#ashton is the type of person to say 'oh this is nothing' while he's dying inside

[beedreamscape]

Regardless of how this relationship will end or be established, the important part of what Braius was suggesting is that a conversation happens. Ashton knows who Fearne is but to say he's not developing feelings is silly and neither have set the expectations of how they'll move forward (I assume from a feeling that the world will end or they'll die in the process of preventing that).

[clumsyclifford]

a future of stories, kiss you good mornings

here’s a cute little malum fic in honor of michael’s 25th birthday !! i am sadly not the editing or giffing type and my only real creative outlet is writing so i am forced to show my love for mr clifford by pretending he’s in love with his best friend because you know. that’s how we roll

big shoutout to @blackbutterfliescal and @devilatmydoor for rallying the troops so to speak lol and getting us all to celebrate michael’s birthday you guys are truly both wonderful and everyone in this lil community is so wonderful wow i love you all !!!!! yes i’ve been listening to a very cute love song on a loop for a little bit so maybe i’m being exceedingly sappy but that’s life. anyway enough from me

this is fluffy, fluffy fluff. it MIGHT be the fluffiest fluff i’ve ever written. no tws (i think) just fluff !!! something about malum just brings out all the fluff. if i say fluff one more time i might lose my mind so why don’t we all just dive into the fic okay cool

title from protocol by the vamps (don’t use the song as a guide for the tone of the fic adflkgjfhklmj) 

read it here on ao3

Waking up alone threatens to make this birthday pretty bad.

Hopefully it means Calum is making breakfast. Michael would kill for waffles. He blindly sweeps an arm over Calum’s side of the bed, but it’s cold. Michael snuggles deeper into his pillows, keeping his eyes shut for another minute in case he falls back asleep. He’d actually bet anything Calum is making him breakfast right now, because that’s Calum’s go-to birthday move, so Calum will come get him when it’s ready.

Time melts into nothing, and Michael’s not sure if he does drift off again or just float on the edges of consciousness, but after some undetermined stretch a quiet voice whispers, “Mikey.”

“Hm,” Michael grunts. 

Calum crawls into bed and presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek (the one not currently flattened against the pillow). “Happy birthday, babe.”

“Would be happier if I was asleep.”

Calum chuckles lightly and wraps Michael up in his arms. His embrace is warm and familiar, and much cozier than the pillows, so Michael burrows deeper into Calum’s chest. “Would it be happier if you had waffles and ice cream for breakfast?”

Michael perks up. “Ice cream?”

“It’s your birthday,” Calum says, a grin in his voice. “Of course we’re having ice cream for breakfast.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” Michael says, tempted by the notion of ice cream for breakfast. “It’s hot.”

Calum laughs outright. “Get up or the waffles will get cold.”

“How’d you know I wanted waffles?” Michael asks, brushing a kiss over Calum’s collarbone before pulling away to look at him. He’s smiling like he knows something Michael doesn’t, and he’s as charmingly adorable as he’s been every day since they met, but Michael feels a little extra in love today. Maybe it has to do with getting older. He’s officially closer to thirty than twenty now. His age can be rounded up. That’s a little bit insane.

“We’ve been together seven years, Michael,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “You think I don’t know your favorite breakfast food?”

Michael smiles, melty and warm inside. “Love you,” he says.

Calum kisses him. “Love you too. Now get up. Waffles.”

—

Calum is suspiciously happy. Michael points this out through a mouthful of ice cream-soaked waffle, and Calum just cocks his head. The smile doesn’t waver. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re, like, dancing,” Michael says. He swallows his food. “There’s no music and you’re dancing.”

“So you’ve never danced without music?” Calum raises his eyebrows.

“I’m just saying, it’s suspicious,” Michael says, shrugging. He leans forward on his elbow, resting his face on his palm. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“So what do you want to do today?” Calum prompts, still swaying back and forth a bit. Michael wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it; it’s like there’s a song playing that only Calum can hear. Something’s making him light on his feet.

Michael wishes he knew what it was, so he could make it happen every day. Seeing Calum in such high spirits is doing wonders for Michael’s disposition. It’s fun to be in love, Michael muses, knowing that someone else’s mood can be just as instrumental in setting the tone of the day as Michael’s own. If Calum’s energy is anything to go by, today is shaping up to be incredible.

“Nothing,” Michael says honestly. He’s been gazing at Calum for a minute and answers a little late, but Calum has just been letting him. “Just want to relax.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Calum says, smiling airily. Michael makes a noise of protest, but he can’t fight the silly grin.

“If you knew, then why’d you even ask?”

“I had to make sure!”

“Yes, Calum, you know me better than anyone else on the planet,” Michael says wryly. “Are you satisfied?”

Calum’s smile grows. “I got you a birthday present.”

“I should hope you did.”

“It’s a bit non-traditional, though,” Calum continues. “As birthday presents go.”

Like there are traditional birthday presents? Michael wrinkles his nose in confusion. “Okay? Are you going to give it to me?”

Calum hesitates. “Do you want it now, or later?”

“Is this a weird euphemism? Are you just asking if I want to sleep with you?”

“No!” Calum snickers. “No, it’s not. It’s a real thing. I…I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Michael promises. “I mean, you knew what I wanted for breakfast and what I wanted to do for my birthday, so I can’t imagine you got me a birthday present I’d hate.”

“Yeah, this one’s a bit of a commitment, though,” Calum says. “Like, the thing is the present, but it’s also not.”

“What about instead of being really cryptic, you just give it to me?” Michael suggests. He has total confidence in Calum. If the present is something Michael doesn’t like, Michael will eat his shirt.

“So you want it now?” Calum says. “Don’t want to finish your waffles first?”

“Well, you’re kind of building the suspense here, love,” Michael says, grinning and shaking his head. “Just give it to me when you want to give it to me.”

“No, I mean. Okay. I have to go and get it.” Calum shifts, then says, “Finish your breakfast and I’ll go get your present and then I’ll give it to you, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael says, amused. Calum sidles past him, dropping a kiss to his temple as he goes, and leaves. Michael chuckles to himself and takes the last few bites of his waffles — which are delicious, of course, fluffy and warm and not too limp or too crunchy. Calum’s only mastered a few culinary arts, but one of them is breakfast. They work well like that; Calum knows how to make Michael’s favorite category of food.

While Calum is retrieving the enigmatic birthday gift, Michael turns his phone over on the tabletop and finally starts reading through the myriad messages previewed on the lock screen. Luke and Ashton had both texted at midnight exactly, so there’s nothing new from them this morning, but basically everyone else Michael has ever met is wishing him a happy birthday on every single social media platform he has. Just then he hears Calum’s footsteps behind him, and he flips his phone facedown on the table again. 

He can get to the birthday messages later. He will. But they’re not going anywhere, and Michael wants to spend this time with his boyfriend, his best friend, his favorite person.

Also, he’s dying of curiosity about the birthday present.

“You done?” Calum asks, gliding back into the room with grace. Michael eyes him; he’s hiding something behind his back but it must be small, because Michael can’t see it. Obligingly, he lays his fork and knife across the plate and pushes it away from him.

“I’m done,” he confirms. “Present time?”

Calum rocks back and forth on his feet. “Okay. But you need to be standing for it or else the effect is ruined.”

“The effect of the birthday present?” Michael says drily, but he doesn’t argue, just gets to his feet, mirroring Calum’s stance by linking his hands together behind his back and giving Calum a cheeky smile. “How’s this?”

Calum shuffles backwards a bit until there’s just about one arm’s length between them. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

He inhales deeply, exhales, and then falls to one knee, holding out in front of him what he’s been concealing behind his back: an engagement ring.

Michael’s hands fly to his mouth. 

“Oh,” he breathes into his palms. “Calum.”

“Let me talk first,” Calum says, smiling up at Michael, and then he laughs a bit. “I don’t know if you can tell that I’m really fucking nervous. I’ve tried to be really cool about it, because I can’t see why you’d say no, but still — I’m scared as fuck. But I’m going to let you save your answer until I’m done talking so that even if you say no you still get an ego boost.” Michael laughs shakily. Tears glaze over his eyes, and as he blinks them away one slides down his face.

Calum pulls the ring towards him, still gazing up at Michael. “So…where do I start, Michael Clifford? My best friend of at least ten years, my boyfriend for the last seven, my favorite person to fall asleep next to, the only person I’d ever learn to cook for. I mean, I never really learned, but I would. I will.”

“You don’t have to,” Michael manages, somehow laughing even though he’s definitely also crying.

Calum giggles, and it’s obvious he’s also trying not to cry. “Let me finish, I’m trying to propose!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Anyway, I just…I just love you so much, Michael.” When Michael blinks again, a vain attempt to clear his blurring vision, their eyes meet, and Calum’s words have never been more obvious from the expression on his face. “I…before us, I thought that I got it. Like, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love. But —” He shakes his head. “I so, so didn’t. I thought that sometimes love hurt, but with you it never does. Seven years, Michael, and it’s never hurt to be in love with you. You are one of the — no, fuck it. You are the smartest, sweetest, sexiest,” — Michael breaks out with another laugh — “most driven and charismatic person I’ve ever met, and you shine even when you think you don’t, but especially when you do. I swear there’s nothing I love more than to see you onstage. It’s like watching a fireworks display. Fuck, that’s really cliché. Shit, I thought I’d get through this before I started crying.” He wipes his face with the back of his hand, cutting off a stray tear as it slips down his cheek. “That’s probably a good sign I should wrap it up, then. So, uh, Michael Gordon Clifford with the worst middle name in the history of ever, will you marry me?”

“Yes, of course I will,” Michael says breathlessly, holding out a hand to help Calum up. “Of course I’ll marry you, I fucking love you.”

Calum’s smile is so broad it almost makes his eyes disappear completely. “Thank God.” He takes Michael’s hand and staggers to his feet, and Michael throws his arms around Calum, too overwhelmed for words, though he knows he doesn’t need them; Calum’s said it all, and anything he hasn’t said he definitely already knows. 

Calum kisses Michael’s neck. “Technically I haven’t even given you the present yet.”

“Calum,” Michael says, leaning away so he can see Calum’s face in its entirety, all the dips and curves and creases and the laugh lines and the deep brown of his eyes and every inch. “You’ve given me the present every day for the last seven years.”

Calum huffs, lips pulled upward, and he draws Michael into a kiss, one that’s doomed from the start for the way neither of them can stop smiling long enough to turn it into anything real. 

“That was cheesy, but I just proposed, so I’ll let you have it,” Calum murmurs against Michael’s mouth. He laughs. “Oh, fuck, I love you. Can I give you the ring?”

“Yes, please do.”

Calum fumbles with the ring box until he extracts the ring, then takes Michael’s left hand and slides it on. “Beautiful.”

“It is,” Michael says reverently, gazing at the crystal and then holding it up so he can see Calum at the same time. 

“So?” Calum says hopefully, tilting his head. “How would you rate this birthday present?”

Michael does a double-take. He’d completely forgotten his birthday in the excitement. “Ten thousand out of ten,” he says, and kisses Calum sweetly on the lips. “You’re going to have a lot of trouble topping this for my 26th, though.”

Calum just laughs, like he knows what Michael knows: that the promise of spending every birthday for the rest of his life with Calum is a gift Michael will keep receiving every year, and nothing could ever beat that.

[allsassnoclass]

my only weakness (you know all my secrets)

I have had the great fortune to participate in @ashesonthefloor‘s Halloween fic event this year!  Honestly it was a blast and I’m super excited to see everyone else’s creations!

Event Masterlist

For this event, we all were assigned a pairing, then got to choose from a list of prompts.  My prompt was as follows: “You’ve told me three separate times now you have a vampire kink and I’m starting to wonder if you know I’m a vampire.” Or, pretty explanatory. One person is a vampire. The other has a vampire “kink”. (Can also be them saying they like the aesthetic, or trying to hint that they know and don’t mind. Literally do what you want with it) I strayed a little bit, but the prompt idea is still there!  Hope you enjoy!

Michael is having a hard time figuring out if the amount of vampire jokes and references is due to Ashton knowing his deepest, darkest secret, or if that's just his sense of humor.

Read on ao3

1.

The first time it happens, they’re heading to their first date.

Michael hasn’t really dated anyone since the 90s, because dating is complicated.  He doesn’t age.  He can’t eat regular food.  Going out in the sun is dicy at best and results in extremely painful sunburn at worst.  He shows up in most mirrors now, because they rarely have silver backing anymore, but pictures are a no-go because his eyes cause a lens flare.

The last person he went on an actual date with was Calum, because they’ve been friends for centuries and figured they might as well give it a go.  Michael wishes they could have worked, but it took some making out before they both agreed that, as much as they love each other, it’s all platonic.  The date itself was fun, but there were no romantic butterflies to be found.  Michael has seen Calum naked many times before, and while he can appreciate a handsome man, when it’s Calum it does nothing for him.

Ashton is very handsome.  He’s also funny, and passionate, and he’s got more than enough snark to speak Michael’s language.  He’s got tenacity and determination, and for some reason part of that determination got directed towards getting Michael on a date with him.

He didn’t have to work very hard.  Michael said yes at the first opportunity.

For the first date, Ashton asked if he could pick him up, so Michael waits nervously in his living room, listening to his grandfather clock ticking.  (He’s had it since 1733.  It was made specifically for him by the clockmaker, a parting gift because if Michael stayed in the area for too much longer, his lack of ageing would get suspicious.)

(This is such a bad idea.  Even if this date goes well, Michael can’t be in a relationship with a human for very long before his secret will slip.)

His phone vibrates with a message, and he nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes that it’s just Calum, not Ashton about to cancel or spring a sudden change of plans.

Cal: have fun on your date ;) wow him with your Biting sense of humor

Michael: i hate you the puns got old centuries ago

Cal: you love them

Michael’s doorbell rings, startling him enough that he fumbles his phone and effectively cutting off any sort of argument he may have started to get into.  Michael stands from the couch, takes a deep breath, and answers the door.

Ashton looks really fucking good.  Michael has only really seen him in their work clothes, when Ashton is writing up articles about the local music scene and Michael is busy approving things to put on the website, but he dresses up very nicely.  His hair is artfully tousled in a way Michael knows must take a little bit of time, and Michael thinks there might be just a hint of glitter under his eyes that would make his heart palpitate if it still did stuff like that.  His shirt is short sleeved, showing off his arms nicely, and there are roses printed against the white fabric that match the ones in the bouquet in his hands.

Michael doesn’t know the last time someone gave him flowers.

“Hi,” Ashton says.  “You look amazing.”

Michael feels like he’s underdressed now.  He’s got on a black long sleeve, because the sun hasn’t fully set yet and he’s trying to cover as much skin as possible, and a pair of black jeans.  It’s a nicer shirt of his, something name brand that he can afford due to decades of saving here and there, but he’s well aware that his overall style leans more casual than dressy.

“Thanks,” he says.  “You look absolutely fantastic.”

Ashton glances down and smiles, pleased.  Michael likes that he can make him react like that.

“I got you flowers,” Ashton says.  “I hope you aren’t allergic.  It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I’d feel silly.”

“I’m not,” Michael smiles, taking them from him.  There are a few sprigs of lily of the valley tucked in amongst the roses and ferns, and he takes a deep inhale.  He loves the sweet scent of roses and how lively fresh flowers can appear to be even when they’re dying.  Maybe it’s self-centered, but he likes to think there are some similarities between him and the plants.  They’re not alive anymore, but they’re still going, and they can still bring people a little bit of joy for a few impermanent moments before moving on.

“I’ll put these in some water.  You can step in for a second, if you want.”

He had excessively cleaned the entry and living room earlier in the evening, paranoid in case something like this forced Ashton inside.  At least now he’s certain that there’s nothing incriminating lying about.

“Nice place,” Ashton says.

“Thanks,” Michael replies, already booking it for the kitchen to grab a vase.  Once he gets there he takes a moment to try to stop the slight shake to his hands and compose himself.

You are an ancient, immortal being who has lived through the fall of empires, he scolds himself.  You can handle one date with a cute boy who brought you flowers.

Ashton beams when Michael says he’s ready to go.

“I was thinking we could walk, if that’s okay,” he says while Michael locks the door behind them.  “It’s not far.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re actually going, yet?” Michael asks.  Ashton mimes zipping his lips.  The only information he gave Michael was that it’s going to be a pretty casual setting (and yet he showed up to Michael’s door looking like that) and that Michael won’t have to eat.  That’s something he specifically requested, making up a bunch of excuses about being gluten free and severely lactose intolerant and giving a list of other allergens a mile long.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ashton laughs when he pouts.  “Come on.”

He grabs Michael’s hand to start leading him down the street, and Michael absolutely will not admit to himself how nice it feels, warm and alive against his.

They go through some basic small talk on the way there, touching on current work projects since they’re in different departments and learning a bit more about each other’s families.  Michael makes an excuse about his being in Australia and tells Ashton about Calum instead, and Ashton fills time by describing his mom and siblings.  It’s cute to see the way he lights up, seeming radiant in the light of the setting sun that Michael has to squint harshly against.

