#also let me just say that im furious that you baited me with favorite place

[clumsyclifford]

another prompt for mashton if you're interested 👀 the chorus of Favorite Place by atl (I was listening to it earlier after reading your latest post and the lyrics hit me so hard)

me: im gonna go back to writing malum/lashton now! you: nice try adkgjadl;kgjafkgjd anyway FUCK you anon this song is my lifeblood so there was no way i could refuse this prompt oh god sorry this is kinda really emo

-

It’s been three days, and Michael misses Ashton.

He’s been trying not to think about it, because the breaks between touring are supposed to be their time for R&R, and he knows Ashton wants to spend time with his family, his brother and sister, and just be at home, comfortable in the knowledge that there are no shows and he can shower whenever he wants. Michael has been trying to fall into that mindset too. It’s amazing to wake up at noon, stay in bed for two hours, and then play video games all day before going to sleep at 2am. Every time they tour, Michael has to choose between kicking all his unfortunate habits or maintaining them and being fucking worn out at all hours of the day, so it’s nice to just veg out. 

But he misses Ashton so much.

It’s in the little things, Michael supposes, like how Ashton has somehow perfected the ratio of milk to coffee better than Michael ever can, and the way Ashton will run his fingers through Michael’s hair while they’re watching a movie, and the broad smiles Ashton will give him onstage, just before they go into She Looks So Perfect, flushed and sweaty but so, so happy. Michael’s gotten used to Ashton in everything he does, and now Ashton’s not here, and Michael misses him. It hurts how much he misses him.

The worst part is that Ashton doesn’t even live that far. He’s farther than Luke and Calum, who are both walking distance, but Ashton’s only a fifteen minute drive, and Michael could do that so easily. He could go and come back fifty times a day. But he doesn’t want to impose on Ashton. Ashton deserves the chance to spend quality time with his family, and Michael should work on not being so fucking clingy. 

That goes fine until two in the morning, and Michael is sitting in bed, knees drawn to his chest, very very close to a mental breakdown. At least he’s able to recognize the signs in himself; his heart feels like it’s cracking down the center, all the blood spilling out; he’s had a twisting, churning sensation in his gut for hours, like the feeling just before you’re going to cry; with every second that passes Michael feels more and more compelled to curl up under his blanket and never leave. He knows what it feels like to break down.

And he knows the best person to talk him down from it.

The only reason he hasn’t dialed yet is because he’s spent about three hours trying to convince himself not to, but now it’s pitch black outside, the entire house is silent, and Michael’s going to start crying in about three minutes, he can tell.

He dials.

Even as it rings he feels like an asshole, and Ashton probably won’t pick up. It’s two in the fucking morning. Ashton’s the only one with a halfway decent sleep schedule, and Michael is going to worry him for no reason when he wakes up in the morning to a missed call from Michael.

“‘Lo?”

“Ashton?”

“Michael.” Ashton’s voice is groggy. He clears his throat. “Hey,” he says in a whisper. “What’s up?”

Michael shakes his head. “I don’t — I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Ashton says without missing a beat. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Michael says, biting down hard on his lip like it’ll keep him from crying. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just repeats, “I miss you.”

“Okay,” Ashton says. “I miss you too, Mikey. Do you want to come over?”

Michael doesn’t trust himself to drive in this state. “No.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes. If you —”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Ashton says. “Do you want me to stay on the call?”

It’s tempting, but Michael doesn’t want to distract him. “That’s okay,” he says, aware that his voice sounds unspeakably small. “See you.”

“I love you,” Ashton reminds him.

“I love you,” Michael echoes, and then the call cuts out, and Michael forces his legs to stretch out until they reach the floor, and carries himself as silently as possible to the front door. The last thing he wants is to wake his parents.

By the time Ashton’s car pulls up to the curb, Michael has resumed his previous position on the stoop: knees against his chest, mouth set in a tight line, gut still threatening to make him cry. Ashton gets out, in joggers and what Michael recognizes as his pajama shirt, and is by Michael’s side in an instant.

“Hey, Mike,” he says, and his voice is so soft, and Michael wants to cry. “Do you want a hug?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. His own voice cracks in the middle. Ashton gathers him up in his arms and Michael releases his hold on his knees to wrap his arms instead around Ashton, who’s comforting, and Ashton who’s warm despite the chill in the nighttime air, and Ashton who’s here, who smells like cleanliness and sunshine, who feels like coming home more than actually coming home did to Michael.

Ashton doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t do anything, just holds Michael tight against his chest, and Michael feels that writhing gut feeling start to dissolve. After three hours of trying to determine if he’s going to cry or not, it feels immensely relieving to know he won’t.

Finally, Ashton murmurs, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Michael does, and he knows Ashton will listen. He nods. “You don’t have to keep hugging me,” he says, even though he doesn’t want to let go. Ashton pulls away but stays sitting next to him, one hand palm up on Michael’s knee. Michael laces their fingers together. It’s grounding, to be with Ashton. Michael feels better already.

“I’m sorry for taking you from your family,” Michael says. “And waking you.”

“Don’t be,” Ashton says. “They’re not up right now anyway. And I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Michael says. Technically he knows it, but it doesn’t hurt to hear Ashton repeat it. “I just missed you.”

“That’s all?” Ashton says, soft. “You just missed me?”

Michael shrugs. “Yeah. You’re warm, and I’m cold, and you make me smile, and I missed you. A lot. I know that’s clingy. I didn’t want to disturb your family time so I didn’t call earlier.”

“God, Mike,” Ashton says. “Did you think I didn’t miss you?”

“You spend so much time with me on tour, though,” Michael says.

“Because I like you.”

“But don’t you want a break?”

“Did you want a break from spending time with me?”

“No.”

“Then why would you think I’d want one from you?”

Because you’re like sunlight and I’m just a grey sky, Michael thinks. “Dunno.”

Ashton leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Michael’s forehead, and Michael sighs and leans heavily against him. “How many times can I tell you I love you before you believe me?” he says quietly.

“I believe you,” Michael says, which is true. There’s no way Ashton couldn’t love him, because Ashton can’t help but love. It’s built into his DNA. “I’m just not the only person in your life. It’s not fair to assume —”

“Michael, listen to me,” Ashton says. He reaches over with his free hand and tilts Michael’s face towards him, feather light on Michael’s chin. “You are the most important to me. I would and will drop anything for you. I mean that now and forever. Anytime you need me, I’ll be there.”

Michael gazes at Ashton, dim in the dark, and feels the chest-cracking-open feeling again, but this time it feels better, like fixing instead of breaking. “You’re my favorite,” he tells Ashton.

Ashton smiles. “Good, because you’re mine.”

Michael’s not sure which of them moves first, but suddenly he’s kissing Ashton on his doorstep, and he feels like he’s being knit back together, piece by piece, glued in place by Ashton’s hand in his, Ashton’s lips on his. Ashton feels like the sun on Michael’s face, and Michael feels at ease.