#my only qualm with michael is his haircut
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I really wished there were more moments showing Michael, his powers, and his parents. Because why does it keep showing up in relation to water in some way? Why were his parents nervous about it? How do they know he has powers?
It’s not just his powers. The show illustrated that he was unsure of his future, should he follow want he wants? Or what’s his been destined with?
The moment he follows what he wants, life makes him doubt like his desire to follow his music and his feelings for Jentry. It was realistic in its portrayal of a kid in his 16, trying to go on his life but unsure what to do with it.
It’s fascinating he can see the future, and yet he is so unsure of his future. At the end, he had to rely on his powers to be assured of his future.
#michael ole#🌌: jentry chau vtu#jentry chau vs the underworld#my only qualm with michael is his haircut#genuinely thought he was gonna change it onscreen or offscreen#I was REALLY hoping for after break up hair change
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Here Comes The Sun - Chapter One
Ellie Hemmings has been waiting for this day. She has it circled in red pen on her calendar, has it noted on every single alert system she owns. Throughout the years, Ellie has been anticipating this particular, momentous occasion with bated breath, and now that it’s finally here, she’s almost wistful about how quickly time’s passed.
Almost.
Because, you see, it’s graduation day.
Except, it’s not her graduation day.
It’s his.
+
“Fucking finally!” Ellie crows, pumping her fist into the air shamelessly as the final bell rings and the students start streaming out of classrooms, chatter filling the air almost immediately. She swings her rucksack over her shoulder and tackles Michael in an exuberant hug. To his credit, he doesn’t even bat an eye at the enthusiastic embrace-attack, and he even goes as far as to pat her on the back with minimal cringing.
“We did it, yeah,” Michael says dryly when Ellie pulls back, her face feeling fit to burst from how wide she’s smiling. “Except for how we’ve got one more fucking year left in this shithole.”
Ellie laughs breezily. She’s on top of the world; nothing can bring her down, not even Michael’s pessimism. She chucks him under the chin, and he glares at her, jerks his head back. “Chin up, you sorry bastard,” she laughs. “We might have one more fucking year left, but it’s going to be – ”
“Without Ashton Irwin,” Michael intones blandly alongside Ellie. Ellie glares at him; Michael smirks. “You say it like every single day, sorry that I’ve picked up on it.”
“Yeah, well,” Ellie says, tangling her fingers with Michael. He doesn’t pull away, which means he’s being rather generous. Or he just knows Ellie’s in the sort of mood where she’ll keep going after his hand. “It’s worth repeating. Every second. Of every day. D’you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?”
“Since you were nine years old,” says Michael dully, “and he shoved you off the swing set in the park and your hair got caught in it.” He pauses, then a real spark of interest flares up in his eyes. He smirks again. “Come to think of it, was that when you had that really awkward – ”
“Shut up, you know very well that’s when I had The Haircut,” Ellie snaps, yanking on Michael’s hand a bit. He yelps and tries to pull back, but Ellie’s… tenacious. It’s a family trait. On her mum’s side. “And you know how scarring that was and how I’ve never been able to get on a swing again. Do you know what it’s like, being a little kid and not being able to go on the swings for paralyzing fear that it will tear your head off?”
She runs forward to cut Michael off, faces him (well, faces up at him; it’s not her fault he hit his growth spurt over last year’s summer break and suddenly grew ten feet), and grabs him by the collar so he has nowhere to hide from her crazed, slightly-hysterical look. Michael looks distinctly uncomfortable.
“Ashton Irwin,” she says dramatically, “stole my childhood.”
“D’you think you might be overreacting a little bit?” Michael asks a little bit thickly – though that could be because Ellie’s cutting off a large portion of his air supply – and Ellie releases him, reverting back to dormancy.
“Not the slightest,” she says darkly. “Ashton Irwin is the scum of the streets, ours in particular, and I will be glad to see him leave for university. I’ll light a fire and do a tribal dance over his grave.”
“You realize he’s going to uni, he’s not dying.” Michael sounds unimpressed / tired. It’s his default setting, Ellie knows, and she largely ignores it because an unimpressed / tired Michael means he’s probably already checked out of the conversation and only half-paying attention to what he’s saying.
