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Welcome to the 27k word Ashton fic that was promised. I love doing this and I love writing so any and all feedback is always encouraged and welcomed. Thank you for reading. Enjoy lovelies!!
Part Two || Part Three
The stadium is alive, electric, adoring fans screaming and cheering even as the band finishes their encore and disappear beneath the stage. You’re not far behind the, hauling your cameras as you leave the main stadium behind you and follow the boys and the staff to the greenroom. Your assistant follows along and the two of you chat quietly as Luke gives you a small smile over his shoulder before the boys turn into the greenroom. You keep walking, making your way to the cars parked in the private lot underneath the stadium.
“That was a good one,” Lola says, flashing you a grin. “Felt like they were on a high tonight.”
You nod in agreement. “I think it’ll be some of our best work.” You pop open the trunk of Lola’s car, depositing the equipment there with a sigh. “And you’re sure you’ll be okay to make it to the next venue without me?” Lola nods enthusiastically, all twenty one years of her quivering with excitement.
“Yeah, I like a road trip. Besides it’s not for two days.”
You nod, reluctant. “You tell me if you run into any problems okay?”
Lola gives a mock salute. “Aye Aye, Captain.” You raise an eyebrow and she gives a roll of her eyes but holds her pinky up, “Promise.”
You shake your head, grinning. “Okay then, I’ll see you in a couple of days.” You give a wave as she ducks into the car. “Call me!”
You watch her drive away. She’s young and talented but a bit of a loose canon. It might be why you like her quite as much a you do, she reminds you a lot of you. You’re smiling to yourself, loading the rest of the equipment into the car when you hear someone clear their throat behind you.
You turn, brow raised, meet Luke’s eyes. “Hi.” You say quickly. He gives you a small smile back but it doesn’t reach his eyes, not even close. He’s still in his stage clothes, jacket gone, tie undone but the black circles under his eyes shatter any pretence that he might have left. You close the trunk softly. “Are you okay?”
“We need to talk to you.”
You cross your arms. “We?”
“Not Ash,” he says quickly, “the rest of us.”
Not Ash. As if that could even begin to cover what had happened. As if removing him from whatever conversation you’re about to have could ever compensate for the damage that was done, could even begin to make you feel better about the situation you’re in.
You nod slowly. “Okay.”
You follow Luke back to the greenroom, arms still crossed, guard still up. He leads you through the door and waits for you to take a seat on the couch. Micheal and Calum watch you quietly, matching expressions on their faces. They look exhausted, you can almost see the splinters forming between them. Calum runs a hand over his face and gives you what you can only imagine as an attempt at a smile.
It’s quiet between the four of you, quieter still as Luke shuts the door softly, banishing any lingering noise from the stadium. You hate how cold it feels, how desperate you are to run from this sick, confusing feeling that seems to be settling in the pit of your stomach as the boys look at you nervously.
“What’s going on guys?” You ask, keeping your arms crossed, keeping whatever composure you can.
Calum finally speaks, “We need to talk to you about Ashton.” He says and whatever feeling that’s been building in your stomach drops so suddenly at the mention of his name that it makes you sick.
You shake your head. “What about him?” Because they know, they know that you’ve been broken up for months, that you barely speak, that seeng him every night is almost more than you can bear. They know Lola takes on photographing him and editing him and they know that no matter how much you tried, how hard you fought to piece yourself back together, you’ve never been the same. And to hear his name now, to be sat in the middle of it while the boys look at you like that is too much. You cross your arms tighter still, can feel the cracks on your face, can feel that sickening feeling coiling in your gut.
“You can’t pretend you don’t see it.” Luke says. “I know - we know you don’t speak but, come on. You’ve seen it. We’ve all seen it.”
“Seen what?” You snap coldly, but you’re lying and they know it, there was a time they knew everything about you. And you’ve pretended not to notice, not to see him, don’t look at him if you can help it but the change is too big to ignore, too painful to ignore. He barely speaks to the boys anymore, can barely hold himself together when he’s on stage. And the look on his face is the worst thing of it all. Stripped of joy, void of that love and that emotion that makes him Ashton, that made you fall in love with him. You cast a glance around to find the greenroom is littered with beer bottles, shot glasses and cigarette butts and the boys follow your gaze, exhaustion haunting their every move. You sigh and uncross your arms as they come and sit beside you. There’s no point in pretending you don’t see it, it’s written all over your face. “How long has it been like this?” You ask finally.
Micheal meets your eyes and the sadness in them is hard to ignore, so difficult that it cracks something in you. “A few months.” After the two of you ended things are words he leaves unsaid.
“Months.” You repeat quietly. You look down, can’t meet any of their eyes.
“Hi,” He extends his hand, mop of brown curls falling into his face, and gives you a wide grin, “I’m Ashton.”
You take his hand, meet his eyes and give your name. “Nice to meet you.”
Sparks fly.
You shake your head slightly, shake yourself out of it, force yourself out of it. It’s taken a lot of you to not live in that memory, of the feeling of touching him for the first time, the electricity between you, the sparks. It’s taken too much of you.
“I’m Ashton”
“Nice to meet you.”
You look to Luke, meeting his eyes sharply. “What do you want me to do?” And it’s not enough of a question, really, doesn’t even scratch the surface of everything that’s happened, of everything that everyone in this room has felt.
Luke breaks his gaze away from you, looking down, his eyes bright and shining. You’d almost forgotten about the history between the two of them, how much it must hurt Luke to see Ashton in pain like this, how much it must kill him to know he can’t do anything for his friend, for his brother.
“We think he’ll listen to you.” Calum says quickly. “We think.. we think you can help.”
“Me?” The boys nod. “I don’t know what I can do.” Lie. Lie. Lie. But the truth is too painful, too hard to act on. The very thought of speaking to him, of seeing him again makes your stomach churn. And the heart you so carefully wrapped up, so carefully preserved after everything that happened gives a dangerous beat as you draw a breath.