“Wow, you really don’t like the sun,” Ashton says eventually.

“What? Oh, not really, I guess.”

“I should’ve known, but I wasn’t sure if all of you are fully nocturnal or not.”

“What?” Michael asks, alarm bells ringing.  “Why would you--what makes you say that?”

Ashton shrugs nonchalantly.

“You know.  You’re just so pale and pasty,” he says, obvious tease in his voice.  “Definitely closer to a creature of the night than an early bird, I’d guess.”

He’s joking.  Ashton has not, somehow, discovered his secret ten minutes into their first date.

“Oh fuck you,” he laughs.  “Not all of us can have perfect natural tans.  I burn really easily.”

“Do you glow in the dark, too?  Turn fluorescent under blacklights?”

“Shut up,” Michael says, but he leans a little into Ashton as he says it to let him know that the banter isn’t unwelcome.

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

Michael doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means before Ashton is pulling him towards the doors of a large building.  He holds it open for him like a gentleman, and Michael misses the contact of their hands but appreciates having all of his senses free to process the new environment, which is full of a plethora of new sights, sounds, and smells.

“Roller skating?” Michael asks, looking around the large arena.  It’s dim, but his eyes adjust immediately to take in the wondrously tacky carpet outside the rink, highlighted in brief bursts by rotating colorful lights.  Loud music plays over the speakers, and in the arena people in small groups or pairs are making their way around the track.  He can smell fried food and various types of beverages coming from a bar in the corner, mingling with the scent of unfamiliar people.  He takes it all in for a moment, then dials back his senses to make it more bearable.

“It’ll be fun,” Ashton says.  “Willing to give it a go?”

“Definitely.”

They go get their skates, and Ashton pays for the shoe rental and the entrance fee.  Michael hasn’t been roller skating in probably around a decade, and he’s excited Ashton picked this as their date location.  So many date ideas these days have to do with food, the only thing Michael absolutely can’t participate in, but Ashton found something that will hopefully be fun while still allowing them to talk and get to know each other better.

“Ready?” Ashton asks.  Michael nods, and then they step out into the rink.

Ashton, it turns out, is worse at roller skating than Michael is.  That makes sense, because Michael did it a lot in the 70s and 90s and has gone a few times since to keep it fresh, and Ashton isn’t awful, but there are a few instances where he wobbles and his hand immediately reaches out to grab at Michael’s arm before he rebalances and apologizes.  Michael laughs at him good naturedly and does a few circles around him until Ashton huffs and Michael slips an arm through his.

“Come on,” Michael says.  “Once you’re used to this in about fifteen minutes, I’ll race you around the track.”

Michael wins the first race, but Ashton wins the second, although Michael is giggling too much for it to count, in his opinion.  They spend a lot of time making laps and talking, and Michael skates backwards to show off at every opportunity while Ashton dances to the songs that come on over the speakers to make him laugh.  It’s one of the best nights Michael has had in a long time, and by the time they leave they’re both walking slowly, stretching their time together as much as possible.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Ashton says when they finally reach Michael’s door.  His front light makes the glitter under Ashton’s eyes sparkle, and Michael technically doesn’t have to breathe, but his breath still catches.

“Me too,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“So...do you want to do this again?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.  I’ll take you out, next time.”

“Okay,” Ashton smiles, ducking his head.  Michael catches a faint blush on his cheeks, blood rushing up to color them, and he loves that he sees Ashton like this.  At work, he’s always cool and level-headed, confident in what he says and strong in his opinions.  Michael has managed to turn him bashful, and that is possibly the best thing to come out of the date.

“I should let you get on with your night,” Ashton says eventually.  Michael tries to find some sort of excuse to get him to stay, but then Ashton leans forward and presses his lips to Michael’s cheek, soft and lingering.  When he takes a step back, Michael wants to pull him in again to memorize the scent of his skin and feel of his warmth.

“Good night,” Ashton says.

“Night,” Michael makes himself reply.  Ashton smiles again, then sets off down the street.  Michael watches him, smiling when he glances back and waves again, and continues to stand on his front stoop until Ashton is fully out of sight, even for him.

His phone buzzes as soon as he steps inside, and Michael pulls it out in case it’s something important or work related (or Ashton).

Cal: how was the date? or are you two still going…?

Michael: really fucking good

2.

On the third date, Michael gets to see the inside of Ashton’s apartment.

Michael took them stargazing for their second date.  There was a meteor shower he wanted to try to watch, anyway, and he found a good spot outside the city where it would be mostly visible.  Ashton likes being outdoors, and Michael doesn’t mind it at night, so he drove them out of the city, made the trek up a hill, and laid out a blanket for them to cuddle up in.  All in all, it was a great night.  Even the car ride to and from the location was amazing, because Michael told Ashton to make a playlist for it and they spent the entire time discussing favorite songs.  Ashton is such a snob about it sometimes, since he’s a music journalist and is always evaluating in his head, but there were a few surprises that he put on there simply because “good music doesn’t always have to be good music, Michael.”

Ashton kissed him on the cheek again when Michael walked him to his door.  Michael thinks that something so simple shouldn’t occupy so much space in his thoughts, but he’s been replaying it in his head over and over.  It’s a little distracting at work, especially when he gets one of Ashton’s articles to upload to the website.

They head to Ashton’s right after they both clock out.  Ashton doesn’t live far and typically walks (he really likes walking places, Michael has noticed), but Michael drives them so he’ll have his car handy at the end of the night.  It’s a relatively nice building, and Ashton holds the lobby door open for him, which counts enough as an invite to allow him to enter.  They take the elevator up to the fifth floor, then Ashton unlocks his door and steps in.

From what Michael can see, it’s a nice apartment.  The entry, kitchen, and living room flow easily together, and there’s a hallway off to the side that Michael assumes leads to the bathroom and bedrooms.

He can’t step over the threshold.  He hasn’t been invited in this time, not explicitly enough for him to freely enter despite knowing that Ashton wants him there.

“My roommate is out for the night.  I swear I cleaned before I left for work today,” Ashton says, puttering around the living room and picking up what looks like a stray sock, righting the pillows on the couch and straightening some books on the coffee table.  Michael leans against the doorframe and watches him.  Fluffing the pillows doesn’t really matter to Michael, but if it makes Ashton feel better it’s no hardship on him.

Ashton finishes, then glances around until he spots Michael still in the hall.

“Oh.  I didn’t really invite you in, did I.”

“It would’ve been the polite thing to do,” Michael teases.  “I’d hate to intrude, you know.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Ashton says, coming forward and taking both of Michael’s hands in his.  “Michael Clifford, I formally invite you into my home.  You are welcome here whenever you’d like.”

“A simple ‘hey, come in,’ would’ve been sufficient, but thanks,” he laughs, stepping forward.

“Absolutely not,” Ashton says.  “If you’re going to be vampiric about entering my home, I’m going to treat you with the proper respect, Count Clifford.”

Apparently the vampire jokes are going to be a thing.  Michael can work with that, instead of panicking over it.  If he turns it into a bit, maybe Ashton will brush things off longer.

“Thank you, mortal.  Now, I vant to suck your blood,” he says, exaggerating the awful stereotypical (absolutely false and insulting) accent.  It gets a laugh from Ashton, though, which is what he wanted.

“If you manage to beat me at chess, I’ll let you,” Ashton says.

Michael hasn’t let himself think about Ashton’s blood.  He can control himself very easily around humans, and bloodlust isn’t really a thing with him unless he hasn’t eaten in over a week.  He has a specific concoction that he picks up from the magic shop like clockwork, a mixture of animal blood, some herbs, a few drops of human blood (humanely donated), and whatever the fuck is the flavor for that batch, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely forgotten how amazing it tastes to drink pure, living blood.  It’s incredibly intimate, and Michael hasn’t been that close with a human in a very, very long time.

“Okay,” he chokes, once the silence has stretched on too long.  Ashton quirks an eyebrow at him, but moves to get the board games without comment.

Michael loves board games.  He loves all games, really, and he mostly deals with video games now to keep as up to date as possible (and because he doesn't have to invite friends over to play most of them).  What’s nice about games, though, is that they can change every time.  Michael has been playing chess since it was invented, but he’s never played against Ashton, and it’s going to be an entirely new experience.

Unfortunately, Ashton is extremely good at chess.

“What the fuck,” Michael says, king toppling after a five-move checkmate.

“Darn,” Ashton replies, faux innocent.  “I guess there’ll be no bloodsucking tonight.”

“Wait, I want a rematch.  I’m good at chess, I swear.”

Ashton wins twice more before they move on to another game.  They cycle through a few before landing on a card game from Ashton’s family, one that Michael hasn’t heard of or played before.  It has a lot of complicated rules, and Ashton walks him through it slowly.  If Michael feints misunderstanding more than necessary just to have Ashton’s focus on him, leaning close to look at his cards and explain the best moves, then that’s his business.

Michael doesn’t realize how much time has passed until Ashton’s stomach grumbles loud enough for him to hear.

“How is it already nine o’clock?” he asks.  “Shit, you haven’t eaten yet.  You could’ve had something.”

Ashton just shakes his head.

“I’m not going to eat in front of you if I don’t have anything to feed you, too,” he says.  Michael wishes it were possible for him to digest human food, because while Ashton does have a nice amount of blood he could tap into with permission, somehow Michael doesn’t think that’s on the table

“I have a weird meal schedule, anyway,” he says.  “I eat a really big lunch, then only something small late at night.  I really don’t mind.”

“I’ll remember that for future reference,” Ashton says.  “Although someday I hope you let me feed you.”

It is such a good thing that breathing is an option for Michael, rather than a requirement.  Ashton may not have any clue how what he’s saying sounds, but that doesn’t mean Michael isn’t affected.

“We’ll see,” he says, although there’s no chance that’ll ever happen.  “I should probably head home, anyway.”

Ashton checks the time.

“You can stay longer if you want.  My roommate will be back soon, but he wouldn’t mind.”

Michael wants to stay, but he’s not sure he’d ever leave if he did.

“I think I’ll go.  I’m not sure we’re at the “meeting the roommates” stage yet.”

Michael stands, and Ashton follows to walk him out.

“I had a good time.  Again,” Ashton says as they walk down the stairs.

“Me too, even if I think you were somehow cheating at chess.”

“Hey,” Ashton complains, then pauses.  “I was going to say that jealousy isn’t a good look on you, but everything is a good look on you.”

“Shut up,” Michael says.  “That’s not true at all.  I have made some bad fashion choices in the past.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ashton says.  Michael wishes he could show him the pictures from the 80s, as embarrassing as they are.  They reach the bottom landing entirely too soon, but Ashton walks him out to the parking deck until they’re standing next to his car.

“So,” Ashton says, squaring his shoulders.  “We’ve been on three dates so far, and I really like you, Michael.  Hanging out with you has been some of the most fun I’ve had in a long time.  I was wondering if you wanted to officially be my boyfriend.”

Fuck.  The smart thing would be to cut this off now, before either of them get too attached, because Michael already thinks it would absolutely shatter his non-existent heart if Ashton found out and thought he was a monster.

“Absolutely,” he says instead, because he’s an idiot who wants what he can’t have.  “These past few dates have been the most fun I’ve had in a long time, too.”

Ashton beams, like the sun breaking through clouds.  He has dimples, and Michael really wants to press his fingers into the divots.  He just wants to touch Ashton everywhere, really, to feel the soft skin and know that there’s blood bringing heat to it from his heart to every corner and crevice.

There’s something so absolutely tantalizing about how alive Ashton is.  Michael knows that he can’t be more like him, not even if he was actually alive still, but he’s content to have him near.  He’d be content to watch from a distance, honestly, but if Ashton wants him close then Michael is going to stay close.

He should not be this whipped after only the third date.

“Well,” he says once they’ve spent too much time grinning at each other silently.

“I should let you go,” Ashton says.  “I’ll text you.”

“I’d like that,” Michael says.  He goes to open his car door, but Ashton’s hand on his wrist stops him.  He leans forward and to kiss Michael on the cheek, just like the past two dates, but this time it lands a bit lower and closer to the middle.  The corner of his mouth hits Michael’s and lingers there for just a second longer than he can bear.

“For fucks sake,” he breathes, then slots their lips together properly.  Ashton smiles into the kiss before he can get it under control and properly kiss back.  Maybe it’s dramatic to say that this kiss feels like it’s filling some hole in Michael that he didn’t know was vacant, but Michael is a dramatic guy, and there’s something special about the way their noses bump and how instinctual it is to shift closer.  Michael doesn’t really want it to end, so he gives Ashton another peck before pulling away fully.  Ashton’s eyes take a moment to flutter open.

It’s definitely far too early to be in love, but Michael is very self-aware after being around for so long, and he knows he’s going to have to actively try not to fall head-over-heels for Ashton.

“Have a good night, Ashton,” Michael says.

“You too.  Drive safe.”

Michael keeps his composure as he pulls out of the parking space, aware of Ashton’s eyes on him.  He manages to keep it together all the way home, actually, but the moment his door shuts behind him he’s leaning against it, giddy with a crush and wondering what he’s just gotten himself into.

3.

Movie nights become a bit of a thing.  It’s a low-maintenance way to spend time together, and sometimes they’re both too tired after grueling work days or hard weeks to be around a lot of people.  Michael’s house has a pretty nice tv, and he has an extensive movie collection, including some horrible b-movies on VHS that Ashton finds endlessly amusing.  A lot of Michael’s favorite moments are spent snuggled up on the couch under Ashton’s arm or with his feet in his lap, watching the way the light from the screen plays off of his face more than the movie itself.

Ashton hasn’t seen the Twilight movies, which is almost a travesty.  Michael watched all of them in theaters with Calum, both of them weirdly captivated with how completely bonkers and inaccurate they are, and they’ve seen them often enough to quote them almost completely to each other at the drop of a hat.  Michael is tired today, and he wants something he doesn’t have to pay much attention to.

He sleeps significantly less than humans do, but that doesn’t mean that staying up for the past week and a half straight was a good idea.  He was also on his feet more than usual at work, and everything is hurting a little.  His body has better-than-average healing, but it’s also over a few centuries old.  Today, he’s feeling it.

Edward has just gotten the first sniff of Bella and looks like he’s about to puke when Ashton turns to him.  Michael is leaning against the corner of the couch, head lolling to the side and feet tucked up next to him.  He’s been looking at Ashton and letting his thoughts drift, and he should probably be more embarrassed than he is that he was caught at it.

“What’s up with you today?” Ashton asks.  “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

“Tired,” Michael says.  “My feet hurt.”

“I can help with one of those things,” he says.  “Give me your feet.”

“What?”

Ashton gestures until Michael uncurls, stretching his legs out until his feet land in Ashton’s lap.  He starts at Michael’s ankles, gently rubbing and then moving to the bottoms of his feet.  Michael jumps when he presses down on a particularly tight tendon, but it’s already feeling leagues better.

“I can’t believe you’re touching my feet,” he groans as Ashton presses a knuckle into the center, making his toes curl.  “That’s so gross.”

Ashton snorts.

“I don’t mind, but I’ll wash my hands after if it makes you feel better.  I just want to make you feel good.”

Michael’s face would be completely inflamed if he had the blood for it.

“Shut up.  This better not be a fetish for you.”

Ashton laughs this time, a full belly laugh that Michael would enjoy hearing more if it didn’t make him stop the massage.

“Would that be a deal breaker?” he giggles when he’s calmed down enough.  Michael takes a moment to evaluate if he’s actually joking or not, because he really likes Ashton and has loved being his boyfriend for the past couple of months, but feet might be where he draws the line.

“No, I don’t have a foot fetish,” Ashton says after a moment of Michael staring at him like a deer in the headlights.  Michael lets out a sigh of relief.  He can be adventurous about stuff like that, and he’s been around long enough to try basically everything, but someone being aroused by his feet will always be just a little too weird.

“Do you have any embarrassing fetishes or kinks?” Ashton asks conversationally.  “Just… for future reference, if that’s something you want.”

They haven’t done anything besides some lazy making out, which Michael is grateful for.  He likes that they’re taking their time with it.  He doesn’t want to rush this, but the thought has crossed his mind before.

He swallows.  Ashton’s alternating between glancing at the tv and paying attention to his massage, and Michael doesn’t know if he should be grateful that he’s not trapped under that gaze or upset that he doesn’t have Ashton’s full undivided attention.

“Nothing embarrassing,” Michael says.  “I’m open to a lot of things, but I really like being taken care of.  I’ve been told I can be demanding and needy.  Sometimes I like… being held down, I guess.  Nothing excessive, but…”

He’s an extra-strong, extra-resilient being.  Every time he feels like someone else has the control, it’s a special kind of rush.

Ashton glances at him from under his eyelashes, the blue-green light from the tv casting strange and otherworldly shadows over his face.  Michael swallows thickly again.

“I like taking care of my partner, so that works out,” Ashton says.  Michael nods.  Ashton turns back to the tv and tilts his head in consideration, putting his neck on full display.

