For the writing-prompts I'm doing on tumblr. An anon asked for "Is that my shirt?" for BusterXAsh.

Why

Buster awakes with a terrible headache. It takes his thoughts a while to make their way through the fuzzy, hurting thing his brain once has been. But once they make it through, the first thought he's able to think is: What the heck happened?

And the second is: Where am I?

With the thoughts come the memories.

There was the grand re-opening of his theater yesterday. And there was the party. And he had a lot of fun with Eddie, and his main crew, even with Nana Noodleman. And he drank some cocktails.

Okay, a lot of cocktails.

And then, nothing.

Suddenly, his brain refuses to bring back any more memories.

He sits up and looks around.

At least he knows where he is now.

This is his new apartment, the one he had built in the new Moon Theater, so he wouldn't have to leave his beloved theater again to get to an apartment.

Is it even possible that a head could hurt that much?

He isn't sure about that.

But all pain is forgotten, okay, not forgotten because it hurts so very much, but at least secondary when he realizes he isn't alone.

There's someone in bed with him, and when he recognizes who it it is, his heart skips a beat. And another one.

Why on earth is Ash sleeping right next to him?

He tries to remember, but he can't. There is the party and the cocktails, and then nothing.

He quickly looks down his body.

Well, he's still wearing his clothes. Or most of them.

His shoes are gone as is his jacket and his pants, but he's at least wearing his shirt and, most importantly, his underpants.

Still doesn't mean he didn't do something last night he better had not done.

He feels panic rising in his chest.

Think, Buster, think! There must be a logical explanation why you are here with Ash, here in your bed! A logical, not at all sexual explanation! Think!

But he can't find it nor can't he remember anything.

Maybe some coffee would do the trick.

But the moment he tries to slide out of his bed, Ash stirs and sits up.

She opens her eyes and looks at him.

"Good morning," she says.

"Good morning!" he replies so loudly, it adds an extra share of pain to his headache. Which he probably deserves.

"How are you feeling?" Ash asks.

"I-I'm not sure!"

Because really, he isn't. He has no idea what happened and he isn't even sure he wants to know.

Yes, as far as he remembers Ash turned nineteen a few weeks ago, but still, she's part of his crew, and … and …

Thoughts leave him there again.

Ash frowns at him.

"Not sure?" she repeats. "You must be suffering from a murder-headache from what I can tell."

"That, I do," he replies. He wants to say more, but then his eyes set on the shirt Ash is wearing, and it adds some more panic to his already pretty high panic-level.

"Is-" He breaks off because his voice sounded way too squeaky and he at least doesn't want to sound as panicky as he's feeling right now. So he clears his throat.

"Is that my shirt?" he asks, pleased that his voice sounds as close to normal as he can possibly get right now.

Ash looks down her body.

"Yeah," she replies. "I hope it's okay I borrowed it. You accidentally poured your last cocktail all over my clothes when I tried to get you up these stairs."

He must look as surprised as he's feeling at Ash's words because she adds, "You don't remember, do you?"

He shakes his head. "Not really. What happened?"

"You drank too much," she says.

Buster rolls his eyes a little. "I had that much figured out myself."

Ash giggles. "Well, when everyone said good-bye, Eddie asked if you were going to be okay. You said yes, but I didn't buy it. So I stayed behind, and it was good, I did. Because you somehow managed to get lost in your own theater. Luckily, you showed us all around when you were still fairly sober, so I knew the way to your apartment. I somehow managed to get you into the right direction, but you need help on the stairs, and because you were still carrying your last cocktail around and the glass was still half-full, I'm wearing your shirt now. Well, we made it to your apartment, and you walked to the bedroom, getting rid of most of your clothes on the way. Oh, and the cocktail glass, but no worries, I caught it. And then you collapsed into bed, and I guess, you know the rest."

"Okay," Buster says.

He's glad he didn't do anything stupid at least.

"But why did you stay with me?" he asks because that's the one question he just doesn't seem to be able to get the answer for.

Ash shrugs. "You didn't look so well, and I thought I'd better stick around, just in case."

"And you didn't buy when I said I was fine even though Eddie did, and Eddie has known me for many years now and you just for a few months?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Why?"

"Let's just say I had my share of dealing with males who drank too much and say they're fine although they aren't."

There's something in her voice that tells Buster that this is all he's going to get out of her. It doesn't really answer his question, though.

And it doesn't explain why his heart started beating a little faster, either.

"Thank you, Ash," he says.

She smiles which only adds a little more speed to his heartbeat which he can't explain either. Must be the alcohol, really.

"You're welcome," she says.

"Come on." Buster finally slides out of his bed. "Let me put on some more clothes and then let's have breakfast together." He glances at the clock. "Or brunch. You can pick the restaurant."

Ash points at her chest. "Wearing this? My clothes still smell like I had some terrible cocktail-mixing-accident."

"Oh, yeah, right." He thinks for a moment, and yes, it worsens his headache, but he doesn't care. "How about we try to find something in the fund for you."

"Not one of these sparkly stage outfits! I am not going to wear that anywhere else than on stage!"

"No worries!" Buster says. "I might have added some black dresses to the fund."

Ash's eyes widen. "Why?"

Now it's Buster's turn to shrug. "Because you're one of my main performers and I don't know how long you'll stick to these sparkly outfits on stage."

Ash smiles. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," he replies.

He looks into her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes, until he realizes he must be staring, so he quickly turns away.

"Now come on, let's go!" he says, setting into motion.

"Okay!" Ash calls out, jumping out of bed and following him.

Stupid alcohol, really, makes his heart beat way too fast.