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We'll stay together until we burn out like the stars.

EVERYTHING IS LACED IN PERFECTION

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EVERYTHING IS LACED IN PERFECTION.

Ria snuggles closer to Ashton as plush cushion swallow their loving frames. The TV volume is low, giving just the slightest bit of noise, but her eyes are attached to her favorite thing.

The vibrant sky fades into night. The moon reveals its porcelain face; lonely, without a single star to accompany it.

"Wanna make some dinner?" Ashton mumbles in her hair and flexes his arms around her.

She smiles and rubs his hands. "Are you willing to trust my cooking?"

"You've gotten a little better. About as good as my Italian."

A soft chuckle. "We're terrible teachers."

"Mhm."

Every time they get like this, something ethereal pulls at the threads around her heart. She's drifting, losing track of time. With every second they spend together, she becomes more and more addicted to Ashton's existence.

He barely does a thing.

Just the sound of his voice, his scent, the look in his eyes. How warm he always seems to be. The slight rumble in his chest when he's laughing, or the roll in his groans when he's tired. How loving he is every time they have sex.

It's addicting.

"I say we have pasta tonight. Pasta and salad." Ashton runs his fingers through her hair. "You can make the tea."

Ria snickers and stretches in his arms. "Thanks. That's such an important part of the meal."

Ashton chuckles and shifts her off of him to stand. He pulls at the waist of his sweats and yawns. "If you really want to feel included, you can boil the water for the pasta."

"Now you're just insulting me."

He laughs and leans down to peck her lips. "Sure, I am."

Ashton strides over to the kitchen and Ria flops back down on the couch. Her gaze drifts outside, lost in the rising city lights.

In just four months, they've fallen in sync in each other's lives. He stays over nearly every night and only disappears a couple of days at a time for reasons he refuses to share. They spend hours painting and drawing at the gallery. She grins and bites the end of her thumb. Ashton has made plenty of visits to her studio to assist with her artistic needs as he likes to call it.

Despite him still being a cloaked in enigmas, their lives together feel perfect.

The rush of running water and clanging pots fill her kitchen, and just under it, a sluggish knock strikes the front door. She frowns and slides off the couch to open it. The moment she pulls the door from the frame a wave of alcohol attacks her nose.

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