“He’s talking about driving to the show in Sydney next week.” Michael hesitates.
“What’s so bad about that?” You raise an eyebrow, “He might just want to blow off some steam, take some time to himself.”
Michael nods, “Or he might not show up at all.”
You take a breath to steady the ever swaying room. “You think that’s a possibility?” He’s never missed a show. Not once. He’s never wanted to let the fans down, has always found himself and his solace in his music.
“Just talk to him.” Luke says quietly, “Please.” Unsteadily, he rises from the couch, like he can’t take the pain of this anymore. Micheal follows him out of the door, both of their heads bowed until it’s just you and Calum.
You shake your head, “Cal…”
“I know. I know.” You stand up, meet his eyes and he pulls you in for a hug. “Please just get him there.” He murmurs against your hair, and the raw desperation in his voice shatters whatever defences you might have left.
“I’ll do my best.” You promise and the history between you and the band comes tumbling back, comes crashing into you too hard and too fast and you miss them all desperately. “I miss you, Cal.” You whisper because it’s different now, changed and has been ever since that night with Ashton where the two of gave in and silently gave up.
He pulls away and meets you eyes with a sad smile. “I miss you too.”
You sniff and turn your head away, quickly swiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Is he still at the hotel?”
Calum nods, “Yeah, that I know of.” He looks at you again and there’s so much unspoken between the two of you it hurts. “Just… get him there, okay? Please.”
The two of you walk out of the greenroom in silence, leaving the destruction behind you, not looking back because it’s etched in your brain and his face and his pain has been for weeks now anyway.
You and Calum part ways on your way out of the stadium and it takes less than 30 seconds for you to feel the tears on your cheeks, feel the heat of your skin. You lean against the wall, letting the cool breeze wrap itself around you as you stare across the parking lot and into the city beyond. The sun has just finished its descent, leaving in its wake a thousand stars twinkling above you.
“You know what that ones called?” Ashton takes your hand, intertwines your fingers and points up to the sky.
“No.” You giggle. “The Big Dipper?”
Ashton grins and pulls you closer. The late night air is cold but you’ve never felt more alive, more on fire. “No.” He murmurs and kisses your cheek, “It’s called Andromeda. And see there? That’s Perseus. They’re forever side by side in the stars.”
You laugh again, almost giddy with joy in his arms. “I like them. I think that’s some real dedication.”
Ashton smiles again. “They’re just like us.”
You turn your head to look at him and the smile on his face just lights you up.“Oh yeah?” You ask teasingly.
Ashton nods and brushes kisses across your forehead as he answers,“Yeah. Forever side by side.”
You tear yourself away from the sky, from the stars, from everything it holds for you and wipe your tears with trembling hands. That is not the Ashton that was in the stadium early, not the Ashton you’ve been dealing with for a long time. But it used to be that good, that perfect picture of the two of you looking up into the night sky, mapping out constellations. And the memories hurt when they collide, so painful it steals the breath from your lungs and that cold night air suffocates you until you’re choking around your sobs, around your memories. There had been a time when you’d loved Ashton so desperately you thought he was the one that kept your heart beating, and when the two of you ended things you swore you could actually feel your heartbeat stop. Just give up.
You brace a hand against the wall of the stadium and choke down as much air as you can, trying to get yourself back under control, trying to keep your heart and your memories and your soul wrapped up exactly where they’ve been for the last ten months. Your phone buzzes then and you reach for it, seeing a text from Calum to wish you good luck, silently begging you to bring his friend back to him even though you’re the reason for his disappearance in the first place.
You wipe your cheeks again, fighting the memories, fighting the feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach, that seems to be splintering you where you stand.
“Get it together.” You whisper to yourself and force one foot in front of the other until you’re managing to walk in a straight line. Until you’ve walked right to the lobby of his hotel.
For Calum, for Luke, for Michael, for the sake of all of the history that hangs between the five of you, for all the apologies you never got to make, you will do this.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
You force yourself to the reception desk, “Here for Ashton Irwin.” You slide your pass across the desk, sick to your stomach at the thought that’s the first time his name has been on your lips in almost a year. Sick to your stomach that you can barely get it out.
You walk toward the elevator and let the doors slide closed before you meet your eyes in the mirror. You are not the same girl he knew, not the same person as ten months ago. He doesn’t even know you anymore.
You set your jaw as the doors open and step into the hallway.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Forever side by side.”
When you lift your hand to knock on the door, you squeeze harder to stop trembling.
And then you meet his eyes.
And god you’ve seen them on camera, seen him on camera but not like this, not where he can see you too. Not when you can be eaten alive by his gaze.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” A clean blow right to the gut and it lands and shatters your heart in a way you don’t expect. You’ve got it wrapped up tightly, don’t you? You’re over this, over him, aren’t you? And that was the plan, that was always the plan, to show up here cool and collected, cross your arms and meet his eyes and — “What do you want?”
Ashton’s voice cuts through the roaring in your eyes and you let out a sharp breath but it’s hard to breathe around your heart that has been torn clean in half. “Luke said you needed help.” You say flatly.
His eyes rake up and down your body before they land on your face and you’re sure the disgust on his face will keep you awake and screaming for a lifetime. “Yeah, not yours.”
More pain right where you don’t expect it and you’re surprised you’re still standing. Ashton moves to shut the door and you wedge your foot by it, stopping the door with an open palm. “Oh yeah? Who else then because fuck knows you need it.” There, that pain, that rage, the edge you’ve been waiting for, the edge that’ll let you survive this and get out alive. You glare past him into the hotel room, more bottles and shot glasses and god knows what else sit on every surface. “Jesus Christ, Ashton.”
He gives a low, bitter chuckle. “What? Not like it’s your problem anymore.”
And whatever fuels you lets you push past him into the room. You stand in silence until you hear the door slam shut and turn to meet his eyes again. “Except it is my fucking problem, isn’t it. Because I’m right here, in this shit to try and help you.”
