#thsi fic might just be a love letter to boys of summer by the ataris slash don henley

[clumsyclifford]

first verse of passenger seat by tss as a prompt for... dare I say mashton and make it a runaway fantasy? roll down the window never get caught baby no one will know

old prompt but i didnt forget <3 dont know what happened this started out Super Fun and then got really soft instead but anyway what a VISIONARY you are these lyrics are excellent truly so good for fic

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Michael’s phone buzzes three times before he wakes up to it, and another three before he’s awake enough to realize it’s a phone call.

Groggily, he picks up. “Mmph.”

“I’m outside your house.”

Michael blinks many, many times. He rubs at his eyes. “Ashton, what? It’s three in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, his voice tinny through the phone but obviously laden with excitement. “I know. I know. I just — I want to go on an adventure. Do you want to come?”

Michael should say no, I want to fucking sleep, it’s three o’clock in the fucking morning and I’ve only just got started resetting my sleep schedule, and you can’t just expect me to drop everything for you, it’s not like you’re my boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m leaving out the window. Give me five minutes.”

He hangs up, tugs on a pair of joggers and a Green Day t-shirt, stuffs his feet into battered trainers, and climbs out the window. The fence looms large, but there’s a conveniently located tree just beside it, and Michael’s practically an expert at sneaking out at this point. He clambers up the branches and almost loses his grip as the dizziness of being upright catches up with him, but then shakes it off, gets high enough, and jumps, landing feet-first on the pavement below.

Ashton’s weathered old car is idling by the curb, the only light in the early-morning gloom. Through the passenger seat window, Michael can see Ashton at the wheel, grinning infectiously. He pulls open the side door and slides in, and Ashton looks over at him and beams.

“Hi,” Michael says, a little breathlessly. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere. Nowhere. Everywhere,” Ashton says, fired up. “Doesn’t even matter. That’s the best part.” And he shifts into first and lurches the car into acceleration.

Michael treats himself to a moment watching Ashton, taking advantage of Ashton’s momentary distraction as he focuses on getting the car going. It’s silly to be in love, but Michael’s in love anyway. The stupid curls and ridiculous bandana and the way Ashton refuses to wear glasses because he thinks they make him looks geeky but he’s wearing them now and they actually make him look adorable; the fact that he’s the kind of guy who will wake you up to take you on an adventure at three in the morning as if he couldn’t possibly imagine not wanting to come. He’s so, so lovable, that’s the problem. Anyone would be in love with Ashton; Michael’s probably one of many.

“If my dad knew about this he’d ground me until I died,” Michael says once the silence grows unbearable. Ashton chews on his lower lip.

“Yeah, well, guess we just have to make sure he doesn’t know,” he declares.

“Guess so,” Michael echoes, watching Ashton endearingly check his mirrors and put on his blinker before changing lanes, as if there’s going to be anyone else on the road at three in the morning. “I’m putting the radio on. It’s too quiet.”

Ashton doesn’t make any kind of protest, not that Michael would have listened, so Michael reaches for the dial. The first station that comes up is crackly static; the next is news, and so is the next, and the one after is a talk show. Who the fuck is hosting a talk show at three in the morning, Michael doesn’t care to know, but he changes the station again and the car bursts to life, halfway through the first verse of “Basket Case.” I am one of those melodramatic fools… 

Michael grins and looks over at Ashton, who also grins, shoots Michael a brilliant look, eyes glittering.

“Neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it,” they both shout; Ashton reaches for the controls and rolls down both of their windows just as he veers onto the highway, and Michael cranks the radio, and the entire car is alive with the sound of Billie Joe Armstrong and Michael and Ashton scream-singing along, and Michael’s heart is so full it could break, so light it could float away in the whistling winds through the car windows.

“I’m getting off as soon as the song ends!” Ashton yells over the instrumental break. Michael nods and carries on with his air-guitar solo. Ashton laughs. They sing the last chorus far too loud, and then the song ends and Michael turns the music down just in case something horrible comes on next, and Ashton, true to his word, gets off at the next exit.

The station starts playing “Boys of Summer” and Michael feels his grin grow wider. It’s the original, which isn’t (in Michael’s humble opinion) as good as the Ataris’ cover, but there’s something mellower about the Don Henley version anyway, so Michael hums along to the intro. When the verse kicks in, he sings along. “Nobody on the road…nobody on the beach.”

“Good idea,” Ashton says. “I think it’s a couple minutes down this road anyway.”

