#i also wrote some more britpop au tonight

[calumcest]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter eight

[ao3]

yes...i cant believe it either. i really thought i’d finish britpop before posting another chapter of this but then i also thought britpop would be 8k i am not just a clown i am the entire circus. anyway big thank yous to @kaleidoscopeminds and @clumsyclifford for reading through the original version of this chapter that i wrote 2 months ago and hated and never posted and giving me feedback that i could sit on for ages before gathering the willpower (see: procrastinating writing an essay) to actually edit it 

also i know i have been so absent lately i’m so sorry i have been so insanely busy you would not believe but i’m slowly starting to get into a routine so lets pray that perhaps my online presence will return. yeah you all thought you were rid of me not so fast bitches 

Luke takes Clifford out for a short walk in the morning, during which time Ashton showers and gets dressed, and as Luke’s trying to get Clifford to eat the food that he’s turning his nose up at for absolutely no discernible reason, Ashton says something about going down for breakfast, does Luke want anything? Luke looks up at him, shakes his head and mumbles something that he hopes sounds vaguely like no, I’m not hungry, and Ashton just nods as he closes the door behind him, leaving Luke in their too-small and yet somehow too-big hotel room. Luke should be able to breathe, now that Ashton’s gone, should be able to sit back and relax and exhale freely, but every new inhale is tinged with that slight scent of pine and oak and spice, bittersweet on Luke’s tongue. It’s too much, makes his stomach flip in a way that’s at least eighty percent unpleasant, makes his head hurt and his heart and fists clench because of that last twenty percent, and because he doesn’t have space, now, even when Ashton’s not there. 

They’ve got to be at the research centre at ten, and Ashton doesn’t get back from breakfast until half-nine, so Luke’s in a foul fucking mood by the time they’ve got their things together and hurried out of the hotel. Ashton gets them lost on the way to the tube, too, and they’re really pushed for time by the time they get to Russell Square, where the building they’re supposed to be in by now apparently is. Ashton has the gall to chivvy Luke along when he stops to re-tie his shoelace, and Luke has to grit his teeth to stop himself hissing something vitriolic and spiteful in Ashton’s direction, half-hopping the rest of the way to the building with a sloppily tied shoelace and ducking down to re-tie it again when Ashton strides over to the receptionist and asks where the soulmate study is supposed to be taking place. 

The bloke at reception directs them to a room on the third floor, but the lift is broken so they have to take the stairs, and Luke’s thighs are burning by the time they turn into the room the guy had directed them to. It looks like a classroom, all desks and chairs and a projector screen at the front, and there’s a slightly uncomfortable-looking cluster of people standing in awkward silence towards the back of the room. Ashton glances over at Luke, an is this it? Us and them? sort of glance, and Luke just shrugs jerkily, following in Ashton’s wake to hover about two metres away from the nearest couple to them. It’s a middle-aged woman and man who are standing about three feet apart, like there’s some kind of invisible force field between the two of them, angled as far away from each other as it’s possible to get. It would look almost comical, actually, how viscerally uneasy they look in each other’s presence, if Luke weren’t acutely aware of the way he and Ashton are also stood three feet apart, of the way he’s leaning as far to the right and away from Ashton as he can. 

“Hi,” he hears Ashton say brightly, and has to stifle a groan, letting his eyes flutter shut as he exhales heavily. Trust Ashton to be the only one to fucking strike up a conversation in an uncomfortably silent room. “I’m Ashton.”

“Uh, Sally,” the woman says, a little hesitantly. “And this is Pete.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Ashton says happily, like he’s not aware of the fact that every single person in the room is listening to their conversation. “How long have you known each- uh?” He cuts himself off, seeming to realise that that’s probably not the best question to ask, given the reason for the study, but Sally just nods, like she understands. 

“Uh,” Sally says, glancing at Pete. “Twelve years, or so? Um.” She coughs delicately, and then adds: “Pete’s my sister’s husband.” 

Oh, Jesus Christ, Luke thinks, as someone across the room makes a choked-sounding noise and hastily (and badly) disguises it as a cough. Maybe his situation with Ashton isn’t so bad, after all.

“Oh,” Ashton says, sounding surprised, and like he’s not really sure how he should respond to that. “I, uh.” He pauses, and then turns to gesture at Luke. “This is Luke. He’s my ex.” Luke grimaces, and raises a hand in an awkward wave as he shoots Ashton a glare that he hopes conveys do not fucking drop me in the deep end like that. Jesus fucking Christ.

“We’re exes too,” a couple across the room pipe up - a short, blonde woman and a taller, green-haired woman - and Ashton beams at them.