She shrugs. “Same thing, really, in my book. He’ll be gone, at least. And now we’ve got hols for a whole month, and he’ll be gone by the time next term rolls around.” Ellie tries her best not to rub her hands together like a diabolical villain, but she only just succeeds. It’s mostly the knowledge that Ashton is the villain here, not her, that keeps her from looking like an idiot.
They lapse into a brief silence, just the faint conversation as their schoolmates disperse to their homes and the plod of their trainers on the sidewalks. Michael breaks it as he hums quiet notes under his breath.
“Sounds good,” Ellie says idly. “What’s it you’re humming?”
“Something new,” Michael mutters under his breath, distracted again. The fingers on his free hand tap out a restless beat. “Cal and I’ve been working on the lines, but it’s just missing something, you know? Luke’s been at a standstill with the melody, and fucking Josh keeps missing rehearsals.”
Ellie sighs dreamily. “Josh Define. That boy could bang my snare any time.”
Michael makes a retching noise that sounds just a bit too real. Ellie skitters away just in case. “Number one, gross. Number two, he doesn’t even show up for any fucking practices, like how the fuck is he supposed to know what to play? And number three, gross.”
“What?” Ellie demands. “He’s got arms, yeah? Can’t help but notice, he practically shoves them in my face every time you guys come over with those tank tops of his.”
The Hemmings household is the only one out of the three of theirs – Josh’s doesn’t count, since he’s older and lives on his own (swoon) – that has a relatively soundproof basement, and it’s precisely because of this that Ellie finds herself a sometimes unwilling audience to her little brother’s budding band. Things got better when they hired Josh from a rather sketchy ad on Craigslist, mostly because three out of the four members of the band are either practically related to Ellie (Michael, Calum) or actually related to Ellie (Luke), and proper perving on them would have been just weird.
Josh, on the other hand – Ellie has no qualms about him.
“When he shows up,” Michael corrects, frowning. “He’s missed, like, the last three rehearsals, and the last one, Luke had the perfect bridge in mind, but there wasn’t a fucking drummer there to try it out. Ellie, he’s good, but he’s not that good.”
“But – ” Ellie waves her hand around as they turn the corner and their charming little (soon to be Ashton Irwin free) street comes into view. “He gives you guys, you know.” She flails a bit, hoping that Michael catches her drift.
He doesn’t. “What?”
“Sex appeal!” Ellie says emphatically. “He gives you guys sex appeal.”
“What? We have tons of sex appeal,” Michael says, scandalized. “We ooze sex appeal!”
“Yes, the sixteen year old boy and his seventeen year old friends. Very sexy,” Ellie deadpans. “If you want to be arrested for perving on the children.”
“You’re literally the same age as we are,” Michael says. “Like, literally. The exact same age. Seventeen. You are seventeen.”
“Eighteen in a couple of weeks, actually, Michael,” Ellie huffs loftily.
“And besides,” Michael continues, undeterred, “Josh is like. Twenty. Two. Something. I forget.” He flails about rather suddenly and violently. Ellie ducks away so she doesn’t get smacked in the face by Michael’s noodle arm. “You see! He’s not even around enough for me to get to know him! It’s another reason he’s got to go.”
They stop, as customary, at Ellie’s doorstep. Luke’s already home, if the slightly-ajar gate is anything to go by, and, regrettably, so is Ashton, since his deathtrap of a vehicle is sat outside the Irwins’. Ellie thinks that’s her cue to get inside.
Ellie rolls her eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit overdramatic?” she asks, saccharine sweet and parroting Michael’s earlier words back at him.
He narrows his eyes at her. “You don’t get to say that to me, Ellie Hemmings,” he says, jabbing a finger at her. “Not you, of all people.”
“Whatever,” Ellie says, resting her hand on the gate. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Michael grumbles but accepts the cheek kiss Ellie gives him and walks away with his shoulders slouched, hands buried deep in his pockets after scrubbing the kiss away. She watches him go with a rather fond expression on her face.