Michael isn’t totally sure what that means — there’s no beach near here, not for a long way —  but he doesn’t want to miss any of the lyrics, so he just carries on singing while Ashton navigates. It’s funny, but he doesn’t think he’d mind if Ashton spontaneously decided they were going to the beach. Just another byproduct of being in love with him, probably.

The song’s outro is just fading when Ashton pulls the car up to the lake; Michael’s got empty lake, empty streets, the sun goes down alone stuck in his head, and if he weren’t so drowsy and adrenaline-high, maybe he’d get the irony.

“Wanna get out?” Ashton asks as he turns the car off. The windows are still rolled down, and Michael nods and pushes open his door.

There’s almost no light once Ashton’s headlights dim to darkness, no street lamps providing illumination, so Michael blinks a couple times to make out the outline of Ashton sitting on the grass, then moves to join him. As Michael makes himself comfortable, Ashton leans his head against Michael’s shoulder, which makes Michael’s heart race. Yet another symptom of being in love with Ashton, unfortunately; the whole sweaty-palms, pounding-heart deal.

For a while they just sit, and neither speaks, which feels like the right thing to do. The lake is mysterious in a safe way, a comforting distance between it and them, and it’s peaceful in the quiet of the early morning. Slowly, the rush of singing along to Green Day and Don Henley in a fast-moving car is wearing off, leaving only the drowsiness from waking up so early.

“You’re the best, you know that?” Ashton murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Michael whispers. Ashton snorts and half-heartedly elbows him.

“I mean it.” Ashton’s voice is hushed. “Not just anyone would let me wake them at three in the morning and take them on an adventure to a mysterious destination. Even I didn’t know where we were going.”

Michael gazes into the water, which is murky and unknowable from this distance, at this hour. “Well, not just anyone is the best friend in the world.”

“You mean me, right?” Ashton teases.

Michael exhales. “Well, you are the best friend in the world.”

There’s an easy silence, and then Ashton says, “You really are the best.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“No, I know, but I mean it,” Ashton says, a new edge to his voice. “You always make me smile. You make me feel, like, I don’t know. Happy. Light.”

Michael’s heart is still racing. This isn’t a byproduct of being in love with Ashton Irwin, he thinks. He opens his mouth, unsure what he’s going to say, but Ashton beats him to it. “I don’t know if I’m making sense. It’s early. Late. You know.”

“No, no, no, you are,” Michael says quickly. “You are. I feel happy with you. Light. Me too.”

Ashton breathes out. “Really?”

I think there’s another word for it, Michael wants to say. Instead, he says, “Yeah. Really.”

Ashton picks his head up off Michael’s shoulder and looks over at him. Michael returns the look; in the darkness, he has to lean in close to see anything more than a silhouette. Ashton’s eyes are practically glowing, as if they’re absorbing any and all surrounding light. It’s mesmerizing. Michael wants to sink into it.

“Um,” Ashton breathes, “I should bring you home, probably.”

Michael pulls away, slightly disappointed but not entirely surprised. Yet another byproduct of being in love with Ashton Irwin; the crushing burden of knowing that he’ll never be in love with you.

“Okay,” he says, as Ashton gets to his feet. He holds out a hand for Michael, who takes it, and then they get back in the car. Ashton turns them around and pulls back onto the highway, and the windows are still down, wind whipping through the car and Ashton’s hair and Michael’s t-shirt. Michael doesn’t turn the radio on this time; there’s a bubble here, and he’s loath to burst it.

Ashton shifts into neutral as they near Michael’s house and lets the momentum of the car roll them to the curbside by Michael’s bedroom window. He slows to a stop, pulls the parking brake.

“That was fun,” Michael says sincerely. “Really.”

“Even though I woke you up at three in the morning?”

“Even though,” Michael says. “I’d go on an adventure with you anytime, anywhere.”

Ashton watches him, and Michael hesitates, one hand on the door handle.

“I love you, I think,” Ashton says.

Michael feels hot and cold all over. Sweaty palms, pounding heart, the usual. “Okay,” he says. “I love you too.”

“Hm,” Ashton hums, and then leans across to press a kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth. Michael feels his skin burn where Ashton’s lips touch. When Ashton leans away, his cheeks are red. “Was that —”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Can I —”

Ashton nods, so Michael bridges the space between them and kisses Ashton for real, soft against Ashton’s pink lips. This, he thinks, is the best side effect of being in love with Ashton Irwin, no question.