“We’re, uh,” a member of a couple standing incredibly stiffly opposite Ashton and Luke pipes up. “Olly here was my school bully.” Luke watches the muscles in this Olly’s jaw flex as it clenches, but he doesn’t say anything, just grits his teeth and stares steadfastly ahead of him, eyes boring into the wall a few feet to Luke’s right. 

“Vanessa’s my daughter-in-law,” a man at the back of the room says, nodding at the woman at least twenty years his junior standing to his right, looking incredibly pissed off, and Luke has to try his hardest not to wince. Jesus. 

There’s only one person who hasn’t spoken yet, a short, dark-haired woman who’s standing on her own in the far corner, looking like she wants the ground to swallow her up as everyone turns to look at her. 

“I, uh,” she says, and clears her throat uncomfortably. “My soulmate is, uh.” She hesitates, and then says: “I’m not actually sure I can-” but she’s interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and two people striding in, a smiling man and a slightly harassed-looking woman. 

“Good morning,” the man says cheerily. “I’m Colin, one of the coordinators of the study, and this is my wonderful partner in crime, Jess.” There’s a smattering of murmured hellos as Jess raises her hand to the group. 

“Thank you so much for your time,” Colin says, clapping his hands together. “I know this study is inconvenient for many of you, and some of you have come an incredible distance to participate, but we’re hoping that this study will shed some light into the growth of soulmate tattoos.” He pauses, but nobody says anything, just shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably and looks at everyone but Colin.  

“We also have an issue of a certain, uh.” Colin clears his throat. “It’s a little delicate. One person involved in this study is, uh, a household name, and in order to protect their public image, has requested that non-disclosure agreements be signed. It’s nothing major, but of course, if it affects your decision to partake in the study, we completely understand. Nothing is binding until the contracts have been signed, and even then, you always have the option to pull out at any time.” He pauses, and looks around the room, shrewd blue eyes watching to see how each of them have reacted to the information. Luke wonders whether maybe this is a test, something to see whether their palpable curiosity will win out and make them work together with their soulmate to find out what celebrity is allegedly involved in this study, or something. He doesn’t trust psychologists. 

“Alright,” Colin says, when nobody speaks, and smiles brilliantly at them. “We have the contracts for you to read through and sign, and if that’s all in order, we’d like to start with a questionnaire and today’s blood samples.” There’s an assortment of murmured assent, and then Colin starts placing papers and pens on desks, and, after a hesitant glance around the room, people start moving towards them, muttering things to their soulmates under their breaths. 

“A celebrity?” Ashton says quietly, slipping into a seat at the nearest desk. Luke sits down next to him, because where the fuck else is he going to go - he’s not about to strike up conversation with that bloke and his fucking daughter-in-law, Christ - and shrugs. 

“Might be a test,” he says, and Ashton shakes his head. 

“Nah,” he says, completely confident. “I wonder who it is.” He pauses, leaning back as Colin comes by and puts a pile of paper in front of them, and then leans in and adds in a conspiratorial whisper: “It’s got to be someone huge, otherwise they’d be here.” 

“Huge?” Luke echoes. “Someone huge wouldn’t be partaking in a random university study in London.” Ashton raises his eyebrows.

“We’re here, aren’t we?” he says. Luke knows what he’s trying to say; if we’ll fly all the way from Australia for this, who’s to say a celebrity wouldn’t be involved?

“We’re also not household names,” Luke says, reaching for a pen and one of the contracts Colin’s placed on the table. “If I had the money, I wouldn’t be here.” 

“It’s not about money,” Ashton says, pulling the other contract towards himself and handing Luke one of the NDAs. “This is all new. You’ve got to follow the research.”

“The research’ll come to you if you pay enough,” Luke retorts shortly, and then shields the side of his face with one hand under the pretence of focusing on the contract so that Ashton won’t respond. Ashton sighs, long-suffering and a little exasperated, but takes the hint and starts reading his own contract. Luke does actually start reading through his contract then, but keeps one eye on Ashton, because he’s certain Ashton’s going to find something to complain about, certain that no matter how much Ashton thinks he’s changed he’s still a pedant, and he tries not to think about the fact he remembers that about Ashton as he re-reads every sentence at least twice and very carefully. After all, it’d be embarrassing if Luke signed the contract and handed it back in happily and Ashton found a flaw in it that Luke had missed, wouldn’t it? 

