#projection baby im all about it peace sign emoji

[clumsyclifford]

Yay prompts! I like “Is this really the time for jokes?” for mashton

based on actual events aka my roommate and i read our required readings to each other also can you tell i wrote this fic instead of catching up on my astronomy textbook readings <3

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Michael’s on the floor when Ashton returns to their dorm. This isn’t uncommon in and of itself, but there’s a book on the floor in front of him, and he seems to be making absolutely no effort to read it. The air conditioning unit is blasting on high, but Michael is shivering; his knees are drawn to his chest as if to trap the warmth. His arms are wrapped around them, and he’s scrolling on his phone, and looks as if he’s been scrolling for awhile.

“Hi,” Ashton says uncertainly. Michael looks up at him through bleary eyes and clicks his phone screen off.

“Hi,” he says. “Can you turn the air down?”

Ashton had intended to do that anyway — it’s freezing in the room — so he crosses to the A/C and turns it off. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, you know,” Michael says. “Just trying to convince myself to read this.” 

“Read what?”

Michael picks up the book and hands it to Ashton, who sits down across from him on the area rug (lifted directly from Michael’s bedroom). “Hamlet,” he says. “How much do you have to read?”

“First two acts,” Michael sighs. “For tomorrow. And then once I do that, I have to read a whole chapter of my psych textbook, which is fucking exhausting. And then I have to answer all these questions about it. And then I have to throw myself out the window.” 

“Well, let’s not do that,” Ashton says. He opens the book; the spine cracks. “Is the psych stuff also for tomorrow?”

“The psych stuff was for yesterday,” Michael says grimly. “It may surprise you to learn that I am very behind on work.”

“Well, don’t psych yourself out,” Ashton can’t help but say. Michael glares.

“Is this really the time for jokes?” he says, although Ashton can see a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, a concession that that was funny, even if it’s the wrong moment for it. Ashton’s main crisis response is to create laughter, so it really is the time for jokes.

“Okay,” he acquiesces anyway, because he’s not going to get Michael to admit that was funny. “Well, I don’t know how much I can help with the psych reading, but if you need to turn in the questions, I can probably help with answering them. I took psych in high school.”

“No, that’s okay. I just need to read it. But I need to read this first.” Michael gestures wearily at the play still in Ashton’s hands. “It just keeps getting later, and I keep sitting here on Instagram, watching those fucking timelapse videos of people making food. Like, I’m thinking to myself, turn off your phone and open the book, and it’s just not happening.”

Ashton hums. He’s been there before. It’s incredibly difficult to motivate himself to read stuff he doesn’t feel like reading, and Ashton’s never been the type to enjoy reading for class. Plus, this is Shakespeare. Ashton knows all about Shakespeare. They’re old enemies.

“Okay,” Ashton says. “Give me your phone.”

Michael looks confused. “What?”

“Give it to me.” Ashton holds out a hand. “I won’t give it back until you’ve finished your work.”

Michael stares at him, but after a moment he hands his phone to Ashton. Ashton turns on do not disturb and sets it on the floor next to him, then flips open Hamlet to the first scene. “Alright. The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, act one, scene one. Elsinore. A platform before the castle.”

“You don’t need to do this,” Michael says, and Ashton just shakes his head.

“I’m happy to do it,” he says. “Anyway, if I don’t you won’t read it. And I’ve finished my work for tonight.”

Michael huffs a short laugh. “I guess.”

“Elsinore,” Ashton repeats, grinning. “A platform before the castle. Francisco at his post. Enter to him Bernardo.”

Michael leans back against the chest of drawers underneath his bed, stretching his legs out until his feet are beside Ashton’s thighs, silly mismatched socks on full display. Ashton reads the whole first act, pausing only to drink from the water bottle Michael retrieves for him from his desk. Either Michael’s never read Hamlet or his memory is just really bad, because he seems to enjoy it as if for the first time, rolling his eyes at Claudius, laughing at Polonius, raising his eyebrows at the Ghost. He seems to enjoy it. Ashton wonders how much of that is the writing and how much is Ashton’s ridiculous repertoire of character voices. When they reach the end of act one, Ashton pauses, setting the book down in his lap.

Michael is smiling. “You should do my reading out loud more often,” he says lightly. “Far more productive.”

“Happy to help,” Ashton says good-naturedly, and he is. Anyway, he doesn’t mind reading aloud. It’s kind of fun to do the voices. “Are you following? Need me to explain anything? Ready for act two?”

“I’m good,” Michael says. “You know you don’t have to read it to me, though.”

“Seriously, Mike, it’s all good. I’m enjoying myself.”

Michael smiles indulgently. “Okay then.”

So Ashton carries on, reading through act two with the same gusto with which he’d read act one. When he gets to Polonius reading the letter from Hamlet he smiles to himself. Glancing up, he sees Michael smiling too, and feels himself blush. Never doubt I love, indeed. Ashton wouldn’t sit on the floor reading Hamlet at nine o’clock at night for just anyone.

“I like Hamlet,” Michael decides when Ashton’s finally finished act two. 

“The play or the guy?” 

“The guy,” Michael says, “although the play’s pretty good. He seems to be under a lot of pressure. And he’s only a college student, so. Relatable.”

Ashton laughs. “That’s great. You should put that in whatever paper you write about this. Hamlet may be plotting to murder his uncle, but in his defense, he’s in college, and if you’ve ever been in college you’d know that’s not actually that extreme.”

Michael snickers. Then his expression softens. “Hey, thanks for reading that to me.”

“Anytime,” Ashton says, and means it. “Now do your psych reading.”

Michael sighs long-sufferingly. “Or I could not.”

“Mike.”

“Okay, alright. Fine.”

Ashton pushes himself to his feet, then holds out a hand to Michael to help him up. “You got this,” he says. “And I have Doritos if you need sustenance while you do.”

“What would I do without you?” Michael jokes, but there’s something so sincere in his tone and in the grateful smile he gives Ashton. Ashton ruffles his hair, and Michael ducks his head.

“Throw yourself out the window, I imagine,” he says, and Michael grins.