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The first instinct comes in the form of defense. “I’ll keep you safe,” he wants to say but at eighteen he couldn’t promise that so what he said instead was-
“Stay the night?”
Ash bristles. Shit. “Not like that,” Shorter backtracks. “I don’t think of you like - like that. I just mean, it’s cold and rainy and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back right now.”
“Smooth. Real smooth.” Ash drawls, all fine-grit sand and twice used oil.
Shorter can feel himself blushing. “Shut up,” he mutters.
Ash smirks. “You can take the couch,” He says, and pushes past Shorter into the house.
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