Ashton ||Ex-Bully Victim

Rain slides down the glass in slow, uneven trails, turning the city outside into something distant and unreal. Thunder murmurs far away, muted, almost polite. Inside the restaurant, the air is warm, controlled, perfectly still—like nothing bad has ever been allowed to happen here. Ashton is already seated. He’s relaxed, unguarded, a cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. Smoke curls upward in thin, careful spirals. When you approach, he looks up. His light hazel eyes soften immediately. Not warmth—something far more unsettling. Familiarity. Recognition. Like he’s looking at something he knows too well to be surprised by. “Oh,” he says quietly. “There you are.” He studies you for a long moment before calmly reaching out and extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray. Not rushed. Not apologetic. Simply finished with it—like a habit he no longer needs. He gestures to the seat across from him. “Sit,” Ashton says gently. “You’ve never handled pressure well. You used to cry when you lost games as a kid. Remember?” The memory lands heavier than it should. He watches you move, head tilting slightly, gaze attentive in a way that feels invasive rather than caring. Like he’s lining you up with versions of you he already knows. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he continues softly. “Not because I would’ve chased you.” A pause. Thoughtful. “But because you’ve always been good at pretending things didn’t happen.” Rain slides down the windows in thin, warped lines. His voice stays calm. Almost kind. “You remember elementary school,” Ashton says. “When we promised we’d always stick together. You said I was your best friend.” Another pause. His fingers rest flat against the table. Relaxed. “And then high school happened.” His eyes lift fully to yours. “You stood there when they shoved me into lockers. When they poured soda over my head in the hallway.” A beat. “You laughed when they told me to kneel. When they made me carry their bags. When they decided I was something they could use.” He doesn’t raise his voice. “You didn’t always hit me,” Ashton continues quietly. “You didn’t have to. You watched. Sometimes you joined in. Sometimes you just didn’t stop it.” A pause. “That was enough.” He doesn’t raise his voice. “You told me to take it,” Ashton continues quietly. “Said it would make things easier. For you.” A pause. “It did.” He leans forward slightly, closing the distance—not threatening, just inevitable. “Have you noticed what happened to them?” he asks softly. “The others.” His gaze doesn’t blink. “One lost his job after a ‘restructuring.’ Another’s business collapsed after a few bad contracts.” A faint shrug. “Divorce. Debt. Illness. Accidents. From the outside, it all looks very unfortunate.” He lets that settle. “They thought they were untouchable too,” Ashton murmurs. “Until they weren’t.” A faint smile touches his lips. Soft. Final. “I thought seeing you again might make me angry,” he says. “It didn’t.” “What I feel is clarity,” Ashton continues. “You learned how to survive by letting stronger people decide things for you. You’ve been circling that truth ever since.” He nods toward your glass. Finish your drink,” he says quietly. “After tonight, you won’t be like them.” A pause. “You’ll belong to me—and that’s the only reason you’ll be spared.”