#ajshaweel

Crickets are chirping. We see a shot of the night sky

'NOVEMBER 6th, 1983/HAWKINS, INDIANA"

Standing tall is a facility building

'HAWKINS NATIONAL LABORATORY/U.S. DEPARTMENT OF ENERGY'

Some lights are flickering inside the building.  After a few moments, a man in a lab coat bursts through the door, running.

Behind him, an alarm is sounding. The man keeps running through hallways and he eventually reaches an elevator and frantically pushes the button. The elevator begins coming down. He looks back down the hallway and then goes back to pushing the button as fast as he can.

The elevator dings and opens. He gets in and pushes the button inside of the elevator. He stands for a moment, breathing heavily.

Suddenly low growling is heard above him. He looks up nervously and the growling grows louder. As the elevator doors close, he screams and is pulled upwards.

A sprinkler is on outside a house, the sound filling the air. It was quiet night tonight but not in the Styles household.

"Something is coming" Harry spoke dramatically "something hungry for blood"

He paused again "a shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness. It is almost here"

For boys: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne and Zayn Malik were all currently situated in the Styles' basement, playing Dungeons & Dragons.

"What is it?" Louis asked softly

"What if it's the Demogorgon? Oh Jesus, we're so screwed if it's the Demogorgon" Liam panicked, his voice a major contrast to Wills.

"It's not the Demogorgon" Zayn rolled his eyes confidently

Harry slams a figure onto the table "an army of troglodytes charge into the chamber!"

Liams face drops "Troglodytes?"

Zayn smirks "told ya"

This comment makes all four boys laugh. Suddenly, Harry looks around nervously

"Wait a minute..." he spoke lowly "did you hear that? That...that sound? Boom...boom...BOOM!"

He slams his hand on the table which startles the other boys.

"That didn't come from Troglodytes, no, that...that came from something else"

Harry paused once more time for the dramatics to set in before he shouted "The Demogorgon!"

Another figure is slammed onto the table

"We're in deep shit" Liam groaned

"Louis" Harry stated "your action!"

Louis panicked, he was never great at making decisions "I don't know!"

Zayn encouraged "fireball him!"

"I'd have to roll a 13 or higher" Louis reminded

"Too risky" Liam chimed "cast a protection spell"

Zayn groaned "don't be a pussy, fireball him!"

Liam argued back "cast protection"

Harry then spoke up, catching the boys attention at his intense words "the Demogorgon is tired of your silly human bickering! It stomps towards you, boom!"

"Fireball him Louis!"

"Another stomp, boom!"

"Cast protection!"

"He roars in anger!"

Finally, at those words, in panic Louis makes his decision, screaming "fireball!" and being the dice onto the table

The dice are thrown but they end up falling off the table and going out of all their sights

"Oh shit!" Louis cursed

"Where's it go? Where is it?" Zayn panicked

They all get up from the table and begin to search around for the dice

Louis started panicking too "I don't know!"

"Where is it?" Zayn repeated again

Just then, Liam too started panicking, the campaign becoming very serious "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

"Harry! Harry!" Harry's mother Anne shouted from upstairs but nobody heard her

Zayn asked "can you find it?" as he kept searching

"No, I can't find it?" Will still panicked

"Harry!" Anne opened the door to the basement as Mike was searching for the dice around the bottom of the stairs

Liam began pacing around "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

Harry looked up from where he was on his knees on the floor "Mum, we're in the middle of a campaign!"

"You mean the end" she stated "fifteen after" she tapped at her watch

She then leaves which makes Harry run after her while the rest of the boys stay downstairs

"Oh my god freaking idiot!" Lucas complains at nobody in particular

"Why do we have to go?" Louis asks as he watches his best friend run up the stairs

"Mum just 20 more minutes" Harry begs as he joins his mother in their kitchen

His dad is just fiddling with the tv in the background of all this happening. The man never ever paid attention.

"It's a school night Harold, I just put your sister, Amy, to bed, you can finish next weekend"

Harry protested "but that'll ruin the flow!"

"Harold I'm serious"

"Mum the campaign took two weeks to plan. How was I supposed to know it was going to take ten hours?"

That makes his mum freeze and turn to look at him "you've been playing for 10 hours?"