“I don’t need your fucking help.”
“Well the boys think you do.”
Ashton shakes his head and picks up a half empty bottle. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
You cross the room and snatch the bottle out of his hand, vodka spilling down the sides. “They obviously do.” You snap but you question their judgement, question their thinking that Ashton would listen to a single thing you have to say anymore. “You barely said a word to them after the show tonight.”
“Didn’t feel like it.”
“You didn’t feel like it? It’s that simple is it, to just ignore your best friends?”
Ashton shrugs and glares right back at you. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
And the silence that wraps around the two of you then is painful and wholly unfamiliar. You take him in, still in his clothes from the show but the exhaustion and rage is painted onto his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes answer any other questions you have. A few months, Micheal had said. A few months of him destroying himself like this, destroying his relationship with the boys, with everyone that crosses his path.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
And maybe its that, that memory that barrels into you when you’re looking at him, maybe it’s remembering how he was before this, who he was that forces your rage and your sadness back under control, that forces you to confront what is real and in front of you, not the memory that you’ve been living in.
You sigh and set the bottle down gently on the desk. Ashton leans against the wall, arms crossed and tracks every single part of your movement until you’re burning under his gaze. You don’t know who this is, the man watching you. You’ve never seen him before in your life.
“I’m here to help you, Ashton. Let me help you.”
And again he glares you down, head titled to the side, eyes hard and cold as the muscle in his jaw ripples. As if he’s biting his tongue, as if there’s so much he wants to say but can’t. Won’t.
You ball your hand up, digging your nails deep into the skin of your palm to stop yourself shaking, to stop yourself from trembling and breaking. For Calum, for Luke, for Michael you will do this, you will stay even when you so desperately want to run. For Ashton too, for who he used to be.
“Okay,” you say quietly when you finally feel you can breathe like you’re allowed to and the silence has stretched on for far too long. “I tried.”
And that’s pain, deep and twisted that worms its way into your gut as you walk toward Ashton, to get past and him and out of the door, out of this fucking nightmare and back in control of something, anything, enough to hold onto your sanity.
“Not so fast, sweetheart.” And his hand is on the wall, blocking your path and he looks down at you. “I’m not done.”
You hit his arm. It doesn’t budge. “Move, Ashton.”
He tilts his head, “You’ve come all this way, just to give up? What will you tell the boys?” His voice drips with mockery and you fucking despise it.
Pain. That has to the reason, has to be the answer as to why he’s acting like that. Pain so deep he doesn’t know which way is up, where to look for a way out. Pain because of you.
“I’ll tell them I tried but it’s a lost fucking cause.” You snarl and shove his arm again. “Get out of my fucking way.” But it’s faster than should be fair that he’s holding both your arms, has backed you into the wall of the hotel room and is still staring down at you, still glaring through you. “Let go of me.” You breathe but he doesn’t move an inch, just tightens his grip and smirks at you.
“Make me.”
And that silence, that deafening hot silence is filled only by your pounding heart and Ashton’s heavy breathing. His eyes are wild, alight, electric as he touches you, as he moves his hands from your wrists to the wall above you, to pen you in and look down. You shouldn’t be this close. He shouldn’t be touching you like this, be so near to your face that his nose almost touches yours. It’s too intimate, it’s too known and the look on his face tells you he’s thinking the same thing.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You don’t get to do this” and you see the flame in his eyes sputter. “Not anymore.”
He drops his hands without another word. “I’m driving to Sydney. You’re coming with me.”
You scoff out a laugh. “Like hell I am.”
“You want me at the venue, don’t you? This is me agreeing to go to the fucking venue.” He won’t look at you now, has backed away and is leaning against the wall like nothing happened, like his breath wasn’t mixed with yours thirty seconds ago.
For Calum, for Luke, for Michael. For everything the five of you once had. For Ashton. Because it’s not a simple as cutting him off, imagining the last time his name will pass your lips, and it never has been. And you know you’re his only chance, the raft in this storm he’s weathering, something that he can cling to. The boys know it too, it was all over their faces.
So this is how it will be, how it has to be. It’s too late for anything else.
You hate how cold you feel now that his touch is gone.
“Fine.” You say, and you can feel everything you worked so hard to bury, so hard to forget, splintering open.
*****
It’s still dark when you stand outside of the hotel a few hours later, the time on your phone reads 02:00 and the cold night air stings your lungs as you take a drag of your cigarette.
“I thought you quit.’
The lake sits calm and still as you pull your jacket tight around you, taking Ashton’s hand. The university looms quietly in the distance, brick and stone and ivy covered walls and you turn and grin at him. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
He smiles back, planting a kiss on the top of your head and zips his own jacket up. “So am I, sweetheart.” He looks toward the trail and into the woods beyond. “So, how long is this thing?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug, “Figured we’d find out together.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Trees intertwine above you, branch in branch, hand in hand as they create a canopy. The leaves are changing, deep reds and oranges like forgotten jewels hang above you and the dirt path is firm and dusty, looping around the lake and then back onto the Campus.
You’re so fucking happy.
The two of you walk hand in hand, silent just for a minute, breathing in the intimacy of the moment. It’s been hard with Ashton on tour and you chasing your post-grad, but he promised to make the time and you promised him you’d get your degree so the two of you seem to be holding up the bargain quite well. But you miss him deeply, and the euphoric feeling of him by your side, his hand in yours is only fleeting and you both know it. Still, you can’t imagine it any other way, can’t imagine being with anyone else, loving anyone else the way you do him. And so it doesn’t matter, the distance and the timing, none of it matters in this perfect moment.
“So, sweetheart, how’s it going?’ Ashton finally breaks the silence with a smile and you launch into the details of the course, of the excitement of the lectures and the dreaded exams. He hangs onto every word, grinning ear to ear as you describe the life you’ve built for yourself, of everything you want so desperately to share with him.
