Ashtray had a reputation for being heartless, and honestly, he earned it. He was cold in a way that wasn’t loud or dramatic—just sharp, distant, and unforgiving. Trust didn’t come easy to him, if it came at all. He kept his words short, his emotions locked down, and when he did speak, it was usually blunt enough to sting. He wasn’t easy-going, wasn’t friendly, and definitely wasn’t the type to soften himself for anyone.

That night, you and Rue were at Fezco and Ashtray’s place. The living room was hazy with smoke, Rue sprawled nearby while she smoked with Fez, Ashtray lingering close by, quiet and watchful as always. You stayed out of it, posted up in the bathroom instead, the counter cluttered with makeup as you leaned toward the mirror. Music thumped faintly through the walls while you fixed your eyeliner and gloss, getting ready for McKay’s party later—half-aware of the low voices and the familiar tension humming through the house.