“You know,” he says, “I never really was into biting, but now…” He trails off, then brings a finger up to his neck, tracing along the length of it subconsciously.  At least, Michael hopes that it’s subconscious.  The air is thick with tension, and if Ashton is doing this on purpose than he knows a lot more about Michael than he’s let on.

“It might be nice to be marked up a bit,” Ashton says.  He glances at Michael, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small smile.  “Maybe Bella had the right idea, going after a vampire.”

Michael snorts and the tension dissipates like a balloon popping.

“I hardly think anyone in this movie counts as a real vampire.”

“You don’t think real vampires sparkle in the sun?” Ashton asks.  “Darn.  What’s the point of vampires if you have to dump glitter on them for the sparkle effect?”

“You’re an idiot,” Michael laughs.

“I’m the idiot?  You’re the one who’s all the way over there when you have a perfectly good boyfriend right here who’s ready to cuddle you.”

Michael rolls his eyes and shifts to tuck himself against Ashton’s side.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Very,” Ashton says, taking a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over them.  It’s cozy.  Michael sighs in contentment.

“Do your feet feel a little better?” Ashton asks, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“If you want to take a nap now, you can.”

Michael hums and seeks out Ashton’s other hand, tangling their fingers together sloppily.  He’s tired, but he probably won’t drift off.  He has all night for a power nap, and right now he doesn’t want to miss a second of his time with Ashton.

4.

The door bangs shut behind them, and Michael doesn’t have a moment to reorient himself before Ashton is on him again, lips incessantly seeking his and body caging him against the wall.  Michael’s own hands are already slipping under his shirt, desperate to feel the warm expanse of his back and pull him even closer.  He’s always run cold, even before he was turned, but right now he feels like he’s burning up from the inside out, flames igniting with every point of contact between them.  Ashton gets a hand in his hair and tugs, and Michael makes a noise he wasn’t expecting to come out of him.

Don’t drop your fangs, don’t drop your fangs, don’t drop your fangs, he repeats to himself.  It’s typically effortless to keep his fangs retracted and unnoticable, but he hasn’t done this with someone he truly likes in a very, very long time.  He can’t allow himself to get so mindlessly overwhelmed that they slip down.

Ashton detaches their lips to take a breath, and Michael takes the opportunity to trail kisses over his jawline and down the column of his throat.  Ashton hums into it, the sound reverberating through his vocal chords, and Michael nips at his throat to turn the hum into a groan, sucking at it again to ease the sting.

There’s a particular feeling of satisfaction at leaning back briefly to take in his progress, knowing that the blood is pooling just under the surface of Ashton’s skin.  When he returns to his ministrations with a slightly harsher bite, Ashton jolts, rocking into him.

“Fuck, Michael,” he breathes.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Michael asks between kisses, trailing over his collarbones now because Ashton never buttons his fucking shirts.

“Anything.  Everything.  I--” He’s cut off by another groan that dissolves into a breathless laugh.  “You’re so fucking distracting; get back up here.”

He tugs on Michael’s hair again, guiding their mouths together.  It’s easier than breathing to let Ashton take control, and Michael could stand here all night and let himself be kissed against the wall if there weren’t other things he wanted to be doing in the bedroom.  Still, he whines when Ashton pulls away.

“I know you don’t sleep, and I’ll keep up as much as I can,” Ashton pants.  “I can’t fucking wait to take you apart.”

“So do it,” Michael says, not able to care about how desperate he sounds.  “No one’s stopping you.”

“You’re such a mouthy little shit,” he says, leaning back in for a kiss that Michael feels all the way down to his toes.  They don’t part again until they’re in the bedroom and falling onto the mattress.

-/-

Afterwards, Michael watches, amused, as Ashton fights to keep his eyes open.  They never turned on the lights, but Michael can see just fine with his vampire eyesight and the early rays of sunshine beginning to paint the sky outside in pinks and oranges.

“Just go to sleep,” Michael laughs, tracing another mindless pattern onto Ashton’s ribs.  “We’re done.  I can’t handle anything else.”

“Weird to sleep when you’re not,” he mumbles, eyes already slipping closed again.  “Can feel you watching me.”

“I won’t watch you,” Michael says.  “I’ll probably fall asleep right after.”

Ashton snorts halfheartedly.  Michael rolls his eyes, then nudges Ashton onto his side and fits himself behind him.  Ashton sighs and relaxes again almost immediately, a heavy weight at his front while Michael slides one arm under the pillow and anchors them together with the other.  He gets a great view of Ashton’s sweaty and tangled hair, and that’s about it.

“There,” Michael murmurs.  “Now I can’t watch you.  Happy?”

Ashton hums.  He’ll be out in less than a minute.

Regardless of all of Ashton’s jokes about Michael never sleeping (he resents that he looks tired enough at all times for that to be an assumption), Ashton managed to tire him out.  He doesn’t need to sleep right now, but there’s no harm in it.  He lets the steady push and pull of Ashton’s breathing and the heartbeat he can barely feel under his palm lull him, and he drifts off soon after.

5.

“You want me to meet your family?” Michael asks, eyes wide in the face of this new information.

“If you’re comfortable with it,” Ashton says nonchalantly, but the way he’s avoiding Michael’s eyes tells him this conversation is anything but casual.  He’s focused on throwing things into a blender, raspberries and peaches joining ice cubes and yogurt for a smoothie that Michael has watched him make dozens of times before.  Michael can drink smoothies if they’re blended enough, and honestly he’s got a bit of a blood hunger going on because the last batch of his concoction from the magic store tasted gross and he’s supposed to go in today to get the new one.  Still, a smoothie wouldn’t help with that, and he turned down Ashton’s offer in favor of a cup of coffee, wanting a warm mug in his hands.  He’s glad to have something to keep his arms from flailing at this new curveball, in any case.

Ashton turns on the blender, the angry sound filling the previously-serene morning.

He can’t meet Ashton’s mum and siblings.  He’s a vampire, and he’s already entirely too attached to Ashton as it is.  It’s easy to fantasize about revealing his secret and Ashton being okay with it when it’s just the two of them, but there’s no way he can get to know his family only to break their heart when he has to leave Ashton for his own good.

Michael can’t watch Ashton grow old without him.  He could do it for a few years, maybe a few decades, and he wants to spend as much time with him as possible, but eventually it would get too hard.  Michael’s good at running, and he’s good at being alone.  It’s harder to do both of those things with a family involved.

“That’s a big step,” Michael says once the blender stops.

“I’ve met Calum, and you said he’s closer than your family.”

“Against my will!”

Calum had insisted on meeting “the guy who’s got you wrapped around his finger,” and Michael had been powerless to stop it.  They get on like a house fire and Michael gets teased about five times more than he used to, but he secretly loves it.  Calum and Ashton are by far the two people he loves most in the world, and it’s nice to see them also enjoy each other.

“Michael,” Ashton says, pouring his smoothie into a glass and still refusing to look at him, something unfamiliar in his expression, “I’ve never gone this long without introducing them to someone I’m serious about.  They really want to meet you.”

“I--I want to meet them, too, but…”

Ashton sighs and finally faces him head-on.  Michael has never felt this small.

“Are you serious about us?”

“Of course,” he says, but it comes out more like a question, and he watches something shutter in Ashton’s eyes.  He turns back to the blender, starting to dismantle it so he can rinse it properly, always trying to keep the kitchen neat, and Michael knows that he has to say something to try to fix this, anything to stop the sad slope of Ashton’s shoulders and that hurt look in his eyes.

“Ash, I have to tell you something,” he says before he can think twice.  Ashton hums, and Michael steels himself for whatever reaction is about to occur, whether he has to bolt for the door or not.  “I--um, well, I…”

He hasn’t had to confess to someone in over forty years.  He doesn’t know how to do it anymore.  He swallows and tries again.

“I don’t really know how to say this, but… I mean, I--”

“Shit,” Ashton exclaims, something clattering in the sink.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, and a second later the metallic tang of blood reaches his nose.

“Cut my thumb on the blender blades,” Ashton says, turning around and sticking the pad of his thumb in his mouth.  Michael stares at him, unable to move.

The thing is, Ashton’s blood smells really good.  He knew it would, because if he loves everything else about Ashton it makes sense that he would love him down to the blood in his veins and the DNA it carries, but this is the first time Ashton has split skin in his vicinity, and it’s more to handle than Michael thought it would be.  He’s hungry, and he’s upset, and Ashton is right there in front of him, bleeding.

He shakes himself from that train of thought.

“Are you alright?  How bad is it?” he asks.  Ashton takes his thumb out of his mouth to check, and that just makes the smell intensify.  Michael feels a bit of saliva pool in his mouth and swallows it back.

“It’s not too bad,” Ashton says.  “It mostly just hurts, but once the bleeding lessens I’ll put a bandaid on it and it should be fine.”

He goes to put it back in his mouth and glances up at Michael, freezing at whatever he sees there.  Michael doesn’t know what his face is doing, or why his posture feels so stiff, or what the fuck he’s supposed to do with Ashton just standing there with a bleeding thumb, and for a long moment they just stare at each other.  Michael forgets to breathe.

Slowly, like he’s coaxing a startled animal towards him, Ashton reaches out his hand towards Micheal.  A drop of blood drips off his thumb and onto the floor.  Michael couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

“You know,” Ashton says, low and calm, “you could help me stop the bleeding, if you wanted.”

Michael stares at him, not comprehending the words, when he feels two pinpricks on the inside of his bottom lip.

His fangs dropped.

“I have to go,” he says, scrambling out of his seat and hastily putting his coffee on the table.  He probably spills some, but he can’t look back to check, shoving on his shoes and sprinting out the door, Ashton’s questions echoing behind him.

Shit.  Shit shit shit shit shit.

He’s scrambling for his phone as he tries to unlock his car, tears starting to cloud his vision with the panic.  He presses Calum’s speed dial as soon as he gets the door open, tearing out of the parking space without putting on his seatbelt.

“Hello?” Calum finally answers.

“My fangs dropped,” he says, consonants coming out in that strange way they do when his mouth has more teeth than usual.

“What happened?” Calum asks immediately.  He knows how serious something like this can be, especially for someone like Michael, who tries so hard to avoid it.  He sniffles and blinks the tears out of his eyes so he can see the road better.  Calum’s house is close, and he just needs to get a few more blocks before he has backup.

“I was with Ashton and he cut himself on a blender.  I--we had a fight, or--I made him feel bad, in any case, and I haven’t eaten enough, and then he cut himself and I felt the fangs and ran out of there with no explanation.  He’s going to hate me.  I’ve ruined everything!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Calum says, but it’s not like Ashton is his boyfriend.  Michael doesn’t know how to recover from something like this.

Calum tries to console him for the rest of the short car ride, stopping once Michael pulls into his driveway to turn an assessing gaze on him instead.  His expression tells Michael that he’s leaving much to be desired right now.

“Alright, Mikey.  Let’s get you out of the sun, yeah?  We’ll figure this out.”

He holds out his arms, and Michael falls right into them, letting Calum lead him into the house.  His fangs still prick at his lips, a sharp reminder of everything he ruined due to one second of lousy control.

+1

The bell to the magic shop digs as they enter, and Michael pulls down his sunglasses.  Calum got him to stop crying and gave him a bit of his own leftover concoction, because he hadn’t drunk all of it due to the taste, either.  It was enough for Michael to be able to get his fangs back under control, but it doesn’t stop how miserable he feels about the way he left, or the conversation they were having beforehand.

He can’t let himself be around Ashton if his fangs are going to drop like that.  He would never hurt him, he knows that, but there’s still the potential that he can’t ignore.  Ashton’s safety and comfort isn’t something he can risk.  Even if Ashton was somehow okay with him being a vampire, they wouldn’t work.

Michael has known this since the beginning.  He let himself fall in love, anyway.

There are three missed calls and over a dozen text messages that he still has to try to answer on his phone.  There’s no way to do that without breaking both of their hearts, but Calum told Ashton that Michael is physically okay and that he’d talk to him tomorrow.  For now, he needs to sort through his own feelings and calm down, and for that they need to pick up the weekly blood supply.

“Hi!” the witch at the counter says.  His name is Luke, and Calum’s been flirting with him ever since he started working there.  It would be cute if it didn’t make these excursions so tedious, and if Michael himself wasn’t currently mourning what is soon to be the end of an absolutely spectacular relationship.

“Our usual, please,” he says curtly.  Luke glances between him and Calum, who gives a beaming smile, then heads to the back storage room.

“Maybe it’ll taste less like shit this time,” he mutters.  Calum nudges him, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the bell over the door chimes again.  Michael knows who it is before he turns around, the scent and rhythm of his heartbeat as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Ashton freezes in the doorway.  He has changed into a sweatshirt, the one he wears when he’s having a bad day because it feels like a perpetual hug without having to be touched, and Michael is probably going to cry again.  Out of the three of them, Calum pulls himself together first.

“Hello, Ashton.  I didn’t know you frequented this shop.”

“Ashton!” Luke says, returning from the back with their order in a crate.  “Did you bring it?”

Michael finally notices the tupperware in his hands when he hands it to Luke, who opens a corner and sniffs.

“You know each other?” Michael asks.

“Oh, sorry!” Luke says.  “This is Ashton, my roommate.  I’d never eat lunch if he wasn’t there to bring it to me.”

“You’re the roommate?” Michael asks.  In all of their months of dating, he never managed to meet the roommate, even though Ashton has known Calum for weeks.  Weird schedules and Michael’s aversion to meeting and possibly getting attached to more people prevented it.  Luke looks between Michael, Calum, and Ashton, and then a lightbulb hits.

“You’re Ashton’s Michael!”

“How many other vampires named Michael do you know?” Ashton asks, and Michael reels back, Calum’s hand on his spine the only thing keeping him upright.

“You know?”  Ashton frowns.

“Michael, I’ve known since the first day I met you.”

“Wh--you never mentioned it!”

“I made some references, then figured it wasn’t something you were comfortable talking about.”

“Wait,” Luke says.  “You know Ashton is a minor deity, right?”

“What? ”

Michael turns desperately to Calum, because none of this makes sense, but Calum is having some sort of silent conversation with Luke.

“You two need to talk,” he says eventually.

“I need to show Calum something in the back, anyway,” Luke says, grabbing Calum’s sleeve and tugging him around the counter, shutting the door to the storeroom behind them.  It’s not the slickest move that Michael’s ever seen, but he’s having a crisis and can’t be bothered to laugh at Luke for it.

“So,” Ashton says.  “It seems there’s been a bit of miscommunication here.”

“You’re a deity?” Michael asks.  Ashton starts to blush, which is cute.  He clasps his hands together and nods once.

“Yeah, my entire family is.  The religion died down centuries ago, so it’s mostly our belief in each other that’s keeping us alive.  I’m basically just an immortal human now, but I’ve been around long enough to recognize other non-humans when I see them.”

“And you’ve known I was a vampire the entire time?” he asks.  Ashton nods.  “Oh.”

“I thought that you knew that I knew,” he says.

“I didn’t,” Michael says.  “I thought you would hate me when you found out.”

“I could never hate you,” Ashton says, taking a step forward and reaching for him before he aborts the movement.  Michael looks at his feet and wonders if what he says next will change that.

“My fangs dropped earlier, when you cut your thumb.”  His voice is steadier than anticipated, but he can’t help but brace himself for Ashton to back away or run screaming.  He doesn’t do either of those.

“Is that why you left so quickly?”

He nods, shame pooling in his stomach.

“I was offering, you know?  I wouldn’t have minded if you had a taste.”

“But I didn’t know that at the time,” Michael says, focusing on the shame so he doesn’t do something horrible like start thinking about what it would really be like to have some of Ashton’s blood.  “I just… lost control.  I can’t do that.  I won’t let myself.”

“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself,” Ashton says gently, stepping closer until he can put his hands on Michael’s arms, then sliding down to grasp his hands.  “Can you look at me?”  Michael tries, then shakes his head.  “That’s okay, and your fangs dropping earlier is okay, too.  You had a lot on your mind, were probably a little hungry, and I was waving my bloody finger under your nose, even if you didn’t recognize it as an invitation.  What’s important is that you didn’t try anything without asking.  You didn’t hurt me; you removed yourself from the situation.  I would say that that’s keeping things pretty under control, wouldn’t you?”

“But I could’ve hurt you, even if I didn’t.”

“Michael, you’re not a mindless beast,” Ashton says.  “The fact that you’re this upset about your body’s natural physical reaction shows that.  You’re not going to do anything to hurt someone else like that.  You have to trust yourself.”

Michael wrinkles his nose, then finally makes himself meet Ashton’s eyes.  There’s nothing but compassion there, no fear or disgust.

“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Ashton repeats.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Michael agrees.  “I can trust myself with that.”

A grin breaks out on Ashton’s face.

“Good,” he says.  “I trust you, too.”

“And, about meeting your family,” Michael starts.

“Don’t worry about that,” Ashton says.  “I was a little pushy.  We can talk about it and figure out something that works for both of us.”

“I was going to say that I’ll do it,” Michael says.  “Half of my worry had to do with me being a vampire and you and your family being unsuspecting humans, but that’s not an issue anymore.”