“I love it.” You say finally, breathless as the two of you walk. “I just…I just fucking love it.”
He gives a laugh and pulls you just a bit closer. “I can tell, sweetheart. I’m so happy for you.” You return the grin and slip a cigarette out of the pack in your pocket. Ashton raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were quitting.” but it doesn’t stop him from sighing and lighting the cigarette for you.
You give a sheepish nod. “It’s a bit stressful.” You admit. “So I didn’t fully quit. But I will, I promise.” You give him a playful nudge, “Not like you can say anything, is it?”
He laughs then, so full and happy you think you might just fucking burst. He holds up his hand, admits defeat, and then snatches your hand back to him before it can even get cold, before you can even begin to miss his touch. “No, I guess not.”
You round the corner and cross a bridge that perches across the lake, water rippling gently, a family of ducks sitting peacefully by the mossy bank. The trail leads back to the Campus, past the gallery and museum it houses on the west side. The grounds and the trail are full of abstract art, of statutes and models and plaques explaining it all, offering a life beyond the confines of the university and you drag Ashton from the path and towards your favourite statute before you can stop yourself. Because the truuth of it is you just want to share it with him, share it all with him, keep him here in this moment with you for as long as you can.
Fuck, you love him so much.
You pull him toward the statue and present it, excitement alight on your face. “Look!”
Ashton tilts his head and laughs, “What the hell is it?”
“It’s my favourite,” you pout, “Look! It’s got the two hands here-“ you take his hand and trace the outlines of the statute. “See? It’s two people. It’s Psyche being revived by Cupid’s kiss!” You swat at Ashton’s shoulder. “Isn’t it just beautiful?”
And he’s starting at you then as he says, “Yeah. It is.”
You stare Ashton down as you take another drag, “I picked it back up.” You say coldly. “Where’s the car?”
He walks towards you and plucks the cigarette from your fingers. “It’s coming round now.” He takes a long drag. “You in a rush?”
“Not particularly.” Lie. Lie. Lie. The sooner this road trip is done with, the better. The sooner you’re away from him, out of his orbit, the better. Ashton moves to give the cigarette back. “Keep it.” You snap because you can’t share that with him, can’t be that with him anymore. It’s done. It’s different and it can’t be fixed and it can’t be replaced with a fake attempt at friendship.
The rage and the spite, you tell yourself, is better. It’s easier. It’s easier to remember what happened, to live in what he did to you when that rage is coiled in the pit of your stomach, when that spite won’t let you see past some of his last words, some of his actions. It’s better.
A black car growls to a stop in front of you a few moments later and the hotel valet gets out and wordlessly hands the keys to Ashton. He quirks a brow at you, “You want to drive?”
“Well I’m sure as shit not letting you.”
He frowns at you. “I am not a bad driver.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not! It was one fucking pot hole.”
“Yeah, that took your tire clean off.”
“Right but—“
“Just give me the fucking keys.”
Ashton hands them over with a glare, brushes your hand as he does and you wrestle the urge to jump away when it sparks your skin.
Rage and spite. It’s better. It’s the only way it works. But you can feel it, cracks in your defences, an unravelling heart. You’re sure it’s plastered to your face.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
You take a deep, steady breath, watch it cloud in front of you in the freezing air as you grapple with your heart rate. It thunders, loud enough you’re sure he can hear it as he stands next to you and the first coil of rage springs wide open as you duck into the car.
*****
Dawn cracks the horizon wide open as you yawn for the third time, rubbing your eyes as you keep a hand on the steering wheel. It’s been a torturous and silent eight hours.
“So.” It’s the first time either of you have spoken in hours as Ashton clears his throat. “How’ve you been?”
“Excuse me?”
He rolls his eyes, like he knew you’d be difficult, like he knows every fucking thing about you. “I asked how you’ve been.”
“I’ve been at every single one of the shows, Ashton. I’m the tour photographer.”Grief. Such grief carried by this conversation you don’t know which way to turn. “I’ve been pretty fucking busy.”
“Well fuck, you don’t have to jump down my throat. I was just making conversation.”
“I’d prefer you don’t.” You snap.
He scoffs and crosses his arms. “So you just want to sit in silence until we get to the venue?”
You give a curt nod, curl your fingers around the steering wheel until your knuckles are white. Until you think you can breath without snapping, until there isn’t this weight on your chest that’s making it hard for you to exist here, next to him. “Yeah.”
“That’s a bit fucking stupid, isn’t it?”
Harder and harder still to not sit here and explode into a thousand pieces in front of him, to show him what he’s done to you, to somehow explain to him that the pain and the rage is a living breathing thing inside of you and this is killing you little by little. And you’re only here for him, for who he used to be to you, for everything that you went through together that’s too hard for you to ignore and forget even now. “No. It’s a lot fucking easier.”
“For who?”
“For both of us!” And that coil unravels just a little bit more as you wrestle with your heart, as you fight to keep yourself under control. You can see him just out of the corner of your eye, can see the way his brow furrows, how something like hurt flashes across his face and how he sets his jaw to get rid of it because he doesn’t want to talk about it either. “I’m in this car to get you to the venue okay? For the boys?”
“That’s it?”
You run your tongue across your teeth as you nod and fight the burning in your eyes. “Yeah. That’s it.” Ashton falls silent and rummages in the bag at his feet, pulling out a vodka bottle a moment late. You shake your head, fury working its way up to your throat. “Absolutely fucking not.” You snatch the bottle, open the window and throw it out. You swear you can hear the bottle crack and shatter as you keep driving.
“What the fuck!”
You glare at him then turn your attention back to the road. “This is a sober road trip, you got that? The last thing I need is you fucking plastered.” Crack after crack, shatter after shatter, from the bottle or from you you’e not sure.