Annoyed that the length was the only thing she took out of the conversation, Harry internally rolled his eyes and turned to his father

"Dad don't you think that 20 more-"

His dad interrupted him "I think you should listen to your mother"

He was clearly not listening properly as he hits the tv as it was not working and then groans "dang dumb piece of junk"

Back in the basement, Will gasps "oh, I got it!" then he picks them up "does a seven count?"

"It was a seven?" Zayn asks "did Harry see it?"

Louis shakes his head

Zayn continues "Then it doesn't count"

The boys get ready to leave and while they do so, Liam picks up a pizza box

"Yo, hey, guys, does anyone want this?"

"No" the others say at the same time, Louis politely while Zayn in more of an annoyed tone

Liam heads upstairs towards Lotties room with the pizza, the girl being on the phone with her friend Nicola.

"Yeah. No I don't think..yeah he's cute, Nic, no I don't think so Nic, you're not-"

Her phone call is interrupted

"Hey Lottie. There's a slice left if you want it. Sausage and pepperoni" Liam offers

Lottie sighs and speaks into the phone "hold on"

She puts the phone down and walks over to the door. Liam smiles. Lottie smiles too but then closes the door in his face.

The other boys are outside, Liam eventually joining them.

"There's something wrong with your sister"

Harry was confused "what are you talking about?"

"She's got a stick up her butt" he replied

"Yeah it's because she's been dating that douchebag, Luke Hemmings" Zayn reminded

"Yeah" Liam agreed "she's turning into a real jerk"

"She's always been a real jerk" Harry told them

"Nu uh she used to be cool" Liam disagreed

Louis, Liam and Zayn got on their bikes, ready to leave and head home.

Liam carried on "like the time she dressed up as an elf for our elder tree campaign"

Harry groaned "four years ago!"

"Just saying" Liam shrugged

"Later" Zayn spoke as him and Liam rode off

Louis stayed behind, the guilt of earlier weighing on his mind, causing him to say

"It was a seven..."

"Huh?" Harry asks, turning to look at the other

"The roll, it was a seven. The Demogorogon, it got me" Willa admitted "see you tomorrow" he smiled and Harry watched as he rode off too.

The light flickered outside of his house, but he paid no attention to it, turning it off, and heading back inside.

Louis caught up to the others and eventually they got to Zayns' house, the boy turning into his driveway.

"Good night ladies" Zayn joked

"Kiss your mum 'night for me" Liam snickered before turning to Louis

"Race you back to my place? Winner gets a comic"

This gained Louis' attention "any comic?"

"Yeah"

With those words, Louis starts speeding ahead

"Hey! Hey! I don't say go! Get back here! I'm gonna kill you!" Liam screamed

As he speeded past his friends house, Louis spoke up "I'll take your X- Men 134!"

Louis continues cycling away and Liam stops outside his own house, panting "son of a bitch"

Louis continues to cycle home, passing some signs as he rides. One reads

'hnl/HAWKINS NATIONAL LABORATORY/U.S. DEPARTMENT OF ENERGY'

A second one reads

'RESTRICTED/AREA/NO TRESPASSING/U.S. GOVERNMENT/PROPERTY'

Suddenly, the light started to flicker on Louis' bike. It flickers off and then flickers back on again, just in time for a figure to be spotted in the centre of the road.

In shock, Louis gasps and steers off the road, crashing. He looks up at the road from where he was on the floor to see the figure with unnaturally long arms turning towards him.

The boy did what any regular person would, he ran. Quickly, he reached his house and sprinted inside, locking the door behind him. During this, his dog barked, most likely alarmed. Louis ignored the sound and started searching for his family.

"Mum?" He asked "Greg? Mum?"

There was no answer, signalling that nobody was home. Louis turned to look out the window to see the figure approaching. In a panic, he rushed to the phone on the wall to dial 911 but all he receives on the other end is static.

"Hello?" He asks in fear "hello?!"

He sees the figure approach his front door, making his dog bark but also back away. Then the lock on the door is heard being unlocked.

Moving away, Louis heads towards the shed in his back garden to hide. He left the phone off the hook in the process. Inside the shed, he retrieved the shotgun on the wall. Frantically, he began to load it.

He pointed the gun at the door, but after a few moments, he had the sound of growling from behind him. Slowly, he turned around and then his eyes widened.

The growling sound turned into screeching and the light in the shed got brighter and brighter until..

