He couldn’t breathe.

Blake thrashed, but the sight of his dad’s face in front of him made him feel utterly hopeless. Seriously, what kind of a father was he?

Choking his own kid?

Now that he thought about it, Anthony was exactly like this. He would go to any lengths to ensure no one- and that included his own son, Blake- defy him or disobey him.

Blake closed his eyes.

Blake closed his eyes, his breathing growing ragged. He couldn’t stop the tears from spilling, warm streaks that cut through the dirt on his face. To anyone watching from the outside, it would look like he was breaking down- red-faced and pale, gasping for air as his legs weakly kicked against the ground.

But Inside, Blake felt…blessed.

Yes, it hurt. His body rebelled, twisting and jerking in search of relief, but his mind? His mind had stopped fighting. For the first time in what felt like years, the noise in his head had quieted.

Am I dying?

If this was what death was like, it wasn’t terrifying at all.

His worries diminished.

No more running. No more pretending to be stronger than he was. No more carrying the weight of a world that didn’t care whether he lived or died. At that moment, everything was simple. Painfully simple.

Maybe Anthony would choke him to death. Maybe he wouldn’t. Blake wasn’t even sure he cared anymore.

And suddenly, Blake realized he was facing his worst fears, but to his surprise, he didn’t feel scared.

How many times had he thought about this? How many nights had he stared at the ceiling, wishing for it to end but too cowardly to do it himself? And now, here it was- his father, his own flesh and blood, granting him what he hadn’t been able to take for himself.

It was poetic in the worst possible way.

A part of him- some small, desperate part buried deep under years of anger and resentment- wanted to scream.

To fight.

To beg his father to stop, to tell him that he was sorry for whatever he had done to make him hate him this much. But the words wouldn’t come. His throat was too tight, the pressure too much. The tears kept falling.

His vision darkened around the edges.

He thought of his mother, of her gentle smile and soft hands as she’d brushed his hair back when he was a child. He thought of Xavier, his last words echoing like a whisper in the back of his mind. I hope someone helps you.

And then, he thought of Lucas. That idiot who always seemed so calm, so untouchable, even when the world was falling apart around him. Lucas, who had seen through every mask Blake had ever worn, who had never once looked at him with fear or hatred.

Lucas, who had stepped in front of Ash’s blade without hesitation, who had bled for him.

A sob racked through Blake’s chest, or maybe it was just another desperate gasp for air. He didn’t know anymore.

He shut his eyes again, imagining what his life would have been if his dad wasn’t a politician. And it hit him soon, he would have lived like a kite- light and free.

He would have glowed with confidence and youth, and he would’ve looked like someone who belonged, like a shoulder to cry on.

The vision was so alluring, so vivid and real, despite Blake’s warm tears across his face, despite his father’s curses, despite his heart aching for air, Blake couldn’t help but smile.

“What the hell are you smiling for, you piece of garbage?!” His father’s voice hissed, but Blake didn’t reply.

It was long after that he retreated his hands from Blake’s throat and he realized something.

Blake wasn’t breathing.

“Well, that didn’t take long. Hey, Sam. Bury this piece of trash wherever you want, and don’t hold a funeral for him.” Anthony Jack stood up, and away from Blake. He sparred one last glance on Blake’s smiling yet pale, lifeless face, “Tch. Piece of garbage.”

Sam nodded and took a step forward, but then Anthony’s voice cut through again, “Sam, Is this Lucas Whitaker related to….Hart Whitaker by any chance?”

Sam took out his clipboard and glanced at it. “Of course. Lucas Whitaker is the son of Hart Whitaker. His parents are deceased. He currently lives with his big brother named Jamie Whitaker in Telluride. His birthday is on second-”

“Okay, okay, shut up.” Anthony Jack ran a hand through his hair, as if to calm himself down, and then he looked at Sam, there was a strange sparkle in his eyes, “Don’t send the men to the hospital. Let them recover first. I’ll personally have fun crushing that bastard when he gets well. Oh, and who is this Asher Hawkins?”

“I’ve no idea, sir. I’m sorry.”

“What are you standing here for?! Take your lazy butt out there and gather information on that jerk too. Who is he, where does he live, who are his parents, when is his birthday, how many siblings does he have, what does he have for breakfast, when does he go to school, everything. I need everything about him. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luke sat by Ash’s bedside, his posture tense, leaning forward with his hands clasped together. He hadn’t moved since the moment he arrived, his eyes glued to his son’s pale face.

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Ash stirred. Slowly, his fingers twitched against the white sheets. Luke’s heart leaped in his chest, his breath catching. He leaned closer. “Ash?” he called softly, his voice trembling.

Where am I?

Ash’s eyelids fluttered. His breathing was still shallow, the rise and fall of his chest uneven. Finally, his eyes cracked open, unfocused at first. He blinked once, twice, and his lips parted weakly.

Luke let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his voice shaky as he answered, “Do you feel pain anywhere? Should I call the doctor?”

Ash ignored the question entirely.

What happened?

Ash was pushing himself upright, wincing as a sharp jolt shot through his arm. He ignored it, his memories still sluggish, just out of reach. His hand instinctively went to his arm, brushing against the bandages wrapped around it, and the realization struck him.

“Ash, don’t try to sit up too fast.”Luke stood up, and held Ash by the shoulders.

“What- what happened?” Ash muttered, his voice hoarse.

And then, memories came flooding back.

Lucas. Blood. Blake’s blade grazing his arm. The wild look in Blake’s eyes. The dull thud of Lucas hitting the ground.

