#starting line

(Play "Last Night" by Louis Tomlinson)

Behind the shades you look pretty. Conversations in the back seat, I can't take my eyes off you.

That night, I lay in bed next to the one person I never expected to be lying in bed with, and I think about my life. I wonder how I managed to get so lucky as to have 5 Seconds of Summer as my best friends. But most of all, I wonder how I managed to get Ashton Irwin to lay next to me at night without either of us questioning it.

I should be questioning it more than I already am. But my mind is peaceful for once, and I'd prefer it to stay that way—even if it means staying confused.

Swapping memories from the last time. Expectations on the first night. Building castles down here with you.

I take one final glance at the dark shadow next to me that is Ashton. He looks peaceful as he sleeps—curled on his side facing me, one hand stretched out toward me like he's ready to reach for me even in sleep. Like he'd grab me the second I needed him.

A fuzzy feeling blooms in my chest. Not quite giddy, not quite calm—something in between. I smile to myself, glad he's fast asleep, dead to the world. Because if he saw the way I'm looking at him right now? He'd run for the hills.

If this were the last night of our lives, you would tell me how you're feeling.

I laugh quietly to myself, realizing that staring at him while he sleeps is probably creepy. So I do what I always did with my little sister back when she was still around—what I sometimes still do with Calum, Michael, or Luke when they're not looking.

I lean forward, just a little, and press my lips to his hair. Lightly. Quick and soft enough that he probably wouldn't even feel it if he were awake.

I blush as I pull away. And I swear—I swear—he smiles. Just a little.

If we don't make it out alive, I'm scared of what if our futures don't collide?

I can't help myself. I place my hand—probably half the size of his—over his, still resting palm-down on the mattress. I squeeze once, closing my eyes, and whisper; "Thank you, Ashton."

Then I tuck my hand back under me and start to drift off. But before I do, I catch one last glimpse of his peaceful form. My traitorous brain thinks: Huh. He looks like he belongs here. And maybe—just maybe—part of me thinks he does.

If this were the last night, last night of our lives.

Ashton's Point of View:

(Play "Shivers" by Ed Sheeran)

I took an arrow to the heart. I never kissed a mouth that tastes like yours.

She kissed my hair.

I'm half-asleep on her bed, we've only known each other in person for a day, and I know I should probably be uncomfortable. Some girl I just met invited me to sleep in her room, then thanked me for the night, and ended it with a kiss on my head? But I'm not uncomfortable.

Because she's not just some girl.

She's a close friend of my best friends. She's a survivor—like me. And if I'm being completely honest with myself? She's one of the best people I've ever met.

Strawberries and somethin' more, ooh yeah I want it all.

I keep my eyes closed and try to even out my breathing so she keeps believing I'm asleep. But my mind doesn't rest. The second I feel myself starting to drift off, my senses only seem to sharpen.

That's when I realize I'm dreaming.

I'm standing in a strange room, watching myself from outside my own body. Dream-Me is facing a doorway, and it feels like I'm waiting for myself to do something stupid.

Lipstick on my guitar (ooh), fill up the engine, we can drive real far.

The room beyond the doorway is dimly lit—the only light source a sickly shade of green. The kind of green that looks like overcooked vegetables. The kind that looks nothing like her eyes when they shift between green, blue, or gray.

Dream Ashton wrinkles his nose in disgust but shoves his hands- (yes, I'm being self-aware, I know I have nice hands), into the pockets of his skinny jeans.

Go dancin' underneath the stars, ooh yeah I want it all.

Dream Me starts walking toward the room. If I'm being honest, it kind of reminds me of a horror-version of the rooms we were in for our "Want You Back" music video. Except this time, it feels like I'm walking toward my own death sentence.

The scene shifts. Suddenly, he’s inside the green room. I- the Real Me, the one watching from outside- want to gasp in horror when I see what's in there.

(Play "Starting Line" by Luke Hemmings)

In and out of focus, moments that I keep. Something for pain and something so I sleep.

It's her.

She's lying on a leather couch—one I realize I recognize from her living room. He walks toward her, only to find her eyes closed, her body limp in an unnatural position. Not sleeping. Something else.

Dream Me turns to look back at where I'm watching from, and his eyes are wide. Pained. He checks her pulse gently, and I can see him mouthing her name, frantically searching for any sign of life.

Won't you comfort me? Warm the air that I breathe.

I want to scream when I realize what this dream is trying to tell me. It's obvious. So obvious that it feels like the green walls themselves are yelling the warning at me. Be there for her. She's fragile. And unless she has someone to keep her safe, she won't make it much longer.

I know it sounds stupid. Random. Especially since I've only known her a day. But I can't shake the feeling that this isn't the end of it.

Take the fear I don't need.

As if I'm in a movie, the scene shifts again. Dream Ashton looks back at me one more time—like he's asking, Are you seeing this too?