...all of a sudden it stopped, as did the shrieking. The shed now being empty, almost as if nobody ever ended it in the first place.

The one where Hálfdán completes his stream

It was requested to do a part two, and I actually wanted to do one anyway so thanks You_know_who_321

______

"Anyway, chat," Hálfdán said again, his voice dipping just above a whisper. "Back to what I was saying before Kyle came in and hijacked my lap..."

He glanced at the screen, catching a wave of emotes and reactions: hearts, laughing faces, people spamming "WE LOVE A SOFT KING" and "he's down so bad."

"...I was talking about the new patch," he continued, shifting Kyle just slightly so he could reach his mouse.

The movement made the smaller boy mumble something unintelligible, but he didn't stir much beyond that.

"They nerfed literally everything I actually use. So that's great. Love that for me."

He started clicking through menus, explaining the changes and giving light commentary. Every now and then, his hand would absently rub slow circles into Kyle's back, like muscle memory. The chat noticed.

User35: THE WAY HE'S PETTING HIM 😭

User90: This is domestication at its FINEST

User12: Hálfdán multitasking like a king: gaming and cuddling

User88 (donation): Can Kyle snore into the mic next?

Hálfdán snorted quietly at that one, craning his neck slightly to see if Kyle had made any noise. He hadn't, just a slow, steady rise and fall of breath, calm and warm against his neck.

"He doesn't snore. He just... breathes really emotionally," he said, smiling faintly. "Like a dramatic cat."

More laughter in the chat. He could feel how soft his tone had become: how naturally it shifted when Kyle was nearby. It used to surprise him, but now it felt right. Kyle brought it out of him.

He played for maybe twenty more minutes, focusing enough to keep the stream entertaining but staying aware of the weight in his lap, the gentle warmth of it, the trust. He didn't want to move. Not yet.

Eventually, he stretched one arm upward with a low groan, careful not to jostle Kyle too much, and let out a sigh.

"Alright, chat," he said finally. "I'm gonna call it here. Appreciate all the subs, donations, and emotional support as I carried this broken-ass patch. You're all unhinged. I mean that with love."

He glanced at the boy in his arms, brushing a few strands of hair from Kyle's forehead.

"I'll be back... maybe in a few weeks or a few days I don't know. Y'all know I stream like a wild forest cryptid. Catch me when you can."

User43: NIGHT HALFDÁN

User12: give Kyle forehead kiss or we riot

User78 (donation): HE BETTER GET A FOREHEAD KISS 😤

Hálfdán laughed softly, reached toward the keyboard with one hand, and hovered over the "End Stream" button. Before he clicked it, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to Kyle's forehead.

"You win," he murmured.

Then he ended the stream.

The room fell silent, the only light now coming from the glow of the monitors. He leaned back in his chair, arms still around Kyle, just holding him. The kind of silence that felt earned, peaceful and still.

"Babe," he whispered eventually. "Hey, you fell asleep on my lap again."

"Mmh," Kyle murmured sleepily, his voice thick. "Warm."

"You keep saying that like it's a valid excuse."

"It is." Kyle shifted slightly, nuzzling further into his neck. "Also, comfy."

"You're impossible," Hálfdán said softly, but there was no irritation behind the words. He was smiling.

They stayed like that for another few minutes until Kyle mumbled, "You done streaming?"

"Yeah. You hijacked the second half."

"Sorry," Kyle said, not sounding sorry at all. "Did I look hot?"

Hálfdán let out a laugh and leaned his forehead against Kyle's. "Always."

He kissed his cheek and gently lifted him, standing up with a small grunt and carrying Kyle bridal-style back toward the bed.

"You could've let me walk," Kyle said with a sleepy pout.

"You were dead weight, don't lie."

"You liked it," Kyle murmured, already dozing off again in his arms.

"...Yeah," Hálfdán said softly, settling them back into the blankets. "I did."

The following Friday came wrapped in silence.

Kyle had spent most of the week orbiting interviews, rehearsal calls, wardrobe consultations, and a thousand urgent emails that all said

"Just checking in!"

with terrifying cheerfulness. He replied to almost none of them.

Instead, his mind kept returning to that dim bar. To the odd calm he'd found sitting across from Brede Bremnes. To how different the model had been from the glossy images that floated through bus stops and Instagram stories.

There was still something he couldn't quite decode about him.

