Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3215069.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      5_Seconds_of_Summer_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Luke_Hemmings/Ashton_Irwin, Michael_Clifford/Calum_Hood
  Character:
      Luke_Hemmings, Ashton_Irwin, Michael_Clifford, Calum_Hood, Original_Male
      Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      fem!luke_hemmings, fem!michael_clifford, Self-Harm, Attempted_Rape/Non-
      Con, Past_Rape/Non-con, Angst, Alternate_Universe
  Series:
      Part 1 of little_plastic_crown
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-22 Completed: 2015-04-11 Chapters: 28/28 Words: 54269
****** little plastic crown ******
by ls201
Summary
     luke hemmings doesn't let anyone in. her circle of friends is
     restricted to michael clifford and calum hood, and it's been that way
     for a long time now. then she meets ashton irwin, and everything
     changes.
Notes
     AUTHOR'S NOTE 5/8/2015 : I just changed the title of this story to
     Little Plastic Crown, as I feel it is more fitting than the original
     title. I'm going to go through and try to edit all my references to
     the old title (glass heart, paper skin, broken smile, or commonly
     referred to as Glass Heart), but just be aware of its old title in
     case I miss one.
     Hi there! I'm L, one of the two authors you'll find on this account.
     This is my first 5SOS work (the other one on this account was
     published by the other owner, T). I'm so grateful to be a part of
     this lovely community, and thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy. :
     ) Of course, this work is very triggering, so PLEASE be careful. If
     you need me to tag anything, please message me and I will definitely
     do that!
     Trigger warning for this chapter would be rape. Again, if you need
     any additional tags added, please message me -- and if you're ever
     unsure about whether a chapter will trigger you, PLEASE message me.
     Your safety is more important.
     Sorry for the long note, and thank you so much for reading! I hope
     you'll decide to stick with me.
     -L
***** chapter one *****
                                      One
                      Save me from who I’m supposed to be
                               -Social Casualty
How, exactly, does one write the introduction to a memoir? Not just any memoir,
but specifically, a detailed memoir of their late teenage years, to be
preserved for times’ sake and generations to come (or really, for Mum to pull
out at dinner parties when she’s feeling nostalgic — wait, if Mum’s going to be
looking at this, should I include cursing? Whatever, I’ll edit it out later,
this is just a rough draft for my personal collection).
I guess it’s always a good idea to start with a name, so here’s mine: Luke
Hemmings. Truthfully, my given name is Lucania Roberta Hemmings, but I go by
Luke for a couple of reasons. First of all, when I was about three or four, my
parents realized how difficult it would be for me to spell the dumbass name
they’d given me, so they decided I needed a nickname. Now, a normal parent
would get a girly nickname from the already quite feminine nomenclature of
Lucania, but apparently my parents decided that was just too simple for them.
Before I was born, they’d wagered on a son anyway, after two sons before me, so
my parents had prepared to name me Luke. Of course, I showed up with a vagina,
so right along with all the “I Love Monster Trucks!” shirts my parents had
received during my mother’s pregnancy, the name Luke was thrown out. Years
later, this caused my parents to brilliantly decide that my nickname would not
be Lucy, as any rational person would derive from Lucania, but I would instead
be called Luke. And thus began a long lifetime of confusion for my parents’
darling, surprise daughter.
Of course, over the years, I’ve grown to appreciate my strange nickname. It
certainly sets me apart from other girls, and the puzzled looks on teachers’
faces can be quite amusing the first few times. Plus, my nickname led me to my
eccentric best friend, Michaela Clifford (or “Michael,” as she prefers to go
by). The happiest day of my life was that day in kindergarten, when I
discovered I was not the only girl in my class with a name more fitting of the
opposite sex. Ever since, Michael and I have been inseparable, as frustrating
as that is for our parents. The Cliffords don’t seem as bothered by my presence
as my parents are by Michael’s, and perhaps that’s because my only rebellious
features are my lip ring and penance for ripped jeans and band t-shirts,
whereas Michael’s defining trait is her hair color, which changes on a weekly
basis. If you name a hair color, Michael’s probably had it, and I swear she’ll
be bald by twenty.
So, Michael’s my absolute best mate, but as far as other friends… Well, the
only other friend I really have is Calum Hood. Calum’s a guy, which meant that
the many sleepovers with the opposite sex had to stop once Michael and I
reached puberty, but he’s the chillest guy I’ve ever met. Calum’s insanely
attractive — tousled, dark brown hair, dark eyes, an easy smile, and the nicest
cheekbones this side of Australia — but I’ve never tried to hook up with him.
Calum’s seen me in too many compromising situations to be romantically
attracted to me, and I feel the same way about him. As for Michael…. Well,
that’s a different story, but a different story for another time. Anyway, Calum
likes the ladies, and whenever we take him out on the town, he attempts to
bring home the first girl he meets. Calum is the designated driver, mainly
because he’s 18 and can navigate Sydney like the back of his hand, but also
because Michael is struggling to maintain her provisional license, and my
family can’t afford to buy me a car, since we’re sending Ben and Jack through
university. Considering Calum’s the designated driver, we often have to wrench
these girls off of him and force Calum into the car. He never drinks when he’s
the designated driver, but boy, Calum can't get enough of girls.
What else is there to cover in an introduction? Oh, I suppose a romantic
interest, if there is one — which there isn’t. I have had a boyfriend before,
but that didn’t end too well. His name was Alex Parker, and I never thought I’d
get him. He’s easily the most gorgeous boy at my school, Norwest High School,
with wavy auburn hair, gorgeous green eyes, and a set of muscles to rival a
professional rugby player’s — fitting, seeing as Alex is the captain of the
school’s rugby team. I met him back when we were little kids in elementary
school, and had a crush on him from the start. Over the years, I’d forgotten
about Alex, as he’d never notice me anyway, but one day in Year 10, I bumped
into Alex in the hallway, he flashed me his award-winning smile, and it was all
said and done. Suddenly, word around the school was that Alex Parker, captain
of the rugby team and thief of young girls’ hearts, had a crush on Luke
Hemmings, freakishly tall nobody with a weird name and useless bracelet
collection.
I tried not to believe the rumors at first. After all, rumors are just that,
rumors, and I’ve never been one to put faith in the school rumor mill — not
with the experience I’ve had with it. But Alex only encouraged these rumors —
he began to talk to me more in English class, caught me in the hallway to ask
if I could help with the rugby team’s fundraiser, casually invited me to
parties thrown by people I’d never heard of. This went on for about a month,
before I finally couldn’t take it anymore and decided to go to one of those
stupid parties. This party was a particularly big one, thrown by the captain of
the cheerleading squad, Sydney Jones — yes, her parents were so proud of their
little newborn baby that they’d named her after the city she was born in.
Sydney was beautiful, dark hair and eyes a lovely contrast to Alex’s paler
tones, and she would have been the perfect complement to Alex. If Sydney and
Alex had ended up together, they certainly would have been voted Couple of the
Year. But Alex had other plans in mind.
I wandered around Sydney’s house for quite a while, holding a lukewarm beer
that I sipped occasionally to calm my nerves. I searched for a familiar face,
but never found one until I got to Sydney’s pool outside, where most of the
activity seemed to be. There, sitting by the side of the pool and surrounded by
laughing friends, was Alex Parker. The butterflies in my stomach were the only
signal that I’d somehow fallen for this boy, this boy that I barely knew, over
the course of a month. These butterflies refused to stop fluttering, especially
as Alex got up, walked over to me, and kissed me full on the mouth. Maybe he
was a little drunk, maybe it had been a dare, but the chemistry we had was
undeniable. A few hours later, Alex was asking me out on a date, and I
certainly couldn’t say no to that — not after that kiss. Alex and I dated for a
year, and we broke up in the middle of Year 11. Our relationship was
picturesque in the beginning; Alex was a true gentleman, bringing me flowers,