“What about the other half?”

“Just normal meeting-the-family jitters,” he says.  “They’re really important to you, and I don’t want them to hate me because I didn’t meet them earlier.”

“They won’t hate you,” Ashton says.  “You’re a delight.”

“I hope they share that thought.”

“They will.  I love you, so they will, too.”

Michael feels like he’s going to burst.  He also feels menally exhausted from this entire affair and the emotional whiplash it’s giving him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.  Ashton answers by leaning forward, and Michael sinks against him, melting into the feeling.

“So,” Calum says loudly, startling them both.  “Are you guys good now?”

“What do you think?” he snips.

“I don’t know, Luke,” Calum says, turning away from Michael and towards him.  “Do you think that they’re good now?”

“They did look rather cosy,” Luke says.  “In fact, I’d say that Ashton looked ready to pledge himself to Michael as his personal blood bank.  His little ketchup packet, if you will.”

Calum bursts out laughing.  Michael tries to be affronted, but Ashton starts laughing incredulously next to him.

“Ketchup packet?  Is that what I’m reduced to?”

“There are worse titles,” Calum says between bouts of laughter.  Luke looks ridiculously pleased at this development.

“Please never refer to him as my ketchup packet again,” Michael says.  “I’m begging you not to.”

“If the fangs fit,” Luke says, which makes Calum dissolve into laughter again.  It’s not even funny.  Honestly, they deserve each other.

“Come on,” Ashton says.  “Let’s go back to my place.  I want to hear all about your vampire antics from the olden days, now that I know you’re okay with talking about it.”

“Only if I get to hear stories about being a minor deity,” Michael says, grabbing his part of the blood order.  “Cal, you’re paying for this one!”

They’re out the door before Calum can protest, and Ashton puts an arm around his waist as they walk.  It’s uncomfortably sunny out, but Michael feels no rush to get back inside.  They’re both immortal, and they’ve got the rest of their lives.

[wonderland-irwin]

CALM & Synesthesia — Introduction

A few years ago after Youngblood came out, I posted on here a question, and it was rather simple, and it was like “does anyone else see colour when they hear music?” And then I listed a few examples of songs and the colours I saw. Someone actually responded and said no, but that I should search up Synesthesia, because I probably had that.

I was first of all, extremely surprised that no one else saw colours when they heard music. When I reflect back on my relationship with music (music being my one true love), I realize that colours were always there, I just never recognized it until the 2018 release of Youngblood.

Second of all, I was shocked to hear that these colours and what was happening has a name. It’s a real thing. I have a super active imagination, which probably stimulated and woke this part of my brain up and caused me to become more aware of it, but to find out that I wasn’t crazy was a relief as it was shocking.

Synesthesia (which I can never say aloud with it sounding like a sneeze), in basic terms if you don’t know what it is, is sort of labeling things with a colour. A very common form of Synesthesia is words or numbers to colour. I must add here that forms of Synesthesia cross over, so if you have one type, you most likely also have forms of other types. My main form of this is called Chromesethia, which is sound to colour, but the number seven for me is a pale blue, as is the word February.

Synesthesia cannot be forced. It usually happens unwillingly. Personally with Chromesethia, if there’s a lot going on in my brain or in the world, the patterns still occur, however sort of broken up like a shattered piece of a mirror. It affects very little of the population and some people when in drug hallucinations, may also experience forms of Synesthesia.

I have thought for a while about sharing what I see for a while. I’ve tried to do it with words, but when I see patterns and colours, words don’t really do it justice. So with the recent release of the heartbreakingly beautiful, CALM, I figured this would be a great time to explain first how Synesthesia works for me personally, and take you on a hauntingly disturbing tour of the twelve songs, plus whatever deluxe songs arrive, from 5 Seconds of Summer’s CALM.

Before we get into the songs, though, this part, the introduction, is about how Chromesethia is broken down in my brain.

So this form of Synesthesia is sound to colour. We’re going to start with simple notes, as a song writer may, and build from there.

Each note for me, is assigned a colour. I played trumpet in my high school band, an instrument in C, so my B Flat concert scale starts and ends with C. C itself is a gold colour, G is magenta, A is red, B is Blue, F is green, E is brown, D is a dark grey.

Apparently I can’t put the scale in order today, oh my.

Moving on, those colours are pretty much the same colour wherever they are on the staff, although as the sound does get higher (high C for example) the colour quality diminishes slightly, and becomes more of a white space (Think of it like a light blub, where the centre is the brightest, but has the least colour, and as you zoom out, colour slowly occurs).

In regard to flats and sharps, they will be a paler form of the original colour. So for example, F is green. When you think of green, regular green, this green, that is the green of F. F# for example, is a slightly lighter green. I think this is because that it’s not exactly the full version of itself. Does that make sense? It’s not quite F, therefore F# is not quite that shade of green.

It works with flats too. If you told me to play a Gb, I would see a slightly lighter magenta colour. Not completely the brightness and stricking pink of magenta, but pink enough that it is still a G note.

Instruments also have an effect on my brain. If you were to pull out a flute and play a solid tone, and my brain were to focus on the sound of the flute and not the note the flute was playing, it was see pastel purple or pink. The flute is a rather light and airy instrument, and the colours would the reflect on that sound. However, if you were to pick up a tuba and play a note, I would probably see a darker colour, like navy blue.

Voices also have this effect. If I’m paying great attention to a voice, or I specifically like that voice, I will hear a colour (that sounds so weird. I’ll hear a colour). If there are many people in a room and there’s lots of chatter, then I probably won’t see anything because I can’t focus on one specific element. People singing also have an effect. Sometimes it is a shade or two off of their regular voice, it might be the same colour, or a completely different colour.

Since we’re talking CALM;

Ashton: Ashton has a red voice. When he speaks it’s red. Like just your regular crayon red. However when his voice gets soft like in videos where he’s updating us, thanking us, telling us he loves us, his voice goes to a paler red. I wouldn’t say his voice goes pink, which is a paler red, but the red definitely gets lighter and softer.

When Ash is excited or pumped up or performing, his voice goes to a dark red, like a cherry, and black sort of flicks in every once in a while.

His singing voice follows the same pattern as his speaking voice.

The drums, as that is his instrument, are two different colours. His snares, Toms, anything that gives a solid sound is usually shades of light grey. His bass drum gives dark grey vibes (the tuba/flute effect). And the cymbals are that light and airy sound so they’re gold, breaking that white high sound.

Luke: Luke’s voice is all over the place. He is blue when he talks in his normal voice, green when he sings. I should mention that Luke’s, as well as Ashton’s, falsettos are those white space colours as well. Anyways, the blue is sort of the same when ever he speaks, if you want to search up Prismacolour pencils crayons permanent blue, that’s the colour of his voice. Luke’s singing voice is that green and it shows change as movement through squiggles (aside from falsettos). I’ll explain movement in a bit.

Calum: it doesn’t matter what Calum’s doing whether talking or singing, he is either a chocolate brown colour or the colour of honey. I feel like that shows his range. Calum is very soft when he speaks or sings, and those colours to me are soft colours so they make sense as to why they’re Calum’s colours.

The bass is black and surprisingly gold. Deeper sounding instruments are very dark in relation to the colour. However, I think in the case of bass, specifically Cal’s bass, I find the instrument interesting, and I love playing it myself, so maybe that’s why the gold comes through. Sometimes the colour is just there, and I can’t explain it, just gotta accept it.

Michael: Michael is very interesting because his colours are never really the same. When he speaks, sometimes he’s turquoise, sometimes he’s black, sometimes it’s grey, and then the shades varying between those colours, which is super interesting. His singing voice is kind of scratchy looking. If you took a scratch board and a fork and scratched it up, so it was black with white or grey peaking through, that’s his singing voice. Michael’s voice whether singing or speaking is a mystery to me, but also makes complete sense at the same time. 

His guitar, any guitar for that matter, has two different looks in my brain. 

When its a single note, even if I can tell what that note is, it’s gold. It doesn’t matter. It’s a black space with gold dots that are the notes. 

Okay, now the bass is making sense to me, lol.

When chords are playing, it’s more of a gold square with black lines in a grid pattern (like the neck of a guitar).

So guitars are black and gold, I guess.

Synesthesia is something I am still learning about, so here for example, I never made this connection before.

In terms of what songs look like, most times they reflect nothing of the voice or instruments used. With songs it’s more of an overall picture, colours and patterns taken perhaps from mood rather than notes. Sometimes songs have movement, which reflects the pace of the song, and sometimes there is none. In terms of voice, like mentioned with Luke, when I focus on his singing, it’s a green line moving up and down as he sings over top of the overall picture of the song. Sometimes songs have different images as it moves along, but it will usually look the same and the movement most likely changes instead of the picture. Regarding the colours I see, I usually see no more than 5-7 colours, on average, a song has at least 3. The amount of colours is usually an odd number, which I don’t quite understand, but it’s cool.

I think this is all I want to say about what it’s like for me with Chromesthesia. If I remember anything I will add it into other parts, and each part will have the previous parts tagged to it, so you can find the entire album.

If you have any questions, my inboxes are open!

Red Desert will come out once I finish the colouring. Red Desert’s colours are super bright so I need to colour hard and my pencils are dying. I was colouring it to Thin White Lies last night, which hurt when your eyes are looking at Red Desert but your mind is hearing and seeing Thin White Lies. Tell me why I did that. 

OH! Speaking of that, actually, if I see artwork that doesn’t match what my head sees, it will either give me a panic attack or I can’t look at it, because my brain will hurt (a rude side effect that I cannot control). My brain is set in its way and I can’t really change it. This is out of my control. That’s what Synesthesia is.

Lastly, the boys of 5 Seconds of Summer are FANTASTIC at finding a similar, if not the same, colour pallet for their songs that I see. Whether or not any of them have it, I do not know, but I’m glad they’re at least on the same page so my head doesn’t explode when their art comes out.

Okay, NOW I think I’ve said everything. Red Desert will be out soon with a blurb. My inbox is always open for questions! I hope y’all enjoy this thread!

~ becca

P.S if you wanna be tagged in the next parts, I don’t know who’s interested, but let me know!!

[hazeleyesirwin]

i’ve seen you before: part one

summary: an entirely self-indulgent soulmate au where past lives are common and link you to your soulmate

(this is a little scary for me because this work is really personal to me.)

Word Count: 4k or so???

part one

Some people believe they have past lives; that our souls can’t just exist in our bodies and then go nowhere or to heaven or hell. They can’t just be floating around. I believe strongly in this concept. Our souls have to start over. Of course, some souls are new on earth and some don’t come back for whatever reason. But, generally, we all have at least one past life. I also believe our soulmate is always our soulmate because it’s the souls that are connected, not whatever physical body the soul inhabits. Friends also stay together through their lives. Sometimes adding or losing one or two through the centuries. Those friends the soul is connected to cause a sense of peace within the soul. The soulmate makes the soul feel complete and at peace. Some people have dreams with flashes of their past lives, some have intense deja vu, some have actual tangible memories from other lives. I have all of these from time to time. Dreams that leave me walking around during the day with this intense deja vu. Two or three vivid memories. Our souls are looking every day through our bodily eyes for its partner. Some would say the soul is looking for its other half. I believe we’re all whole by ourselves, but we’re better when our soul is at peace. A soulmate also doesn’t have to be a romantic partner in every life. A friend, sibling, mentor, or lover could have the soul your soul is looking for. For the purposes of this story I should tell you my soulmate is a romantic partner. This is the story of how my soul found peace with a soul it met in a coffee shop in LA.

My friends, the ones I’ve had for at least two lives now, and I moved to LA shortly after graduating college. We settled in fairly quickly. It felt like the right place at the right time. I’m the most spiritual, you could say, out of the four of us. I’m also the most connected to my past and the oldest soul amongst us. All of us wanted to work in the entertainment business. Chloe as a dancer, me an actor, Kass a talent manager, and Ken in any way she could. I got up earlier than everyone else as usual and went to get coffee down the street from our apartment. I decided to take the binder full of scripts with me to work on lines for upcoming understudy roles I had. I got my coffee in the biggest mug they had in the shop because after coming here every morning for three months, my favorite barista Christina knew I needed the extra caffeine. I thanked her and leaned over the counter to hug her and kiss her cheek, saying something about getting drinks later in the week. I took my mug and my giant binder to the rustic wood table by the picture window. I settled in and opened the binder. 

I heard the bell at the front door jingle about an hour later and looked up; no one was ever in here this early when there was a starbucks a block away. When I looked up I saw a shock of short, clearly dyed red hair that was slicked back. The man that the hair belonged to was wearing a black t-shirt and black skinny jeans. He didn’t bother to take off his sunglasses when he came inside until he got up to the counter, pushing the glasses up onto his head which pushed back the one red curl that had fallen out of the otherwise perfectly slicked back style. Christina started to flirt with him after he ordered, so I looked back down at the lines I was supposed to be committing to memory. All I could see was the bird tattooed in jet black ink on the back of the guy’s neck. I looked back up to see him facing the other way. I shook my head and tried to focus. When I couldn’t I decided to give up on lines for the time being. I closed my binder and stood, picking up my mug. I walked over to the counter and set down the mug, then tossed a goodbye over my shoulder to Christina before walking out the door and turning down the street to begin the walk home. 

I couldn’t get the image of that guy’s tattoo and red hair out of my head so much that I nearly walked out into traffic while blasting the most unromantic song I could in my headphones. I felt a hand grab my wrist and pull. I turned sharply and took a step forward, ending up with my face directly in a worn black t-shirt. I took a step back and mumbled an apology, not bothering to look up into the face of whoever had just saved me from my own absent-mindedness. Scientists and my high school acting teacher have said that smell is the sense most connected to memory. So, when I say he smelled so familiar, you don’t think I’m crazy. It was like walking into your own house after being gone a while; familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. It was like home when you had been calling somewhere else home for a long time. That feeling made me look up into his face. My eyes met red hair, sunglasses, and dimples that were the only thing stopping his smile from taking up his entire face. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head like he had done minutes before in the coffee shop. His eyes met mine and I wanted to cry. Brown around the edges and green like trees in the spring around his pupils. My daze was broken when he spoke,”You okay?” I nodded and took out my headphones,”Yeah, I’m okay, thanks.” “You look a little dazed, how about we sit down over here for a minute?” He suggested. 

He took my free hand and led me over to a bus stop where there was a bench. He sat and I sat beside him on the hard painted green metal. “I’m Ashton by the way. I don’t usually just go around saving girls from walking into traffic. I actually saw you leave the coffee place and you looked upset. I had to go this way anyway so I just… kept an eye on you I guess. I don’t know why I told you that. It’s a little creepy.” I laughed softly. He was charming. I was so screwed. “I’m Michaela. And I’m weirdly okay that you followed me. I usually don’t let strange men, who followed me at least two blocks, hold my hand.” He glanced down at our hands that were still intertwined. “Well, considering we just got to Kindergarten third base, can I maybe buy your coffee tomorrow morning?” Ashton asked. “That would be nice,” I replied. 

When I got home it was noon already and Chloe was standing in our kitchen with her arms crossed,”Where the fuck have you been, bitch?” “I have a fucking date tomorrow!” I dropped my binder on the bar then heard Kass and Ken come out of their rooms. “You what?!” Ken cried from the doorway of her room. “I have a date tomorrow morning!” I screamed back. “Holy shit, I guess getting up at the crack of dawn finally paid off for you,” Kass commented, walking over to the fridge and pouring water from our Brita filter into a glass. We’re earth friendly in this household. “What’s his name?” Chloe asked. “Ashton,” I answered. Kass full on spit out the sip of water she had taken, “Ashton as in Irwin?” I nodded,”I wanted to flip my shit, but he’s so different than I thought he would be that I didn’t have a chance. He didn’t even mention the band so I’m not going to until he brings it up. I’m not gonna be that crazy bitch. I didn’t know it was him until he introduced himself.” “How the fuck did you not know?” Chloe stared at me in disbelief. I shrugged,”He’s different.” 

I got consumed in my own thoughts for a moment, again seeing nothing except red hair and tattoos and Ashton’s hazel eyes that I could fall into. Ken’s voice broke me out of my thoughts,”Do you think he could be your soulmate? Did you recognize anything about him?” I started to tear up, which was not an uncommon occurrence for me. Still isn’t. “He smelled familiar. His hand felt familiar in mine. His eyes look how my mom’s hugs feel,” I had to sit down, actually lay down flat on our tile floor. “Do you think he’s the guy you haven’t been able to see in your memories and dreams?” Kass asked. I covered my face with my hands to hide the tears streaming down my face and nodded. “Oh my god, Mich. That’s amazing. Also, please introduce us to his friends for God’s sake I’ve been single for so long there are cobwebs in my vag,” Chloe joked. I laughed and sat up, wiping the tears off my face. My phone rang as Ken handed me a tissue. I picked it up and saw that Ashton had typed his name in all caps with three hearts after it when he put his number in my phone. I clicked the answer button and held the phone to my ear,”Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s Ashton. I felt like I needed to call you. I don’t know why. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” 

“I’m alright. I don’t know why I felt like I needed to call.” 