So when a simple message arrived late Friday morning—"Feel like being off the grid for a night?"—Kyle responded without hesitation.

"Yes. Say when."

"I'll pick you up at 7."

Brede arrived at Kyle's apartment like he was allergic to being seen. A cap low over his face, tinted sunglasses despite the hour, sleeves pushed up in a way that shouldn't have looked deliberate but did.

Kyle watched him from the window, amused.

He dressed simply: black jeans, silver boots, a vintage Eurovision tee he'd found in a Bergen thrift shop years ago. His only flash was a glitter nail polish leftover from the final. It had chipped but still sparkled in the hallway light.

"Nice ride," Kyle said, sliding into the passenger seat. Brede's car was unassuming, sleek, grey, the kind of thing you'd overlook in a parking lot and then see in a magazine ad for 'discreet power.'

"I borrowed it from a friend," Brede said. "I don't really drive much in Oslo."

"Let me guess," Kyle teased. "You prefer helicopters."

Brede glanced over, a half-smile on his lips. "No. I prefer boats. But I figured you wouldn't want to freeze to death on your second unofficial date."

Kyle blinked. "So this is a date?"

Brede didn't look at him. He changed lanes. Smoothly. Quietly.

"Call it a social experiment."

They drove for forty minutes, trading bits of music. Kyle played the first rough demo of a Eurovision revamp he was working on: less pyrotechnics, more strings. Brede said nothing until the track ended, and then murmured

"You sound less like you're performing, and more like you're saying something you actually mean."

That lingered.

Eventually, they reached a cabin tucked behind a veil of pine and birch near Nordmarka. No one else was there. Just forest, moonlight, and the faint smell of firewood already burning.

Kyle stared up at the sky as they stepped out.

"You can actually see stars here."

"You can see yourself better, too," Brede said quietly.

Inside the cabin, the silence felt intentional. Brede made a fire. Kyle kicked off his boots and curled onto the leather sofa like he'd done it a hundred times. They barely spoke for a while. The sound of the crackling fire became their language.

When Brede finally sat beside him, a low stretch of space remained between them, filled only with tension and heat.

"You're quieter than I expected," Kyle said.

"And you're louder than you want to be."

Kyle turned his head, eyes narrowing. "You always speak in riddles?"

"I model for a living. Ambiguity is part of the contract."

Kyle laughed. "So is silence, I guess."

Brede didn't deny it. He picked up a book from the table, some poetry collection, weathered and translated. Read a single line out loud:

"There are places in the world that echo before you even speak."

Then he looked at Kyle. Direct. "That's how I felt the first time I saw you on stage."

Kyle didn't say anything.

Because he felt it too.

That strange pre-echo. That moment in the dark when you feel someone else reaching across the quiet.

Later, they played music—old vinyl records, Norwegian ambient, queer indie tracks from Denmark and drank something warm with cinnamon and honey in chipped mugs.

Kyle lay with his head resting on the arm of the couch, legs stretched across Brede's lap, neither of them saying anything for the longest time.

When Kyle finally broke the silence, his voice was soft:

"You know they're going to tear me apart once rehearsals start."

Brede tilted his head. "Who?"

"The Eurovision vultures. The press. The cynics. The ones who think glitter's a mask for lack of depth."

"Is it?"

Kyle hesitated. "No. It's armor."

Brede gently rested a hand over Kyle's shin, the pressure warm, grounding.

"I think you're allowed to wear armor. As long as you know when to take it off."

A long breath passed between them.

In that moment, neither of them moved. Not closer, not away. They didn't need to. There was something precious in the non-movement. In the decision not to break the tension. In the kind of closeness that trusted time more than impulse.

Brede broke the silence. "Stay here tonight."

Kyle blinked. "I didn't pack anything."

"You're wearing enough stardust to count as pajamas."

Kyle grinned. "That's the most model-thing anyone's ever said to me."

And he stayed.

Not because he was tired, or lost, or starstruck.

Here is all my work! Happy reading

Wattpad: ajshaweel

TikTok: ajshaweell

Eurovision Imagines

McLovin || Pudd

Where It Began || Bryle

Comfort || Cashton

Interlinked || Muke

My Father || Luke Hemmings

The first time Starley meets the band, she's six weeks old, bundled in a pale yellow blanket and asleep against Luke Hemmings's chest. Luke is panicking.

