Imagines and One-Shots (Book Two)

Taking Chances (Ashton Irwin)

I'VE POSTED THINGS LIKE 939474 TIMES IN THE LAST FOUR DAYS BUT FUUUUUUUUUCK IIIIIIIIIIIT

does this really have anything to do with boxing??? no. no it doesn't. sorry in advance for the disappointment ur about to feel over it.

~

"Hey, Ash!" you called when you heard the front door to your apartment open, "How'd you do?!"

"I won," your roommate shrugged, coming into the kitchen where you washing the dishes.

"Well, yeah," you rolled your eyes, "You always win; I meant about those sponsorships you were so worried about getting before you left."

You and Ashton had known each other for a couple years now – meeting when he needed a roommate in the city and you happened to be looking for someone to split the bills with. He wasn't exactly the most open person – he rarely talked to you about his life at all unless it was about boxing.

He was the best in the country – the championship trophies littering just about every room in the apartment proof of that. You never went to any of his matches – but he knew you didn't particularly enjoy watching people beat the shit out of each other, so he was never offended by it.

"Not sure yet," he informed you, "They wanna see another match before they decide whether or not I'm a safe option."

"And your track record isn't enough?" you cocked an eyebrow despite the fact that you weren't facing him. You heard him chuckle softly though, making you smile to yourself.

"Guess they need one more," he said.

It was at this point that you finally finished the dishes, hanging your towel back on the oven's handle and turning to face him.

"Ashton, what happened to you?!" you shrieked, hurrying over to him to get a better look.

You had a tendency to do this whenever he came home with an injury, but this was the worst one you'd seen yet. There was a dark purple bruise surrounding the outer half of his eye as well as most of his upper cheek, paired along with a decent-sized cut along his cheekbone.

"You really need to that checked out, Ash," you told him, "I don't think a simple bandaid is gonna do anything this time."

"I'll be fine," he mumbled, going to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

"Then you should at least clean and cover it so it doesn't get infected," you shook your head.

"I said I'm fine, Y/N – just drop it." You swallowed thickly at the increasing volume of his voice, but you didn't stop.

"Well, if it gets infected before the next match, then you won't be able to fight," you reminded him, "And then you won't get your spons-"

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, shut the fuck up!" Ashton finally shouted, slamming his water bottle down on the counter and turning to face you as he threw his arm up, "I said I'm fine! What part of that are you not understanding?!"

"Sorry!" you squeaked, your voice breaking as you flinched slightly.

Ashton looked at you with a glare, only to have it disappear the moment he realized you actually thought he would ever be mad enough to hit you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered at a barely audible volume – but he still heard it... He heard it loud and clear.

You didn't even notice the way Ashton was looking at you because you'd already spun around on your heels, hurrying back to your bedroom before you started full-on crying in front of him. But it was too late; A broken sob left your mouth right before you shut and locked the door, leaving Ashton alone in the deafening silence of the kitchen.