“I’m glad you did. It’s nice to hear your voice.” 

“You just heard my voice twenty minutes ago.”

“I know, your voice is just nice.” 

“Cheesy.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want to get dinner tonight instead of coffee in the morning? I want to see you again. I can’t seem to get you out of my head.” 

“Cheesy.”

“Shut up.” 

“I would love to have dinner with you tonight, Ashton. Pick me up at 7?” 

“Yeah. Hell yeah. I’ll be there. Wear a dress. We’re going big.” 

“Okay. See you then. Bye.” 

I took the phone down from my ear and clicked the end call button. 

“Dinner tonight? Dude, you’re so gonna get laid,” Kass teased. I got up from where I was sitting on our stained tile floor,”Okay, he said we’re going big so I gotta find something to wear.” “Bet you wish you would have unpacked like I told you to a month ago,” Chloe raised her eyebrows at me. “Yeah, for once, you’re fucking right I wish I’d listened to you,” I replied, wandering down the hall to my room where there were still three boxes to unpack. Formal clothes being one of them. I picked up the box marked “fancy shit” and set it on my unmade nest of a bed. I scratched at an edge of a piece of packing tape until it started to lift then tore it off the top of the box. I pushed the cardboard flaps open and the first thing on top was my senior prom dress. I picked up the purple satin and looked at it for a moment before discarding it in a heap on the off-white carpet. Chloe leaned on the doorframe at the entrance of my bedroom,”That black wrap dress you have would be good.” “That’s what I’m thinking. Do you have shoes I could wear? I need heels, he’s literally a tree,” I watched her disappear in the direction of her room. She reappeared a moment later with simple black heels,”He’s only six foot.” “Okay, that’s seven fucking inches taller than me,” I scoffed. I took the shoes and shooed Chloe out of my room to shut the door. I sat on my bed and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Nervous doesn’t begin to describe what I was feeling. There was a pit with butterflies coming out of it in my stomach. My heart was racing. I was honestly a little light-headed. Something in the back of my mind was screaming “This is it! The moment you’ve been waiting for since you were five and were told about the whole soulmate idea”. I pulled myself together the best I could and started to get ready for what could possibly be the first date with my soulmate. Now I sound like a bad contestant on the Bachelor. Sorry. Let’s move on, shall we?

I finished getting ready at 7:30 then had to sit around and panic for what felt like a year. It was actually fifteen minutes. He was early. I think my heart might have actually leaped when he rang the buzzer. I let him in and he knocked on the door. Kass and Chloe got to it before I could. It was a scene out of a movie. Slow-motion. I turned around just as I finished putting in my earring and brushed my hair behind my left ear. Ashton was standing there in a black suit with a red shirt under it. No tie. He was holding white roses. Chloe and Kass stepped aside and beckoned him in like Lurch from the Addam’s Family. He walked in and his eyes never left my face until he pulled me into a hug, whispering,”You look beautiful,” into my ear. It felt like all my broken pieces were being pulled back together in that hug. Ashton pulled away after a long moment and gave me the flowers. “Thank you, they’re beautiful,” I said softly,”I would put them in water, but we might want to leave before our spectators get popcorn and start watching us like an episode of the Kardashians.” Ashton turned his head in the direction I motioned and saw Ken, Kass, and Chloe watching us from the sofa. “I’m gonna take her now, don’t wait up,” He took my hand and led me out the front door. 

We walked down the concrete staircase to the bottom floor then down the block to where Ashton had parked. He drove a black muscle car that gave off major douche vibes, but the way he opened the door for me put my mind at ease. He got in the car and looked over at me. “What?” I asked softly. “Nothing,” He replied, smiling gently. He put his seatbelt on and pulled out of the parking spot. We drove for about half an hour before Ashton pulled into a parking lot that was in front of an old theater. Ashton turned the car off and got out, coming around to open the door for me. I got out of the car and felt Ashton’s hand on my back, leading me toward the door of the theater. 

When we got inside the theater, it was crisp red and gold. Classic. It felt like somewhere Ashton fit in. When I looked up at him all I wanted in the world was to kiss him. He was explaining that there was an experimental theatre piece he had wanted to see, but no one would go with him. There was an indescribable fire in his eyes. He laced his fingers with mine, leading me over to the usher collecting tickets at the door. He then led me down to our seats that we in the perfect place. Just far enough from the stage that we could see all of it at once, but close enough we could really hear the dialogue with the actors not using mics. There were a few older folks in the house, as well as two young women who looked like they were on a date as well. The show was far from sold out. The seats were covered in that itchy red school auditorium fabric. The drapes on the stage were the same color. The house lights dimmed, in the same moment I felt Ashton’s hand on my knee. I didn’t realize it had been shaking until he stopped it. “Breathe, love,” He whispered. He offered his hand for me to hold. I laced my fingers through his then put my other hand on top of his. His hands were so much bigger than mine, but it felt like a perfect fit to be connected like that. The stage lights came up and redirected my attention from Ashton’s hands to the stage. 

The play was more emotional than either Ashton or I had anticipated. By the end, I was failing to choke back sobs and stop the tears from streaming down my face. Ashton turned toward me and wiped away my tears with the hand I didn’t have a death grip on,”Well, kind of a first date ruiner, huh?” He asked softly, which coaxed a laugh from me through my tears. He led me outside. He started to walk toward his car immediately, but I stopped, closing my eyes and turning to let the warm California breeze dry the tears on my face. When I opened my eyes, Ashton was watching me. “You okay?” He asked. I nodded. He reached out his hand for me to take and we walked to his car together. He opened the passenger door for me again and I got in. 

Twenty-five minutes of driving, slightly too fast, we pulled up to a gate and Ashton rolled down his window to enter a code into a little box. The gate slowly opened. A few minutes later, Ashton opened my door and walked me up to his front door. He unlocked it and walked in, pulling me behind him. When he shut the door behind me, he finally spoke,”So, I was thinking we could make dinner together. And, maybe you could stay with me tonight?” “Bold move, Ash. Trying to get into my pants on the first date,” I smirked at him. “Okay, first of all, did you expect any less of me? Second, I just want to be near you. Sex or not,” Ashton explained. “Why?” I asked, before I thought about what was coming out of my mouth,”Wait, don’t answer that. Sorry.” 

“After being around you for less than a day, I already want to spend every waking moment with you. Something in me is connected to something in you. You know it, I know it. Your friends knew it from the way they were staring at us. My friends know it because I was with them when I called you and they gave me shit about it for the rest of the day,” His eyes were greener than before as he looked at me. “We should make dinner before you make me cry again,” I changed the subject slightly. “Hey!” He protested,”Technically the show made you cry last time, not me.” “Sure, babe, let’s go with that story,” I replied. The world around us slowed to a crawl as Ashton kissed me for the first time. He tasted like mint gum and smelled like aftershave. I reached up to cup his jaw in my hands. His skin was prickly under my fingertips. He pressed his hands into my back to pull me closer.

 My friends in purple, holding wildflowers. They look so different, yet they’re the same. A dream I knew well. I always saw my friends, my family. Never the man dressed in a uniform that looked vaguely familiar. I feel my face being tipped up. I look into hazel eyes. Ashton. I have an aching feeling this is one of the last times I’ll see his eyes in this life. I reach up to brush back the curl that always falls in my husband’s face. Husband. “You may kiss the bride.” Mint and aftershave. Prickly skin under my fingertips. Hands pressed into my back to get me as close as possible. 

Ashton broke the kiss and looked at me. Hazel eyes filled with the same love I had seen a moment before. I brushed Ashton’s cheek with my thumb and smiled gently at him,”We better get cooking.” He agreed and led me into the kitchen. I kicked off my heels and realized once again how much shorter I was than him. Ashton walked back into another room and came back out with a hoodie. He handed it to me to occupy my hands so he could reach down and untie my dress. “Horny bastard,” I whispered. His hoodie was warm from the dryer as he pulled it onto my body. His hands lingered at the hem. I reached up and pushed back the red curl that fell in his face. I pressed my lips to his again.

When I walked back into my apartment early the next morning I shut the door as quietly as I could, but I got caught. Kass and Chloe both emerged from their rooms as soon as the lock clicked. Ken emerged a moment after them. “Bro, we had a system and you were late,” Kass said, looking at Ken with her arms crossed. “Sorry, fuck, that would’ve been such a good bit,” Ken apologized, pouting slightly. “Anyway,” Chloe interrupted their bickering,”How was fucking one of the members of one of the biggest bands in the world?” I pressed my lips in a flat line for a moment before replying,”We didn’t fuck.” “Oh whatever,” Kass protested,”You’re wearing his clothes.” I looked down and tugged the sleeves of Ashton’s jacket over my hands then looked back up at my best friends in the world who were waiting for answers. I thought about lying. I thought about keeping what had happened between Ashton and I a secret. I thought for just a moment about telling them maybe I was wrong about him. That maybe he wasn’t my soulmate. The image of those same women in purple, holding wildflowers and tearing up at a wedding for a doomed marriage flashed before my eyes. “We went to a play. Then, we went to his and we cooked together. He’s taking me to lunch when he gets done at the studio today. If one of you wants to come, I think he’s bringing Calum,” I explained. I was partially cut off by Chloe yelling “Dibs!” then celebrating her claim on Calum with what looked like a well-choreographed endzone dance. 

“Wait, hold on, when do we get to meet the rest of the band?” Ken whined. “I haven’t even done that. We went on one goddamn date slow your roll. The only reason I’ve met Calum is because he and Ashton have breakfast together every Tuesday morning so he was there when I got up this morning,” This response made Kass throw herself on the couch and groan loudly. “Okay, okay, but Ash and I were talking about maybe getting everyone together and going bowling or mini-golfing or something really cliche like that,” I tried to comfort her slightly with my words. “Already?” Ken asked gently. “What do you mean?” I replied. “Like you said, you’ve been on one date. We know you. You definitely didn’t fuck him last night. You’re already thinking about introducing your friends? It’s fast,” She looked at me with concern in her eyes. “It doesn’t feel fast. It feels like we’ve been together forever. It feels like we’re supposed to be together forever. I saw his face in one of my flashes last night when he kissed me. He’s the one I married in every life before. I can’t stand the thought that I might not get to spend much time with him in this life like previous ones. I want as much time as I can get, even if it means moving fast.”

Tattered green plaid couch. Doilies. Linen against my skin. Tears streaming down my face so fast nothing I do can stop them from soaking the collar of my dress. Sobs rip through me harder than any pain I’ve ever felt. I feel a hand on mine. I try to look up through blurry eyes. Two sets of arms around me. One set of hands holding mine. Soft, soothing voices I know well whispering that I’ll see him again someday. One means heaven, one means another life, one means in my dreams. A flag in my lap. I don’t want it. I want him. Forever was supposed to be longer than a day. 

END OF PART ONE

[breathinginthevapor]

The one that got away

Summary: You may or may not be over Ashton when he knocks on your door a year after your break up. Things get messy, people disappoint and hearts break. (I suck at summaries pls forgive me and read it anyway)

A/N: I recently rediscovered the most of this one shot and found out that it was actually pretty good (and reaaallyyy long compared to other stuff I’ve written) so I wrote an ending and it got to almost 8000 words. It was supposed to be really angsty (it’s still pretty angsty though), but then it took a turn. Please leave feedback, it would mean so much to me since I’ve spent a seriously long time writing this.

TW: probably swear words and um, yeah I don’t think anything else? Weddings? Heart break?

Masterlist

He’d told you the first time you met him that he was damaged goods. Unfixable. Broken. He had used hundreds of adjectives, but you still hadn’t believed him. He said that he knew he’d fall for you if you let it happen. And that he would break your heart in the end. You had proclaimed that a broken heart was inevitable, that all relationships either got destroyed by choice, by life or by death. You had been so naïve. And he had been so tired. Tired of running away from everything, from not letting himself get connected to anyone. And so, you collided.  

You still remember how he looked that day, curly hair all over the place, the band t-shirt stained with both red wine and coffee, clear dark circles under his auburn orbs and a look in those eyes that you hadn’t ever seen before.

You had just turned 19, feeling so grown-up and responsible. And for the first time in your life, you had gone to a bar. You didn’t know what you’d expected, but certainly not meeting a famous musician sitting there looking so miserable. There was just something about him, something wild, something crazy, something exciting. And you were craving those things desperately after living in the same city all your life with the same people and nothing exciting ever happening.  

You feel the memory wash over you, and it’s so strong you can almost smell his scent of sweat, alcohol and a little remainder of cologne. 

“Hi,” you greeted, shooting him your most charming smile. He looked up from his drink, checking you out in a way that was anything but subtle. “May I sit?” He nodded, and you sat down on the bar chair beside him. “Not the talkative type, huh?” 

“You sure are noisy, miss,” he said, voice raspy and with an accent you knew were Australian. You weren’t a fan of his band in any way, but you knew who he was and could probably recall a few of his song lyrics if you really tried.  

“I’ve heard that one before. I thought you’d be more creative, to be honest.” His eyes locked with yours, a suddenly amused look in them. But the wildness, the hurt, was still evident in them. It was like he had a secret, and he told everyone that he had this secret, but he wouldn’t tell what it really was about. And it had already peeked your curiosity. 

“You shouldn’t assume things about people, miss. You’ll only end up getting disappointed.” 

That was how it started. A broken man and a young girl, looking for adventure. But it had evolved from there, slowly turning into a beautiful relationship full of love and secureness and taking care of each other. You had saved him, he had helped you grow and then, after everything, he had left you.

You don’t know why he’s here now. Why he’s standing outside your flat a year after your break up, knocking on your door.

You discretely take in his appearance and notice the short hair and the black button-up, both things he’d never wear when the two of you were together.  

“Hi, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here, Ashton?” you ask, making sure your voice is unfriendly and unwelcoming in hopes that he’ll turn around on his heel and go back to where he came from. 

“Can I come in?” he begs and ignores how clear it is that you don’t want him inside your home. But just as you are about to refuse, at lightning breaks through the sky, and you know you can’t just leave him to himself when the weather’s like this. It could be dangerous. And oh, how typical it is that even though the sun has been shining all day, right when he knocks on your door, the weather gets bad. So, you simply nod, gritting your teeth in annoyance.  

He takes his shoes off outside the door, careful not to let the wet soles soak your floor. He was like that too when you were together, always polite and thoughtful.

He enters the apartment, hovering over you and making all your furniture and even the TV seem much smaller than it really is. You always loved his height, but now you wish he was tiny so he wouldn’t seem so intimidating.

He raises an eyebrow at the couch, silently asking for your permission to sit down. You give him a small nod for confirmation while making sure your face is still like cut in stone, showing no emotion. He can’t know how much all this, him being here, affects you.  

He sits down in the comfy, brown couch that you bought with your mother in an IKEA not long ago. It’s weird, him sitting here in the middle of your new life, bringing pieces of the old one back. Pieces you wish had stayed behind.  

“Now tell me, Ashton, why are you here?” you demand, arms crossed across your chest to come off as even less approachable. He doesn’t seem to let it get to him, but then again, it’s probably what he had been expecting anyways. The two of you didn’t exactly end on good terms, after all.  

He looks at you, eyes the same beautiful shade as always. You’ve missed those eyes and the way it felt like they saw right through you.

“I needed to talk to you,” he answers, still not revealing the reason behind his rather surprisingly visit. “Please sit down, this feels too formal, too much like we’re strangers.” 

“We are strangers, Ashton,” you say, but you sit down anyway. You should just get this over with because then you can return to your everyday-life and forget this encounter ever happened.  

The couch isn’t exactly the size of America and you’re forced to sit pretty close to him, your thighs almost touching. You feel your palms getting sweaty and try to dry them off on your jeans, but the sweat just keeps coming and you give up.  

“No, we’re not, Y/N,” he argues and pauses for a short moment. You’re about to say something, but then he continues: “A stranger wouldn’t know that you don’t take sugar and milk in your tea because you’re too lazy. A stranger wouldn’t know that you freak out every time a new Sims pack comes out. A stranger wouldn’t know how cranky you get if you don’t get at least eight hours of sleep. A stranger wouldn’t know that you’ve always secretly wanted to be a mermaid. A stranger wouldn’t know that you talk to your mother on the phone at least four times a week and a stranger would certainly not know how it feels to kiss you in the morning with your hair all messy and one of my old tees on, the sunlight making your eyes look magical.”  

You don’t know what to say, but you feel the anger inside you grow bigger and bigger until you must release some of it. “I don’t drink tea anymore and Sims isn’t installed on my new computer. I’ve given my niece my whole collection of movies about mermaids and burned the shirts you left. You may have known me once, but you certainly don’t anymore.” You stand up from the couch, not wanting to be close to him anymore. Who does he think he is? He broke your heart, stayed out of your life for a whole year and then comes back now, acting like there’s no bad blood between you. “I only let you in because of the bad weather outside but I am not taking shit from you. You can sleep on the couch and then I expect you to be gone by the time I wake up tomorrow.” You turn on your heel, ready to just lay in your bed and start reading your favourite book for the twentieth time, but Ashton has other plans. 

