You know there's a lot I'd do to make you feel better.

[ that entire night in chicago had been just that, because he couldn't stand to see her cry, because she'd hooked him straight through his cherry stem heart the moment he'd laid eyes on her silvery gaze. it'd been just his luck that ash had already staked his claim on her years ago. everything in his life always leads back to the same place, the inevitability of ash colchester. if he took his entire collection of sports cars out for a fatalistic joy ride, one by one, he'd still crash them all into him.

a hopeless thrill travels along his nerve endings at her words. he spent five long years thinking that she hated him, and for good reason, and to have her back at his side, even in the smallest capacity, is like having the pearly gates creak open once again for his wretched soul. they haven't ever talked about what happened. not really. they haven't brought up what he did — or more accurately, what he didn't do. it's a well of quiet confusion, silent hurt, that they're masterfully dancing around. they were both raised by expert politicos, after all. ]

Was it that good? [ a little softer, the press of guilt on his tongue. ] To make you forget about who you really wanted in your bed that night?