You pull into a gas station just as the clock on the dashboard rolls over to 4:00pm and you sit in silence as Ashton gets out of the car and slams the door without a word. You watch as he stalks towards the services and shoves the door open, disappearing in a cloud of rage and pain.
You’re on the phone to Calum before you have time to think, hands trembling and moving without your permission. He answers after three rings and you whisper down the phone, choke it out, “Cal, this was a really fucking terrible idea.”
He sighs and sheets rustle as he sits up. “What’s happened?”
Your eyes burn then and it’s too hard for you stop the tears once they come. Unchecked they spill down your cheeks as you sniff. “It’s just fucking awful.”
“I’m sorry.” Calum sighs and you can hear the pain in his voice, the regret of making you sit with Ashton after everything that happened, knowing how it ended. “We really thought it was a good idea but I didn’t…” he can’t finish the thought, maybe because they didn’t think it was a good idea at all but a last effort, their last attempt. He clears his throat and sighs again, “I’m just really sorry.”
You shake your head, bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood to stop yourself from screaming. Cracks are forming over your defences, perfect fissures straight down the middle and you can feel it as they happen. “I can’t do this.” You finally whisper down the phone. But you both know it makes no difference whether you think you can do it or not, because you and Ashton are trapped between Adelaide and Sydney on a stretch of road that doesn’t stop for miles and there’s nowhere for you to go. Nowhere for this pain and this rage and this brokenness to go and so you have to sit and soak it all up and pretend to hate Ashton when you don’t, when you can’t.
Calum is silent for a longtime then, coming face to face with the hurt he’s caused both of you. “I’m so sorry.” He mumbles again. “Just get to the venue and we won’t bother you again. Promise.”
But it’s not what you want. You don’t want to grow further and further apart, see them in the halls and give a wave, see Luke every night with that look on his face because you couldn’t do what you were supposed to, not be able to talk to Calum again all because of this, all because of something you couldn’t fix when it didn’t really need to break in the first place. But it’s too much, the thought of that conversation, how it might go, and your stomach churns at the thought of it. “I don’t want that, Cal.” You murmur. “I don’t want to loose any of you.” Not again, you think. You can’t handle it a second time.
Ashton appears in the door of the gas station a moment later. “I have to go, Cal, okay? I’ll call you later.” You hang up before you can make him feel any worse.
You lean over and push the door open for Ashton as he ducks into the car, hands full with two coffees and a bag of snacks. “Here.” He says and pushes an iced latte into your hands. “Vanilla and oat milk. And yes, I promise it is actually oat milk. I watched him do it.” You stare at him, feel the weight of the coffee in your hands, the weight of your order that has been sat in the back of his mind.
“Thanks.” You murmur.
You roll over on the mattress, reaching for Ashton to find a cold, empty space. “Ash?” You call into the dark, stretching as you search around blindly for your phone. The time reads 8 in the morning. 8 in the morning on a Saturday. 8 in the morning, the first morning in your apartment.
You shift onto the floor, glaring at the unassembled bed frame at the other end of the room and pull on your trainers you’d dumped the night before. You pull the blanket down from the window and grimace as light floods through the bare panes. “Blinds.” You mutter to yourself as you open the door and walk into the kitchen.
Cardboard boxes and bags litter the living room and kitchen, the one long area of the apartment that you’’ have to tackle today. You don’t mind though, the idea of the two of you living here, having a space that’s just yours after all the travel for Ashton’s concerts and you’re university, you finally feel like the struggle was worth something. One more year of university, sure, but Ashton lives here now and he’ll be here with you until you finish. And you think that’s pretty fucking perfect.
You rub your eyes, looking at the sofa without legs and the coffee table that is just a slab of wood and decide you need caffeine before you can deal with any of this.
You hear the door to the apartment open then and Ashton walks into the living room, holding coffee and a white paper bag from the cafe down the street. “Good morning my love.” And the smile on his face could melt the fucking artic.
You fling your arms around him and he catches you, setting the food and coffee down on top of the fridge, the only surface available really. “ I missed you.” You beam. “Thanks for getting those.”
“I couldn’t have you waking up in our brand new apartment without caffeine could I? I don’t have a death wish.”
You giggle and lean up to kiss him and think that in this moment, everything is perfect. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He reaches for your drink and hands you an iced latte. “Vanilla and oat milk. And yes, I checked and watched him do it so I know it’s right.” He raises his eyebrows. “Okay?”
You don’t think your smile can get any bigger but it does and Ashton laughs and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard in your life. “Thank you my love.”
Ashton kisses the top of your head and grins, “Anytime.”
It’s taking everything in you to not throw that fucking coffee out of the window.
Ashton sits at the wheel of the car, scrolling through his phone as you stare at the coffee in your hand. “You going to drink that?” He asks, not looking at up, “Still a good 12? hours to go.” The knot in your stomach tightens. There’s so much you could say, so much you need to say but the words don’t come and you’re just staring at him until he rolls his eyes and puts the car into drive. “Whatever, don’t do me any fucking favours.”
You should argue that, should tell him you’ve never done him a favour, never done anything he wanted really until it was about your relationship and he decided he wanted it to end, that he couldn’t do it anymore. You should tell him it’s not about the coffee and it’s not about this fucking road trip and it ’s not about anything but him and the fact you can barely say his name, even now, can barely watch him on his phone wondering who he’s texting, who he’s with, who he is now. You should say all of it.
You don’t.
And the silence wraps itself around the two of you once more as Ashton stares straight ahead toward the long stretch of road and you fight your fear and your rage.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
You take a sip of the coffee. Everything feels wrong in some many different ways you don’t know where to begin.
“Who are you texting?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop yourself and you meet Ashton’s eyes with a quiet kind of horror that burrows its way deep down inside of you.
“What?”
You shake your head, keep silent. Rage. Bitter. But it’s slipping slowly away. “Nothing. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise to me.” You flick your eyes up, meet his. “What did you say?” And the tension coils and coils, ready to snap at any moment.