He gently grabs your wrist, holding you back. “Please, Y/N. I just wanna talk,” he begs with pleading eyes, but you don’t care. You don’t owe him anything. So you get out of his grip, continuing to walk away when he says: “I’m getting married.”  

You don’t why it stings so much, but your heart hurts like you’ve taken a knife to the chest.

You turn around again, meeting his auburn eyes with your own. “Why are you telling me this?” Your voice is barely a whisper, but he’s standing so close to you that he will hear it either way.  

“I’m getting married, and I need you to be there.” You don’t understand anything. He can’t be serious. This is not how it’s supposed to be. Your ex isn’t supposed to show up only one year after your break-up, telling you he’s getting married and that he wants you the be there. It’s not right. That doesn’t even happen in movies. “I need you to be there, Y/N, because I don’t think I can do it if you’re not,” he continues. “The thing is, there’s still a big part of my heart that belongs to you. And I can’t give her half a heart. That wouldn’t be fair. I need you to be there, giving me the permission to let you go. Besides, you’re the only person I truly want to be there when I make the greatest promise of all.”  

“I don’t owe you anything,” you answer, trying to act unbothered and unhurt, but your voice cracks and it sounds more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him. “I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t want to go.” He doesn’t say anything, just stands across you and looks at you like he’s searching for something. Then you wait a few moments to gather the courage to asking the question you’ve been dying to ask him ever since the end of your relationship: “Why did you just leave? I loved you so fucking much, and you just left me with nothing.” Your words seem to surprise him, his expression stiffened and eyes drifting away, probably back to some old memories. You know, because you can’t even keep count of how many times that has happened to you. Where something has brought you back to some memories you’ve done your best to delete from your mind. But even though they rarely pop up nowadays, you know they’re still there, in the back of your mind.  

“I- I,” he starts, not finishing his sentence. He looks at you intensely like he’s trying to telepathically tell you something. Unfortunately, it’s not working. “I just couldn’t stay. Perhaps you knew me too well, Y/N. I needed someone to not know the broken Ashton, the one with all the scars and bruises and issues. And I needed you to have someone way better than me, someone more deserving of your love. And I know it sounds too cliché, but that was how it was. How it is.”  

“Don’t you understand, Ashton? I’ve never wanted anyone but you. You’re not the only one who’s broken, but you’re the only one I’d ever allow to break me like you’ve broken me.”

You walk closer to him, and with each step the distance becomes more unbearable. And then finally, your lips connect again. His breath is hot against your lips, and your tongues work together perfectly. When you break apart, your foreheads still pressing against each other, you whisper: “Stay.” He kisses you again, this time with a hunger that sets your skin on fire. He pulls away and starts kissing your neck, surely leaving marks. Suddenly, you are pressed against the wall, your legs tangled around his waist and your breath quicker than normally.  

“Bedroom?” he asks, voice thick with desire. You nod, and he carries you as if you weigh no more than a feather before laying you down on your bed. 

You wake up, feeling happier than you have in a long time. The birds are chipping outside, and sun beams lights up patches of the floor. Then you realize that Ashton isn’t beside you, and you worry that he has left, but then the smell of freshly made coffee fills your nostrils. You find a pair of panties on the floor and an old tee in your drawer and then heads towards the kitchen.

He’s standing with his back turned against you, holding a mug of coffee. You walk over to him, throwing your arms around him just like you used to do. His body stiffens, and you let go.  

“Good morning, Ashton,” you greet, voice raspy and sore. Perhaps you’d been a bit too vocal last night.  

“Good morning,” he answers, turning around so you’re face to face. “I hope it’s alright I made a pot of coffee.” 

“Of course it is,” you assure him. “I thought for a minute that you’d just left.” You smile, leaning in to kiss him, but he pulls back. He’s leaning against the counter so there’s not enough space to properly step back, but you get the message. “What’s wrong, Ash?” Your voice sounds more hurt than you had intended, but there’s no denying his rejection upsets you.  

“I was wrong to come here,” he says, each word penetrating your heart. “I have a fiancé waiting for me at home and I solely came here to gain closure. This was a mistake.” He tries to look you in the eye, but when he sees how full of hurt, anger and sadness they are, he looks away. 

“It surely wasn’t her name you moaned last night. Actually, she didn’t seem to cross your mind at all. So how can you say that this was wrong when we both know you and I are supposed to be together?” He shakes his head and bites his lower lip like he doesn’t want to answer. And when he does, you understand why. And you wish that he just hadn’t said anything at all.  

“It’s our faith to be star-crossed lovers, Y/N.“ He looks at you, the tears in his eyes telling you he’s not as indifferent as you thought. “In another life, I will make you mine,” he adds, and then he sends you one last pained glance before walking out the door and leaving you to pick of the pieces of your broken heart alone for the second time.  

You sink down on the floor, tears clouding your sight and your heart feeling heavier than ever. And you hate yourself for being so stupid. For letting him break your heart again, just when you thought you had moved on. But still, you can’t get yourself to hate him. You wish you could, really, but because you know that he loves you, because you know that he’s hurting too, you can’t. So you settle on hating the universe for making it impossible to stop loving him and for not letting you be together with the man you love. And you curse every god you know for making it this way. But still, there’s a small part of you that isn’t sad. That part is happy and grateful instead. Not all people get to experience a love like the one between you and Ashton. And deep down, you know that that part will win some day. But for now, you let yourself mourn the future you’ll never get.  

He is standing at the altar, a well-cut tux adorning his muscular body and a calm expression on his face. He looks confident; proud, even. Your eyes find him as soon as you enter the almost full church, but he doesn’t see you. You’ve purposely dressed in a way that will keep you out of the spotlight. He’s the only one who needs to know you’re here.

However,+ your plan doesn’t work as perfectly as you had predicted. John sees you and is about to stand up, but then he looks you up and down and shuts his mouth. Somehow, he seems to have understood that you don’t want to be seen. Instead of calling you out, he stands up and walks over to you. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here, to be honest.” He smiles warmly at you, and you get a small feeling of coming home. John has always been like a second dad to the band members, and while you were dating Ashton, he filled that role for you, too. “But I’m glad. You’ve have been greatly missed.”  

“I’ve missed you too, John. Where’s Milla?” You ask, not seeing his adorable daughter anywhere. 

“She’s sick and Amy’s home taking care of her so it’s just me today,” he explains, gesturing with his hand towards the church pew he came from. “Do you wanna sit with me or do have anywhere else you want to be?”  

“I guess I’ll survive sitting with you, John. Just this one time,” you tease and wink at him afterwards, which only makes him laugh. The pew is thankfully located towards the back of the church which means that you won’t be feeling like you’re trying to steal any attention or play a bigger part in this wedding than you’re meant to.  

Just as you’ve sat down, the famous tones of Bridal Chorus play and mark the entrance of the beautiful bride. And she truly is beautiful. A short pixie cut frames her perfectly-shaped face, the dark brown strands of hair matching her chocolate coloured skin and her body cut like one of a goddess.  

“Who is she?” you whisper to John while feeling jealousy creep upon you. 

“Anabelle. They met a festival, I think.” Even her name is beautiful. And it fits with his. Ashton and Anabelle. Sounds like something from a fairy tale. You try to shake the envy of you, but it’s hard. You always thought that you would be one saying “I do” at Ashton’s side, but things rarely work out as you want them to. You’ve learned that the hard way.  

He seems happy. His smile is genuine, although not the biggest possible, when she stands beside him, and you’re glad that he’s happy. Especially because she looks so sweet. You would have hated if she had looked like a bitch.  

You spend the ceremony trying not to cry, admiring the church and convincing yourself that it’s a bad idea to storm out of the door so you don’t have to watch the love of your life vowing to love another for the rest of his life.  

But then the pastor says the famous words: “If any of you has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace,” and you remember all the movies where people try to get their significant other to stop marrying someone else. And you are so close to standing up and beg him to marry you instead. But you can’t do that to him. Or to all these other kind people gathered at the church. Or to the woman standing beside Ashton. You’re not that selfish. So you settle on holding your peace forever. And you realize in that moment that if you were given the choice, you would gladly take whatever pain Ashton is feeling by letting you go. You would bear everything because he deserves to be happy. And he truly seems to be right now.  

So when he, just before he says “I do”, finds your eyes through the crowd, you smile at him through wet eyes and nod. At first, he looks surprised that you’ve showed up, but then his eyes get an almost thankful glow and you know that you’ve done what he needed you to do.

And then, it’s official. Ashton is married. And you’re left with the bitter memories of happier times.  

But as you sit quietly in the church, head down, trying to blend in with your surroundings, a familiar voice says your name.  

“Y/N? Is it you?” You look up and gaze directly into Lauren’s baby blue eyes.  

“Hi Lauren,” you greet and smile at her. You became some sort of big sister to her during the time you dated her older brother, and although you also have quite a soft spot for the youngest of Ashton’s siblings, Harry, you’ve missed Lauren more than you thought you would.  

She hugs you, a big grin lighting up her gorgeous features. “Please say that you’re coming to the reception, too! It’s been way too long, I’ve missed you,” she asks and then adds: “We all have.”  

“I’m sorry, but I think I’m just gonna head home now. I only came here to say a proper goodbye, but I’m afraid I’ll outstay my welcome if I come with you. Message me if you wanna hang out some time, I’d love that.” You prepare to bid your goodbyes to her, but she doesn’t let you go that easily.  

“No, Y/N, you have to come. I know that the boys will be disappointed if you leave before talking to them as well. Besides, we have a lot to catch up on.” She’s just as persuasive and charming as her brother, and you end up promising to go to the party too. 

“Now go and celebrate your brother, I’ll drive there with John,” you promise, and she disappears out the church.  

John places his hand on your shoulder, giving you a comforting squeeze. “You can do this, Y/N. Besides, she is right. We’ve all missed you, and we are your friends too, although you’ve distanced yourself quite a bit.” You look at him and gives him a thankful nod. That old man always knows what to say.  

You sit alone at a small round table, John gone off to take a phone call from his wife. You don't really mind, though, it's actually nice to get some time to yourself to really take everything in. You look at Anabelle, her dress big and overflowing with tulle. Although she is beautiful, and the wedding is beautiful, it confuses you a little. It’s nothing like what you thought Ashton wanted and he never was the type to just sit around and let his girlfriend decide everything.  

“I didn’t expect to see you here, to be honest.” 

You turn around to see who the voice belongs although you already know. You’d recognize it anywhere.  

“I didn’t either. Lauren somehow managed to convince me. Great persuasion skills must run in the family.” Ashton sits down at the chair beside you. He’s sitting so close that you can smell the scent of the cologne you bought him for his 25th birthday. You’re surprised he still uses it, it’s a remain of your relationship that you thought he had thrown out by now.  

“Did she use the puppy eyes? I never mange to resist them.” Although your tones and words are light, the tension is thick between you like a balloon waiting get scratched by a needle so it finally can release the air inside.  

“She did. I stood no chance.” You both laugh, but then the silence is awkward and brutal. There’s so many things to say and at the same time nothing at all. It certainly doesn’t make it easier that he only a few weeks ago spent the night in your bed. And now you’ve watched him starting a life with someone else. 

“Do you remember how we used to talk about how our wedding was gonna be? That we were gonna get married by the beach and I was gonna have messy tangled hair and a loose flowy dress on and we would get tattoo rings instead of real ones because you feared losing yours in the drain?” you burst out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, just forget it.” You pretend to look at the clock on your phone and then begin to stand up. “Actually, I should probably get going, I promised Jesica I’d-“ 

“I dreamt about it last night,” he says, interrupting you. “We were at the beach I showed you in Sydney, the one with the beautiful sunset. And you looked like an angel with bare feet and this simple, knee-length dress and no make-up on. It all seemed so real, I could even smell the seaweed and feel the sand under my feet. And your eyes had that beautiful sparkle, and everything just felt like it fell into place when you stood by my side.” His eyes glistens, tears threatening to spill. But you are conflicted. Because while you experience the same pain he does, you also feel anger boiling. 

“Then why didn’t you choose me three weeks ago? You had the chance and you threw it away for some idiotic reason.” You sigh, looking away for a few moments to gain composure. “You know, it would be easier to accept if you married her because you loved her and not me. But that’s not the case, is it?”  

He doesn’t directly answer your question, but you understand either way. “I hope you find someone who is there for you, always. I hope he buys you a sapphire ring when you get engaged because you never liked the ordinary ones. I hope he’s the reason that sparkle in your eyes return. I hope he knows how intelligent you are and accepts that you win every argument. I hope he holds you tight in the night when you are feeling lonely and that he’s careful around you because he knows how sensitive you are. I hope he challenges you and I hope he tells you every day how beautiful you are because you always forget. And I hope he makes you happy and I hope he loves every scar and wound and bruise. And I hope he makes you forget about me, so I’m the only one sitting here, always wondering what could have been. If only life had been different.“ But although his words are beautiful, you don’t think they’re anything besides that. They’re beautiful, yes, but also terribly stupid.  

You shake your head and then, before you walk away from him, you scold him: “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Us not being together has nothing to with faith. It’s your choice. Singleheartedly. And I pray that I will one day be able to forgive you for it.” And with that you’re gone, only a trace of your perfume in the air proving to Ashton that the conversation truly happened.  

You look down at your baby blue stilettos, the colour perfectly complimenting the creamy hue of your dress. It took you weeks to decide which one you wanted but you’re happy with your decision as you look up and admire your reflection in the mirror. Picking your own wedding dress was nothing like what you had expected after watching countless of episodes of ‘Say yes to the dress’. You didn’t immediately know which dress you wanted, and only following hours of swiping through pictures on your phone were you able to decide on this one.

Your process of choosing a wedding dress was a bit like when you “chose” the man you are just an hour from meeting at the altar. It hadn’t been love at first sight, heck you hadn’t even been that attracted to him in the beginning, but he had grew on you, and you had grown as a person. When you were younger, you fell in love, face first and with a feeling of being completely out of control. Falling in love with Thomas had been the very opposite. You had gotten to know him as a friend, kindly denying his advances towards you, but as you realized how great a man he really was, how considerate, honest, sweet, kind-hearted (and head over heels in love with you) he was, you decided that you would try to reciprocate his feelings. You had taken it slow, working with yourself and with him, and he had been so supportive through it all. Then one morning when you hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, you realized you missed him. That you wanted him to be there, that you wanted him to kiss you and embrace you and possibly make love to you.

After that, everything just started to fall into place. Of course, there were bad days and there were screaming and fighting and crying, but you always thought for both the relationship and each other, and when he proposed to you, well, you were happy to agree.  

So yeah, you had to admit you could see the similarities between your process of picking a man and picking a dress. But perhaps you were just over-analysing everything, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hi sweetie,” your best friend, Jessica, greets as she places her hands on your shoulders and comfortingly squeezes. You smile widely at her in the mirror and lean back against her, resting your head on her collarbone and shoulder.

“Can you believe it, Jess? I’m getting married!” you squeal, and she laughs. Her palms have slid down to your elbows, mindlessly caressing your skin with her thumbs. That’s one of the things you love about her, she always shows these small acts of affection, calming you down when you need it or just letting you know she’s there. She’s a bit like a sister to you, as she’s been by your side for many years now, through thick and thin.

“I know, Y/N, it’s amazing,” she assures. You close your eyes and relax in her embrace, a feeling of comfort and safety washing over you. “I am so terribly proud of you, you know that, right?” She gently shoves you away from her and turns you around so you’re facing her directly, holding you an arms-length from her with her hands once again on your shoulder. She fixes her gaze on you which tells you that she thinks this is important for you to understand. “I’m so proud of you for getting here, for how you got up after everything with Ashton, for how you let yourself fall for someone again after being so hurt. You are stronger than you know, Y/N, incredibly strong. And remember, I’m always here, no matter what.” She shoots you a big smile, but you can’t get yourself to mirror it, feeling your stomach churn.

“Don’t be mad at me, Jess,” you mutter, clutching your hands. Her facial expression changes from a proud, fond one to a nervous one.

“What are you talking about?” she questions and mentions your name when you don’t answer right away.

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself. “I’ve invited him today. Ashton. And I don’t know if he’ll even show up or-“ you admit, before she cuts you off.

“WHAT have you?” She’s nearly yelling now, and you just want her to stop. This is supposed to be an amazing day filled with only happiness and joy, certainly not with fighting and bad feelings. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“I want him to be there, Jess! And you would have tried to talk me out of it,” you explain, trying to get her to understand. As your best friend, she should accept, if not support, your decision, but then again, you get where she’s coming from. If she told you she had invited the person that had hurt her more than anyone else to her wedding, you wouldn’t exactly be over the moon either.

“And you promise this isn’t just some sick form of revenge because he wanted you at his wedding almost two years ago?” She interrogates, seemingly calmer but still with a doubting expression. However, her words hit you and you can’t find the right words to answer her.

