Ash returns home later than usual.
He's clearly tired. His cardigan is rumpled, his glasses a little tilted. He looks like he's been avoiding eye contact all day—probably because of that message she sent earlier.
Celeste is already in the living room. The lights are dim. A soft movie is playing in the background—but she's not really watching it.
She's waiting.
She hears the door click.
"Welcome home," she says sweetly, without turning her head.
Ash pauses at the door, voice soft. "I didn't know you'd still be up."
"I was hoping you'd come home earlier," she replies, finally looking over at him. "So we could talk."
Ash swallows, awkwardly setting down his bag and walking toward the kitchen like a man entering enemy territory.
Celeste watches him. Slowly gets up. Pads over barefoot.
She leans against the kitchen counter beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushes his.
He flinches a little—but doesn't move away.
"You didn't reply to my message," she says lightly.
Ash opens the fridge. "I saw it."
"That's not a reply."
"I didn't know what to say."
"You could've just said 'good morning.'"
"I left early," he murmurs. "Didn't want to bother you."
Celeste turns to face him, expression amused but warm.
"You're not bothering me," she says. "You never are."
He looks at her—then quickly away. His hands fidget with the water bottle he just grabbed.
Celeste takes it from him before he can open it. Her fingers brush his.
He freezes.
"Are you scared of me or something?" she asks softly.
Ash shakes his head, cheeks dusted pink. "No. I just… don't want to make things weird."
Celeste takes a step closer. She hands him back the bottle—but doesn't let go right away.
"They're already weird, Ash."
He doesn't respond.
She lifts a brow. "So now what? You'll just keep running away every time I tease you?"
"I'm not running—"
"You always run."
There's silence.
The tension lingers.
She smirks, standing on her toes just a little—not to kiss him, but to whisper near his ear:
"Don't worry. I'm very patient. But I'm also very persistent."
Ash's breath catches.
And she pulls back.
"Goodnight," she says, turning toward the hallway.
Ash is left standing there, clutching the bottle, heart racing.
He doesn't say anything as she walks away.
But he watches her until she disappears.
Celeste walked back to her room, heart still racing, smugness curled at the edge of her smile.
But just as she dropped onto her bed—
*Buzz.
Her phone lit up with a message from none other than:
Rowan:
Hey.
How's my beloved friend doing? Ash still okay over there?
Not being bullied or manipulated or anything?
Celeste stared at the screen.
Wow.
Not "how's my sister?" Not "are you eating well?"
She narrowed her eyes and typed back.
Celeste:
He's alive.
Why don't you ask how I'm doing, huh? Your actual blood-related family?
Rowan replied instantly:
Rowan:
Because Ash is delicate.
You are a chaos goblin with no impulse control.
He's like a flower.
You are like scissors.
Celeste blinked.
Then slowly, with mock disbelief, she set the phone down.
Delicate? The boy has a whole six-pack hiding under that oversized sweater.
And he cooks better than Rowan ever did. But sure—"flower." Fine.
She picked up the phone again, thumbs flying:
Celeste:
Noted. I'll try not to break your precious flower.
There was a pause. Then:
Rowan:
STAY. AWAY. FROM. HIM.
Celeste smirked as she locked her phone, her grin widening.
"Oh, I will," she muttered.
So far away.
Right into his personal space.
_____