I want to answer. Yes. Help me. But I feel paralyzed. Lost in the feeling that something is going to happen to her.

Regular Point of View:

(Play “Wildflower” by 5 Seconds of Summer)

I hear you callin’ out my name. 

It's been three days since the boys came over to cheer me up.

And honestly? It's kind of working.

The first morning, we all went to the diner for breakfast. The next day, we played video games until we couldn't stop laughing every time someone messed up. And each night, we fell asleep piled on top of each other in my living room like a litter of puppies- all limbs and tangled blankets and someone's elbow in someone else's ribs.

I wouldn't say my life has significantly improved since they arrived. But it's definitely gotten better than that lonely afternoon when Calum called me.Today, though, things take a turn.

I love the sound, I love the taste. And I can see it in your face. 

We're sprawled across my living room- me on one end of the couch, Luke on the floor with a controller in his hand, Michael draped dramatically across the recliner like he's posing for a photoshoot, Calum scrolling through his phone, and Ashton- Ashton- is sitting way closer to me than strictly necessary.

Not that I'm complaining.

Luke's stomach growls so loudly that Michael actually sits up.

"Okay," Luke says, setting down his controller. "What do you have to eat around here?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Check the pantry."

You’ve got a side you can’t explain. 

He disappears into the kitchen. A moment later, his voice echoes down the hallway: "There's nothing in here."

Michael stands up to investigate. Then Calum. Then Ashton, who gives me a look as he passes- half-concerned, half- amused.

You’re tellin’ me, you’re tellin’ me, you’re tellin’ me you wanna come over. 

"This is embarrassing," Michael announces, returning with an empty bag of chips he's somehow found. "You have, like... a jar of peanut butter and a single ramen packet."

"I've been busy," I mumble.

Ashton crosses his arms. "Busy not eating?"

"He has a point," Calum adds, not helpfully. "Love, when's the last time you actually went grocery shopping?"

I open my mouth. Close it.

"...Huh," I say.

Luke claps his hands together. "That's it. We're going to the store."

"What? No—"

"Non-negotiable," Michael interrupts, already grabbing my keys from the hook by the door. "We're staging an intervention. The only acceptable groceries in this house are fun groceries."

You wanna be, you wanna be, you wanna be closer. 

"It's a team bonding activity now," Calum declares, grinning. "Get your shoes on."

I groan, but I'm already smiling.

(Play “Style” by Taylor Swift)

Midnight. You come and pick me up, no headlights. 

Twenty minutes later, we're standing in the middle of a brightly lit grocery store, and somehow— somehow—this has turned into a full-blown competition.

Calum holds up a shopping list he's written on the back of a receipt. "Alright, listen up. Two teams. Me and Michael versus—" he squints at the list— "actually, no. Let's make this interesting."

Long drive. Could end in burning flames or paradise. 

Michael immediately grabs my arm. "She's with me."

"Hey!" Luke protests. "Why does she automatically get Michael?"

"Because I called dibs," Michael says, like that's the most logical thing in the world.

Ashton steps forward, nudging Luke with his elbow. "Fine. Luke and I will take you both down."

Calum grins and pulls out his phone. "Perfect. I'll referee. And narrate, because someone has to document this disaster for posterity."

"Narrate?" I ask.

Calum clears his throat dramatically and points his phone at us like a camera. "Welcome back to today's episode of 'These Idiots Are Competitive About Everything.' Our contestants are Team... uh..."* He looks at Michael and me expectantly.

Fade into view, oh. 

Michael puffs out his chest. "Team Thunder Strike."

"Absolutely not," I say.

"Too late. I've already decided."

Luke snorts. "We're Team... Superior Taste."

"That's the best you could come up with?" Ashton asks, looking genuinely betrayed.

"You got a better idea?"

Ashton pauses. "...No."

"Fantastic," Calum says. "Team Thunder Strike versus Team Superior Taste. The mission: complete every item on this list before the other team. The prize: bragging rights and the last slice of whatever dessert we buy."

It’s been a while since I’ve even heard from you (heard from you). 

"What's on the list?" I ask.

Calum shows me. It's... a lot. Pasta sauce, vegetables, snacks, drinks, fruits, ice cream, bread, cheese, and—scrawled at the bottom in Michael's handwriting- cereal.

"There's no time limit," Calum adds. "But there is a rule."

"A rule?" Luke raises an eyebrow.

Calum's grin turns evil. "You have to stay within earshot of me so I can keep commentating. And you have to insult the other team every time you pass them."

And I should just tell you to leave, ‘cause I. 

"That's not a rule, that's just something you want to happen," Ashton says.

"Exactly."

Michael grabs my hand and yanks me toward the produce section. "Go, go, go!"

What follows is absolute chaos.

Michael and I sprint toward the vegetables, grabbing a bag of spinach and throwing it into the cart. "Okay, what's next?" I ask, breathless.

"Pasta sauce!" Michael yells. "Aisle four!"