“I asked who you’re texting.” And you’re silently begging then, that it’s not another girl, that it’s not someone whose replaced you, whose coffee order is first in his mind, whose picked new furniture for an apartment they share together. You have to stop yourself before the answer is something you can’t come back from. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.” Rage and spite are nowhere to be seen, though you do look for them.
Ashton shifts in his seat. “No, it’s not. And I thought you said you wanted to sit in silence until the venue. That it would be easier for both of us.”
You nod reluctantly. “I did say that.” And a horrible guilt feeling bubbles up and you can feel your eyes burn. You look down quickly, shame wrapping its arms around you. “It’s none of my business.” You say again, “I—“
“I’m texting Calum.”
That stops in your tracks and your heart seems to hear him and pauses. “Calum?’
Ashton shrugs, “Yep.”
You nod slowly. “I texted Calum too.”
His eyebrows raise, “Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm. Well, called him actually.”
You swear that if you look close enough Ashton’s lip pulls up into something like a smile. “What’d you talk about?”
“Told him how annoying you are.” He laughs then and it slams into you, crashes into you and you have to dig your fingers into your palms to keep yourself steady. You give a quiet chuckle, feeling the world rock back and forth on its axis as Ashton grins at you. “Sorry.” You shrug.
And it looks like he’s trying to hide his smile when he shakes his head and says, “Don’t be. I told him the same thing.”
You smack Ashton on the arm, grinning. “Asshole.”
“Hey,” he smirks and raises his hands. “Who started it?”
And you’re both laughing then, the car filled with it as you look at each other, as the urge to reach out and touch him, be with him, hold him charges like lighting within you. He looks at you, head titled, doesn’t take his gaze away like normal and you see his hand move, just a touch. Your heart races, careens against your rib cage as a steady silence washes over you again.
Something has changed, you think. Just then in that moment. You can both feel it.
But the silence carries on, stretches out until it’s uncomfortable and the familiar weight is back and hangs between the two of you. Ashton clears his throat, all trace of a smile, of any joy gone and puts the car in drive. “Ready?” But he’s driving before you can reply and you know it wouldn’t matter if you had.
You gaze out of the window, watching the hills roll past you as the sun begins its descent and washes the car in golden light. You risk a glance towards Ashton and the honey light douses him, illuminates him as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. You reach for the aux cord without really thinking and tap play on the foofighters playlist.
Your university room is cold and foreign and lonely and you wish more than anything Ashton was with you to guide you through the long night. The bed is small and cramped and the unfamiliar sheets rustle beneath you as you scroll through your playlists, headphones jammed tightly into your ears so you can pretend you’re anywhere else. Your screen lights up a second later, Ashton’s voice, and there are already tears in your eyes as you answer. “Hey, you.”
“Hey my love.” And it’s like you can see him frown at the tone of your voice. “Is everything okay?”
You shake your head, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “No.” You whisper and tuck your knees up to your chest.
There’s the sound of Ashton sitting up, maybe turning the TV off in his apartment so he can give his full attention to you. “What’s going on?”
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s not if it’s upsetting you.”
You sniff and wipe your eyes. “I just really miss you.”
“I miss you too. I wish I could be there.”
You give a half laugh down the phone, followed closely with a sob that seems to shake your body, makes you acutely aware that there’s no-one here to take you into their arms, to tell you everything’s going to be okay. You haven’t felt this cold and this lonely in a long time. “I wish that too. It’s weird here without you.”
“I know my love, but it’s not long now until I come up for the weekend and you can show me around campus, yeah? Just like we planned.”
You nod. “I just wish you were here now.”
“I know, I do too.” Ashton sighs and then says, “ I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Go to the window. Can you see the stars? And the moon?”
“Yeah, but I can’t see our constellation.” Fresh tears then, fast and full of sadness.
“But you can see them? I’m looking at the same thing. We’re under the same sky, just in different places. Like we’re not even apart, okay?”
You nod again. “Yeah,” and wipe at your tears with your sleeve. “Ash?”
“Yes sweetheart?”
You hesitate, but only for a second. Because it’s right to say. Because it’s raw and new and you need him to hear it. “I love you.”
An intake of breath and then, “I love you too.”
Later, when the two of you hang up, Ashton sends you a song called stranger things have happened by the foofighters and you have it in your headphones on repeat until you’re finally in his arms a week later.
Ashton goes still as the song fills the car and you stare at your hands, wondering if he’s thinking the same thing you are, that this is the first song he ever shared with you. That for months after you traded songs and favourite lyrics and which music made you feel alive. That it was one of the first times you both said I love you.
His knuckles are white around the steering wheel and you change the song.
Silence settles over you again and when it’s obvious that there won’t be another conversation or anymore laughter, you roll your jacket up and tuck yourself against the seat. You close your eyes, surprised at the tears you find there, surprised at the absence of rage in your gut. Surprised at it all, really.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
You drift into oblivion, the sound of his laughter, the colour of his eyes bathed in that golden light soothing you to sleep.
*****
You wake slowly, reluctant as warmth surrounds you and it’s only when pain seers in your shoulder from leaning against the window too long that you rub your eyes and shift to sit up. Your eyes flick to the empty drivers seat beside you, to the illuminated motel sign a few yards away and then finally to the jacket covering you.
To the jacket covering you.
It smells like him. The leather is worn and rough but it’s unmistakably Ashton’s. You move carefully, like you don’t want to disturb it, like he put it there by accident even though you know he didn’t because like it or not he knows everything about you, including the fact you hate to fall asleep without any kind of blanket or cover.
Or jacket, you suppose.
After a moment of starring at it, you shrug it off and lay it gently across your lap. It smells like him and you’re drunk on it.
You look toward the door of the motel, neon sign illuminating the darkness and Ashton appears a moment later, stalking back toward the car. “Morning, sunshine.” He says, eyes flicking down to the jacket across your lap. “It’s chilly. You might want that.”