"She's fine," he's told himself at least twenty times in the elevator up to the studio. "Babies sleep."

But every tiny sound she makes has him checking her breathing like the world might stop turning if he looks away for too long.

The studio door swings open before he can knock.

"HE BROUGHT THE BABY!"

The yell is immediately followed by chaotic footsteps and the sound of someone almost tripping over a cable.

Luke barely has time to react before Michael Clifford appears in front of him with wide eyes and the kind of expression people usually reserve for seeing celebrities or puppies.

"Oh my God," Michael whispers dramatically. "She's microscopic."

Behind him, Calum Hood leans against the couch with a grin. "You said that like you expected a full-grown woman."

"I've never seen Luke create something this tiny before."

"That is the worst sentence you've ever said," Luke mutters.

A laugh bursts from the back of the room. Ashton Irwin looks up from where he'd been pretending to work on lyrics.

"Can we see her or are you gonna stand there guarding her like a security detail?"

Luke rolls his eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. Mostly nerves.

"Wash your hands first."

The room goes silent.

Michael blinks. "You sound like a dad-dad."

"I am a dad-dad."

"That's horrifying."

Luke ignores him.

"Seriously," he says, shifting Starley carefully against his chest. "No touching her unless your hands are clean."

Ashton raises both hands immediately. "Mine are already washed because I'm emotionally prepared."

Calum snorts. "That's not how germs work."

Still, all three of them obediently disappear

toward the sink in the tiny studio kitchenette while Luke stands there swaying slightly with Starley in his arms. He's learned she likes movement, likes warmth, likes hearing his heartbeat and honestly? Luke likes it too, more than he'll ever admit out loud.

When the others come back, they approach like nervous zoo handlers.

Michael crouches first, peering into the blanket dramatically. "That's literally your face."

"She thankfully got her mother's nose," Luke says immediately.

"No, dude, she has your exact frown."

"I do not frown."

All three of them stare at him.

Luke pauses. "Okay, maybe a little."

Starley stirs softly at the sound of voices, making a tiny sleepy noise that instantly changes the entire atmosphere in the room.

The band goes quiet. Completely quiet.

Her eyes blink open slowly, big and unfocused and Luke swears his heart physically stops.

"There she is," he murmurs automatically, voice softening in a way it never does around anyone else.

Michael actually clutches his chest "Oh, he's gone gone."

Luke doesn't even deny it because yeah, he is.

Starley yawns, tiny fist escaping the blanket, and Ashton immediately melts. "I would die for her."

"You met her twelve seconds ago," Calum says.

"And?"

Luke carefully lowers himself onto the couch, adjusting her gently. The guys gather around him instinctively, their loud energy dimmed into something quieter.

They are softer, almost reverent. It hits Luke then, suddenly and painfully, that these idiots are family too.

They've seen him at nineteen and reckless.

Seen him exhausted, angry, homesick, burnt out. Seen every ugly, difficult version of him.

And now they're seeing this one.

The version that wakes up three times a night because he misses his daughter breathing beside him.

The version that keeps photos of her in a hidden album labeled starstuff.

The version that's terrified every second of every day because he loves something this much.

Calum sits beside him carefully. "Can I hold her?"

Luke hesitates, not because he doesn't trust him, just because giving someone else your whole heart is terrifying.

But eventually, he nods.

"Support her head," he says immediately.

"I know how babies work."

"You dropped a cactus once."

"That was one time."

Michael bursts out laughing as Luke reluctantly transfers Starley into Calum's arms. The room collectively stops breathing.

Calum freezes instantly, staring down at her like she's made of glass. "She's so small," he whispers.

And for the first time since becoming a father, Luke sees it from the outside.

This tiny little person.

This tiny little girl.

His daughter.

Starley squirms once before settling comfortably against Calum's chest.

"Oh no," Ashton says quietly. "I'm attached."

"You're all attached," Luke says.

Michael points at him dramatically. "Says the man who has approximately seven thousand photos of her."

"It's actually closer to ten thousand," Ashton corrects.

Luke narrows his eyes. "Why do you know that?"

"Because you send us fifty a day."

"And every single one is blurry," Calum adds.

"She moves!"

"She's a baby, not Sonic."

The quiet didn't last forever, it never did. By the afternoon, the house had shifted, not louder exactly, but more awake.