Despite his best efforts, though, he can’t find anything, so he just signs and dates it and sets it aside, reaching for the NDA. Ashton’s still on the contract, frowning at the third page of it, but he hasn’t been scribbling on the paper like he usually does when he’s making notes of ambiguous phrasing or inconsistent or lacking clarity. Maybe he really does do it all differently, now. Maybe he just signs on the dotted line. 

The thought makes Luke’s stomach churn a little, makes him think for the most fleeting of moments - well, if Ashton’s changed, is it still reasonable for me to hate him? Then, though, just as that thought settles like a cold stone in his stomach, Ashton raises his hand, looks around the room for Colin, and says:

“I’m not quite sure about paragraph six, clause three?” Luke almost snorts derisively, spiteful glee and cool relief flooding his veins as he thinks yeah, you’ve not fucking changed a bit.  

“Let’s have a look,” Colin says, and Luke turns back to the NDA in front of him, busying himself with reading through the terms as he lets the not quite clear and questionable phrasing floating over from his right wash over him. Christ, they’re making it sound like he’s going to be in possession of state secrets - you shall do everything reasonably within your power to protect the confidentiality of the Confidential Information, what the fuck is that? Who the fuck is taking part in this study? 

By the time Colin’s moved away from their desk, Luke’s reached the end of the NDA and decided kicking up a fuss about this melodramatic document that he barely understands would be completely pointless, given the fact that he’s pretty much trapped in the UK for four weeks by virtue of his fixed flights and scarce finances, so he signs and dates it as Ashton pushes the contract to one side and reaches for the NDA. Luke watches out of the corner of his eye as Ashton’s gaze flits rapidly from left to right, as his brow furrows slightly and he nods thoughtfully, flips it over, reads some more, and then nods, satisfied, and signs it. It’s that easy; no fighting Colin over ambiguous phrasing, or whatever, just read and signed. 

Almost as though Ashton can sense Luke’s confusion, he catches his eye, and smiles a little sheepishly. 

“Signed a lot of these in my time,” he says, re-capping his pen. “This one’s fairly standard.” Luke frowns. 

“What d’you mean, you’ve signed a lot of these?” he says. Ashton shrugs. 

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?” he says. “Sort of the point.” Luke’s frown deepens. 

“You’re a drummer,” he says, trying to make sense of it. What the fuck do drummers need to sign NDAs for?

“Exactly,” Ashton says, like it explains everything. What the fuck? 

“Are you a spy?” Ashton looks at him, surprised, and then huffs out a laugh, bright and amused. 

“No,” he says. “But I couldn’t tell you even if I were, could I?” That’s true, but Luke thinks he would know if Ashton were lying. 

“Well, no, but I’d know,” he says, without thinking, and Ashton raises an eyebrow. 

“How would you know?” he says, and Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He’s not really sure why, but he knows that he would know, knows it like he knows how to blink and how to breathe. He can’t explain it, can’t teach anyone else how to do it, can’t break it down or point to where and when the knowledge was acquired, but he does know it. Ashton couldn’t keep something like that from him. 

“Just would,” he says, a little stiff, a little evasive. 

“What, soulmate experience number three is being able to know what my job is?” Ashton says, sounding amused, and Luke can’t help the tiny smile that forms on his lips at that. That would be a pretty shitty soulmate experience, wouldn’t it? 

“I’d rather that than- y’know,” he says, inclining his head a little, and Ashton’s small smile fades. 

“At least that one’s useful,” he says, and Luke huffs out a slightly incredulous laugh. 

“Useful?” he echoes. “Didn’t do you much good last night, did it?” Ashton pulls a face. 

“That’s my own fault,” he admits. “I- I should’ve listened.” 

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Luke says, aiming for venomous, just to make up for the fact that something in Ashton’s eyes had softened a little too much when Luke had smiled, but he misses the mark and lands somewhere around exasperated. It sounds a touch too friendly for his liking, but before Ashton has a chance to respond there’s a loud clap from the front of the room that makes them both jump a little.

“Okay,” Colin says, and Luke whips around to face the front of the room, glad for the distraction, hoping Ashton isn’t looking at the slight blush that’s clawing its way up his throat to his cheeks. “I’ll collect the contracts and NDAs, and Jess will tell you about the next part of the study.” Jess steps forward from the wall she’s been leaning against, smiling tightly at the group, and looks down at a clipboard. 