opening doors and asking permission for a kiss (the party had been an
exception). But once we reached the six-month mark, something changed. Alex was
a little rougher with his kisses, a little more demanding in what he asked for,
a little more exploratory with his hands when we made out. At first, I was okay
with this; Alex was a boy, after all, and boys had urges. Then, one day in
August, everything took a turn for the worse. I was at Alex’s place, doing
homework in his room. Alex got a little antsy, and we decided to take a break
for a quick make-out session. Everything seemed to be going fine until Alex
started to pull off my top. I pulled it back down, explained to him that I
wasn’t ready, and thought everything would be fine.
I was wrong. Alex begged and pleaded with me, told me I had been teasing him
for so long and if I really loved him, I would give him this. So I did. That
chilly August afternoon, I lost my virginity to Alex Parker, and I hated every
minute of it. I’d always had this picture in my mind that it would be
beautiful, romantic, slow, gentle, caring, and it was none of that. It was
awkward fumbling, muffled cries of pain and silent tears of regret that can’t
change what you’ve just done. It hurt, so badly that I couldn’t walk properly
the next day (Alex was proud of this and thought it said something about his
size), and after it was over, I quickly packed up and endured a painful bike
ride home, claiming I needed to do something for my parents.
In the end, Alex didn’t really care if I enjoyed sex or not, because he
continued with his ways — begging, pleading, blaming me for teasing him until I
gave in. It never felt good, not once, and I began to fear the times that I’d
be alone with Alex. I worried for my future, scared that all any man wanted was
constant sex, and began to shy away from Calum’s touch whenever we hung out
together. It wasn’t just the sex, either — once Alex realized I had become
completely submissive to him, he decided that he didn’t even have to use nice
words to ask for what he wanted, and began to call me names when I refused to
comply with one of his various demands.
Eventually, Michael and Calum caught on that something was wrong. It was a
pleasantly warm November day, two months before my year anniversary with Alex,
and I’d just arrived at Michael’s house after another unpleasant session of sex
in the back of his brand-new sedan. Something must have tipped her off that I
was in pain — perhaps the funny way I walked, or the uncomfortable expression
on my face — because she offered me an Advil, which I gladly took. Calum
arrived, and my walls instantly went up, as I’d learned not to feel comfortable
around any man. Calum tried to give me a hug, and something inside me broke. I
backed away from Calum and began to sob, chest heaving with all the pain Alex
had caused me these past few months. I had finally broken, and as Michael
pulled me into her arms, I began to tell her what Alex had done. Michael
punched a hole in her wall, and Calum had to drive us to the hospital as
Michael cradled her broken knuckle.
My friends begged me to break up with Alex, but I couldn’t bring myself to do
it. I feared what would happen if I said “no” to him for the first time in
months, what he might do to me if I didn’t give him just what he wanted. And
thus, one drunken night at Michael’s house, I started a very toxic stage in my
relationship with my best friend — something you might call “friends with
benefits.” Truthfully, it only damaged our relationship for a while, and we’re
better friends than ever before now, but looking back, I realize what a bad
decision it was.
I blame it on the bottle of vodka Michael had that night, some of which she’d
poured into my root beer — I’m a lightweight, and it only takes about a quarter
of a bottle to get me drunk. We were in Michael’s room, playing Never Have I
Ever, and suddenly, I said, “Never have I ever kissed my best friend.” I was
shocked as Michael took a swig, but assumed this swig must be for a drunken
kiss with Calum, before she leapt across the room and pressed her mouth to
mine. I’d never considered being bisexual — I’d always been attracted to boys,
and boys only — but there was definitely some unresolved sexual tension between
myself and Michael. We never pulled apart after that kiss, and I ended the
night next to her in bed, having just finished the first positive sexual
experience of my life.
I began to use hook-ups with Michael as a way to cope. Any time Alex upset me
with something he did, I’d go over to Michael’s and have a little fun. Alex
never caught on, though he did rag on Michael all the time. Funnily enough,
Alex and I actually broke up because of Calum, not Michael.
After breaking down in Michael’s arms that November day, Calum and I had begun
to repair our friendship, damaged by my distrust of men that Alex had planted
in me. In an effort to get close again, Calum and I started to go to a local
diner every Saturday morning for breakfast and a discussion of our week. A week
before our anniversary, Alex caught us. Apparently his beefy friends, Cameron
and Sean, had been helping him stalk me, as Alex had grown suspicious of my
“weekend activities,” as he’d put it. Furious that I was having breakfast with
one of my closest friends, Alex cursed me out in front of two very shocked
waitresses, and dragged me out of the diner, forcing me down on my knees as
soon as we got into his car.
That was my breaking point. I knew I could not tolerate being treated as an
object any longer. After sending a long apology text to Calum, I headed over to
Michael’s for one last hook-up and a long brain-storming session of ways to
break up with Alex. I broke up with him on our anniversary — something I’d
sworn I’d never do to my significant other, but then again, Alex didn’t seem
like my significant other. To me, Alex was more of an enemy.
I ended it over the phone, because I was too scared to do it in person. The
next day at school was hell. Alex’s friends threw taunt after taunt my way, and
the brief popularity I’d gained from becoming Alex Parker’s girlfriend
plummeted. I was an outcast again, a nobody to ignore and look down upon, and
for a while, I was okay with that. I didn’t mind being forgotten if it meant
that Alex would forget about running his dirty hands all over me. But a month
after our breakup, Alex came to me and said he’d forgiven me, claiming he would
take me back if I just admitted what I’d done wrong. The official story around
Norwest was that Alex had broken up with me after worrying I’d cheated on him
with Calum. I wasn’t going to deny or confirm that story, as I didn’t want Alex
to become even angrier with me. Now it was clear to me that this wasn’t a story
to Alex — he believed that he’d broken up with me. In some way, his sick,
demented mind had twisted me breaking up with him into him leaving me.
I rejected him. The taunts got worse for a while, then died down. Alex asked me
again. I rejected him. The taunts worsened, then died down. It became a
constant cycle, until finally, Alex gave up and found someone else to give him
free sex — maybe someone who actually wanted to have sex with him. As for me, I
became deathly afraid of sex. Despite Michael’s positive influence on some of
my sexual experiences, I viewed sex as a negative thing, a chore that has to be
done if you want to keep your partner. I still view it like that. I’m scared of
it, and I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy it.
Those times with Michael were good, but they ended a week before I broke up
with Alex, and they won’t be starting up again. We know we’ll never be more
than best friends; we just don’t want the same things in a partner, and that’s
fine with us. I think sometimes she blames herself, and maybe she thinks that
she’s the reason I’m so scared of sex. But I’ve told her time and time again
that it’s not her fault. Michael is not the reason why I sometimes still flinch
when Calum hugs me, why I can’t look strangers in the eyes, why I refuse to let
any other man into my life that wasn’t there before Alex. But I guess the
people we care about always blame themselves when they can’t fix us.
Anyway, hi there. My name is Luke Hemmings, I’m seventeen, and I’m currently
kind of broken. Still up for a read?
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm kind of posting all my chapters at once, but I haven't finished
     the story yet so my updates will probably slow down. Thank you for
     reading!
     Trigger Warnings: Self-harm.
                                      Two
                                 Got a secret
                               Can you keep it?
                                   -Secrets
Over the years, I’ve discovered that I really, really hate Monday mornings.
Maybe it’s the 5AM alarm I have to set in order to get to school on time,
perhaps it’s the rude teachers I’ll inevitably have to deal with, it could be
the constant beeping of Michael’s car horn as she yells at me to “hurry the
fuck up.” But I suppose that doesn’t make me different from any other average
Australian teenager.
 
