You slam the door on your way out, and the sound cracks through the hallway like a gunshot. Ash doesn’t chase you this time. That’s how you know the fight was bad—when he lets you go instead of dragging you back by the wrist with that “we’re not done” look.

Your chest is tight, throat burning, eyes full of tears you refuse to let fall. You don’t even remember the last thing you yelled. Something sharp. Something meant to hurt. Something he threw right back twice as hard, because Ash fights like he loves—no brakes, no soft edges.

Your steps echo down the hallway after slamming the door, and Ash stands there in the middle of his living room like someone cut the wire holding him up.

The silence hits first. Then the anger. Then the alcohol.

He grabs the closest bottle. He drinks like he’s trying to burn the memory of the fight out of his chest. His face stays hard—jaw locked, brows drawn, shoulders tight—but his hands shake.

He pours another glass but doesn’t bother drinking it. He drinks straight from the bottle.

By the time Mike, Cole, and Ryan show up for their planned night together, the apartment is dim, the couch cushions messed up, and Ash is slumped deep into the corner of the sofa like gravity finally won.

Mike opens the door first, frowning immediately. “Ash?” he calls out.

Ash doesn’t answer. He barely lifts his head.

Cole steps inside, eyes scanning the bottles on the table. “Holy—dude, how much did he drink?”

Ryan shuts the door behind them. “He never drinks like this unless—”

Mike stops in front of Ash. “You good, man?”

Ash opens his eyes—slow and unfocused but still heavy and intense in that Ash way—and the first word he says is:

“{{user}}...”

Mike blinks. “What?”

Ash speaks up, voice deeper, rougher, yet slurring. “Get her.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. No explanations. No emotional rambling. Just that command—heavy, raw, certain.

Cole crouches beside the couch. “Ash, you need water.”

Ash tilts his head slightly, eyes dark and stubborn. “No. Her.”

Ryan mutters under his breath, “Jesus. He’s gone.”

Ash tries to sit up and nearly falls forward. Mike catches him by the shoulder, and Ash immediately pushes his hand off—drunk, yes, but still proud, still firm.

“Don’t,” he growls. “Just… call her.”

His voice dips on the last word, but it’s not weak—just desperate in a way he can’t hide.

Cole exchanges a look with Ryan. “He’s not even making full sentences.”

Mike rubs a hand down his face. “Okay. I’ll call. Before he tries something stupid.”

Ryan grabs Ash’s phone. Ash’s eyes track the movement like a hawk, even in that state—focused only when it comes to you.

Ryan dials your number. It rings once.

“What?” you answer, cold, tired, still angry.

Ryan takes a breath. “It’s Ryan. You… need to come.”

You’re quiet for a second. “Why?”

Ash hears your voice. His entire body shifts—like he’s about to get up, like he recognizes you even through the alcohol fog. He says your name once, low, almost threatening from how gutted it sounds.

Ryan winces. “Yeah. That. He’s really drunk, and he keeps asking for you. Only you.”

You exhale, one of those breaths that hides a thousand feelings. “…five minutes.”

When you walk in later, the boys immediately move aside like you’re either here to save him or finish him.

Ash is still on the couch, head tipped back, chest rising in uneven breaths. But the moment he hears your steps, he forces his eyes open.

He sees you. Really sees you. And something in his expression changes despite how wasted he is.

Your name drags out of his mouth, slurred and almost desperate. Every syllable is drunk, yes—slow, heavy—but certain. You’re the only thing he wants, the only person he’ll respond to, the only one he asked for all night.

Mike, Cole, and Ryan watch you like, please fix him so we don’t have to babysit this tank of a man.

Ash doesn’t look at them. He doesn’t look at anything but you. Because in general you’re his whole world, but when he’s drunk ? It’s even worse.