“What for?”
“Motel has a room. We’ve been driving for ten hours, I think we both need a bed before we carry on.” You open your mouth to protest but he stops you, “We’ll make it on time. Promise.”
You know then that he’ll make it to the stadium, that he’ll be with the boys on stage. There’s suddenly not a doubt in your mind.
Wordless, you pull his jacket over your shoulders and get out of the car. Ashton gets your bag from the trunk and two of you, tired and restless, trudge to the door of the motel.
“Do you have the keys?” You ask as you follow him through the glass door.
“Key.”
“What?”
“Key. Just one. They only had one room left.”
He glances at you like he’s waiting for you to protest or to fight or to do anything other than agree with him. But you’re too tired, too tired to think about the coffee or the jacket or the song, too tired to think about this tight tension that sparks between you with every step you take. Too tired to think about any of it except how fucking awful it all feels.
So you shrug, “Okay.” And that’s all the two of you say. That’s all you can say and that tension pulls tighter and tighter, sparks and sparks and sparks.
Again the silence envelopes you and you follow Ashton down the dim corridor to the room. One double bed sits proudly in the middle of the room, two outdated oak nightstand flanking it. The main light casts a dim yellow glow across the room and flickers as you leave your bag at the foot of the bed and kick off your shoes. Plush red carpet meets you and you pad across to the bathroom, shutting the door and letting the cold tiles shock you back to life.
Breathe. You have to breathe or have to at least pretend you remember how to. You meet your eyes in the mirror, Ashton’s jacket still on your shoulders and watch as a single tear slips down your cheek. You’re just tired, you tell yourself, you need to sleep, but even as you lie to yourself you’re shaking your head, body trembling and you miss him. Miss how it was. How it should still be.
“I’m Ashton.”
“Nice to meet you.”
You shake your head, catching the stray tears with the sleeve of the jacket and glance at your phone. It’s 3am and you know you should try and get into bed, at least lay down and rest before you have to drive again.
You take a deep breath and open the bathroom door, faced with an empty room.
Ashton’s bag sits at the end of the bed but his phone and the room key is gone. And you know you shouldn’t, you know you should just crawl into bed and pretend you’re anywhere else but you can’t.
You slip your shoes back on and follow the hallway back to the front of the motel and then outside into the night air, letting that cool breeze sooth the heat on your face. You look left and right until you can just make out the lit end of a cigarette and a body sitting on the curb, watching stray traffic as it growls past.
“Hi.” and your voice is soft, so soft you’re sure he hasn’t heard you.
But he did and he looks up and you meet his eyes and they are just so tired and defeated and broken. “Hey.” He takes a drag.
“I thought you quit.” You tease quietly and take a seat next to him even though your mind is screaming at you to stay standing, to keep that distance because its hard to be angry and spiteful and bitter when you realise you’re still in love with someone.
He laughs softly but there’s no humour to it. “You told me it was a sober road trip. I had to do something.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d listen.” You admit.
“Of course I listened. It’s you.”
Something like a punch lands to your gut.
Ashton holds the cigarettes out and you accept it this time, wordless and breathless and take a long drag trying not to imagine his lips brushing against yours.
“You should get some sleep.” You say finally.
He looks at you, tired devastated eyes and says, “You always used to say that to me.”
“Ash?” You rub your eyes as you round the corner to the living room where he’s pacing, window open, lit cigarette in his mouth. “What are you doing up?’
The clock above the couch reads 4am but he looks like he’s been up for hours. His hair curls over is forehead, brushing against his eyebrows and his eyes are wild and red, cheeks stained.
You cross to him immediately, take his face in your hands. “What’s going on?”
He looks at you then and the desperation in his eyes cracks you wide open. “I can’t do it.”
“Can’t do what?”
“Play. Perform. I don’t - I don’t think I can do it.” He sinks to the floor and you go with him.
“My love,” you gently brush his hair from his eyes with one hand, smoothing the curls out and take his cigarette from him with the other. “Of course you can.”
“I don’t want to let anyone down.” And his tears spill freely then, something like a whimper as he looks at you, begs you to help him. You drop the butt of the cigarette to the floor, not giving a second thought to the small burn it leaves on the carpet, and cup his face again stroke his face, let him know that you are there, that you’r e with him, would never be anywhere else.
“You are not going to let anyone down.” You whisper. “Okay?” Ashton nods and drops his head into the crook of your neck. “I’ll be there, okay. At every show. For as long as you want me.”
He wraps his arms around you and you kneel in your moonlit living room, grasping each other like it’s the air you need to breathe.
At the end of the week, you get the invitation to be the tour photographer upon the completion of you studies. The next tour strategically starts two months after the final year of your course finishes.
Later, Luke tells you it’s so you can be at every show, for as long as you want, for as long as Ashton needs you.
A long, gentle silence stretches between you and then he looks at you, looks at you for a long time and you recognise the look that clouds his eyes, the raw desperation and something deep within you breaks wide open as he murmurs to you, “I really did try.”
Splinters and cracks and fractures all across your carefully armoured heart burst open and everything you’ve worked to keep buried, everything you’ve lied to yourself about comes echoing back, comes roaring back and you’re just staring at him, just staring at him and thinking about how much you want to take his hand or feel his arms around you. Just staring at him like he was once your entire world, like he was once someone you didn’t hate, could never hate.
But there’s nothing to say to explain that and there’s nothing you can feel in this moment to make sense of everything that happened between the two of you and you meet his eyes and see the exhaustion and the devastation and when the tear you can’t stop slips down your cheek you reply, “I know.”
scenario : Luke tries to convince his sleepy and reluctant girlfriend to join him for a morning run.
warning : none – pure fluff.
note : English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes or weird phrasing that slipped through. Thank you for reading, and I hope you still enjoy it!
"Why are you doing this to me? you whined, voice still thick with sleep, buried under the blanket.