The opening chords of “American Idiot” pull me from my sleep this particular
Monday morning. I sing it as I shower, blow-dry and straighten my hair, and
brush my teeth. When I wash my face, nothing particularly interesting stares
back at me in the mirror. Michael always says that I’m the epitome of the
average Australian girl — dirty blond hair, blue eyes. I’m unusually pale for
an Australian, something I attribute to hours of video games with Michael and
not enough time at the beach, and I suffer from chronic acne, which Alex’s
friends love to tease me about. I pack on pounds of concealer to cover it, and
lately I’ve gotten so good at it that I think Alex’s cronies have forgotten
it’s there, which is a point for me in my book. They’ll still find something to
tease me about, though — probably my height, which is freakishly tall for a
girl my age. I’m 6’2”, and as a seventeen-year-old female, my doctors certainly
view me as an anomaly. I’m like one of those exotic Amazons, minus all the
exotic and with a dash of awkward. It’s not like I have gorgeous curves to
balance out this height, though. I’m ridiculously skinny, as my doctor says I
was “blessed” with a fast metabolism, and I was forced to go on a medical diet
about a year ago to help me gain some weight. Basically, I’m your average,
gangly, pimply, awkward teenager. 
 
The only thing that really sets me apart from other people is my lip ring. It’s
black and located on the left side of my lower lip. Michael took me to get it
for my seventeenth birthday; sometimes I think it was her way of showing my
parents that she does have a bit of a rebellious influence on me. My parents
were pissed off and tried to make me take it out, but I convinced them that it
wouldn’t ruin my future and I could always replace it with a clear placebo stud
once the piercing healed. I like my lip ring; it reminds me of Michael and the
good times I’ve had with her, and makes me think of our plans for the future —
a tiny apartment in America, waitressing by day and songwriting by night. 
 
Michael and I took a vow when we were twelve; we swore we’d get out of Sydney,
and leave Australia for someplace better. We decided on America as our
“someplace,” and when we met Calum at thirteen, we included him in our plans,
too. We’ll all share an apartment together, write songs when we’re not working
and try to promote ourselves to record labels. Michael and I are aware that it
would be a hard life at first, and we’d probably just barely scrape by. But
we’re willing to risk all that if it means we have a chance at leaving Sydney
permanently, and becoming successful artists. Each of us has something we like
to do that we reckon we could sell independently — I’m a decent guitarist,
Michael loves to sing, and Calum is a double threat, a killer bassist and
guitarist. Calum is the most likely to get signed out of the three of us, as
he’s got the good looks, charisma, and double the skills. Calum just has the
kind of personality that most record execs would drool over. As for Michael and
I, well, we’ll make do. Our joke is that Calum can head the world tours, and
we’ll do backup vocals and instruments for him. No matter how it ends up, that
vow has kept us going for five years, and it’s one of a few reasons why I
bother to even get up in the mornings.
 
After I do my makeup (pounds of concealer, a dash of natural eyeshadow,
mascara, clear lip balm), I look at the clock and realize I’m already on the
verge of being late. I throw on my usual ensemble (band tee, ripped black
skinny jeans, black hightop sneakers, bracelets) and grab my backpack, heading
into the kitchen. Mum’s still asleep, as she gets up at seven for her job
teaching elementary maths, and my dad’s already at work, probably preparing for
another business trip to New Zealand. This house is a lot quieter now that my
brothers are gone; Ben was the first to leave for university, then Jack. After
my brothers’ departures, my father kind of detached from the family. He worked
longer hours, took more business trips, was almost never home for dinner. Now
we barely see him, though maybe that’s for the better, as whenever he’s around,
Dad and I seem to argue quite a lot. 
 
I peek out the window and see that Michael’s pulled up in her car, a rust-
colored Ford sedan that’s taken so many beatings, I’m not sure how it’s still
around. I rush over to the cupboard and grab a Poptart; pretty soon, Michael’s
honks will be audible in New York. I sling my backpack over one shoulder and
walk out the door, making sure to refill my dog, Molly’s, bowl as I head out.
Michael’s already lost her patience, an exasperated expression clear on her
features as I approach the car.
 
“C’mon, Luke, hurry the fuck up or we’re gonna be late!” she complains,
reaching over to open the car door and gesture anxiously at me. I walk around
the back of the car and slide into the passenger’s seat, buckling up and barely
getting the door closed before Michael speeds off. 
“What’s the hurry today, Mikey?” I tease. “Forgot to do the maths homework or
something?” Michael rolls her eyes.
 