“We’re going to be taking blood samples from you every day of the study,” she says. “Colin’s focused on the psychological side of things, I’m more interested in the biological and potentially neurological. We’ll be monitoring various markers in your blood as the weeks go on, seeing whether any experiments change certain levels of proteins in the blood, and measuring whether there’s any difference between the group that are living together and the group that are living apart. Once you’ve completed the questionnaires, I’ll take you to the room where you’ll get your blood drawn. We’ll be doing these every day at ten, but you won’t necessarily have any other appointments with us, so you’ll have to find your own way on other days.” She looks around the room expectantly, like she’s checking everyone’s taken the information in, and Luke nods, feeling like he’s being given instructions by a teacher. “Right, well. I’ll hand back over to Colin to tell you about the questionnaires.” 

“Thank you Jess,” Colin says, smiling out at the group from the front of the room. “The questionnaires are fairly self explanatory - just a series of questions, some to be answered on a scale of one to five, one being strongly disagree and five being strongly agree, and some just straight yes or no answers. Not all of the questions may seem relevant, but please bear with us - this is new territory for everyone, and we’re just trying to prepare for every possibility.” Everyone nods at him, and he smiles brightly, claps his hands, and then reaches for another stack of papers and starts distributing them throughout the room. Luke leans back in his chair, trying to steadfastly avoid the way he can feel Ashton looking at him out of the corner of his eye, shaking some of his curls into his face to try and put a barrier between the two of them. What the fuck does he want? 

“Thanks,” he mutters, when Colin hands him a questionnaire, and Ashton echoes the same, picking up his pen and flipping the first page over. 

The first page seems to be all personality based, and Luke finds himself shifting, trying to cover the questions with his arm so Ashton won’t see he’s circled 4 - agree for ‘I often think about what I should have said in a conversation long after it has taken place’ or 1 - strongly disagree for ‘I am not easily upset’. He tries to get through them as quickly as possible, barely stops to think except on ‘I am still bothered by mistakes I made long ago’, where a little voice in his head says well, you’re still bothered by Ashton, aren’t you?, and chances a glance at Ashton when he flips the page to hide his answers. He’s frowning down at his own questionnaire, not trying to hide it at all, and Luke can see that he’s neatly circled 5 - strongly agree for being bothered by mistakes he made long ago. Well, good, Luke thinks, a little bitterly, as he starts circling answers to questions about his approach to romantic relationships. He fucking hopes Ashton’s bothered. 

The room’s strangely silent except for the odd cough, the flipping of pages, the scratching of pens, a scraping sound as someone leans forward or back in their chair, and it’s almost blissful white noise to Luke until Ashton leans in, and whispers: “What did you put for the one about soulmate experiences?” Luke jerks back instinctively, jumping at the sudden intrusion upon his thoughts. 

“Jesus, Ashton,” he hisses, and Ashton raises his eyebrows and holds his hands up in a sorry, sorry sort of way. “I haven’t got there yet.” 

“Well, it asks if we have a soulmate experience.” 

“Well, we do, don’t we? What’s the problem?” 

“Yeah, but we have two.” Luke blinks, and looks down at the page. 

“Where is it?”

“Number twenty-three.” Luke frowns, scanning the page - seventeen, eighteen- “I think it’s on the next page.” Luke rolls his eyes, but flips the page over, eyes running down the list of numbers until he gets to twenty-three. 

Do you and your soulmate share a so-called ‘soulmate experience’? 

“Yes,” Luke whispers to Ashton. The question asks whether they have one, and they do. Why the fuck is Ashton confused?  

“But we have two.”

“It’s a yes or no question.” 

“But-”

“Fuck’s sake, Ashton, ask Colin if you’re that concerned about it,” Luke snaps, and Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then turns away and raises his hand. He looks cool as he does it, looks composed and collected, but Luke had seen the flash of hurt in his eyes at Luke’s harsh tone. It’s nothing new, and ordinarily Luke would probably feel a little spiteful glee, but now he feels a stab of guilt, a wave that breaks easily and washes over his heart, covering it entirely for a moment before its next beat flicks it away. 

“Colin,” Ashton says, blissfully unaware of the churning sensation in Luke’s stomach that’s followed the unexpected guilt, and Colin looks up from where he’s been leaning against the desk at the front of the room, noting something on his clipboard. He smiles at both of them, puts down his clipboard and jogs over, stopping just before he reaches their desk. 

“How can I help?” he asks, and Ashton points to the question. 

“We, uh,” Ashton says, and Luke can feel the sidelong glance Ashton gives him but stares steadfastly at Colin, “we have two.” There’s a pause, and Colin frowns. 

“You- you have two?” Ashton nods. “Are you absolutely certain?” 

“Well,” Ashton says, and glances at Luke again, who still refuses to meet his gaze, not knowing which of the mix of emotions currently squabbling over residency of his stomach have made it to his eyes. “We- I mean, I, uh. I’m fairly certain, yeah.” 