“Did you already forget what you told me yesterday?” Luke replied with that infuriatingly calm tone he always used when he knew he was right.
“That was yesterday. Today’s a new day, so…” You waved your hand lazily out from under the sheet, like that could dismiss the entire conversation.
For the past half hour he’d been gently shaking you awake, radiating that annoyingly healthy energy only Luke seemed to have at six in the morning. He kept insisting you’d “agreed” to go for a run together. According to him, you’d said yes. Twice.
A long, sigh escaped his lips. You heard his muffled footsteps approach the bed again until the mattress dipped under his weight.
“Fine… you leave me no choice,” he whispered, sounding way too amused.
Before you could process the veiled threat, the blanket was ripped away in one swift motion. The cold air hit you like a slap. You lunged desperately to grab it back, but it was already too late—his strong arms wrapped around your waist and, in one fluid movement, he hoisted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.
“Luke! Put me down right now! I don’t want to go!” you yelled, weakly pounding his back with your fists while he carefully carried you down the stairs.
“Stop hitting me.”
“Not until you put me down.”
“I’ll put you down when I finish going downstairs.”
“Do you really think I won’t just climb right back up the second my feet touch the floor?”
“Do you really think I’m going to let go of you once you’re on the floor?” he shot back, completely unfazed.
“Luke.”
“You promised.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“But I asked seriously.”
Your feet finally touched the cold living-room floor. You tugged your pajama shirt back down where it had ridden up.
“I was distracted. You took advantage of my vulnerable state,” you accused, pointing a finger at him.
The tiny click of nails on the floor announced Petunia’s arrival. She appeared in the kitchen doorway, staring at both of you like she was judging the entire morning chaos.
Luke raised an eyebrow.
“I asked you twice to make sure. Both times you said yes.”
And then it hit you with painful clarity.
Yesterday afternoon you’d been sprawled on the couch, surrounded by messy notes, desperately trying to catch up on assignments you’d procrastinated into oblivion. Luke had mumbled something about “we could go for a run together, you in?” You, eyes glued to your screen and brain on autopilot, had thrown out a casual “yeah, sure, I’m in” just so he’d leave you alone.
Hours later, when you finally closed your laptop and dragged yourself to bed, he was still awake. You collapsed face-down and shut your eyes almost instantly. You vaguely remembered him murmuring something else… and you mumbling yes again, half-asleep.
“Luke… you know I’m terrible at running. I’m out of breath in three minutes. It’s not my thing.”
“But you can start today. I’ll help you. Step by step.”
“No thanks. I’m happy like this,” you said, turning decisively toward the stairs.
You didn’t even make it to the first step. His hand caught your wrist—gentle but firm—spun you around, and suddenly you were inches apart.
“I promise I’ll go next time.”
“That’s what you said two days ago.” His expression was the perfect mix of amusement and tender disbelief.
“That wasn’t me, that was zombie-me.”
A low laugh rumbled in his chest. He was already used to your excuses. He leaned in and pressed a slow, warm kiss to your forehead.
“What am I going to do with you?” he murmured against your skin. “Fine… but you’re not getting out of it next time. Promise.”
You nodded, still feeling the tingle from his kiss. You watched him crouch down to give Petunia quick ear scratches before heading out the front door.
“How about you come sleep with me instead?” you whispered to Petunia.
She stared at you for three long seconds—like she was silently judging you—then turned and disappeared down the hallway.
You stood there a few more minutes, torn between the warmth of the sheets and the horrifying mental image of yourself trying to keep up with Luke while running. Finally, with a resigned groan, you made a decision.
It was a terrible one.
Exhausted.
That word summed up your entire existence right now.
You’d been awkwardly jogging down the streets for a while, breath coming in ragged gasps, legs feeling like they were made of concrete. Every step reminded you of all the times you’d said “I’ll start tomorrow.”
Finally you spotted him in the distance: standing still, hands on his hips, catching his breath. You took advantage of the pause and “sped up” (what you considered speeding up) until you reached him.
“Luke!”
You raised a hand begging him to wait, then bent forward, hands on your knees. Air rasped in and out painfully.
“I think… I think my lung is about to come out.”
He let out a genuine laugh and gave your back a gentle pat.
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure out how to put it back in,” he teased, carefully brushing sweaty strands of hair off your forehead. “How long have you been going?”
“I don’t know… half an hour?” you exaggerated.
“I’ve only been out for fifteen minutes.”
“Well, it feels like forever. I almost passed out twice.”
He shook his head, still smiling, clearly entertained.
“Since I basically did cardio looking for you… that counts as running, right? Done. I fulfilled my part.”
“You’ve got a point, but…” he dragged the word out mischievously, “you didn’t run with me. That was the whole point.”
“Oh my God, Luke! I almost died and you still want more?”
Despite his laughter and calls after you, you turned dramatically and started walking back home. Every muscle screamed in protest. You decided you weren’t leaving bed for the rest of the day.
This was definitely not your thing.
Luke caught up in four long strides and fell into step beside you, glancing sideways.
“The important thing is you tried. We can go again another day, slower. No pressure.”
“No thanks. This was the last time I ever run.”
“You jogged.”
“Jog, run… I almost fainted either way.”
“Okay. I have a proposal.”
You both stopped. Turned to face each other. You gestured for him to go on.
“If you come running with me… I’ll make breakfast.”
You narrowed your eyes, pretending to think deeply while scratching your chin.
“Pancakes?”
“As many as you want. But only on the days you actually come with me.”
The offer was dangerously tempting. You hated cooking in the mornings and almost always left it all to him anyway.
“Deal,” you said, sticking out your hand to seal it.
Instead, Luke tapped his cheek with one finger.
“We’re sweaty,” you protested.
“I don’t care.”
You ignored him and kept walking, hearing his comment about how the deal wasn’t official until you gave him a kiss.
You smiled to yourself, already knowing you’d cave eventually… like always.
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