“Actually, there is a very cute guy in my first block that I would like to
invite to that concert on Saturday,” she huffs, “and maybe I need a few extra
minutes in the bathroom to fix my hair before class!” I glance over at
Michael’s hair, which is, admittedly, a bit of a mess today. It seems she’s
dyed it again, this time a subtle caramel color with blonde streaks. Michael’s
a pretty girl, far prettier than me; her vibrant green eyes are the first thing
anyone notices about her, despite her kooky hair colors, as the brilliant jade
hue contrasts sharply with the pale alabaster of her skin. Michael is super
fucking pale for an Australian, probably because she spends most of her time
indoors, singing, playing guitar, or messing around on a video game console,
and her skin is pretty close to the color of milk — not that it’s harming her
reputation with the guys, as most of them seem to be into it. It is a pretty
exotic feature for an Aussie. Those unique features, combined with her
ridiculous body (flat stomach with curves in all the right places), make Mikey
a huge hit with pretty much any boy she meets. Lately I’ve been wondering if
even Calum is into her, as he’s been checking her out a lot when she’s not
looking (he knows she’d sucker punch him if he ever snuck a peek of that
infamous chest). 
 
“Mikey, your hair’s fine. Just run a brush through it, smooth it down with some
mousse and you’ll be good to go,” I say. Michael just shrugs, already prepared
for a long venting session about how absolutely infuriating her hair is, and I
don’t stop her as she launches into her rant. I don’t have it in me to pretend
to listen today, so I just stare out the window, watching the familiar
cookiecutter houses and convenience stores rush by in a blur. Suddenly, the
brakes screech as Mikey hits a red light.
 
“Sorry,” she apologizes breathlessly, blowing her bangs out of her face.
“Thought I was gonna make it.” Michael pauses, staring at the stoplight, before
turning to me, suddenly looking serious. “You’re awfully quiet today. Did you
do it again?” When I don’t answer, Michael grabs my wrist roughly, making me
wince. “Answer me, Luke!” 
 
“The light’s gone green,” I point out, and Michael curses in frustration as she
lets go of my wrist and slams on the accelerator, the clock on the dashboard
blinking 7:10. School starts at 7:20; if we don’t make this ten-minute drive in
five minutes, Michael’s chances of fixing her hair are fucked. 
 
Focused on making it to school as early as possible, Michael drops the previous
conversation, speeding to school the whole way there. I’m amazed she doesn’t
get arrested, as she’s only got her provisional license. We pull up to the
school at 7:16, and Michael rushes me out of the car, not even bothering to
lock it as we run into the school building. Michael and I exchange quick
goodbyes as we hurry to opposite sides of the building — me to English class,
and Michael to the girls’ bathroom by the cafeteria. 
 
When I arrive at English, it’s 7:18 — I have just enough time to run to the
bathroom. I drop my stuff at a desk by the window, and dash to the bathroom. No
one’s in there now, it being so close to the start of class — the smokers will
have moved to the courtyard, and the skippers will be scattered, as the first
place security looks for absent people is the bathroom. I check the stalls —
all empty — before ripping off the bracelets on my right wrist, the one Michael
grabbed. My wrist could spark horror in Mary Shelley; it’s littered with
horizontal lines, some white and tough, some pink and healing, many red and
sore. A few of these red lines have been torn open again, and blood runs down
my arm in thick rivulets, rubbed raw by Michael’s rough jerking of my
bracelets. I grab a paper towel and press it to my bleeding wrist.
 
Everyone has their own, dirty little secret. This is mine.
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm kinda posting all my chapters at once, but I haven't finished the
     story yet, so my updates will likely slow. Thank you for reading!
     Trigger Warning: LOTS of talk about self-harm.
                                     Three
                     And you might say it’s self-indulgent
                    And you might say it’s self-destructive
                      But, you see, it’s more productive
                          Than if I were to be happy
                                  -Bad Habit
It started during the spring of Year 9. I was fifteen and in desperate need of
an intervention that no one would give me. I had low self-esteem thanks to
years of bullying in elementary and middle school, but I didn’t know how to
deal with it properly, so I took it out on myself. First it was a safety pin,
then the remains of a dismantled pencil sharpener, and finally a razor blade. I
was so proud of myself the day I stole my father’s Gillette refill cartridge
and gutted it, using a pair of tweezers to pick out the gleaming pieces of
metal that would redefine my life for the next three months. I felt like I
could finally do something right, even if it wasn’t useful to anyone but
myself. I hated myself ninety percent of the time, but during that other
glorious ten percent, when I found release in the bright red rivers running
down my arms, I felt like I could conquer the world. 
 
That was the dangerous part, what furthered the addiction — the high. Cleaning
up the wounds, bandaging them, hiding them from others isn’t fun, but you learn
to crave that high just like you’d crave food and water. It could be compared
to Michael’s addiction to dying her hair —  there’s something about seeing the
result of your efforts, all that hard work you’ve put into making that blood
well up or getting your hair the perfect shade of crimson, that makes you want
to do it again, over and over until you get sick of it, which you won’t, not if
it’d be good for you. That’s how you get bad so easily, how you get from one
cut to ten cuts to twenty cuts to fifty. And they don’t just stay the shallow
little scratches you started with — they get deeper. I’ve learned to control
myself, not to hit fat or muscle so I don’t end up in the hospital, but for
many people, it’s hard not to go deeper when you see how much you can do with
just one drag of a blade. You begin to appreciate this self-destruction,
because by now you’ve realized you can’t create anything good with what you’ve
been given, but maybe you can destroy. 
 
I stopped when I met Alex, because who doesn’t feel a little better about
themselves when the most popular guy in school wants to date you? Besides, I
needed to hide the scars, not add more — Alex would instantly declare me a
freak if he saw my cuts. They’d faded by the time we started having sex, but as
soon as we broke up, I started again. Breaking up with Alex was a huge hit for
me, like a confirmation that I really wasn’t good enough for anyone. I got
worse and worse, and my friends discovered my nasty little habit in April, when
my sleeve rode up during a particularly intense round of Guitar Hero with
Michael. Calum didn’t know at first, but after Michael sat me down for a long
talk and things turned nasty, I went to him for advice, and that was how Calum
knew. My parents and brothers were blissfully ignorant until August, when I
accidentally went too deep and was hospitalized for a week. My father didn’t
quite know how to react to a broken daughter, so he stayed distant from the
scene of the disaster, though I knew on the inside he wished he could exchange
this destroyed prototype of a human for a normal, healthy child. My mother
cried when she thought I wasn’t looking, while my brothers were overprotective
as usual, sleeping in my hospital room when my parents had to go home to
recharge. Jack was the best — as the middle child, he knew how it was to feel
overlooked, which was how I felt. It seemed that my parents weren’t focusing on
me and how I was, but more on hiding the razor blades and pretending that
nothing had ever happened. 
 