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Colin says, still frowning. Great. Fucking brilliant. Of course him and his ex-boyfriend are possibly the first set of soulmates in the world to be documented as having two soulmate experiences. 

“Well,” Ashton says again, a little uncomfortably. “Should we- should I make a note of that?” 

“Yes,” Colin says. “Yes, if you could.” He smiles at them, still looking a little bewildered, and steps back, frown set on his face. 

“Did you hear that?” Ashton asks lowly, as Colin walks back over to the desk at the front of the room.  

“I’m sat right next to you,” Luke says, but it doesn’t come out as acrid and snappy as he’d hoped. He just sounds a little panicked. Which he is, but he doesn’t want to sound it.

“He’s never heard of it before.” Ashton sounds worried, and it makes Luke’s heart flip and dive into his stomach, because Ashton doesn’t get worried, not about this. Luke’s the one who freaks out, the one who panics over the tattoos and about Ashton and about being soulmates with his ex, and it makes something unpleasant shoot through him to hear the concern in Ashton’s voice. 

“Just because he’s never heard of it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened,” Luke says. He thinks they probably both know that he’s trying to convince himself more than Ashton, knows he’s been caught out for it when Ashton bites his lip, eyes softening a little in something that looks like both comprehension and understanding, then sighs and turns back to his questionnaire, adding a little note in his oddly-neat scrawl. It’s too long to just be we have two and too small for Luke to read without craning his neck and making it obvious that he’s looking, and Ashton flips the page over almost as soon as he’s written it, like he doesn’t want Luke to see. And it probably shouldn’t make Luke feel a little spiritually sick, shouldn’t make him feel that strange queasiness in his throat and that sharp sting in his heart that he can identify so quickly as rejection, but it does. It doesn’t really matter, though, because that’s followed so quickly by a wave of panic and revulsion that he doesn’t even need to think about it, can just focus on letting the cold dread melt itself into familiar hot spikes of anger through the warmth of his veins.

It’s fine, Luke thinks a little bitterly, and turns back to his own questionnaire, circling no for ‘Do you have strong feelings about your soulmate, either positive or negative?’ so hard that he almost tears the paper. Let Ashton write whatever the fuck he wants about Luke. It’s not like Luke cares. 

(Is it?)  

  -------

  After the questionnaires have been handed in, Jess leads the group to a small room to the left of a lab on the second floor. There are two nurses waiting in there with trolleys covered in cotton buds and antiseptic wipes, and Luke feels an odd shiver run down his spine at the sight of a needle glinting as it catches the light. It makes his stomach turn, somehow, makes him feel like someone’s in some kind of danger, which makes him frown, because no one’s in danger of a fucking needle.  

They’re told to sit on a row of seats at the back of the room and called up one by one in alphabetical order, and Luke sits stiff as a plank while he watches Sally Cartwright and Oliver Evans get called up for their blood draws. Ashton’s sat next to him, fidgeting so much that it distracts Luke from the way his stomach is churning, makes him throw Ashton a glare, gives him something to channel his strangely nervous energy into, something to take his focus off someone needs help someone needs help that’s running through his mind. He doesn’t have much time, though, because then Peter Gallon and Luke Hemmings are being called, and he has to get to his feet, legs feeling heavy and leaden as he drags himself over to the nurse who’d called his name.

“How are you doing today?” the nurse says cheerily, and Luke smiles tightly at her as he sits down in the hard plastic chair opposite her and holds out an arm. 

“Great, thanks,” he says through gritted teeth, as she fastens a rubber tourniquet around it. Luke’s never been keen on them - thinks they’re the worst part of having blood taken, actually, that horrible, restricted feeling - but they’ve never made his heartbeat jump like this before, never made his palms slick with cold sweat. 

“You’re a long way from home,” the nurse comments, wiping down his inner elbow with a cold antiseptic wipe. Luke stares down at her hands as she works, trying to slow his racing heart. Jesus, he’s not even afraid of needles - what the fuck is wrong with him? 

“Yeah,” Luke says, a little distractedly. “Uh. Came here for the study.” The nurse raises her eyebrows as she reaches for a needle. 

“Oh?” she says. “Well, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then, won’t we? You’re all down for daily blood draws.” Luke licks his lips, swallows, and nods. His mouth is dry, now, but he stares at the needle as she fits it together, watches as she screws a vial onto the end, trying to pinpoint what’s making him so stressed, but feels nothing from it. And yet, despite the fact that he’d stared directly at the needle without an increase in panic, his heart is pounding so fast he thinks it might shatter a rib, and his mind is racing like it’s trying to catch up. What the fuck is going on? He’s never had an issue with having blood taken before. What the fuck is he suddenly so panicked about, if it’s not the fucking needle? 