Sunlight filled the rooms properly now, spilling across the kitchen counters and warming the wooden floors. Somewhere outside, a car passed and a dog barked as life carried on.

Inside, it felt... different. It wasnt fragile like before, just uncertain.

Calum stood at the kitchen counter, staring down at his phone without really reading anything on it. His coffee had gone cold in his hand, forgotten halfway through.

He could hear Ashton moving around in the other room.

Drawers were opening, closing and opening again.

Restless.

Calum set the mug down and leaned back against the counter, running a hand over his face. He knew that kind of movement, knew what it meant too.

Too much stillness again or maybe too much thinking.

He pushed off the counter and walked back into the living room.

Ashton was pacing now, slow and uneven, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. His hair was still messy from the morning, a loose shirt hanging off his frame like he hadn't fully settled into the day.

"Hey," Calum said.

Ashton stopped immediately, liken he'd been caught.

"Hey," he replied, a little too quickly.

Calum tilted his head slightly. "You've opened that same drawer like five times."

Ashton glanced toward the kitchen, then back at him. "I was looking for something."

"You found it?"

A pause.

"...No."

Calum stepped closer, not too fast, not pushing, just enough to close some of the space between them.

"You wanna tell me what's actually going on?"

Ashton exhaled through his nose, shoulders tightening for a second before dropping again.

"I don't know what we're doing," he admitted.

There it was. Calum felt it land, heavy but expected.

"Okay," he said calmly. "Then we figure it out."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be."

Ashton shook his head, running a hand through his hair again. "Cal, we've been doing this for years without saying anything. And now suddenly we are, and I don't—" He cut himself off, frustrated. "I don't know what that changes."

Calum leaned against the back of the couch, watching him carefully.

"It changes that we're not pretending anymore," he said.

Ashton let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Yeah, and pretending was easier."

Calum didn't disagree right away becauseit was.

Pretending meant no risk, no lines to cross, no chance of losing something they'd built over years of late nights and shared spaces and unspoken understanding.

But it also meant... this. Confusion. Tension. That constant pull of something more that never quite settled.

"Easier doesn't mean better," Calum said finally.

Ashton looked at him then, really looked.

"You don't seem scared," Ashton said.

Calum shrugged slightly. "I am."

"Then why are you so calm about it?"

Calum hesitated because the truth wasn't simple.

Because the truth was that he'd been here, in this exact feeling, for longer than Ashton probably realized.

"I've already thought about the worst-case scenario," Calum said quietly.

Ashton's expression shifted, something cautious flickering there. "And?"

"And I still think you're worth it."

The words landed softer than anything else they'd said so far. Ashton went still, completely still.

Calum pushed off the couch and stepped closer again, slower this time.

"I'd rather deal with things being messy and real," he continued, "than go back to pretending I don't notice every time you pull away. Or every time you look at me like you're about to say something and don't."

Ashton swallowed hard.

"That's not fair," he said, but there was no bite to it.

"I know," Calum admitted. "But it's true."

Silence filled the space between them again.

Not sharp, more... full.

Ashton looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he didn't know what to do with them. "I don't want to get it wrong."

Calum's voice softened.

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I know that we'll fix it if you do."

Ashton let out a shaky breath.

"That's not how this works," he murmured.

"It is with us."

That made Ashton look up again. There was something different in his expression now: not panic nor was it avoidance. It was more something closer to understanding.

"You're really not going anywhere, are you?" Ashton asked.

Calum shook his head slightly.

"No."

A long pause. Then, quieter:

"Even if I freak out a little?"

Calum's mouth twitched. "You already are."

That earned him a small, real laugh.

It broke the tension just enough.

Ashton stepped forward then, closing the gap himself this time. Not rushed. Not hesitant either. Just... choosing it.

"I don't have a plan," Ashton admitted.

"Good," Calum said. "Me neither."

"That's not reassuring."

"It's honest."

Ashton nodded slowly.

Then he reached out, not grabbing, not pulling, just letting his hand rest lightly against Calum's arm.

It was more grounding himself.

"I can do honest," Ashton said.

Calum met his gaze.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know you can."

They stood there for a moment, close but not overwhelming, the space between them no longer something to avoid.

Outside, the world kept moving. Inside, things were still uncertain, still undefined but not fragile anymore.

Just... unfinished.