When I was released from the hospital, I was assigned a therapist named Marcia,
whom I immediately hated. She was fake, with a disposition far too sunny for
someone giving therapy to broken children. She also had an unfortunate nasally
voice that haunted my dreams for weeks after my first visit. After the first
few months, my parents let my weekly therapy visits slip to twice a month, and
Marcia isn’t a huge problem for me anymore. Lying to her has become easy when
she’s realized that I’m too far gone to worry about. I wasn’t far gone in the
beginning — after I was released from the hospital, I was clean for a month,
but then school and Alex’s nasty taunts started again, and I couldn’t resist
any longer. I tried to hold back, I really did, but when your life is spinning
out of your grasp and control is just a blade away… well, it’s not much of a
choice. I’ve been on and off since, mostly “on” lately. Michael and Calum are
aware of my relapses, but my family remains blissfully clueless, and I’d prefer
for it to stay that way. I want my father to think his broken child is at least
somewhat patched up.
 
I check the towel pressed onto my wrist, and find that the bleeding has
stopped. Sighing in relief, I pile my bracelets back on and head to class,
already late. Thankfully, my English teacher doesn’t seem to notice when I slip
into class at 7:25, too distracted by her overeager analysis of The Scarlet
Letter. I spend the rest of the period staring out the window, unamused by the
hushed giggles of Sydney Jones behind me. 
 
When the bell rings, I try to walk as slowly as possible to second block,
wanting to avoid the tough conversation I’m inevitably going to have with
Michael. By now, she’ll have remembered the conversation we were having in the
car, and she’ll surely want to pepper me with questions about the subject. The
only chance I have at being saved from said conversation is if the boy from
first block responded positively to Michael’s flirting — for my sake, I can
only hope he did. 
 
I arrive at second block at 8:49, one minute before the bell. Trying to be
discreet, I walk quietly to my desk next to Michael — she’s already there,
writing something down on a piece of notebook paper. I set my backpack down,
cringing when my keychain jingles loudly. Looking up from her paper, Michael
smiles, her way of saying hello, before she starts to talk.
 
“So, Jerry said no,” Michael says with a frown, “but on the bright side, it’s
not because I’m unattractive, it’s because he has a girlfriend. So I guess
that’s a plus.” I pull out my binder and set it on my desk, and Michael glances
at my wrist with a frown, but doesn’t say anything. “Anyway,” she continues,
“the concert’s still on, and I expect you to be there Saturday night.” 
 
“Michael,” I plead, “you know how I hate concerts. They’re too loud, and
there’s always so many people.” Michael rolls her eyes, having seen through my
pathetic excuse before I even finished with it.
 
“Luke, you and I both know that’s bullshit,” she retorts. “You love concerts,
and anyway, it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t, because this one’s going to be
pretty low-key. It’s at a 21-and-overs club, so no one’s going to be screaming
ridiculous shit like people our age do.” 
 
“If it’s for 21-and-overs, then how are we supposed to get in?” I point out.
 
Michael grins widely. “Remember how I told you we have the best fake IDs in
Sydney? That’s still true.” 
 
I drop my voice to a whisper as the teacher starts the lesson up front.
“Michael, c’mon,” I hiss. “You know I’m always up for a beer at home, but
sneaking into a club? That’s a little adventurous even for me.” 
 
“You’re going, Luke,” Michael insists, “whether you want to or not.” She looks
at my wrist again, then stares at me, batting her eyelashes and sticking her
lip out a little. “C’mon, do it for me?” 
 
Michael knows that face always gets me. “Fine,” I relent, “but the moment you
can’t walk properly, we’re going home.” 
 
Michael’s smile could light up a thousand cities. “It’s a deal,” she says. 
 
                                       ∞
After a stressful day of exam preparations and study guides, I’m ready to just
collapse onto my bed when I get home. Actually, what I’d really like to do is
cut — my wrist has been itching for days now, and I’m extremely tempted to
break my week-long clean streak. I’m searching in my room for the book that
hides my razor collection when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. Slipping it
out of my pocket, I see it’s a text from Michael, and frown when I read it.
I’ll pick u up 4 the concert at 8 saturday nite. Concert’s @ 9, should b home
by 12 but u can stay @ my place. Calum’s DD. DD stands for Designated Driver, a
phrase we’ll never use around our parents in case they catch on to our
scandalous underage drinking. I frown, dreading the concert, and am about to
put my phone away when I get another text. Pick out somethin cute. Lots of cute
guys & u should wear a dress or crop top & shorts. NO BRACELETS!!!! I sigh,
knowing that’s Michael code for “no cutting.” I look down at the book
containing my razors, and slide it back onto the bookshelf. I’ll have to wait
until after the concert to find my release. That’s five more days. God only
knows if I’ll make it.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     luke meets ashton.
Chapter Notes
     Thank you for reading! My updates will slow, I'm posting all the
     chapters I have written, but I am still writing the story.
     Thanks to my lovely co-owner T for helping me with the smut scene!
     (I'm still learning.)
     Trigger Warnings: Talk of Self-harm, Smut, Bullying
                                     Four
                            I am not a pretty girl
                             That is not what I do
                         I ain’t no damsel in distress
                        And I don’t need to be rescued
                              -Not a Pretty Girl
The week passes by quicker than I’d like, and before I know it, it’s Saturday
morning, the day of the concert. Things are already going wrong — instead of
the alarm I set for 10AM, “American Idiot” is blasting me awake at 7AM.
However, when I open my eyes, it’s not the bright Australian sun in my line of
vision, but a rogue Michael Clifford, using her iPhone to play “American
Idiot.” 
 
“Mikey, you bitch,” I complain, “you know that’s the song I use for my alarm!
This isn’t a funny joke, I’m going back to bed, I’ll see you tonight.” 
 
Michael shakes her head and kicks the music up a notch. “We gotta go shopping,
Luke!” she says urgently. 
 
“What? No, Michael, it’s too early for this,” I groan, pulling the covers back
over my head. “Get Calum to take you or something.” I hear Michael’s laughter
as she pulls back the covers, a hand on her hip.
 
