One word. That's all. But it echoes in my chest like he shouted it.
I stay.
---
The movie ends with the family surviving but traumatized, the demon temporarily defeated. The lights come back on, and Robin immediately grabs the remote.
"Thank god that's over." He starts scrolling through options with desperate energy. "I need to see people making cupcakes after that. Something wholesome. Something where no one gets possessed by demons."
He lands on some baking competition show. A bunch of nervous contestants in matching aprons, a gleaming kitchen, judges with British accents making gentle critiques. Good palate cleanser after demonic possession.
People start moving around—bathroom breaks, more drinks, stretching legs. Knox murmurs something to Toby and they disappear upstairs, not subtle at all about their intentions. Ezra and Silas drift toward the back room, probably to play chess or whatever quiet thing they do together when they want to decompress.
But Ash stays where he is. So do I.
"The popcorn was really good," I say, when Robin's absorbed in critiquing someone's fondant technique on screen.
"Had help." Ash tips his head back to look at me, and from this angle I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. The vulnerability he's trying to hide. "Found the recipe on your board. Hope that's okay."
"It's fine. It's—" I swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat. "Thank you."
"I got here early. Robin let me in. Told me where everything was." He's watching me carefully, like he's trying to gauge my reaction to every word. "I wanted to do something. Make something you'd like."
"You made my own recipe for me."
"Seemed safer than trying to improvise." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Didn't want to fuck it up."
There's weight in the way he says it. Like he's not just talking about popcorn.
"You didn't," I tell him. "Fuck it up, I mean."
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he nods and turns back to face the TV.
On screen, someone's making elaborate sugar sculptures, spinning caramel into impossible shapes. Robin groans dramatically.
"That's going to crystallize. Look at how fast they're working—you can't rush sugar work like that."
"What does crystallizing mean?" Ash asks.
Robin launches into an explanation about temperature and seed crystals. I add details about how sugar behaves differently depending on how you treat it. We're talking over each other, finishing each other's sentences, getting increasingly technical.
Ash listens, asks follow-up questions, seems genuinely interested. His questions are specific, thoughtful—the kind that show he's actually processing what we're saying rather than just nodding along.
The pack gradually disperses. Vaughn heads to his room with a wave, saying something about an early morning. The bar is quiet now, just the three of us and the glow of the TV and the sound of stressed contestants racing against the clock.
"I should go," Ash says eventually.
"Or you could stay," Robin suggests, not looking away from the screen where someone is having a breakdown over buttercream consistency. "There's another episode."
"I don't care about baking."
"Jason does."
Ash looks at me. "Do you? Actually care about this stuff?"
"I like seeing the techniques. How people solve problems under pressure." I shrug. "The food science aspect is interesting."
"Then I'll stay."
