![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Day 223 - Saturday, July 31st
Aug. 6th, 2022 05:37 pm[While Ash departs, overpacked, wondering if anything he's off to do will be worth what they've become, Max doesn't want it to be. That's the worst part... Or, no. There's enough bad parts, probably one of those many, many, many parts is worse. He hasn't actually sat down to rank them from 'stinks like a fart' to 'massive, messy, gooey yet hard bullshit.' But at the moment, as he leans back, no cats coming along to comfort him--not when Asher seems curious about Ash being up so late, having luggage--he muses: he doesn't want to forbid Ash from two-timing. He wanted to forbid him from contracting with him back in the spring, but his lines in the sand never did mean a thing. If he tried to 'hard no' this, sure, Ash would stop. But he wouldn't get what he wanted. Ash wouldn't, couldn't stop anything Max really wanted to stop. Ash would still want this. Ash is leaving utterly willingly.
The only salvation is the hope Ash will feel bad enough the entire time to decide, now sober enough not to be wrought with grief and some sick party drugs, he really doesn't want Bachelor Number Two anymore. But that's not a real hope. At one point, he had believed he really won, that Ash really no longer wanted Eiji, as much as Max himself no longer wanted Jessica (even if he didn't quite loathe her as much as he wants to say he does), as much as he no longer wanted his first love. People did move on into new loves. But he kept himself restrained from having what he wanted was all. If his newer lover weren't forward enough to give Ash an excuse, to be 'rude' enough to refuse to easily bow out...
A 24 hour ultimatum on deciding, right after he found out the guy Ash was trying to pretend was enough for so long, was still processing that he perhaps wasn't, whether he'd take on someone else was ridiculous. Everything about him is. He's more like a fictional character than reality. He's had a more dangerous life than Max; why the hell isn't he crippled?
Because he's too good to get an injury. The man doesn't bleed. Any fluid that comes out of him is limited to---The vivid flashback to Ash, smirkingly informing him "it's still inside" is enough to drive him to get up. Like hell he's not drinking. He's drinking now. The house doesn't have any hard liquor but he's got a bank account and a phone and Uber and taxi services and delivery all exist. He'll have two days to sober up from the bender he's going to go on to make sure that thought stays well drowned.
Ash knows, or will know as soon as he begins to set out north, there are no roads in that direction, and especially not the smaller section of a mile he was told Blanca was waiting. It must have been an offroad transportation; there are no tracks, so he must have came from that direction, or maybe he's waiting with a boat, though there isn't a dock that near either. The waves are calmer that night than what Max plans to drown himself in. The air is cold with a sea breeze, the sky is foggy, the heat of summer and the cold from coming in carrying a humid mist to obscure the view, with few stars visible; instead the not too distant glow of New York City is a haze off to the west.
The sleek black jet sitting quietly right at the tide line doesn't seem to fit the scene. It's surreal; the kind of thing that would make even people familiar with modern technology think: "aliens." It's more like a movie prop than even the fancier models made for show at the flight school Ash had attended a little under twelve hours prior.]
The only salvation is the hope Ash will feel bad enough the entire time to decide, now sober enough not to be wrought with grief and some sick party drugs, he really doesn't want Bachelor Number Two anymore. But that's not a real hope. At one point, he had believed he really won, that Ash really no longer wanted Eiji, as much as Max himself no longer wanted Jessica (even if he didn't quite loathe her as much as he wants to say he does), as much as he no longer wanted his first love. People did move on into new loves. But he kept himself restrained from having what he wanted was all. If his newer lover weren't forward enough to give Ash an excuse, to be 'rude' enough to refuse to easily bow out...
A 24 hour ultimatum on deciding, right after he found out the guy Ash was trying to pretend was enough for so long, was still processing that he perhaps wasn't, whether he'd take on someone else was ridiculous. Everything about him is. He's more like a fictional character than reality. He's had a more dangerous life than Max; why the hell isn't he crippled?
Because he's too good to get an injury. The man doesn't bleed. Any fluid that comes out of him is limited to---The vivid flashback to Ash, smirkingly informing him "it's still inside" is enough to drive him to get up. Like hell he's not drinking. He's drinking now. The house doesn't have any hard liquor but he's got a bank account and a phone and Uber and taxi services and delivery all exist. He'll have two days to sober up from the bender he's going to go on to make sure that thought stays well drowned.
Ash knows, or will know as soon as he begins to set out north, there are no roads in that direction, and especially not the smaller section of a mile he was told Blanca was waiting. It must have been an offroad transportation; there are no tracks, so he must have came from that direction, or maybe he's waiting with a boat, though there isn't a dock that near either. The waves are calmer that night than what Max plans to drown himself in. The air is cold with a sea breeze, the sky is foggy, the heat of summer and the cold from coming in carrying a humid mist to obscure the view, with few stars visible; instead the not too distant glow of New York City is a haze off to the west.
The sleek black jet sitting quietly right at the tide line doesn't seem to fit the scene. It's surreal; the kind of thing that would make even people familiar with modern technology think: "aliens." It's more like a movie prop than even the fancier models made for show at the flight school Ash had attended a little under twelve hours prior.]