“Saying good-bye to your boyfriend?”
Ellie jumps about ten feet in the air and nearly brains herself on the concrete step in front of her house. She manages to catch herself by clutching onto the gate, but her heart is still thudding wildly as she looks up and glares at the boy resting his arms over the fence separating their houses.
“What’s it to you, Irwin?” she says rudely, narrowing her eyes at him.
Ashton just smiles and cocks his head, dimples poking into his cheek. Ellie stares at them. Disgusting.
“Just asking, neighbor,” he says, and he sounds friendly, but he’d sounded friendly when he was ten before he literally shoved Ellie onto the ground in mid-swing, taking out a good chunk of her hair with it. She’d gone through grade three and four with a hastily-done pixie cut; it’d been awful and horrible, and the moral of the story is, really, never trust Ashton Irwin. Ellie hasn’t, not since then. “He was scrubbing his cheek after you kissed him, saw you looking.”
“Michael always does that,” Ellie says dismissively. “And stop stalking me, yeah? It’s proper creepy.”
“Wasn’t stalking!” Ashton protests. “I was going to pick up some groceries, so I came outside.” He dangles keys from his fingertips. “Thought I’d come over, have some polite conversation.” He frowns. “Guess that’s not happening?”
“Very astute of you to notice,” Ellie sneers. “Well, goodbye.” And good riddance. She turns her back rudely on Ashton and tromps up to the door and fiddles with the lock; she can feel Ashton’s eyes on her back the entire time.
+
The practice isn’t going very well. Ellie has no musical bone in her body, and even she can tell that things are crashing and burning literally right before her eyes.
“Josh!” Luke barks, sounding much older and wiser than the sixteen year old prat Ellie knows he is – which could be due to his sudden drop of vocal tone thanks to an equally as sudden drop of his testicles. Honestly, the kid’s sixteen, and his voice is already at the same timbre as their dad’s. Ellie’s pretty sure he’s going to be the next Barry White. “Josh, you’re off-rhythm, c’mon man.”
“Sorry,” Josh says, picking up his drum sticks again. His arms flex a bit, and Ellie practically passes out. The definition, shit. Ellie would do a lot of things for a pair of nice arms. “Can we go again, from the – from the broken record part?”
“You mean the very beginning?” Calum snipes, taking his hands off his bass guitar and cracking his knuckles. Josh has the decency to look embarrassed.
“Sorry, guys, I’m just – ”
“You just don’t know what you’re playing,” Calum interjects seriously. He looks at Michael meaningfully, and Ellie watches as Michael nods his head just so. “Look, Josh, we need to talk.”
“So talk.” Josh’s voice is casually offhand, but Ellie can see how he grips his sticks just a bit tighter. “What’s up guys?”
“To put it plainly,” Michael says, “you suck.”
“Michael!” Ellie admonishes, but Luke and Calum both snort, and Josh’s face goes darker.
“You keep missing practices, you don’t take the time to make them up. You don’t know our music, man, and that’s hurting us. You’re hurting us.” Michael shrugs a bit, fiddles with the strings on his guitar. “Think you better pack up your things for the last time.”
Ellie glances at Josh, who’s apparently frozen to his seat. And then, as if someone’s snapped their fingers – actually, she’s pretty sure Calum did – he starts moving again. And shouting.
“Fine! That’s great, that’s fucking fantastic, I was actually just thinking about quitting this stupid kid’s band anyway!” He stands up abruptly, and Ellie promptly flattens herself on the couch because Josh literally is fit enough to punch a hole in the wall, probably. The three boys look wary, and she sees Luke grip the microphone stand tightly. A stab of protectiveness runs through her – that’s her little brother, after all – and she starts subtly shifting her way towards him. She wouldn’t take a bullet for him, and if Josh charges like a mad rhinoceros, she’s getting the fuck out of there, but Ellie reckons she could shove the both of them out of the way beforehand.
Josh starts throwing his stuff into his bags, tearing apart his drum kit with unnecessary force. None of them offer to help. “The reason I wasn’t here the past few days was because I was getting a brand new fucking gig – with a proper band, not you sorry lot,” he rages as he shoves drums into bags. “Leaving on tour soon, they are, so it’s perfect timing. Perfect fucking timing.”