“Are you kidding me?” she giggles. “I need help choosing a dress, and I doubt
Cal would be able to do anything other than salivate.” This is true, but it’s
still way too fucking early to go dress shopping. I’m about to tell her to come
back at 10, but then Michael flashes me her world-famous puppy face, complete
with the watery eyes, pouting lips and batting eyelashes, and I’m dead. Michael
knows I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life if I don’t go with her now. 
 
“Fine,” I mutter, kicking the covers off, “but at least let me get dressed.” 
 
“You have ten minutes!” Michael calls happily as she skips into the living
room. 
 
Fuck. 
 
                                       ∞
Michael ends up taking me to Sydney’s most provocative dress store, Designs 4
Dance (God help whoever thought that was a good name). A hemline below 3 inches
is considered “long” here, and you won’t find a lot of long dresses at Designs
4 Dance. Michael immediately gravitates to the shortest, tightest dresses, and
I opt to stand in the corner as I watch her flip through the racks of sequins,
latex and polyester. 
 
Michael selects a few favorites, and drags me to the dressing room with her. I
awkwardly arrange myself on the bench and watch as Mikey slips on her first
choice, a gold, sequined nightmare that would actually look okay if it was a
few inches longer. “What do you think?” Mikey asks. 
 
I shrug. “I’d like it better if it was a little longer with a higher neckline,”
I reply truthfully, and Michael rolls her eyes.
 
“C’mon, Lukey, don’t be so uptight,” she complains. “It’s a club, not a
convent. Guys are not going to be interested if you’re wearing your longest,
loosest dress. You gotta live a little.” Michael suddenly perks up, and slips
off the dress, handing it to me. “Hey, why don’t you try on a few?” 
 
I shake my head furiously, putting the dress back on its hanger and placing it
on a hook. “Uh, no, Michael. You know how I feel about clubbing apparel,” I
say. Michael just snorts and wiggles into an emerald green dress. 
 
“Ooh, I kinda like this one,” she says, admiring herself in the mirror. “What
do you think, Lukey? It’s a little small, I might put it back.” Michael turns
and looks at me, and my jaw drops. That dress is definitely gorgeous. It hugs
Michael’s curves beautifully, her cleavage shown off proactively in a way that
reads, “HELLO, LOOK AT ME!” The color pops against her pale skin and caramel
hair, and her legs seem to go on forever. This dress definitely brings back
memories… memories I’d rather not relive, but are playing in my head anyway.
 
 I moaned as Michael’s lips made their way down my neck, leaving stinging bites
that I knew would bruise. People would judge, but it felt so good, who gave a
fuck? I didn’t. Her hair tickling my breasts, Michael nipped and licked her way
down my chest, heading further and further south. I moaned, my head banging
against the headboard of her bed. Suddenly, she stopped and looked up at me
questioningly. 
 
 “Are you sure this is alright? I know it’s your first time with a girl and
all…” Michael trailed off, biting her lip. I shivered, feeling the shadow of
those talented lips on my chest and neck and oohh, everywhere good. Meeting her
gaze, I smiled slowly, tonguing my lip ring in a way I knew drove her crazy,
and nodded once, looking her deep in those endless green eyes.
 
Michael smiled wickedly, and I restrained a moan as she ran her hand up my
inner thigh. Winking once, she turned her focus to the area that had been
screaming for her attention for hours now. After that, there was only
sensation. Her tongue, her lips, her fingers… everywhere, touching, licking,
nipping, pulling moans and mews and cries from my mouth, which hung slack. I
didn’t just want her everywhere, Ineededher. And here I was, feeling like this
in my best friend’s bed, being pleasured in a way that I didn’t even think was
possible. So much better than anything Alex had done for me… better than
anything I’dever had. My hips bucked as her tongue raked over my clit. I wasn’t
sure if the cry that followed was mine or hers. My body seized, and I called
out Michael’s name as I gave in to the best orgasm of my life.
 
 There was nothing to compare to it, lying there in my best lace bra on such a
familiar bed. Sated and sleepy, I looked down at Michael, who was perched
comfortably between my thighs. Wearing a smug little smile, she looked up at me
and said, “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it, Lukey?”
 
The picture burns in my brain, my face flushing at the dirty memory.
Remembering the first time your best friend gave you oral sex is not the best
thing that could happen when said best friend is trying on clubbing outfits a
few feet away from you. When Michael walks off to get a smaller size in her
favorite dress — it’s pretty, a short, tight slip of a thing that’s black as
Calum’s hair — I slip out of the store and into the crowded mall. I won’t leave
Michael for too long — just long enough to get some fresh air and clear my
head. 
 
The mall is busy already, not a surprise for 10AM on a Saturday. Of course
Michael chose the most popular mall in Sydney, the one all the “cool kids”
frequent when the caffeine running through their veins is the only thing
keeping their hangover at bay and they need a new outfit for their next party.
It’s pretty pathetic, their constant cycle of partying, but I guess everyone
has their own fix. I sure as hell have mine. I shiver, the air conditioning a
little too high, and wonder if I can get a coffee somewhere. If I’m lucky, I
might have time to slip into Starbucks (despite how mortifying that prospect
is) before Michael notices I’m gone. 
 
I decide that I’ll probably have time, as I’ve only been gone a minute, and
hurry into Starbucks. When I see who’s in line in front of me, I immediately
wish I hadn’t, the familiar flash of auburn hair chilling my bones more than
the AC. I turn to make a quiet escape, but I can’t escape notice. I’m unlucky
enough to bump into him with my shoulder — him being Cameron Martin, one of
Alex’s best friends. 
 
I mutter a hurried apology and try to sneak past, but Cameron isn’t having it,
already recognizing the black skinny jeans no other girl at Norwest wears.
“Well, well,” he laughs, a cruel smirk distorting his handsome features, “look
who we have here. The little freak — well, maybe not so little.” Cameron has
his arm slung across my shoulders, a seemingly friendly gesture that I can’t
wiggle out of. I look back at the line, hoping someone will help me, but the
line’s dissipated, leaving Alex at the front and everyone else seated with
their drinks. 
 
“Hey, Alex!” Cameron calls. “Got you a present, mate!” Forgetting his drink,
Alex turns, grinning at the sight before him. 
 
“Thanks, man,” Alex laughs, walking towards us. “It isn’t even Christmas and
you’re already getting me gifts!” 
 
“Well, this is the kind of gift you don’t see around here too often,” Cameron
says smugly, passing me off to Alex with a rough shove. I stumble into Alex’s
waiting arms, struggling to get away as he turns my face towards his. 
 
“What are you doing here, Lukey?” Alex coos, running a thumb over my lip ring.
“Buying a Christmas present for that lesbo girlfriend of yours?” I spit in his
face, and Alex lets out an angry cry. The move doesn’t work as I’d hoped it
would, only serving to make Alex tighten his hold on me. 
 
