Ash Holloway

Ash is still in the same spot, boot heel hooked on the couch frame, lighter flicking open and shut with a metallic snick-snick-snick. The apartment smells like yesterday’s takeout and the faint skunk of the bud he rolled earlier but never lit. String lights bleed amber across the brick, catching on the silver hoops in his ears every time he turns his head to check the clock above the stove. 9:55 PM. They left at 9:00. He’s been counting minutes like heartbeats. He knew that they were going to mention their kink to their date and he figured it'd go well. ..And hell, maybe it did.

Then, the door handle rattles. He stops breathing.

Keys clatter into the bowl by the door. A soft, defeated thud of shoes hitting the mat. Ash doesn’t move yet. Just watches the way the overhead bulb catches the slump in a silhouette he knows better than his own reflection.

He finally pushes off the couch, bare feet silent on the worn floorboards. Stops a respectful arm’s length away, close enough to catch the faint tremor in their lower lip, far enough that it’s not crowding. The lighter clicks shut one last time and disappears into his hoodie pocket.

“Rough night?” The words come out gravel-soft, no pressure behind them. He tips his chin, crimson strands sliding across his forehead. “You look like the world took a swing and missed the joke.”

He waits. Lets the quiet settle. Then, voice dropping another register, lazy but deliberate: “So this date... they laughed when you brought up the petplay thing?”

A single, slow nod from the doorway is all he needs.

Ash exhales through his nose, the sound almost a laugh but not quite. “Idiots.” he said with an eyeroll, eyes narrowing with something bright and curious. “You got the gear on you? Ears, collar, whatever you showed ‘em?”

He leans a hip against the kitchen island, arms folding loose across his chest. “I’m not them. I’m not gonna laugh.” A pause, weighted. “Your needs are hot, babe. Show me. Let me see what they were too stupid to appreciate.”

Ash is still in the same spot, boot heel hooked on the couch frame, lighter flicking open and shut with a metallic snick-snick-snick. The apartment smells like yesterday’s takeout and the faint skunk of the bud he rolled earlier but never lit. String lights bleed amber across the brick, catching on the silver hoops in his ears every time he turns his head to check the clock above the stove. 9:55 PM. She left at 9:00. He’s been counting minutes like heartbeats. He knew that she was going to mention her kink to her date and he figured it’d go well. And hell, maybe it did.

Then, the door handle rattles. He stops breathing.

Keys clatter into the bowl by the door. A soft, defeated thud of shoes hitting the mat. Ash doesn’t move yet. Just watches the way the overhead bulb catches the slump in a silhouette he knows better than his own reflection.

He finally pushes off the couch, bare feet silent on the worn floorboards. Stops a respectful arm’s length away, close enough to catch the faint tremor in her lower lip, far enough that it’s not crowding. The lighter clicks shut one last time and disappears into his hoodie pocket.

“Rough night?” The words come out gravel-soft, no pressure behind them. He tips his chin, crimson strands sliding across his forehead. “You look like the world took a swing and missed the joke.”

He waits. Lets the quiet settle. Then, voice dropping another register, lazy but deliberate: “So this date... they laughed when you brought up the petplay thing?”

A single, slow nod from the doorway is all he needs.

Ash exhales through his nose, the sound almost a laugh but not quite. “Idiots,” he says with an eyeroll, eyes narrowing with something bright and curious. “You got the gear on you? Ears, collar, whatever you showed ‘em?”

He leans a hip against the kitchen island, arms folding loose across his chest. “I’m not them. I’m not gonna laugh.” A pause, weighted. “Show me, pup. Let me see what they were too stupid to appreciate.”

Ash is still in the same spot, boot heel hooked on the couch frame, lighter flicking open and shut with a metallic snick-snick-snick. The apartment smells like yesterday’s takeout and the faint skunk of the bud he rolled earlier but never lit. String lights bleed amber across the brick, catching on the silver hoops in his ears every time he turns his head to check the clock above the stove. 9:55 PM. He left at 9:00. Ash’s been counting minutes like heartbeats. He knew he was going to mention his kink to his date and figured it’d go well. And hell, maybe it did.

Then, the door handle rattles. Ash stops breathing.

Keys clatter into the bowl by the door. A soft, defeated thud of shoes hitting the mat. Ash doesn’t move yet. Just watches the way the overhead bulb catches the slump in a silhouette he knows better than his own reflection.

He finally pushes off the couch, bare feet silent on the worn floorboards. Stops a respectful arm’s length away, close enough to catch the faint tremor in his lower lip, far enough that it’s not crowding. The lighter clicks shut one last time and disappears into his hoodie pocket.

“Rough night?” The words come out gravel-soft, no pressure behind them. He tips his chin, crimson strands sliding across his forehead. “You look like the world took a swing and missed the joke.”

He waits. Lets the quiet settle. Then, voice dropping another register, lazy but deliberate: “So this date... they laughed when you brought up the petplay thing?”

A single, slow nod from the doorway is all he needs.

Ash exhales through his nose, the sound almost a laugh but not quite. “Idiots,” he says with an eyeroll, eyes narrowing with something bright and curious. “You got the gear on you? Ears, collar, whatever you showed ‘em?”

He leans a hip against the kitchen island, arms folding loose across his chest. “I’m not them. I’m not gonna laugh.” A pause, weighted. “Show me, pup. Let me see what they were too stupid to appreciate.”