He finishes up the last of his kit and starts hauling it up the stairs. Ellie’s never been gladder that her mum and dad have gone out for dinner that night, because she doesn’t think her dad would take kindly to an angry twenty-something-year old running through his house.
It takes Josh three trips to get all of his stuff out of the basement, and he slams the door shut behind him on the last one, so hard the entire house seems to shake with the force. A few minutes later, the muted roar of a car engine kicking to life, followed by the squeal of tires on pavement, filters through to the basement.
“You were attracted to that,” Michael says wondrously, breaking the silence, and Luke looks at Ellie.
“What?” he asks incredulously. “You liked Josh?”
“God, you’re really thick Luke,” says Calum with a fond roll of his eyes. “C’mon, might as well pack-up now. Haven’t got a drummer.”
Michael sighs over Luke’s mutterings (“All this time? You liked Josh? What?”) and lifts his guitar over his head before slumping down on the couch. “Back to putting up flyers, then,” he says tiredly, and Ellie ignores her brother in favor of sitting down next to him, patting his shoulder.
“You’ll be alright, Mikey,” she soothes. “Always are.”
“Yeah,” Calum adds from where he’s kneeled on the floor, zipping his bag up. “Better off without that asshole anyway. We’ll find someone better out there. Guarantee it.”
“And we all know how well a Hood guarantee works,” Ellie teases gently, and Calum wrinkles his nose at her.
“Hell yeah,” he says, satisfied, and Michael looks up at her and smiles, barely.
“Yeah, alright,” he says. “Believe you.”
“We should watch a movie upstairs,” Luke says, tugging off his own instrument and stowing it away. “Got the new Iron Man movie, finally.”
“Sweet!” Calum shouts, already racing up the stairs. “Gwenyth Paltrow’s fit!”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “C’mon Mikey,” she says, standing and holding out her hand. “Let’s go watch Calum and Luke salivate over Paltrow.”
Michael snorts. “Between you and me, think Downey’s better looking,” he says, taking her outstretched hand, and Ellie beams, pulling him to his feet.
“That’s precisely why you’re my best mate,” says Ellie when they’re halfway up the stairs. “C’mon then, hurry, or else Luke will burn down the house trying to make popcorn.”
“I heard that!”
+
They split up the next day, Michael with Luke and Calum with Ellie, to put up flyers all over town. Ellie’s a bit worried about all of it, honestly – neither Mike nor Luke can be trusted with this sort of responsibility – but then Calum’s grabbing her hand and dragging her in the opposite direction, blabbering on about Sadie Greene and how she’d totally been giving Calum The Eye before hols, and Ellie has to rein in the teenage boy hormone lest it consume her best friend whole.
“You sure she’s interested?” Ellie asks, trying to stick on the posters without dropping the bundle in her arms. Calum, predictably, has the tape, but he’s more interested in shoving his phone in her face than handing her some adhesive. She has to reach over and snag some tape herself before slapping the poster onto glass of the coffee shop. They have an agreement, her and the owner; Charlie lets her stick whatever she wants on the side of the shop as long as she sometimes works part-time for him (“works” being used loosely here; Ellie doesn’t get paid or anything).
“Look, I’ve got her number and everything,” he says enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t have given me it if she weren’t interested, I reckon.”
“Probably,” Ellie concedes. “Did you try texting her? She lives just two streets over, and you could worse.” Sadie’s a sweet girl, maybe a bit airheaded and daft, but well-intentioned. She and Ellie used to be good friends, but they’d drifted apart upon reaching secondary school. Really, Ellie couldn’t be fussed; growing up, she might’ve liked having best friends that were girls, but ultimately, Ellie’s much more comfortable hanging out with her boys than her girls.
“I’m a little scared, honestly,” Calum admits reluctantly, under his breath, and Ellie laughs and coos at him, reaches over with her free hand and pinches his cheek.
