver flask. Everyone else was asleep or outside.

"So tomorrow, eh?" Ashton swallowed heavily, passing the flask to his best friend.

"Yeah, tomorrow." Luke sighed, taking another large swig. They were going out onto the field to fight the next day, and he knew very well that he could die before he could figure the feelings he had for his older friend out. He knew for sure it wasn't platonic, and that terrified him.

"Look, I want you to know, that if anything happens, you'll always be my best friend, you know that, Hemmings?"

"Gosh, don't go gettin' so soft on me Ashton. You plannin' to kill nazis with that attitude?" he chuckled.

"I just..I love you okay? Don't die on me. Promise me that."

Luke stared at him, examining his friend's features. Could it possibly be, that..
He wasted to time in surging forward pressing his lips to Ashton's. And god, it felt so right. If this was how kissing a boy felt, he never wanted to dance with another girl again. His lips were soft, and he didn't care if he would be ridiculed for this, he had a good chance of dying tomorrow, and he didn't want to do it without kissing the boy he loved- yes, he decided it was love.

The kiss only lasted a couple of seconds, however, as Ashton pressed both hands to Luke's chest and shoved him off.

"What the hell are you doing?" he spat, a look of shock and rage in his eyes.

"I don't know, I just thought-"

"-Thought I was a fag?" Ashton cut in, a disgusted look on his face. Luke could literally feel his heart shattering to pieces.

"No, I- I'm sorry, don't-"

Ashton sat up, refusing to make eye contact.

"I'm going outside. If you ever mention this to anyone, ever, you'll regret it, Hemmings."

As he left, Luke collapsed face-first onto Ashton's bunk, both inhaling the scent from his pillow, and letting a sob rip from his throat at the same time.

As Luke hid behind a tree to dodge oncoming bullets, he spotted a mop of blonde hair, not too far away. He hadn't spoken to Ashton since the night before, and he made the risk to run to the tree in which Ashton was crouching behind.
Except, as he approached, he realised that the older boy wasn't crouching, he was slumping.

"Ash?" he whispered, heart thumping in his chest as he reached his friend.

No response.
Ashton, his best friend since eight years old, was lying there, eyes open but not breathing, a fresh bullet hole in his chest.
Luke hadn't reached him on time, he hadn't heard his dying words, hadn't been there when he needed him most.
Ashton had died alone. Afraid and alone.

Luke heard a cry of warning from behind him, and leaped up, running for cover, leaving his best friend behind.
It was 1941. The dead would be mourned when the war was won.

❀

Washington, 1996

"God, did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

Ashton opened his locker and began to select his books for the day, as slowly as he could, as he eavesdropped on the conversation.
The three girls, all in overalls and scrunchies- he couldn't understand that style- were huddled up in a group, gossiping, every morning in the same spot.