“Clench your fist for me, love,” the nurse says, and Luke does, digs his nails into his sweaty palm like it’s going to stop the bile from rising in his throat. “It’ll just be a sharp scratch-” Luke winces as the needle goes in, clenches his other fist too, but watches as the blood fills the vial, as she switches it out for a second vial and as the blood fills that one up too. That doesn’t make his breath come any quicker either, doesn’t make his heart beat any faster, but something’s doing it. Something’s telling him danger, danger, danger while he waits for the nurse to reach for a cotton bud and press it over the puncture wound as she pulls the needle out. 

“Hold this for me,” she says, and he reaches over, presses down on the cotton bud while she reaches for some tape. She smiles, sorting a few vials of blood out, as Luke pulls his sleeve back down and stretches his arm experimentally. 

“Not a fan of needles?” she says kindly, and Luke shakes his head, frowning. 

“No, I- uh, I don’t have a problem with them,” he says, and the nurse just hums like she doesn’t believe him. 

“Well, I’ll see you back here tomorrow,” she says, and Luke sends her a tight smile as he gets to his feet a little unsteadily and heads back to the row of chairs. 

“Ashton Irwin,” the other nurse calls, and as Luke sits down Ashton gets up, walking stiffly over to where she’s sat and plonking himself down in front of her.

“Clench your fist, please,” the nurse says briskly, and Luke watches Ashton swallow, watches the way his chest is rising and falling a little too fast with short, shallow breaths, and realises what the clammy panic that’s been constricting his own chest is.

Ashton’s never been good with needles. Luke remembers going to the hospital with him when he’d had appendicitis, the way Ashton had, even in his delirious and feverish state, groaned and looked away and somehow gone even more pale every time an IV or a cannula needed inserting or when more blood needed to be drawn, the way Luke had had to hold his hand, whisper to him and distract him from the metal as it punctured his skin. 

It hits him like a fucking train as soon as he sees Ashton clench his fists. Protect protect protect, suddenly crisp and clear, cutting through all the sticky fear in his mind, making his vision swim with the intensity with which it tells him get up, get up, pull the needle out, stop it, he hates it, he hates it. 

For fuck’s sake.

Ashton’s fists are clenched so tight that Luke can almost feel the fingernails digging into his own palm, and he takes a deep breath, tries to reach past the sharp insistence of the protect protect protect that’s clouding every single rational thought, but it builds a wall in front of him, blocks him every which way he tries to duck around it. Shit, he thinks, watching as Ashton inhales shakily, watching the way the blood drains from his face as he looks over to his left so he won’t have to look at the needle. Help him, help him, help him.  

“Ashton,” he blurts, and there’s something in his tone that he’s never heard before, something that he feels rising from somewhere in the depths of his heart and lungs and maybe even his soul, if he knew where that was stored. It’s soft, gentle, soothing, calm, kind, but there’s something more to it, something that penetrates the word so deeply that it almost turns it into something non-verbal entirely. “It’s okay.” Ashton stiffens momentarily, so briefly that had Luke not been completely tuned into his every move he would have missed it, then sags in the chair, like someone’s let all the air out of him. It makes Luke shiver as everything that’s been swelling in him seems to dissipate with his next exhale, because it’s over, that’s it, it’s done. He’s done his job; Ashton’s safe, Ashton’s okay, and he can breathe again, which is the most important thing. 

He’s still covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and he wipes his palms on his jeans as Ashton stands up and flexes his arm, wincing at the movement, and heads back over to Luke. He doesn’t look Luke in the eye, which is probably for the best, because Luke knows he wouldn’t be able to meet his gaze and doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of that. 

It doesn’t even make sense, he thinks, as his mind clears a little, carving out a space for the embarrassment to boil over into anger. Ashton wasn’t even in any fucking danger. What was going to happen, the big bad nurse would bleed him dry? It doesn’t make any fucking sense; Ashton was perfectly safe. Why the fuck did Luke get- get that? 

He can’t think of anything else for the remaining ten minutes it takes for everyone down to Vanessa and Roy Williamson to get their blood drawn, trying to make sense of the situation. Ashton was safe. He was fine. Nothing could possibly have hurt him - so why did Luke feel like something could have? 