“Widdle Calum’s scawed,” she teases, and Calum bats away at her palm with an indignant yelp, shoving her in the shoulder – naturally, hard enough that Ellie stumbles to the side a bit and loses grip on the damn flyers that’s not even for her band.
Papers. Everywhere. Ellie is drowning in them, pieces of paper with her brother’s face on them. What a way to go.
Calum squeaks, “Shit, I’m so sorry, Ellie,” and starts stooping down to scoop up the papers. His arse is in Ellie’s face more than necessary because Calum literally bends at the waist to crinkle the flyers into his arms, and she shoves him forward a bit before she kneels down – like a proper person – to pick up the papers nearby.
“Hey,” Calum says, straightening and twisting around to glare at her. “Hands above the waist.”
“Shut up and keep picking.”
Ellie knows she’s probably crushing the papers to her chest and leaving wrinkles and divots in the sheets, but what’s more important is being able to have papers after this. There’s one wayward piece fluttering just away, and Ellie hurries after it.
She doesn’t see the door opening until she’s collided headfirst into it, and the papers she’d so painstakingly collected go flying out of her arms again as she windmills for balance.
“Motherfucker,” Ellie hisses as arms – quick as a hiccup – reach out to catch her. She’d take a moment to appreciate how nice and solid said arms are, except she literally brained herself on the glass doors of the coffee shop, and she’s sort of having trouble trying to discern the throbbing in her head from the comforting feeling of the hand rubbing at her shoulders.
“You okay?” a voice rumbles concernedly, and Ellie squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her forehead. There’ll be a massive bruise there tomorrow, she can already feel it.
“Yeah, I’m alright,” Ellie mumbles after the pain has dulled into a minor throbbing. She opens her eyes – and the pain returns, full-force. It feels like there’s a jackhammer jabbing at her between the eyes.
“That’s good,” Ashton says, relieved, dimples poking out of his face as he beams down at her. “Didn’t want to have a death on my conscience.”
Ellie blinks at him. The possible minor concussion she has is the only reason she’s not spitting out a sarcastic retort, really. Well, that, and the fact Ashton has really, really nice arms. Like, super nice.
That’s the concussion’s fault too.
See, the thing is, Ellie’s not blind. She’s grown up next door to Ashton Irwin for nearly nine years now, and she knows that Ashton’s, well, fit. Dorky smile, shaggy blonde hair, dimples, arms to die for apparently – yeah, Ellie can see the appeal. Objectively.
But then, every time Ellie thought well, maybe, she flashes back to the playground, how Ashton had stood there as she lay in the sand and laughed at her and her bald spot. Just laughed – big honking mean laughs that had hurt more than the stinging sensation of millions of hairs being pulled unceremoniously from her head.
So yeah, no. Ellie isn’t even going to touch that with an eleven foot pole wrapped in hazmat suit material wearing a gasmask. The fact she’s even thinking about it proves just how concussed she really is.
“Ellie, are you okay?” Calum’s voice bursts in, and Ellie blinks. She’s almost positive Calum hadn’t been there before she blinked. “Jesus, you basically died, you hit the glass so hard.”
“M’fine,” Ellie grumbles, finally coming back to herself enough to realize she’s still got a hand on Ashton’s chest – which is stupidly hard and toned, whatever – and Ashton’s got his hands on her waist. She shoves him away hastily, then immediately regrets it when the world starts to spin. Ashton has to catch her again before her head meets concrete, but at least Calum’s got a hand on her elbow.
“Okay, maybe I’m a little bit concussed,” she concedes breathily, turning her face blindly into the nearest object. It could have been a wall, except for the fact it feels more like the fabric of a t-shirt and smells distinctly of sandalwood and boy. Distantly, Ellie knows that it’s Ashton’s chest she’s practically drooling on, but she’ll move when she can remember which way’s up.
“D’you need, like, a doctor?” Calum asks concernedly.
“No, no, I’m fine, I just – need to sit down for a bit,” Ellie says and feebly pushes at Ashton so she can drool on Calum rather than her arch nemesis. He doesn’t move.
