Chapter Three

Ash wasn't proud of herself, but she wasn't ashamed either. She didn't know what to feel. Maybe she shouldn't have taken Lance back so easily, or at all, but there was no going back now. He was laying there beside her, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, backed by the sound of the early morning drizzle.

Ash didn't know what to feel, but she knew what she wanted, and she wanted Lance to stay right there, sleeping next to her. Only a few days ago she'd be spending this time with her face buried in her pillow, tormented by thoughts of Lance sleeping in Becky's bed (or on the street), but now Ash was laying awake and hoping she'd never have to get up. Surely it couldn't be so wrong if it felt so right, to have Lance back where he belonged. It was as if nothing had changed since they spent their first night in the apartment, or the very first night they'd ever slept together (back when Lance had to sneak in through Ash's bedroom window if they wanted to cuddle). Their relationship was too much to throw away, Ash had convinced herself, over one misstep. They were meant to be together, and it'd take a lot more than someone like Becky ruin that.

And it wasn't like Lance was unrepentant. In fact, she'd never seen her boyfriend so sorry over something. It didn't take much to make Lance cry, but it was nigh impossible to make him apologize (and in such profusion) like he did yesterday. Ash was sure that he'd learned his lesson, his black eye was testament to that. There was no reason to make him suffer anymore than he already had; Lance had never even looked at another girl before Becky came on the scene, so it couldn't have been all his fault.

Ash sat up and looked over at her alarm clock. She couldn't put it off any longer; it was time to get ready. She leaned over and gave Lance a small kiss before she carefully slid out of bed, then made sure that the alarm was off and wouldn't disturb him. He was a light sleeper, and would probably be woken up anyway by the sound of her showering, but that was still better than an alarm waking him. She crept out of the bedroom and into the bathroom just across the hall.

A few minutes later, the soft sounds of water hitting acrylic stirred Lance out of slumber and into the waking world. He rubbed his face, flinching slightly when he touched his bruised eye a bit too hard. Lance shifted his weight and rolled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with a thud. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and looked to see if Bozzio had ever replied to last night's text. To his amusement, Bozzio had sent a message containing only 'P. I. M. P.'

Before he put his phone down, Lance had (prudently) deleted every text he had from Becky and blocked her number. Then he stumbled out of the bedroom and stepped past the bathroom door, stopping when he heard Ash softly sing a love song as she showered. If there were any nervous feelings Lance had about what Ash might say or do that morning, they had just melted away, and he grinned. He walked into the kitchen, now standing a little taller, and popped a glass of water into the microwave for cup noodles. Ash had to work today, so she wasn't going to cook him breakfast (it was too late in the morning for her to do it, anyway, even considering what had happened the night before.

The microwave beeped and he popped the door open, grabbing the glass of boiling water with a rag and pouring it into the styrofoam cup of stiff noodles. He heard the shower stop, and covered the cup. Lance poked his head out of the kitchen and looked down the hall to see Ash, in a towel and still dripping wet, zip into the bedroom. He'd been wondering how he ought to act when the time came to speak with her that morning. While it could be seen as gauche and insensitive to talk to Ash like it was any other morning and nothing had happened, it could also serve to reassure her that their relationship hadn't been damaged. He thought more about it, and grabbed his noodles.

When Ash emerged, now clothed, from the hall and into the living room Lance was sitting on the couch and had just set down the cup. The television wasn't on. Ash glanced over to see him watching her, and smiled at him as she walked to the front door.

"Hey Ash," said Lance, in a tone of voice similar to the whipped-dog persona he had affected yesterday, but more frank. He was leaning forward, holding one hand in the other.

"Hey baby," Ash replied, putting one of Lance's coats for her commute in the rain. Lance stood up and walked over, sidling up to her.

"You gonna go to work?" He asked, putting his hands on her hips but still looking away timidly.