The house was too quiet when Dad was on tour. Sasha didn’t know how else to explain it.

It wasn’t that it was actually silent, there were still sounds: the fridge humming in the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock above the doorway, the wind brushing faintly against the windows at night.

But it felt quiet, different, like something important had gone missing.

She sat cross-legged on the living room floor, her coloring pencils spread out in a messy circle around her, pressing down hard as she filled in the edges of a drawing that refused to stay inside the lines.

It was supposed to be a picture of her family. Mum was easy, she was easy to draw herself but Dad was harder.

She stared at the half-finished outline of him for a moment, chewing lightly on the end of her pencil.

“…your hair’s not that colour,” she muttered to herself, scribbling over it anyway.

“Talking to yourself again?” her mum, Crystal, called from the kitchen.

Sasha didn’t look up.

“I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing what?”

“Dad.”

There was a pause. It was not long, just enough to feel it.

Then her mum stepped into the doorway, drying her hands on a towel, her expression softening when she saw the paper on the floor.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Let me see.”

Sasha turned the page around, pushing it toward her a little. Her mum crouched down beside her.

“That’s a very good drawing,” she said.

Sasha frowned slightly.

“It doesn’t look like him.”

Her mum tilted her head, studying it.

“It does,” she said gently. “It just looks like your version of him.”

Sasha wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. She picked up a blue pencil, then put it down again.

“…when is he coming back?”

“Soon,” Crystal said.

Sasha nodded, like that was enough but it wasn’t. It never really was.

She leaned forward, pressing her palm flat against the paper so it wouldn’t move.

“…I’m going to show him this when he gets back,” she said.

Her mum smiled.

“I think he’ll love that.”

Sasha hesitated, then added quietly

The first time Luke Hemmings hears his daughter cry, the world shifts. It isn't dramatic in the way movies make it, no swelling music, no slow-motion moment where everything suddenly makes sense.

It's quieter than that. It feels more soft and real.

The hospital room smells faintly of antiseptic and something warm, something human. Machines hum steadily in the background, a rhythm that feels oddly comforting.

Outside, the world keeps moving, cars passing, people laughing, lives continuing, but inside this room, time folds in on itself.

"Luke," a nurse says gently, her voice pulling him back into his body.

He hadn't realized he'd stopped breathing. And then, the it is again.

A cry that was small, fragile and furious.

Alive.

His chest tightens in a way he's never felt before, not on stage in front of thousands, not in the studio chasing the perfect note, not even in the quietest, loneliest nights of his life. This is different.

This is something deeper, something terrifying and beautiful all at once.

"Do you want to come closer?"

He nods, even though his legs feel like they might give out beneath him. Somehow, he crosses the room and then he sees her.

She's tiny, so impossibly small that it almost scares him. Wrapped in a soft blanket, her face is scrunched, eyes squeezed shut as she protests her sudden arrival into the world.

"Hi..." His voice breaks, barely above a whisper. "Hi, baby..."

Starley Hemmings. The name settles over him like something sacred.

He reaches out, hesitating just for a second before his finger brushes against her hand. Her fingers, so small, so perfect, curl instinctively around him.

And just like that, he's gone. Completely, entirely hers. A shaky laugh escapes him, wet with emotion he doesn't even try to hide.

“She's—" He swallows hard. "She's perfect."

There's movement beside him, someone exhausted but smiling, someone who just brought this entire universe into existence. Luke looks up, eyes softening instantly.

"You did so good," he murmurs, leaning down, pressing a careful kiss to Sierra’s forehead. "Both of you did."

But his gaze keeps drifting back. Back to Starley because how is she real?

How is it possible that something so small could already hold so much of him?

The nurse gently places her into his arms, guiding him like he might break, which, honestly, he feels like he might.

"Support her head," she reminds him.

"Right—yeah—okay—" His voice is nervous, but his hands are careful. So careful.

And then she's there in his arms. His daughter.

The crying quiets almost instantly, her tiny body settling against his chest as if she already knows him, as if she's been waiting for this exact moment just as much as he has.

Luke exhales, long and shaky, resting his forehead lightly against hers.

"Hey, Starley," he whispers. "I'm your dad."

The words feel surreal. Heavy. Important. Like a promise.

Outside this room, he's a musician, a performer, a people scream and write about and follow.

But in here? He's just hers.