“I-I don’t know why, to be honest. It just feels right to have him be there, you know? I love Thomas, I really do, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving Ashton, either. And like he needed to have me there for his wedding, allowing him to marry another woman, I think I need him to give me away to Thomas, if that makes any sense.” She walks closer to you and stares intensely, like she’s trying to figure you out.

“If he asked you if you wanted to try again, what would you say?” You should have seen that question coming, but you stupidly didn’t, and now you don’t know what to say. The million-dollar question, indeed.

“I hope he never does. It would only cause everyone more pain than necessary,” you begin and quickly continue when you realize she’s once again about to interrupt, “But if I must be honest, I don’t know, Jess. He’s the reason I am the person I am today, he shaped me, and no one has ever loved me as furiously and deeply and beautifully as he did. But he made his choice two years ago.“ Your eyes are wet but tears still haven’t run down your cheeks. You take a deep breath and try to hold them back, telling yourself that everything’s okay. You don’t want red, puffy eyes on your wedding day.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I shouldn’t have pressured you. I’m just worried,” she apologizes and takes your hand. You squeeze it and nod, understanding where she’s coming from.

“I know, Jess,” you say, as she comfortingly strokes your cheek with the hand that isn’t holding yours. “Will you put on my veil?”

She secures the veil in your hair with a beautiful silver comb you’ve borrowed from Thomas’ mother, and the delicate, sheer fabric falls in front of your face. Jessica’s eyes turn glossy as she steps away, eyeing you up and down. No words are needed between you, she just hugs you one last time before escorting you out.

She walks into the church before you, executing her role as your maid of honour.

“Are you ready, darling?” your father asks with loving eyes. You know that both him and your mother were worried about you after how things spiralled down when Ashton left you, and that they are relieved you’ve finally decided to settle down.

You answer with a nod, staring forward at the door that leads to your future. Your hands are sweating, and you want nothing but just get the ceremony started.

“And you’re completely sure?”

You finally turn your head and fix your eyes on his, surprised by how worried he looks. You were under the impression that your parents loved Thomas almost more than you did which isn’t much to your surprise, really, as he truly is the dream of every pair of parents.

“What do you mean? I thought you liked Thomas?”

“I do, he is everything I ever wished for you find in a man. But I’m not sure if he is anymore, Y/N. You seem content, but you’re not as happy as you sometimes used to be. You don’t have that sparkle in your eyes anymore,” his lips part into a small, apologetic smile, knowing his next word will feel a little like a knife to your chest, “Not since Ashton, you haven’t.”

“Well, I´m not a teenager with big emotions anymore, dad,” you mutter while nervously playing with the hem of your veil, feeling a need to do something to distract yourself from the doubt beginning to appear in your head.

He can’t be right, can he?

No, you love Thomas, and he loves you. Just like Ashton and Anabelle love each other.

“I know you’re not. But you underestimate your younger self, honey. There wasn’t anything melodramatic about her, Ashton just brought those big feelings out from within you, and he did two years ago, too, and you were 25 back then.”

You can hear people inside the church beginning to talk, clearly wondering why you’ve still haven’t begun your walk towards Thomas when it’s been so long since Jessica walked up the aisle.

“Listen, darling, I just want you to make the right choice, whatever that may be. If you truly love Thomas and want to spend the rest of your life with him and would choose him over everyone else, including Ashton, then I am beyond happy to escort you to him right now. But if not, then I think you should tell him. “

“What about the money? You’ve used so much money on this wedding, I don’t want those to go to waste,” you insist, hanging on to your last chance of taking the easy road. Thomas loves you like you hung the moon in the fucking sky, and you know that he’d spend the rest of his life trying to make you as happy as possible if you choose him. But that’s not the question. Instead, you have a few seconds to find out if you really do love him or if you’ve just convinced yourself as a way to get over Ashton.

“’I’ll take care of the money, darling, just do whatever you find best. Both your mother and I want you to be happy, no amount of money compares to that,” he affirms, making your heart flutter with pride of how great a father you have.

“You’re the best. I’ll tell him now.” You grab the wooden door handle but turn your face towards your father first, “Thank you for making sure I was making the right decision. I love you,” you declare. His smile reaches all the way to his eyes, and you once again see the resemblance of your father and yourself. He has that sparkle in his eyes, too.

You carefully remove the silver comb from your perfectly styled hair and take the veil off as well as you walk into the church.

Everyone turns towards you, but as soon as they see the apologetic look on your face and the wedding garments in your hand, their smiles turn into shocked expressions. You fix your gaze on Thomas, feeling tears forming behind your eyes. They slide down your cheeks, some dripping down on your dress and some hitting the floor.

“I’m so sorry, Thomas, I’m so terribly sorry,” you apologize when you’ve walked so close you can talk to him with a low voice and still making it possible for him to hear. “I swear I never planned to hurt you like this, you deserve so much more. But I can’t do this, I’m so sorry.” Low mutters and even gasps sound from the audience, and although you care deeply about many of them, right now, you wish they weren’t here.

It’s too sad and hard as it is without other people having to witness you breaking Thomas’, and perhaps even your own, heart.

“What is it you can’t do? Marriage? Because we don’t have to get married, Y/N, we can just call this off and-“ he tries, and it’s clear to you that he knows it’s over but just doesn’t want to admit to himself just yet.

“I think it would be best if we went somewhere more private, would that be alright?” He nods. “I’ll take care of this, just figure out a spot and text me the details. I’ll be there as fast as possible.” He looks like he wants to say something, but then he just smiles brokenly and walk out the church, looking down at the marble tiles.

It feels like a knife twisting in your chest to see him walk away with hanging shoulders, looking so defeated. You might never have loved you like he loved you, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t care about him. You cared greatly about him, deeply, even. Not enough, though.

You take a deep breath, locking eyes with your father at the back of the choice, and the reassuring smile gives you the strength to explain.

“I’m sorry for wasting everyone’s time, but I can’t do this. Thomas is a fantastic man, but he deserves someone who can return all the love he has in his heart. And that person isn’t me.” You dry your cheek with the back of your hand, stepping closer to Thomas’ family.

With shaking hands, you offer the comb back to his mother, mouthing “I’m sorry,” and you think she nods as a small act of acceptance, but with the tears clouding your sight, you can’t be entirely sure.

“I have something I need to work by myself, but first of all, I need to talk to Thomas. So, if you’d please excuse me,” you exclaim as you walk out of the church. And even though the burden of hurting a man who loves you stings, you feel freer than you have in a very long time when you step out of the cold temperature of the church and out to the fresh spring air outside. You’re gonna work this out.

The smell of newly-dried paint fills your nostrils as you breathe in, admiring your work. You’ve painted your living room in a soft beige colour that gives the room a homely appearance, and you’ve just finished decorating the room with furniture, pictures and green plants. This is your fresh start, your second chance, and you’re determined to make sure that this small apartment will be the place where you will figure out your life.

You smile at the picture of you and Thomas, both of you widely grinning at the camera, sitting on your parents’ couch. It took many tears and tough talks but now, eight months after your wedding day, you and Thomas have managed to rebuild your friendship. He really is an amazing person, and you’re sure it won’t be long until some lucky woman snatches him.

The sound of the doorbell ringing shakes you from your thoughts, and you stand up from the couch. You don’t bother checking who it is before opening, Jess said something about coming over when she got off work and you’re sure her boss just let her go early.

But it’s not Jess who stands outside your door with a hopeful expression and beautiful hazel eyes.

“Ashton? What are you doing here?” you question, your smile decreasing a bit. It’s not that you’re not delighted to see him, but you get a bad kind of déjà vu from the last time he stood outside your door. It certainly didn’t end up pretty, back then.

“It seems we always end up like this, doesn’t it?” he grins, but his gaze is apologetic. “Me standing outside your door and you hesitant to let me in.”

“If you want me to be the godmother of your child, the answer is no,” you answer, only half-joking. You never know with Ashton, if anyone would do something like that, it’s definitely him. “But come on in, I don’t mind.” You take a step back, dragging the door back until it bumps again the wall in your hallway, making room for him to walk in.

He dries his feet on your doormat, like he always does before walking indoors, and then he takes them off and puts them right beside your door, making sure they don’t stain your floor. Thoughtful as ever.  

“A truly great idea, Y/N. Unfortunately, I don’t father any children at the moment but perhaps another time,” he jokes sarcastically, and you laugh, relieved that he isn’t actually going to ask you something in that direction. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

You smile, holding up your hands and point around the living room. “You really aren’t, I was just enjoying my interior designing skills.”

He reciprocates your smile with a relieved one of his own, admiring the room. He examines the pictures on your walls and you try to think up something to distract him with, so he doesn’t see them before you realize it doesn’t really matter. It’s your own choice what you want to look at every day, and you don’t even think he’ll mind that you hung up a picture of the two of you.

He walks past the pictures of you and your parents at a zoo and you and Jessica at your bachelor party and stops at the one of you and Thomas, the one you were looking at right before he came. His shoulders seem to sink, and his voice isn’t as lively as before when he speaks, “You look really happy together on this picture. Have you fixed your problems?” When you don’t answer right away, he continues, still looking at the frame instead of you. “I’m sorry, it’s not my place to ask. I just thought- after what happened in the church, I thought the two of you broke up.”

You walk closer to him, seeing him swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thomas and I are just friends, actually. He’s really sweet, but I don’t see him as anything more, and he has accepted that.“

Ashton finally turns his head to look at you, and your stomach drops when you notice the intensity he stares at you with. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but that makes me really happy, Y/N,” he whispers.

You can’t believe you still have a hard time fighting the urge to kiss him, after all these years, but you force your feet to stay put. You may not have any commitments, but he’s still married.  

“How is Anabelle?” Your voice is hoarse, but you try your best to sound as powerful and stern as possible. You were “the other woman” once, and you don’t intend to be ever again.

“She’s well, I think. Haven’t spoken her since the divorce, to be honest, but she updates her Instagram regularly with pictures of her and boyfriend,” he states softly, licking his lips and looking down at yours.

You can’t control the surprise in showing on your face, mouth slightly gaping. “Since when?” You look down at your feet, feeling your heart beating fast and hard in your chest.

Stop it, Y/N, you’re behaving like a lovesick teenager

“We weren’t even married for a year, actually. It took some time, but I realized those things you said at my wedding were true.” He steps even closer to you, and you feel his warm breath on your forehead when you force yourself to look up. “I’ve been a complete idiot, I know that. But will you at least consider giving me another chance? I understand if you don’t, I just-“

You don’t let him finish, instead colliding your lips in a long-awaited kiss. He tastes like coffee and mint gum, and you’ve forgot how great a kisser he is. His tongue graces over your teeth, the act sending specks of warmth through your stomach.

As you break apart, gasping for air, none of you can help smiling. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N, and I’m so sorry for how much I’ve hurt you,” he apologizes, stroking your cheek, “But I promise you I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m sorry as well. We’ve both been way too stubborn.”

You kiss him again, and it feels right, although you still have to adapt to each other again.  

“I love you, too, for the record,” you add, and the smile he sends you reminds you of the first sun beams in spring. The ones that remind you that even though the world has seemed like a cold and dead place for a while, everything will be alright.

And while you’re not sure if you believe in one true, big love or soulmates, you believe in second chances and realizing a relationship hasn’t run its course yet and that it isn’t always right to let go of something good just because it’s tough. And most of all, you believe in Ashton.

[cremedelacremefanfic]

Crème de la Crème: 28

Evie:

“I can’t believe I let you do this shit.” I kissed my teeth as I sat in the dressing room of Saks Avenue. Today was suppose to be a day of relaxing and chilling with my girl but instead I wake up to bullshit.

Tish rolls into my bedroom around nine in the morning talking about I need to throw out my old wardrobe and get a new one. To my surprise the bitch had been there way before I woke up and threw out most of my shit.

I was fuckin’ livid as hell, we just bought those clothes a few months back. She said that if I wanted Ashton the way that I say I wanted him I needed to switch things up. My wardrobe is too bland. I swear I couldn’t stand her ass. 

Now, we’re in Saks where she’s throwing nine hundred dollar shoes at me. “Bitch, I am not paying this much for a damn pair of shoes!?” I shrieked. This trick has lost her ever-lasting mind. 

“If you don’t wake up and start living! Girl your checks say you can afford that shit! I say live a little and buy the shit because you can. Plus, you still sitting on that hefty ass bonus that you’ve yet to use. Girl, i would’ve bought me a new car and house!” She said excitedly. 

I sighed. “Fine, but damn these shoes are a bit much. I think I need new clothes more than anything. Ya know, since someone got rid of every single piece of clothing I had. Remind to punch you in the throat later.” 

She grinned. “Girl BYE! Those tragic ass clothes needed to be burned. If you want your baby daddy to notice you, you need to step it up. Especially if he entertaining the help and shit.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m just over the both of they asses and that is not my baby daddy.” I snapped. Ever since I told her about Ashton bitch ass and I she’s been on this he’s my baby daddy tip. “Oh he’s not?” She questioned with her eyebrow cocked. 

“Your body language says differently. You know I’m good at noticing body language and sweets your body is screaming for ashton to tear them walls up!” She screamed. 

She so damn dramatic. 

“First of all, I’m not checking for that yellow nigga and secondly my walls are not screaming out for him.” I said through my teeth. I glanced around the dressing room to make sure no one heard. 

“Oh, so we in denial now?” Tish stopped her movements and stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. 

“I don’t know what to do any more.” I insisted “What’s wrong with us Tish? Why do we want men that don’t really want us because I know we’re good women, why can’t they see that?” I asked

She shrugged “Who knows, we see potential and run with it” she sighed "I wanted to change Tez, I just knew one day he would, you see how that blew up in my face, huh?” She shook her head and laughed.

I frowned slightly.

“I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did because that ride or die bullshit is a myth. For you, Ashton’s the first guy you’ve entertained in a while, he’s different from what you’re used to. Wild, unpredictable and probably charming, like Tez. It’s intriguing, right?” She asked.

I nodded.

She shifted her attention from the rack of clothes and looked at me “I joke with you about him a lot, Ashton that is, but I’m kinda happy he;s not checking for you anymore because I know his type and sis.” She rested her hand on my shoulder before continuing “I will catch a charge for you.” She said with all seriousness.

I smiled. “I know, so I guess that’s the good in all of it all then, huh? My bestie staying out of jail?" 

She pointed at me and winked. "There’s always a good in something.” She laughed “But what you will do is slay that nigga life and show him what he’s been missing and pull you a new nigga.” She smiled shaking the shoes in her hand.

I rolled my eyes “Speaking of new nigga, Sean?” I asked. The cutest smile graced her face “What about him, we’ve been talking about work and stuff.” She shrugged.

“What’s the stuff?” I asked with a small smirk. Seeing Tish and Sean together, I’m not even going to lie, they complemented each other. “Nothing, I’m not trying to go there with him. Not after Michael and Martez.”

I nodded my head. I could understand where she’s coming from, she’s been through a lot with men lately. But, I think her and Sean would be so cute together. 

“Well, I think he’ll make a good friend for you if anything. I’m willing to share my work buddy with you. But leave Auggie to me! That’s my pooh.” I laughed because if August knew i called him that he would have a fit.

“Auggie pooh?” She questioned, raising her eyebrow with a sly smirk on her face. “Oh no! It’s not like that. He’s like my best friend plus he’s not my type.” I responded quickly.

“Oh, we know who your type is honey.” She winked and I shook my head and laughed. 

I can’t stand her.

———-

A few hours of hitting up every store in the mall, I was tired. I spent so much money on clothes, shoes and accessories I was sure I was gonna be bankrupt. But, all in all I had a good time bonding with my sissy. 

Now, I was pulling up to my house and of course my brother was home. Tez and I haven’t really been speaking to each other. For the most part we acted as though we were strangers and I felt like I was walking on egg shells around him.

I missed talking to my brother everyday, he was my everything. He was best friend and I refused to keep walking around MY house and not speaking to him. 

Getting out of my car, I Grabbed as many bags as I could and walked up to my front door. I huffed once I realized that I had to may bags in my hand and could barely open the door. I sat my bags down and jammed my key into the keyhole and unlocked the door. 

Once the door was open, I grabbed all of my bags and headed in the house. To my surprise my brother was laying across the couch watching TV. I dropped the bags, closing the front door. “Hey.” He said not even bothering to look at me.

I groaned and picked up the bags and headed to my room, after throwing everything by my bed, I stomped my way back into the living room. I stood in front of the TV, making his eyes finally met mine. 

“What?” 

“What? Really Tez? We haven’t spoken in weeks and all you have to say is what?” I shrieked. 

“I don’t know what to say to your spoiled ass, Evie. You dead ass wrong and you know it.  She kept my kid from me and I understand her reasoning but, but you are my blood you should’ve told me about my kid!” His voice roared.

My eyes bucked, I was in shock that he was even talking to me like this. My facial expressions switched from shock to anger in the matter of seconds. “Let me tell you something….” My voice trailed off as I walked up on him and hovered over him. 