"I wish I didn't have to," she said, softly embracing Lance in turn. Ash cradled her chin on his shoulder and he rubbed his cheek against hers.

"Please stay," Lance whispered in her ear, and it sent a chill up her spine. She pulled away and stared deep into his pale green eyes.

"I love you, Lance," was all she could think to say, then she gave him a light kiss and turned to go.

"Wait," said Lance, and Ash turned back and again locked eyes with him. He paused. " I love you."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, staring in one another's eyes. Lance was wracking his brain for some melancholy, ultraromantic little sentence he could spit out and make Ash feel special for being with him; but as the seconds dragged on, with the two of them standing by the door in silence, he became more and more skeptical that he could. Luckily, he saw something changing in Ash's eyes, that they were becoming softer and more gentle. She pressed herself up against him and, laying a hand on his cheek, kissed him more passionately than before, and longer–saving the moment and Lance's belief in his own ability as a poet. She pulled away and they smiled at eachother, then Ash left for work.

Lance stood by the window, waiting until he saw Ash briskly walking down the sidewalk to catch her bus. He did, and started to giggle with excitement. Dancing back over to the couch, giddily, he sang, " Hey, hey, hey–it's gonna be okay! " Then swung around and fell back onto the cushion, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in same motion and grabbing his cup noodles. Raising a fork of the stuff into his mouth with one hand, he grabbed the remote with the other and flicked on the T.V.

I wonder what Ash is gonna bring back for dinner, thought Lance.

Two days later…

Even though it had only been a few days since she'd gotten back together with Lance, Ash's feelings of loneliness and despondency had totally vanished. Something about seeing him there whenever she came home gave her not only a feeling of security, but also self-worth. It was like she was a part of something bigger and more meaningful when she was with Lance, as opposed to weathering life all alone. For all his insensitivity, laziness and tantrum-throwing, Lance was still Ash's rock, and she'd much rather be with him than without him.

His black eye was starting to heal up. And the rain had stopped.

Ash had gotten off of work earlier than usual that day, and was down at the theater practicing an alt-rock ballad she had written over the course of a few lonely, Lance-less nights a week earlier. While it was a sad melody, Ash was in high spirits. It was approaching evening, and her practice (which had gone very well) would soon come to a close, so she could pick up some food on the way home and see her boyfriend. They'd talked about watching a movie, like some brainless action or cliche romance that they'd riff on and joke over the way they usually did–snuggling up on the couch and laughing at each other's jokes.

Lance had yet to totally drop the scared little boy act he'd used in the café that day, but was gradually reverting back to his usual self. Every now and then he'd let one of his snarky little jokes slip out and remind Ash that the jerk she knew and loved was still bubbling under the surface.

Rosita and Gunter were the only other performers in the theater, practicing in a nearby room for some dancing competition Buster was putting on in a couple weeks. Buster, himself, was also in the theater, and greeted Ash when she'd arrived at the theater that day (though they didn't enter into conversation). Ash found the prospect of one of them trying to have a serious talk with her about boys (which was still a very real possibility) to be much more humorous, considering that none of them had any idea she'd be sharing a bed with Lance later that evening. She'd been very careful to keep her getting back with Lance a secret from everyone and, while she knew they'd inevitably find out, Ash didn't see any reason to tell them anytime soon. They wouldn't understand her relationship with Lance, and they wouldn't try to understand. If she had to tell one of them that she'd reunited with him, it'd probably be Meena. She generally seemed to withhold judgement about people until she'd actually met them, and she could keep a secret.

Ash's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she yanked it out to see why. Lance was calling. She slid her finger across the screen and held the phone up to her ear.

"What's up, baby?" she asked.

"Yeah, hey babe; I called to, uh-" he began, clearly distracted by something. Ash could hear the television blaring in the background, and she immediately recognized it as professional wrestling (another one of Lance's great passions, or at least watching it). "I called to tell you to get me a chocolate milkshake when you pick up dinner, 'cause I think I said vanilla by mistake this morning," he said, just before some jobber got suplexed.