“You sure, El?” Ashton asks. His voice rumbles in his chest, a soft thrumming under her ear, and Ellie gathers the fabric of Ashton’s t-shirt into her fist, grumbling about it. “I can take you home and everything, s’not a problem. We live next to each other and all.”
“Shut up, don’t remind me,” Ellie grumbles. “I’m fine, I need to help Calum with – with the flyers.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ellie,” Calum says immediately, and normally, Ellie would love him for being so lovely – her head really is sort of killing her – but now, he’s just being an oblivious prat who can’t see that the last thing Ellie wants to do is be stuck in the same air space as Ashton Irwin. “I’ve got it now. You should get some rest.”
“What’s it you’re hanging up?” Ashton asks, curiously, and Ellie glares at him.
“Band stuff,” she says before Calum can even respond. She’s aware that Calum’s staring at her, gob-smacked. “You wouldn’t be interested, we’re looking for a drummer.”
“We?” Calum echoes.
“A drummer?” Ashton asks. Ellie nods and, inexplicably, a smile pushes onto Ashton’s face, crinkling his eyes at the corner. “I play sometimes.”
What. “What,” Ellie says flatly, and Ashton’s nodding, but then Calum bursts into the conversation, stupidly eager. Ellie considers telling him that there’s no way – no way – they’re doing anything with Ashton, but Calum starts speaking, and, well. She needs something to lean on.
“Do you really?” Calum asks, already excited. “That’s sick, mate, how long have you played for?”
“Um, sort of like, my entire life?” Ashton says, laughing a bit sheepishly. It sounds almost genuine, his embarrassment, but Ellie can see through Ashton like that; she knows that everything is just a façade to hide that inner horrible ten year old boy. “Banged on pots and pans until my mum got me a proper kit, and I’ve been taking lessons since I was fifteen.”
“Cool!” Calum says happily, then takes one of the flyers and shoves it at Ashton. Ashton has to take a hand off Ellie’s waist to grab it, and Ellie welcomes the chance for freedom, would take it if her head weren’t so swimming-y and her sight not so tilted. “You should come audition for us, then. Two days from now. We’ve got to get in shape for the Battle at the end of summer hols, so we need a drummer fast. You got your own kit, you said?”
“Yeah,” Ashton says, scanning the page. “Yeah, I do.”
“Fantastic,” Calum beams. “I’ll see you in two days.” He leans over, pecks a sloppy kiss to Ellie’s forehead. “Feel better Ellie. I’m just gonna go hang up the rest of these, and I’ll be back. Take care of her, yeah,” Calum adds to Ashton, and Ellie can feel her face burn. She’s the oldest one of the four of them, damn it, she doesn’t need to be taken care of.
“Yeah, ‘course,” Ashton says easily, settling his hand on Ellie’s waist again. “Promise I’ll get her back in one piece. No fainting.”
“Cross your heart?” Calum asks, as mostly a jesting sort of thing, but Ashton looks completely serious when he draws an x over his chest with his index finger.
“Cross my heart,” he says solemnly, and Calum and Ellie both stare at him for a few moments. Ellie’s not endeared by it. It’s stupid and childish, honestly, Calum was just taking the piss.
Calum bursts into laughter. “Alright, I believe you, mate. See you.” He gives a jaunty little two-fingered wave and then runs off, papers flying out of his arms because Calum’s got noodle arms, honestly. Ellie watches him go mournfully, only just holding back from pleading with Calum to return for the sake of her long, brown hair.
“Alright, time to get you back home,” Ashton says gently, right in her ear – as if they aren’t the only two people around – and Ellie scowls, smacks him back.
“Jeez, haven’t you got a concept of personal space?” she snaps, pushing out of Ashton’s grip. It’s weak at best, and Ashton doesn’t let go.
“I see you’re feeling better,” he says dryly.
“Not at all,” Ellie snips. “Being with you ruins my well-being. You should probably let me go.”
“So you can fall and hit your head again?” Ashton asks, scowling. “What’s wrong with you? If it were Michael, you’d probably be moaning and groaning all the way back to yours and demand that he make you soup in bed to boot.”
