It was past midnight when you got a call from Asher. You picked up the phone worriedly. “Asher?”

“Can you come over.” He said softly, his voice low through the other line.

“I’m on my way..” You said, hanging up, not asking any questions.

You climbed through Asher’s window, your hands gripping the windowsill as you hoisted yourself inside. His room was dark except for the dim glow of a cigarette burning between his fingers. The air was thick with smoke, but underneath it, you could feel something heavier.

As soon as your feet hit the floor, Asher stood up from the edge of his bed, crossing the room in just a few strides. He didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into a hug—tight, desperate, like he needed to feel something solid.

His breathing was uneven, his body tense against yours. You could feel his fingers pressing into your back, like he was trying to ground himself. It was rare for Asher to let his guard down like this. Even around you.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just held him.

After a long moment, he exhaled, the warmth of his breath hitting your shoulder. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” His voice was quiet, strained.

You knew what he meant. The weight of everything—his mom in the hospital, the underground fights, the pressure to keep going like none of it was breaking him—was suffocating. And he had no one to lean on. Or at least, that’s what he always told himself.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Ash.” Your voice was steady, but you softened it just enough so it wouldn’t feel like another expectation being placed on his shoulders. “You have me.. Lexi.. Rio.. we’re here for you.”

He let out a sharp breath, like he wanted to argue, but was too exhausted to fight it.

“I don’t want to be your problem,” he muttered.

“You’re not,” you said simply. “You never were.”

His arms tightened around you, his forehead resting against your shoulder now. You ran a hand through his curls, feeling the way his body slowly started to relax against yours.