14. desolation (noun) - anguished misery or loneliness

Ryan smelled the semi-familiar scent of smoke fill his nose as he walked out of the back door to find Ashley sitting on the concrete steps facing the adjacent alleyway, cigarette dangling from her delicate fingers. Ryan sighed gently, shuffling over to her and sitting down quietly. Ashley offered Ryan her cigarette, to which he politely declined. After a few quiet beats, Ryan spoke up gently. "Wanna talk about it?"

A few more quiet moments ticked by before she answered him, her voice coming out small and breathy. "I was living in a shelter when I met Brendon," she said softly. She took another small drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly. "That was about five years ago. He hadn't lived in LA really any longer than I had, he just seemed to be doing better for himself."

*     *     *

July 17, 2013

"These are all the tips you made tonight, Ashley," Ian said as he handed her some folded up bills.

Ashley flipped them open and counted them quickly to herself. Her heart dropped in her stomach as she spoke softly. "Are these included with the tips from the stage?"

Ian looked at her sympathetically. "Most of that is from the stage," he said softly. "Ash, don't worry, okay? Business will pick up when the tourists come in and tips will be even bigger. Maybe you'll even catch a club promoter who likes you enough to want you to sing for them for actual cash and not just tips from a jar."

Ashley smiled a small, watery smile as she nodded. "Thanks, Ian," she said quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded at her once more before she left the small bar, her jacket pulled tightly around her small frame. It was unusually chill for a mid-summer night, but it didn't really bother her as she strode slowly back to the shelter. About five blocks inter her walk, she happened to turn around for the sixth or so time to notice the same man who had been walking behind her since the bar was still behind her, a good fifty feet or so back.

Her pace quickened as she slipped her hand into he coat pocket, hand grasped firmly around her small container of mace. She rounded a corner of an alley she didn't have to go down and hid herself against the brick. Once the man came into view, she rounded herself on him and sprayed him right in the face with the pepper spray, hearing him call out in pain before she turned around and kept walking.

"Ashley!"

The man's voice is what stopped her, and she whipped around quickly only to swear under her breath. The street lighting in the particular spot was enough for her to see the man's face and she swore a little louder. "Brendon, shit!"

Brendon was a regular customer at the bar, and a decent tipper when she was on stage playing her music. They often talked about classical composers, old jazz and blues singers, and why certain musicians and bands couldn't make it in the music industry nowadays. Hell, Ashley could almost consider them friends.

And she'd just maced him right in the eyes.

"Fuck, Brendon, I'm so sorry!" She pulled a small package of on-the-go Kleenex out of her purse and tore some out. "Brendon, don't you know not to creepily follow girls down the streets this late at night? I thought you were some crazy person trying to follow me home!"

Brendon just grimaced slightly as Ashley handed him the tissues. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, but fully sincere. "I figured waiting outside of the bar hours after I'd originally left seemed a bit on the creepy side."

"And this seems a little more on the stalker side."

Brendon laughed gently as he wiped at his eyes. "Wish I'd have thought of that." The both laughed softly. "Fuck, um," he started, "do you think you could take me to your place and help me wash all of this out?"

Ashley froze then. She couldn't take Brendon to the shelter. They barely let her have a bed, and if they thought Brendon needed one, too, they'd surely kick her out. She hesitated slightly. "I-- I can't."

Brendon paused, sensing the fear in her voice. "Why not?" His voice was sincere, as it always seems to be. "If it's because there's a boyfriend involved, don't worry. I'm gay, so I'm not trying to bone you or anything."

Ashley had to stifle a laugh at the way he phrased it, but she shook her head. "I, uh," she started softly, before letting out a sigh. "I live in a shelter. They won't let you come in, even if it's just to wash your face. They'd actually probably kick me out."

Brendon was silent for a few moments. It seemed like he was trying to find the right response before he just nodded. "Can you help me hail a cab?"

Ashley nodded quickly, watching the oncoming flow of traffic until she spotted a yellow taxicab. She quickly stuck her fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle and started waving her hand violently. The cab pulled up to them slowly, parking next to a meter and Ashley reached forward and opened to door to help Brendon in.

Before she could say her goodbye, Brendon squinted at her through his swollen eyes. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

Ashley hesitated for a moment. On one hand, she really didn't think Brendon would do anything to hurt her. She believed he had good intentions. On the other, if he didn't have good intentions, she could lose the only place she has to stay in the city. Could she really risk that?

She bit her lip gently before shifting her back on her shoulder and her jacket around her frame, sliding in the cab beside Brendon.

"So," Brendon said softly as they headed toward his apartment, "this is going to seem kind of out of the blue, but what all do you know about tattoos and tattoo machinery?"

Ashley thought it over. "A little," she said softly. "I used to do stick-and-pokes a lot, and have seen some of my friends do in-house work. Why do you ask?"

Brendon smiled, his swollen eyes still covered by his hands. "I think I have something that could work for you."

*     *     *

Present Day

"That night, Brendon took me to his apartment where I stayed for almost a year until I had enough money to get my own place," Ashley said as she leaned on Ryan's shoulder. "We signed the lease on the tattoo shop together, and a month later we were hanging the open sign on Empty Gold. This place became our home, our place of refuge, and we took in refugees just like us. Ryan and Dallon came to us from Utah, Josh and Tyler came to us from Ohio, Hayley from Tennessee, and Patty from Minnesota. We take in people like us because we know what it's like to have a dream and want nothing more than to chase it. Why do you think Brendon took you in? You had more passion behind your eyes and more skill in your hands than anyone I've ever met. Brendon saw a lot of him in you, and he wanted to make sure you understood that he believed in you."

Ryan blushed gently. He had an arm wrapped around Ashley's shoulder, rubbing her arm gently. "Why are you so mad at him, then?"

Ashley sighed. "I guess, even though I knew I would be leaving, I wasn't ready to accept that we'd both be giving up on something we started together. But," she shook her head, "now I just feel like a dick. He has a chance to make this bigger, just like I have a chance to do something I've always wanted to do. God, he probably hates me, doesn't he?"

Ryan chuckled softly. "Not even a little bit," he said, pressing a soft kiss to Ashley's hair. "Just go talk to him. He probably feels the same way."

Ashley turned her head and smiled up at Ryan brightly. "Thanks, Ryan," she said softly. "I'm gonna miss you. I know we only just met, and we barely have had time to get to know each other, but if Brendon likes you as much as he seems to, then I guess you're alright."

Ryan chuckled again and stood up with Ashley. "I'll take it," he said softly as they walked back into the studio.

Brendon turned his head as they walked back in, but was engulfed in a crushing hug by Ashley before he had time to question anything. Brendon gave Ryan a look over Ashley's shoulder like he was some sort of miracle worker.

Ryan just smiles and walks over to his station, getting his things together just as the front door of the shop burst open and a very pissed off looking Sarah comes storming inside.

Brendon already looks tired. "Sarah--"

"Shut up, Brendon," she says, venom dripping from her words. "I did some digging, and I found something you might want to read about your dear friend Ryan, over there." She stopped talking, handing a manila folder to Brendon and looking at Ryan with a sickly sweet smile that would look normal to anyone else. Now, though, it looked absolutely deadly. "It's amazing what you can find out about a person for such a small price on the internet. Why don't you read some of that out, Brendon? Why don't you let everyone know exactly what kind of person Ryan Ross is?"

Ryan freezes.