Lucas.

The name rang like an alarm in his head, and his heart picked up speed as the memories pieced themselves together. He gasped, his mind replaying the moment Lucas had stepped in front of him, the knife plunging into his friend’s stomach.

The spray of crimson, the panic that gripped Ash as he applied pressure to the wound, the shallow breaths Lucas took, and the way his eyes had unfocused- like he was fading.

“Lucas…” Ash looked at him, wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Where’s Lucas?” he asked, ignoring the soreness in his throat. “Is he- did he- ”

Luke hesitated, and then spoke. “The doctors had to put him under anesthesia because of the severity of his injuries. They’re keeping a close eye on him,” he said, choosing his words carefully, his tone soft but steady. “But he’s stable for now.”

Thank god.

Ash let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment as if to absorb the words.mWhen he opened his eyes again, his voice was barely audible. “How long was I out?”

Luke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The night passed. It’s morning now.”

Oh, right. Dad is here, then that means I’ve to tell him everything that happened.

“Dad, I-” Ash trailed off, as his dad cut through.

“Blake told me everything.”

E-Eh?!

Ash didn’t seem convinced. But Luke pulled his chair closer, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. “He told me everything that happened yesterday, and the things that have happened before.”

That caught Ash’s attention. His gaze snapped to his father, confusion flashing across his face. “Blake...did?” The words felt foreign on his tongue.

Blake, of all people?

Luke nodded, “Ash, I didn’t know so much was going on with you. I didn’t know things were this bad.”

Ash’s thoughts spun.

Blake, who he’d barely seen as anything more than a bully, had explained everything?

And his dad...his dad looked genuinely sorry. The words ‘I didn’t know’ echoed in his mind.

Luke leaned closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I’m…so sorry, Ash. I should have paid more attention. I should have known. I didn’t know my own son was going through hell like that.”

Huh?

Luke’s gaze softened as he moved to sit on the edge of Ash’s hospital bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, but he didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at Ash- really looked at him- like he was trying to see beyond the bruises and the exhaustion etched into his son’s face.

And then, without warning, Luke leaned forward and pulled Ash into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped securely around him.

Ash froze.

For a split second, he didn’t know what to do. His dad wasn’t the type for big, emotional gestures like this. Sure, he was warm and kind, but he’d always been a little reserved.

What the-

Luke’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, and Ash felt his dad’s hand come up to cradle the back of his head, smoothing his hair.

His dad’s voice cracked as he whispered, “I was scared as hell, Ash. You scared me.”

Ash blinked rapidly, his mind racing. “Dad, I-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Luke’s voice rose slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me what was happening? I feel like…I feel like an awful father.”

Ash’s breath hitched. “No, Dad, it’s not-”

“I mean it,” Luke interrupted, his hand still gently smoothing down Ash’s hair. His other arm stayed firm around Ash’s shoulders, like he was terrified to let go. “I had no idea you were going through all of this. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known.”

“Dad,” Ash finally managed, his own voice quieter now. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t that bad.”

Yeah, sure. It wasn’t that bad, huh Asher? You almost got stabbed yesterday, and that graze on your arm doesn’t hurt at all. For the love of god, you totally were not going to die.

Luke pulled back just enough to look at him, his hands settling on either side of Ash’s face. “Don’t say that,” he said firmly. “Don’t try to brush it off. It was bad. Your friend got stabbed. And look at you…All bandaged like a mummy. It’s my fault for not being there for you-”

Ash frowned. “It’s not your fault, dad.”

“Nor is this your fault, got it?”

“What do you mean? It is my fault. Lucas…he got stabbed. And…And-” Ash’s stomach twisted at the mention of Lucas. He looked down, his hands gripping the hospital blanket. “I… I didn’t ask him to,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want him to-”

“I know,” Luke said quickly, cutting him off. “I know, Ash. But don’t blame yourself for it.”

Ash’s throat tightened, but he didn’t say anything. His silence was answer enough. The words were meant to be reassuring, but Ash felt like they weren’t. His mind replayed the image of Lucas’s face- pale, contorted with pain, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as he whispered that it hurt.

And then…he had stopped responding.

“You did everything you could,” Luke’s voice unusually stern. “You called for help. You stayed with him. You didn’t leave him.”

“I let him get hurt,” Ash whispered. “I let him-”

“Stop,” Luke interrupted, his tone firmer this time. Ash looked at him, surprised by the sharpness in his dad’s voice. “You didn’t let anything happen. That boy…Lucas…he made his own choice. He stepped in front of you.”

Ash’s breath hitched as those words settled in. Lucas had stepped in front of him. On purpose.

“Why?” Ash whispered, more to himself than to his dad.

“Maybe because he’s your friend,” Luke said quietly.

Ash scoffed. “Who says that friends are supposed to jump in front of others to show that they are stronger, or they can control and manage. Where in the hell is that written?”

Luke smiled. “Some things are written on the heart. Not everything in the world makes sense, no one knows why Lucas did what he did. He came in front, because he cares. And that is what friends are for. They care.”

Ash looked away.

Luke tightened his hold. “Lucas did what was necessary. Just like I would’ve. Just like you would’ve.”

No one said anything for some time. And then, Ash broke the silence.

“Dad,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m…sorry. For scaring you.”

“Don’t be. You don’t have to handle everything on your own anymore, okay? I’m proud of whatever you did. I’ll always be proud of you.”

And Ash felt warm, impossibly warm.

A shade of red spread on his cheeks, and Ash smiled.