“I would not,” Ellie says automatically – she doesn’t moan or groan – and then she says, “Wait, how do you know Michael?”
Ashton rolls his eyes. “You’re always with him, obviously. You lot aren’t as quiet as you might think when you tramp home at two in the morning, plus your bedroom window is, like, right across from mine.”
“Are you spying on me?” Ellie asks, scandalized. “Does Calum know he’s left me with a stalker?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Ashton grumbles, then says, clearly, enunciating every word, “Your window is right across from mine. I was awake, doing coursework. I heard you say his name.”
That night had been a gig night at a local pub, and Josh had managed to sneak the entire band booze. Ellie had made sure Luke hadn’t drunk a single drop – fulfilling her sisterly duties, as per usual – but she and Michael had gotten smashed and Luke and Calum dragged them home. She remembers vaguely Michael shoving his arse in her face, and she’d whisper-shouted his name, giggled, and kicked him away, and then they’d fallen asleep on her bed, limbs tangled together. Come to think of it, her window might’ve been open the entire time, and the way the houses are packed on the street, it’s no wonder Ashton had heard her.
“No one stays up until two in the morning doing coursework,” Ellie says inanely, and Ashton rolls his eyes again.
“You don’t, maybe, but someone who’s got to keep up his grades for uni might,” he tells her sharply, and Ellie frowns. Ashton’s not, like, dumb or anything; he’s near the top of his year, actually (according to Luke; Ellie has no interest in the matter), but she hadn’t realized he really had had to work at getting there.
“Oh,” she says. “Well.” Ellie feels strangely chagrined as they walk, hips bumping together, back to their street.
“I’ve never seen you play drums before. Or heard you for that matter,” Ellie says as their street comes into view, and Ashton looks mildly surprised that Ellie’s said something vaguely reminiscent of cordiality. Ellie’s a bit surprised herself.
“Play in the basement,” Ashton says. “Soundproofed it myself.” Ellie has grudging respect for that; they live practically on top of each other. If she hadn’t heard a peep all these years, it says something about Ashton’s handiwork. “Plus, like. I’ve never really had a chance to play with anyone all this time, so.”
“And no talent shows or anything?” Ellie asks, arching an eyebrow. “If you’re really as good as you say, figure you’d want to get yourself out there.”
Ashton shrugs, his shoulder bumping Ellie’s neck. It’s ridiculous how tall the boys around her are; it’s going to give her a complex. “Haven’t really wanted to, to be honest. And I didn’t say I was good, just that I’ve been playing for a while.”
“Then why are you even auditioning?” Ellie asks with a frown, looking up at him. Ashton studiously opens the gate for her and helps her up to her house. Oh. They’re at her house. Right.
“Thought it might be fun,” Ashton says without looking at her. “Do you need help getting in?”
Ellie’s just about to say, no, Luke’s at home, but it’s too quiet for Luke or Michael to have come back already; typically, the two of them tend to run amok and cause mayhem when left unattended, so the house being silent means they’re doing said mayhem elsewhere. “No,” she says anyway, because this is still Ashton Irwin, and Ellie still despises him, and there’s no way she’s going to let him into her house. “No, I’m fine.”
“Alright,” Ashton says easily, and lets her go. With a jolt, Ellie realizes she’d forgotten he was even holding onto her. Even though it’s December, Ellie shivers. “I’ll see you in two days, yeah?” He grins at her, flashing a set of straight, white teeth. He’s a bit shorter than she is from where Ellie’s stood on the top step, and they’re close enough that Ellie probably could just lean over and… and…
“Yeah sure,” she says, jerking backwards. Two days. Drummer auditions. Right. She knows what she’s doing. Ellie makes a mental note not to be there. “See you then.”
Ashton waves and then turns and walks away, and Ellie lets herself into the house and promptly throws herself down on her sofa, her head throbbing and her heart racing.
“I’m concussed,” she tells the ceiling fan, circling lazily above her. “I don’t think Ashton Irwin is a decent sort of bloke. It’s the head trauma.”
The ceiling fan doesn’t seem convinced, but, well. It’s a ceiling fan.
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