“You little bitch,” Alex hisses, digging his fingers into my throat. I cringe
in pain as I feel another healed cut reopen. “You’re just jealous because you
can’t have me anymore, aren’t you? You miss being my little slut, don’t you?”
Alex grins. His fingers are now choking me, so I can’t talk, can’t spit a nasty
retort at him, can barely even breathe. “You’re just mad I found you out. But
someone’s bound to find out when you’re opening your legs for every boy this
side of Australia.” I think I’m beginning to turn purple, and my lungs ache for
air. I close my eyes and accept defeat, let Alex hurl his nasty words at me,
when there’s a sudden shout, and Alex releases his death grip. 
 
“Hey! Fuck off, mate, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone yells.
I open my eyes as I splutter for air, coughing violently. Looking to find my
savior, I see a beautiful blond boy approaching us, hazel eyes burning with the
kind of fire I’ve only ever seen in Michael. 
 
“This is none of your business, man,” Alex snaps at the stranger. “You don’t
know us, so don’t get involved.” 
 
“How about you don’t choke innocent girls!” the boy shouts back. Alex and
Cameron are getting nervous, as the customers in the Starbucks are beginning to
look up and talk amongst themselves. 
 
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, mate,” Cameron murmurs, marching over to Alex
and dragging him out of Starbucks. 
 
“This won’t be the last you’ll see from me, bitch!” Alex promises as he and
Cameron leave, flipping off the boy who intervened. I cough one last time and
take a deep breath, feeling my phone buzz with what is surely a worried text
from Michael. The boy rushes over, kneeling by me and rubbing my back
soothingly. 
 
“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he reassures me. “They’ve left now, they’re not gonna
hurt you.” I glance at the boy next to me, the only person in this whole
fucking store who even bothered to help me. He’s ridiculously attractive, with
bouncing, dirty-blonde curls, kind hazel eyes and the biggest dimples I’ve seen
on a person.
 
“Thanks,” I say hoarsely as I stand up, the hazel-eyed stranger doing the same.
He’s wearing a Nirvana tee — the same shirt I have. 
 
“No problem,” the boy nods. “You look like you needed a little help. My name’s
Ashton.” 
 
“Well, thanks for the help, Ashton,” I respond, turning to leave, “but I’m not
a damsel in distress. I don’t need help and I can take care of myself perfectly
fine.” 
 
“Wait, don’t leave!” Ashton calls out, jogging to catch up with me. “You might
need to get checked out, you’re going to have a nasty bruise…” 
 
“Like I said, I don’t need to be taken care of by anyone but myself,” I say
smoothly. I deserved it, I think to myself. You’re weak and you deserved it.
The fact that astrangerhad to intervene just proves that you deserved it.
You’re so weak, Luke, too fucking fragile. 
 
“Well, if you won’t let me take you to get checked out, then please just text
me and let me know you’re okay?” Ashton pleads, taking out his crumpled receipt
and scribbling something on it with a pen. I sigh and take the paper, stuffing
it into the pocket of my jeans. I start to walk to the dress shop, but Ashton
walks next to me for a few moments, clearly not done with his spiel.
 
“By the way,” Ashton continues, “I never said you were a damsel in distress.
I’m sure you’re an independent woman, you look like you can take care of
yourself, but it just seemed like you needed a little bit of help, okay? I’m
sorry if I offended you.”
 
“Apology accepted,” I say. “Now I really need to be somewhere. Goodbye,
Ashton.” 
 
“Text me!” Ashton calls as he jogs back to the Starbucks. As soon as he’s
disappeared from view, I take out the paper and crumple it in my hand, tossing
it into the nearest bin. 
 
Like I said, I’m not a damsel in distress. If I can’t take care of myself, then
I don’t deserve to be here anyways. 
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     this is a pretty short chapter. thank you for reading!
     Trigger Warnings: Talk of self-harm
                                     Five
                        Even the stars refuse to shine
                                   -Collide
After that disaster, I get back to see that Michael’s already purchased her
dress, and she drops me back at my house when she realizes I won’t talk about
what happened. I answer a few bland questions from my mother about how my
shopping trip went, and crawl into bed, already exhausted from the day’s
events. Before I know it, it’s 6PM, and my mother is shaking me awake.
 
“Luke, Luke, darling,” my mother says gently, “it’s time to get up, Michael
will be here soon.” I nod and get out of bed, rolling my eyes when I see a
million texts from Michael asking if I’m up. Once my mother’s left, I run a
brush through my hair, swig some mouthwash, and pick out the first outfit my
mind can put together, a black and white flannel with my trusty ripped black
skinnies and some grey low top Converse. I’ve barely finished getting ready
when the doorbell rings and Michael storms into my bedroom a few moments later.
 
As soon as she sees me, Michael lets out a shriek of horror. “Luke! What in the
hell are you wearing?” she demands. 
 
I shrug. “My usual,” I reply. When Michael just stares at me, jaw on the floor,
I add, “It’s not like you expected me to wear something sexy, did you?” 
 
Michael lets out a loud groan and throws open my closet doors, muttering to
herself. “Goddammit, I’m always the one who has to dress you properly…. Gotta
find you some tighter jeans, those are ridiculously loose… Ah, here we go.”
Michael grabs a pair of jeans — my tightest, most destroyed black skinnies,
jeans I haven’t worn since probably Year 9 — and, beaming triumphantly, hands
them to me. I just hold them, waiting for Michael to leave the room so I can
change. 
 
“Well, go on,” Michael says impatiently. I sigh, realizing I’ll have to change
in front of her, which is something I’m not particularly comfortable with at
the moment, seeing as my thighs are a canvas of scars. They’re a cemetery of
broken promises that I know will kill Michael on the inside. 
 
But Michael’s not going to move an inch, so I slip off my jeans and hastily
wiggle into the new ones — unfortunately, not fast enough to prevent Michael
from seeing anything, and she lets out a shocked gasp. “Lukey, babe,” Michael
whispers, but I wave it off.
 
“It’s in the past, Michael,” I say through gritted teeth. I stand up, finishing
buttoning the jeans. “Are you happy now?” 
 
Michael gives my outfit a quick once-over, tapping a finger to her lips.
“There’s something missing…” A lightbulb goes off in Michael’s head, and she
rushes to my side, unbuttoning the top two buttons on my flannel to show off
the tank top underneath, and rolling up my flannel sleeves, grimacing at the
scars. I reach for some bracelets, but Michael stops me. “No bracelets today,”
Michael insists. “It’ll be dark in the club and no one will see, I promise. Be
proud of who you are and what you’ve been through, okay, babe?” 
 