We barrel around the corner, almost colliding with an elderly woman holding a cantaloupe, and Michael shouts "Sorry, ma'am, it's an emergency!" like he's in an action movie.

Know exactly where it leads, but I. Watch us go ‘round and ‘round each time. 

Meanwhile, Calum's voice echoes through the store—not literally, but he's projecting. "And Team Thunder Strike takes an early lead with the vegetables! But wait—is that Team Superior Taste closing in on the bread aisle? They're moving fast, folks!"

We round the corner to find Luke and Ashton standing in front of the pasta sauce, staring at each other like they're solving a riddle.

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye. 

"Red or vodka?" Luke asks, holding up two jars.

Ashton shrugs. "Does it matter?"

"YES, it matters!"

I grab a jar of red sauce off the shelf and shove it into our cart. "That's for us, thanks!"

Ashton's head snaps toward me, and a slow grin spreads across his face. "Oh, it's on."

And I got that red lip classic thing that you like. 

"Tensions are rising here at the Idotic Grocery Games of 5sos!"* Calum announces from somewhere near the freezer section. "Team Superior Taste has just been publicly humiliated by a sauce heist. How will they recover?"

"Hey!" Luke yells in Calum's direction. "You're supposed to be neutral!"

"I am neutral! I'm just also entertained!"

Michael grabs my hand again and pulls me toward the snack aisle. "Leave them in the dust—they don't stand a chance!"

But Ashton is fast. I don't know why I'm surprised—he's a drummer, his arms probably get a workout. He cuts us off at the end of the aisle, holding up a bag of chips like a trophy.

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time. 

"Looking for these?"

"No," Michael lies.

"Liar."

"And the trash talk begins!" Calum crows.

I grab the chips out of Ashton's hand—our fingers brush, and I try very hard not to blush—and toss them in our cart. "Finders keepers."

‘Cause we never go out of style. We never go out of style. 

Ashton gasps, genuinely offended. "That's not how the game works!"

"It's how this game works."

Behind him, Luke appears, holding a block of cheese like a weapon. "We are not losing to Mikey of all people."

"Hey!" Michael protests.

"Personal attacks! Love to see it!" Calum says.

Somehow, we end up crisscrossing the store for the next twenty minutes—racing down aisles, grabbing items off shelves, and shouting increasingly ridiculous insults at each other. At one point, Luke calls Michael a "noodle-armed gremlin," and Michael responds by calling Luke "a human giraffe who's never known peace."

Ashton, meanwhile, keeps finding excuses to be near me. He reaches over me to grab a box of crackers, his chest brushing my shoulder. He asks if I think we need more ice cream, standing close enough that I can smell that vanilla-and-spice cologne again. At one point, we end up side-by-side in the frozen section, both reaching for the same pizza, and he laughs—actually laughs—and says, "You can have this one. But only because you smiled."

You got that long hair, slick-back, white t-shirt. And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt. 

"I didn't smile," I say.

"You did."

"Did NOT,"*I mutter, but I can feel my cheeks warming.

(Play “Marry You” by Ashton Irwin)

I’ve been around the town. I’ve been up and down. 

"The judges are observing some... tension between Team Thunder Strike and Team Superior Taste,"* Calum says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. *"Is it rivalry? Is it something else? Stay tuned."

I’ve been down enough, baby hear me out. I’ve got my head in the clouds. 

I'm going to kill him.

In the end, both teams finish at almost the exact same time. Calum declares it a tie, which Michael calls "cowardice" and Luke calls "the only fair outcome."

We load the groceries into the back of my car—somehow we bought twice as much as was on the list—and on the drive home, Michael falls asleep against the window, Luke is arguing with Calum about what movie to watch tonight, and Ashton... Ashton keeps looking at me.

Got a picture of the both of us. Sitting on the golden coast. 

Every time I glance over, his eyes are already there.

Make me want to raise a toast. Oh yeah, oh yeah. 

"You're doing it again," I say quietly, so the others don't hear.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me."

He doesn't deny it. Doesn't look away. Just smiles—soft and a little tired and a lot like he knows something I don't.

Ooo, I just can’t control the things I’m saying. I’m sounding crazy, ooo. You should know. 

"Maybe I like what I see," he says, and I swear he smirks slightly, his dimples showing. 

And then he turns back to the window like he didn't ‘just say that’, and I spend the rest of the car ride trying very hard not to combust.

I’m done with hesitation. I want to, I want to marry you. 

A/n: That was a doozy, wasn’t it, guys? Sorry for the slightly shorter chapter, I just wanted to make this a kind of preparation for what’s to come this weekend and possibly tomorrow! She kissed his hair, he was flirting with her, and now he realizes he may have a purpose in her life! I hope you all enjoy this one- I tried to space out the paragraphs a bit more to fit the dialogue if you couldn’t tell, lol. Hope you enjoyed this and see you all very soon,