He’s snapped out of it when Jess comes back into the room and informs them that they should go for lunch, that they’ll move onto the interview stage of the day when they get back at one, and Ashton turns to Luke and sends him a slightly hesitant look that says are we going to get lunch together, then? Luke just blinks at him for a moment and then nods, because what other choice does he have, really? Spend lunch with the school bully and his soulmate? 

The tension between the two of them is palpable when they leave the building, and Luke knows it’s only a matter of time before Ashton turns to him with a sigh and big, sad eyes and says we should talk about this. If Calum or Michael were here, he’d place bets, see whether it’d be ten or twenty or maybe even thirty minutes until Ashton brings it up, laugh derisively when he inevitably does, but instead, he’s stuck walking in silence with Ashton, the air between them colder than even the air of the English January surrounding them on all their other sides. 

Ashton says they shouldn’t go too far for lunch, which Luke thinks is probably a sensible idea but childishly resents simply because Ashton had proffered it before he had, so he fumes silently while he picks out a far-too-expensive tuna melt in the Pret around the corner from the building they’re due back in in an hour. 

“D’you want to get a table?” Ashton says, when they’ve paid. “I’ll bring your food.” Luke nods, turns on his heel and walks towards the free table in the corner that he’s been eyeing up since they walked in. He slides into the booth, sets his coat down on one side, and then takes the opportunity to stretch his legs under the table before Ashton wanders over with a tray in hand. 

“You just got the tuna melt, right?” Ashton says, settling down in the seat opposite Luke, and Luke nods again, pulling his plate off the tray and reaching for one of the napkins Ashton’s brought with him. Ashton sets the tray down in front of himself, arranges the items on it so that they’re in the right order, or whatever, and then sighs. 

“So,” he says heavily, and Luke almost wants to parrot we should talk about earlier and roll his eyes, just so Ashton knows how he feels about it. He doesn’t, though, chooses to just take a bite of his still-too-hot-to-eat tuna melt instead. See? He can be civil. 

“What the fuck was that?” Ashton says plainly, and it takes Luke by surprise as he swallows. 

“What?” he says, before he can help himself, and Ashton throws him a significant look. 

“Back there,” he says, picking at his baguette. A lobster roll, fucking hell. Maybe Luke should look into becoming a session musician. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t in any danger.” Luke raises his eyebrows, and takes another bite of his tuna melt, more for dramatic effect and to buy himself time than anything else. He hasn’t got a clue. 

“You tell me,” he says.

“Did you feel it?” What a stupid fucking question. Of course he felt it. What possible reason would he have had to say Ashton, it’s okay? other than to get the fucking instinct out of his mind? 

“Obviously.” Ashton hums at that, like he’s mulling it over, and takes a bite out of his baguette before speaking again. 

“D’you think it’s growing?” 

“Growing?”

“Like, getting stronger.” Jesus. Luke fucking hopes not. 

“I hope not.” 

“But d’you think it is?” Ashton presses. Luke shrugs. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s only happened- what, three times?” 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, frowning. “But two days in a row?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke says again, a little irritably this time. “Isn’t that why we’re here? To get answers? Because neither of us know?” Ashton scrunches his nose up for a moment. It’s a move Luke knows well, one that Ashton does when he’s weighing something up, standing at a fork in the roads and deliberating which path he wants to start down, and one that Luke always used to tease Ashton for, dodging the swat Ashton would aim in his direction with a laugh. You look adorable, he’d say, grinning, and Ashton would roll his eyes, but he’d be smiling too, eyes bright and happy because Luke thought it was cute. I look stupid, he’d say, and Luke would roll his eyes, still grinning, and shake his head, wrapping his arms around Ashton. You look fucking adorable, he’d say, and he’d mean it. He still does mean it, he thinks, as he gazes at Ashton. Ashton still looks fucking adorable. 

It’s strange to be reminded of those moments now, years later, sat in a coffee shop thousands of miles away from home with their legs carefully angled away from each other, makes Luke feel suddenly disconnected from himself, like his heart had never quite learnt how to be twenty-six and without Ashton and he’s only just realising it. Or maybe not his heart; maybe his mind. 

(Or maybe not his mind. Maybe his soul.) 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, completely unaware of the crisis Luke’s currently embroiled in. “Yeah, you’re right.” Luke blinks, trying to grasp the bits of himself that are currently floating somewhere in whatever dimension existential panic is and force them back down his throat. Yeah. He is right. He’s forgotten about what, but he is right. What are they talking about? Oh, the strange experience earlier. Yeah. Got it.