“That wasn’t any of my damn business but let’s be clear since you can’t seem to listen to what the fuck I’m saying! I promised her that I wouldn’t say any damn thing! Yes, your my brother and we’re blood but you were a fucked up ass boyfriend and you know it! we didn’t even think that Hazel was even going to make it!”

“She was so little and the doctors told us it was touch and go. For six months Tish had to watch her baby in the ICU! She was trying to save you from that heartbreak! She even banned me from seeing my niece! Yes, we both fucked up but she thought she was protecting you by not saying anything because we thought that we would be burying her! It’s by the grace of god she’s alive! Do you know that Tish loved you more than life itself? When you came home she was gonna take you back, but you so bent over backwards about us not telling you!” I continued.

“I th–”

“I’m not done! Do you know what it feels like to know that something that you made and created was on the verge of dying? No, you wouldn’t know because she was trying to save your ass! Cut her some damn slack and man the fuck up! I love you, god knows I do but I refuse to let this come between us. Now get your ass up an give me a hug!” I snapped at him. 

Martez sat there with his bottom lip on the floor. He had officially pushed me over the damn edge. With this shit going on with Ashton and them Him being mad at me over something I couldn’t control had me on ten thousand.  

“What I tell you about that cussing?” He stood and grabbed my arm and pulled me into his chest. “Oh shut up!” I rolled my eyes and laid my head on his chest. “I’m sorry for not telling you but we both thought we were protecting you. We didn’t mean any harm or ill feelings.” I said, truthfully. 

Martez

“I know you didn’t” I admitted "But it doesn’t feel that way. I said as she pulled away

She nodded “I know...” she said “I wasn’t going to tell you though, I’m sorry. I know it seems like I’m choosing Tish over you but that’s just not the case. Whether I told you or didn’t, it as still a lose/lose situation for me” she said falling back onto the couch

I sat next to her “So it as just easier for not to tell me?” I questioned

I didn’t want to fight with my sister but right now I was having a hard time seeing her point.

"Yes Tez, I’m not going to lie to you. You and Tish always put me in fucked up situations and I’m tired of it, no matter what I do it;s going to be wrong and that’s not fair. I begged her to tell you about Hazel just like I begged you to be a better boyfriend; neither of you listened and now you’re in the position you;re in now. It’s not my fault, you two made your choices” she ranted using her hands for emphasis

“I wasn’t that bad.”

She laughed sarcastically  "You fuck up all the good things going for you." She said tucking her legs under her body

I know I wasn’t the best when it came to Tish and I’s relationship

"What are you talking about?”

“Take mom for one, we had no reason to go there that day. Life was good for us without them in it. Until this day you're holding on to this false image of what she could possibly be, she’s not a good person. You let her burn you so many times and it landed you in jail. Then there’s your relationship with Tish...”

I blew out air.

“I feel like you fucked that up on purpose.” she said resting her elbow on the back of the couch

“Why would I do that? I love that girl.” I said

“You sure?” she asked “Tez, she gave you chance after chance and you took advantage of that. You know the real reason why kept Hazel from you?” she asked

I rolled my eyes “To keep me from getting hurt.”

“That and you didn’t even showed her that you cared. She told you about the baby and you still didn’t stop you bullshit and  then when she told you about the “miscarriage”, she said you acted like you didn’t care, it was right back to the case.”

“You act like I just didn’t give a fuck about her at all. Shit, we both knew what was going on and knew that there was a possibility that I wasn’t getting out of that fucking jail cell. I just thought that maybe this was a sign.” I told her. 

I honestly didn’t even see the fucking problem here. Yeah, I fucked up many of times with Tish but she always forgave me afterwards. I guess I preyed on that shit a lot. 

I knew that most women wouldn't have dealt with bullshit I continuously put Tish through. “See, you still don’t get the damn picture, Tez.” Evie scoffed and rolled her eyes at me.

“But she always forgave me though.” I responded. If looks could kill I would’ve dropped dead right here. 

“That’s your fuckin’ problem. I swear you and your mother are one in the damn same. Just because she forgave your black ass don’t make it right! What is wrong with you?” She jumped up onto her feet. “Let me ask you something, what if Hazel met a nigga like you and allowed herself to continuously be disrespected by a guy? What if I decided to let a man continue to cheat on me and dog me out the way you did Tish?” 

I sighed “That’s not the point.” 

“Yes the fuck it is, as far as I’m concerned your black ass needs to fuckin’ apologize to her.” She said. I glared at her as she stared right back at me with the exact same expression on her face. 

She’s so team Tish, what’s even more fucked is that she don’t even see the fucked up shit that Tish ass has done. I know I haven’t been the perfect nigga to her but she ain’t been the perfect girl either. 

Far as I’m concerned we both wrong. 

"You don't think you should apologize for anything?" She asked

I shook my head "I feel like even at this point." I said with a shrug

"Even? Nowhere near!" she said

"Why you so pressed about it?" I questioned

"Maybe because I was with someone that treated me badly." my eyebrow shot up when she said that "He cheated on me every chance he got." She said looking down at her hands

"When the fuck was this?" I snapped

I didn't like my sister getting mistreated by anyone, I don't even do it because of our fucked up upbringing. It took her years to recover from that traumatic time.

"When you went in." She said "My loyalty to him wouldn't let me leave so I dealt with because I felt like I couldn't do any better. He made me feel so low…"

My ears got hot with anger. I felt like I was going to explode at any moment.

"Who’s this nigga!" I demanded

“You.” She simply said

My face scrunched up “What are you talking about?”

"The person I was describing was you, Tez, that's you." She said "I didn't know how else to get to you. I'm trying to get you to understand that You're just like Ken." She said firmly

"What? I'm nothing like him, I've never put my hands on any woman a day in my life."

"That doesn't mean you don’t have the same traits as he does. You mistreat the people there around you because you can. What has Tish ever down to merit your behavior?” she asked

"Tish left me at my lowest!" I yelled

"While you brought her to hers. I keep trying to tell you, it's not always about you. " she said "That hurt you're feeling right now, that's exactly how she felt when she had to deal with different bitches, go against her parents for you and compromise her self-worth because of the love that she had for you. All she ever wanted for you to do was respect and care for her the way she did you.”

"I cared." I said "I was just mad and confused." I admitted

I definitely did care about Tish's mental when she went through what she did with Hazel but, I was never good at my words or feelings. That was my problem, I could have asked how she was feeling, I just didn't know how to process what was happening myself.

When she told me I felt like that's just another tragic I was being punished for. For all the fucked up shit I did to her coming back tenfold. I’ve been fighting with myself for years, a fight that I should have never involved her in but her innocence drew me that made me stuck on her.

Maybe Evie’s right. In a way, I was like Ken. I did Tish just like he did my mother, sister and I.

Evie shook her head "That's why you don't want to admit you're wrong because you wanna be stuck in your feelings and not acknowledge the ones you hurt; you really you lost your girl over your pride?" she chuckled lightly "Good night, man."

[allsassnoclass]

Bedroom Activities

Michael thinks that Calum’s bed is his favorite location in the entire house.

Or: Michael comes out to Calum.

An extra scene in the Puzzle Pieces universe

Read on AO3

Michael thinks that Calum’s bed is his favorite location in the entire house.

The bed itself is nothing special.  He has the same mattress as Michael, and it’s not like his room has a better collection of band posters tacked up or smells less like teenage boy or anything like that.  Ashton seems to be the same quality of roommate as Luke, so for all intents and purposes Michael should like his bed best because it’s his own space.  As much as he loves his friends, sometimes he needs a moment to himself to decompress.

Calum has always been his space, too, though, so relocating to his bed as much as Liz will allow feels a little bit like wrapping himself in a childhood blanket, except with significantly more making out.

They do other stuff on Calum’s bed, too.  They watch movies, have pillow fights, play guitar, laze around and talk, and take naps even though Michael is confined to his own bed at night.  (Joke’s on Liz, because half the time he falls asleep cuddling Luke instead because they’re all so fucking clingy.)  Still, making out with Calum is quickly becoming one of Michael’s favorite recreational activities.  He loves how it feels to have Calum pressed against him, the gentle slide of their lips and playful nips that leave his lips swollen and tingly afterwards, and the way that Calum’s hair is the perfect length for him to bury his fingers in.  He loves how Calum tastes and the noises that he makes.  He loves that they can laugh about it when one of them does something weird, and he loves the way Calum’s lips feel against his neck (he thought getting a hickey might tickle more, but it just feels really fucking good).

They haven’t gone any further, interrupted a few too many times or the kisses naturally dying out first.  Michael is glad for it.  They haven’t tried talking about sex yet, so he hasn’t had a chance to tell Calum that it’s going to take a second to mentally prepare himself.  He absolutely is ready to do whatever will make Calum happy, but he can’t quite picture himself touching his dick yet.  It’s probably a good idea for him to figure that out first.

He sighs against Calum’s mouth, boneless against the mattress and enjoying the feel of his hands on Calum’s body, one nestled in his hair and the other sliding up his spine under his shirt.  Calum’s skin is always warm, and kissing him and touching him always makes Michael’s cheeks flush and lights a bonfire in his gut.  Calum is propped above him, forearms bracketing his head and thigh bumping against Michael’s knee where he has it bent.  Sometimes their hips brush together, and Michael represses a jolt every time.

They’re both getting hard, but that doesn’t really mean anything.  They’re teenage boys.  It doesn’t take that much, as weird as it makes Michael feel sometimes.

Calum shifts, moving one of his hands to Michael’s side.  Michael adjusts the angle of the kiss and scratches a little at Calum’s scalp, eliciting one of those soft whines from him that are completely involuntary.  It always gives Michael a power rush to know that he’s the one making Calum feel that good.

Calum’s hips brush his again, but he gives up the fight of holding himself up and lets them stay there.  The new closeness is nice in some ways, because Calum is a gentle and familiar weight, but there are those little subconscious hip movements that make Michael’s toes curl and his gut clench.  Calum’s hand moves under his shirt where it has rucked up a bit, warm and comforting.

Calum does that thing with his tongue that drives Michael absolutely crazy, and it takes him a moment to realize that Calum’s hand is not only under his shirt, but also sneaking under the waistband of his boxers.  The panic is immediate and all-encompassing, and Michael is pushing him off and saying “wait, stop, stop,” before he realizes that he’s broken the kiss.

“What?” Calum asks, breathless.  He looks like an absolute vision, eyes blown and lips red and hair mussed.  “Are you okay?  Mikey?”

Michael can’t exactly say no, because nothing even happened and he thought he would’ve been okay with it even if it did, so he curls away, which is the wrong choice because now Calum is going to know that something is wrong.

“Michael?” And yeah, that’s the tone Calum uses when he’s panicking, so Michael needs to say something before this gets out of hand.

“I don’t want to have sex with you!” he blurts.  He closes his eyes and braces himself for… something.  Not quite rejection, because Calum is one of his soulmates, but maybe an end to this aspect of them, the head-over-heels-in-love part.  Maybe Calum needs someone who wants the same type of satisfaction as him, and Michael is going to go back to being his best friend.

“Oh,” Calum says after a beat.  “That’s okay.  We don’t have to right--”

“Ever,” Michael says.  “I don’t want to have sex with you, ever.”

The silence stretches on for longer this time.  Michael holds his breath for as long as he can.

“Oh,” Calum says again, poorly-disguised hurt lacing his words.

“Not you, specifically,” he says.  “If I have sex with someone, it’s going to be you.  When I have sex with someone, I mean.  I know that like, eventually it’ll probably happen, and I thought I’d be fine with it, but…”

“I don’t understand,” Calum says.  “Michael, what are you saying?”

He grabs Michael’s shoulder and pulls him onto his back again, forcing Michael to uncurl and expose himself to the world.  He sits up and adjusts his shirt, fiddling with the hem.  Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably one of Luke’s shirts, because he doesn’t put away his laundry and this one doesn’t sit on Michael in the familiar way his own shirts do.

“Michael?” Calum asks.

Right.  Calum.  Explaining the sex freakout.

“I’m asexual,” he says.  “I don’t, like, feel attraction that way.”

He chances a glance at Calum.  His brow is furrowed, cheeks still red and eyes dark.

“But you were hard.”

“I don’t feel attraction.  I can still get aroused.  I don’t know, it’s weird to think about, so I haven’t been.”

Calum nods slowly.

“You’re not attracted to… anyone?  Are you just saying this because you’re straight and trying to let me down easy?”

“No,” Michael says.  “What the fuck, Cal?  I’ve really never looked at someone and thought that I wanted to fuck them; it’s not personal.”

“Do you still love me?”

“What?” Michael asks.  “Of course.  I love you more than anything.”

Calum nods.

“Okay,” Calum says.  “I love you, you love me, we’re just not going to have sex.  Right?”

“I mean--” Michael blinks.  He expected a bit more resistance.  “We can still have sex.  I’m just not ready yet.”

“No, Mikey.  I don’t want to do this if you’re not going to like it.  I can jerk off a lot, or something.”

“But I want to,” Michael says, and it’s true.  He wants to do it at least once, simply to see what all the fuss is about.  “Everything else that we’ve done has felt really good, so that probably will, too, but there’s a weird mental block, like a disconnect.  I don’t know.  I always expect it to feel kind of neutral, not good, so when it does it throws me off, and it’s you so it’s that much more, but I do want to.  I like making you feel good, and you make me feel good, too.  I want to have sex with you, but… eventually, not now.”

“Are you sure?” Calum asks.

“Yeah,” Michael says.  He wrings his hands together, suddenly nervous again.  “I don’t know how long it’ll take, though.  I thought I’d be ready whenever, but earlier I thought you were going for my underwear and panicked.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Hey, no,” Michael says, reaching out and grabbing his hand.  “You didn’t know.  I didn’t know.  It’s fine, but no hands under pants for a while, okay?”

“Of course,” Calum says.  He squeezes his hand.  Michael gives him a small smile. “Anything you want.”

Michael’s throat closes a little, and he blinks to be sure he’s not about to start crying.  He’s never found a four-leaf clover, but somehow he was lucky enough to end up with the best soulmate ever anyway.

“I want a cuddle,” he says.  “Also, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Calum says fondly, reaching up to brush Michael’s fringe out of his eyes, then cup his cheek.  “Is there anything else I should know now, though?  Can I still touch you everywhere else?”

“Yes,” Michael says.  “I love it when you touch me, which you could be doing if we were cuddling right now.”

“Patience,” Calum says, but he’s already pulling Michael down and arranging them on the bed.  Michael ends up half on top of him, nosing at his neck, and he sighs happily.  Calum’s hand runs up and down his spine in a long, soothing line.

“Was the kissing okay?” Calum asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs.

“You sure?  You don’t have to just say that.  We can stop if you don’t like it.”

“Don’t you dare,” he says.  “I told you, everything we’ve done so far has felt really fucking good.  Kissing you is like, my favorite thing.  Let’s keep doing it forever.”

“Alright,” Calum says, then plants one on the top of his head.  “I like that idea.”

Michael hums and presses closer.  Calum exhales slowly.  Michael has been in this situation enough that he knows they’ll both be asleep soon, heartbeats synched up like every other aspect of their lives.

“Are you really okay with it?” Michael asks.

“Of course,” Calum says.  “I love you, Michael.  I’d give up my right arm for you if I could figure out a way to still play bass.”

“Yeah, if you lost an arm we’d have to replace you, and that’s just too much work.”

“Glad that’s what’s keeping you from sacrificing my arm.”

“No, I also like your arm.  I like all of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Every last centimeter.”

“We can never let Luke and Ashton hear us say stuff like this,” Calum says.  “They already think we’re gross.”

“They’re just jealous,” Michael snorts.  “Who wouldn’t be?”

Calum hums.

“Maybe they should get together,” he says.  “Then they wouldn’t be third and fourth wheeling all the time.”

Michael almost brings up Luke’s crush on Ashton, but he was told that in confidence, and if Luke hasn’t told Calum himself by now then there’s probably a reason.

“We need them to stay single to appeal to our audience, remember?” Michael jokes instead.  Now that it’s been announced that they’ll be touring with One Direction, Ashton has fallen down a rabbit hole of research on strategies and theories for how to market a boyband.  He says it’s because he wants to be sure no one tries stuff like that with them, but Michael thinks they’re too punk-rock for that.

“We’ll see,” Calum says.  “I’m sure the ladies will like us for more than our sex appeal.”

He goes back to rubbing Michael’s back, and Michael settles.  The mood has shifted enough that Michael feels safe tangling their legs until the two of them are completely intertwined with the type of closeness that Michael craves.  If he could, he would have Calum absorb him so they could be one person in moments like this.

They probably have responsibilities that someone will come yell at them to do soon, but he doesn’t really care.  He’s in Calum’s bed, and he’s got Calum under him, and it’s a familiar position that he wants to find himself in as much as possible.  Calum’s content sigh makes Michael think he’s not the only one with that thought.

Calum’s bed is definitely his favorite place in the house, but maybe it’s not the bed itself.  Maybe it’s the boy it belongs to and the arms he constantly finds himself surrounded by.

Nah, that’s too cheesy.  If anyone asks, it’s still the bed, even if Michael knows better.