"No, you said chocolate," Ash replied, smiling and leaning against the wall.

"Oh? Alright, cool…" said Lance, and then there was a pause. "So are you gonna get it for me?"

Ash laughed. "Yes, Lance. I'm going to get you your milkshake." Lance was quiet for a while, and she could hear some commentators wailing on the T.V.

"You mean my chocolate milkshake, right?" he said, making Ash laugh again. Then there was a knock at the practice room door, and Rosita poked her head in. Upon seeing that Ash was on the phone, she mimed as if to say oh! but stepped in anyway.

"Yeah, I'll get it for you. I'm about to leave, so…" Ash said a little more quietly into the phone, turning slightly from Rosita.

"Okay, babe. I love you," Lance replied.

Oh God, Ash thought, afraid that Rosita might have heard him (or would hear her say it back). " Love you, too ," Ash quickly mumbled, now turning completely away from Rosita, before ending the call. "What's up, Rosita?"

"I hope I didn't just interrupt a drug deal," Rosita said jokingly (but a little serious, the way mothers do), and Ash snickered. "I was just wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight, I'm making a m-"

"No, I think I might just pick something up and go home," said Ash, kicking open her guitar case and kneeling down to put in the instrument.

"Oh?" Rosita said, taken a little back. "Okay… Well, at least let me drive you. It'll be dark soon."

Ash closed the case and picked it up by the handle, turning to Rosita and looking at her the same way a trucker looks at a low clearance bridge. "Okay."

The sun had gone down, and Lance was getting hungry. He'd gotten bored with the wrestling (he preferred to rewatch old matches from the attitude era, as opposed to the new PG stuff) and was now watching one of the asinine cartoons they put on in the evening. As he heard some commotion approaching the front door, he lowered the volume and put his sensitive musician's ear to work. Ash was coming, and she was talking to someone. Lance stood up and slinked over to the door, pressing his ear against the space between the door and jamb.

"One's to drink, and I'm going to put the other in the fridge for later," he heard Ash say, only because he was so familiar with her voice. He couldn't make out what the other person said, exactly, but he could tell they were skeptical. They were rapidly approaching. Lance stepped away from the door and back to the couch, muting the T.V. so he could hear them speak at the door.

"I just really like hamburgers, Okay?" said Ash, a little exasperated and opening the door. As soon as she was through the doorway, Ash spun around and held the door close to her, blocking Rosita from entering. She hoped Rosita would just assume that she'd left these lights on when she left that morning, and not that they were on because Lance had been in the apartment all day. Or that she just wouldn't notice.

"Okay, okay," Rosita replied, backing off, then realizing what Ash was doing. "Well, call me if you need anything, Ash. Will I see you at Buster's party, Friday?"

"Yeah, yeah, definitely," said Ash, then Rosita hugged her goodbye and left. Ash shut the door and locked it, then walked into the living room. "Hey, baby."

"Who was that?" Lance asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"That was Rosita, I've told you about her," answered Ash, setting down the two milkshakes and paper bag of fast food she'd been carrying on the coffee table. Lance leaned forward and reached into the bag, searching for the patty melts he'd wanted. Ash flopped down on the couch next to her boyfriend, and reached around him to grab the remote.

"Who's Buster?" asked Lance, now actually nonchalant as his attention shifted to the food.

"He's that koala who put on the competition, remember?" Ash answered again.

"Oh yeah, I remember him." Lance began, unwrapping a melt and taking a bite while Ash looked for something to watch. "Doesn't something seem... a little funny about that guy?" he continued, between bites. "Or, to use a synonym for funny, a little queer? "

"Lance…" said Ash, in the lilting tone she used when Lance should shut up. Then she gave him a little shove when he started to snicker about it. "That's not funny," she added, trying to suppress a little grin.

"So what time are we going to this party on Friday?" he asked.