“I’m sure they’ll ask us about it, anyway,” Luke says, hoping he’s done a convincing job of acting like he hadn’t been staring at Ashton while reminiscing. Ashton’s hums again, a hum of assent this time, and takes another bite out of his baguette, but Luke catches the way his lips have quirked up in a tiny smile. Fuck, Luke thinks, and his eyes flick to Ashton’s, finding them already following Luke’s gaze, something pleased and happy pooling in his irises. He knows, Luke’s sure of it, but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles a little wider, enough for his eyes to crinkle at the corners, and then looks away. 

Whatever, Luke thinks, trying to ignore the way his heart has picked up its pace. It doesn’t mean anything that he was staring, does it? People stare all the time. Luke stares at Michael, for God’s sake. And a stare can mean lots of things, can’t it? It could have been a stare of disbelief. Or a zoned-out stare. There’s no way Ashton can know it was a stare about him specifically, let alone one caused by Luke finding Ashton cute. He can’t know that. 

They eat in silence until they’re both finished, and Luke’s just downing the rest of his water when Ashton suddenly says: “I wonder who the celebrity is.” Luke blinks.

“Well, there are only so many household names,” he says, and Ashton cocks his head thoughtfully. 

“It might be a British household name, not a universal one,” he says. 

“What, like the Queen?”

“How is the Queen not a universal household name?” Ashton says.

“Well, she’s British, isn’t she?”

“What, so a universal household name is someone from the universe?” Ashton says, sounding amused, and Luke stops. Shit. Yeah, okay, that was fucking stupid. “I mean, like, someone that they all know that we’ve never heard of.” Luke purses his lips. He hadn’t even thought of that. 

“Maybe,” he says. “I don’t know. You’re the one who’s signed NDAs before.” Ashton frowns. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, and Luke shrugs. 

“You know more about this than me,” he says, and tries not to let the curiosity leak into the edges of his tone. He doesn’t need Ashton to know that there’s a card he could play. 

“I’ve not signed NDAs for stuff like this before, though,” Ashton says. “It’s all- y’know. Musician stuff.” He says almost conspiratorially, like it’s some kind of euphemism, like Luke’s supposed to hear ‘musician stuff’ and think of something in particular, and a little like he’s challenging Luke to ask what ‘musician stuff’ means so Ashton can have the pleasure of explaining it to him. 

“Well, you’ve still signed more than I have,” Luke says, a little sharper than he’d intended, irked by the fact that he’s not in on the joke but can’t ask without giving something of his dignity up. Ashton frowns. 

“Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?” he asks. 

“No,” Luke says. Ashton’s brow stays creased, like he thinks he knows what Luke’s feeling better than Luke does, and it sends a sharp stab of irritation right to Luke’s lungs. “I’m not upset.” 

“Okay,” Ashton says, but he says it slowly, like he still doesn’t believe Luke. 

“Ashton,” Luke says, and the annoyance is clear in his voice now. “Don’t patronise me.” Ashton blinks, and then he sits back, nodding. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Sorry. That’s not fair of me. I’m sorry.” Luke swallows. 

“That’s okay,” he says, testing out the words and finding they slip off his tongue a lot easier than he’d hoped, satin on silk, no resistance at all. Ashton looks at him for a moment, something unreadable on his face - or maybe Luke just doesn’t want to read it - and then he smiles, a little hesitantly.   

“What about the other soulmates, then?” he says. “Sister’s husband, what’s that all about?” Luke holds his gaze for a moment, his own scrunched-up-nose moment, and then smiles back; not hesitant, but small. 

“I think that’s still better than your daughter-in-law,” he says. Ashton grins, relief mingling with the amusement. 

“Makes you think we got off easy, doesn’t it?” he says, and Luke huffs out a laugh.

“I’d take my soulmate being my ex over my school bully any day,” he says. 

“Wasn’t Michael your school bully?” Luke pulls a face. 

“Exactly.” Ashton grins again, and Luke tries not to think about the way it makes something sizzle in his stomach. It’s probably just the tuna melt. 

"Good to know I've made it past Michael," Ashton says. "Next step is to make it past, I don't know, Charles Manson." Luke frowns.

"Didn't he die?"

"Did he?" 

"I think so."

"Well, hopefully I'm above him, then," Ashton says. Luke raises his eyebrows. 

"Jury's out," he says, and Ashton laughs, and it's warm, real, tinged with something that Luke's heart remembers - or never let go of - that makes it jump in his chest. He can feel the panic threatening to rise in his lungs to meet it and quells it just in time, just lets himself bask in Ashton's rays for once. 

It's probably just be the coffee shop, or maybe the food he's just eaten, but January's never felt so warm.

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