“Just let me stack on a few,” I plead, and Michael sighs, giving in. I grab a
few bracelets, enough to cover the worst scars, but not enough for my liking,
and shove them on as Michael goes into the bathroom, searching for something.
 
“Do you have a curling iron?” Michael calls out.
 
“Yes,” I shout back, “but I never use it.” 
 
“Well, consider yourself about to lose your curling iron virginity,” Michael
grins, emerging from the bathroom. The curling iron is gripped in her hand
tightly, the other hand wielding a brush like a sword. I try to resist, but
Michael forces me to sit down on the bed as she brushes through my hair and
curls the ends. After she sets the curls with some of my mother’s hairspray,
she gives me a look in the mirror, and I have to admit, it’s turned out pretty
nice. 
 
“What about makeup?” Michael asks. I tell her I already have enough concealer
on to last me a lifetime. Michael insists that’s not enough, and puts on some
bronze eyeshadow that she claims will “make your eyes pop,” and applies more
mascara than I feel is necessary. After adding a dab of lip gloss and blush,
Michael finally appears satisfied. 
 
“You look stunningly beautiful, Luke,” Michael breathes out, grinning at my
reflection in the mirror. “Not that you aren’t already,” she adds, setting the
mirror on the bed, “I just helped that beauty shine through.” I laugh at her
words, surprisingly deep for a party-ready Michael on a Saturday, and allow her
to escort me to the car. I have to admit, Michael can work magic on a girl —
I’m actually feeling a little confident in myself tonight. 
 
Calum’s waiting for us in the car — he is definitely the designated driver
tonight. Michael loves concerts, and she always gets completely trashed at
them, which is why I’ll need to watch her tonight. It’ll be hard enough to
prevent Calum from taking home any girls, but keeping Michael sober is an even
more daunting challenge. She’s definitely a party girl, my Mikey. 
 
“Hey there, Lukey,” Calum grins, using the mirror to fix his already perfectly-
coiffed quiff. “Ready for a good time?” 
 
I shrug, climbing into the backseat and buckling up — Calum’s a bit of a wild
driver when he’s excited for something. “I think it’ll be more of a good time
for you two, and a night of babysitting for me,” I tease. 
 
“Aw, Lukey, don’t be a spoilsport,” Michael says. “You’re going to let loose a
little, too.” I ignore her comment and tell Calum we’d better leave now if we
want to be on time — it’s already seven, and the concert starts at eight. Calum
zooms off, almost as dangerous a driver tonight as Mikey. 
 
“So, who exactly are we seeing tonight?” I ask. Calum chuckles, looking at
Mikey in surprise.
 
“You didn’t tell her, Mikey? Lazy,” Calum laughs. He brakes as we hit a red
light. “Anyway, to answer your question, Luke, we’re going to see a band called
Swallow the Goldfish. All the members except the lead singer are going to uni,
so they’re breaking up. This’ll be their last concert.”
 
“Michael mentioned something about this being a 21-and-overs club,” I persist.
“So how the hell are we getting in here, or even the band members, since
they’re apparently just heading off to university?” 
 
“The band has connections with the club,” Calum replies smoothly. “And I happen
to be friends with the lead singer, so we would get in even if our fake IDs
weren’t as completely badass as they are — which we have Michael to thank for.”
Michael whoops and high fives Calum. I sigh and settle back into my seat,
already accepting that this evening is not going to be a very fun one. 
  
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     thank you for reading! this chapter mentions underage drinking, just
     a warning.
                                      Six
                     Your eyes whispered, “Have we met?” 
                                  -Enchanted
We get to the club with ten minutes to spare, since Calum and Mikey insisted on
stopping at 7-Eleven for a “snack break” before the concert. Since they both
haven’t eaten a lick of their findings, I’m guessing they’re saving the food
for later, when Mikey will need it to ease her massive hangover — Calum will
want to bring her the food he purchased to earn brownie points.
 
Michael and Calum are right about the IDs; although the bouncer eyes me
suspiciously, he decides my ID is correct and I do pass for 21, and unclips the
rope to let me join Mikey and Calum, already waiting for me on the other side.
The bright lights, dark atmosphere and abundance of underage drinking throw me
off immediately, but Michael tugs me through the pulsating crowd (bigger than
I’d expected) and heads straight for the bar. The bartender doesn’t even ask
for an ID as Michael orders two vodka sodas without batting an eye. She passes
a drink to me, and I sip, resisting the urge to cough at the disgusting
concoction.
 
“What the hell is this, Michael?” I wheeze as she leads me to the front of the
crowd, where Calum is waiting, arm slung around a curly-haired boy I assume is
the lead singer. 
 
“Hey, guys,” Calum greets, having to shout to be heard over the roar of the
crowd. “This is Ashton Irwin, lead singer of Swallow the Goldfish. Ash, these
are my best mates, Michael and Luke.” I can only stare in shock as Ashton
extends a hand, realizing why those blond curls looked so familiar in the
club’s dim lights. This is Ashton, the boy from the mall today… Shit.
 
I smile weakly as I shake Ashton’s hand. “Hey. ’M Luke. Nice to meet you.” 
 
Ashton’s brow furrows, a puzzled expression crossing his features. “Wait,
aren’t you the girl I met at the mall earlier? The one who insisted she wasn’t
a damsel in distress?” Ashton chuckles at the memory.
 
I nod mutely, while Calum and Michael look at me for an explanation, clearly
confused. I ignore their questioning glances as Ashton asks, “Why didn’t you
text me?” I shrug, and Ashton smiles. “You threw away my number, didn’t you?” 
 
I’m shocked. This boy has me figured out in about three minutes. Ashton laughs,
“Relax. I’m not some Sherlock Holmes, I’m just used to it. Girls always throw
out my number, so you wouldn’t be the first, and probably not the last.”
 
Guilt settles heavily in my stomach, as Calum pipes up, “Wow, way to guilt trip
a girl, Ash.” Ashton just smiles easily and pats Calum on the back.
 
“Well, mate, I gotta go. Show’s about to start. Catch up with me after,” Ashton
says as he walks away, joining some boys by the side of the stage. Calum and
Michael tug me to a better viewing spot, but I’m still speechless from my
encounter with Ashton. Maybe it’s the way he laughed about everything, or the
intense gaze (his eyes are the color of autumn) that seemed to figure me out in
a second, but Ashton’s different.
 
But no, different is still bad. He is a boy, after all. A boy who’s only been
in my life for less than a day. He can’t be trusted.
 
                                       ∞
The concert is amazing, though Ashton clearly stands out from the rest of his
bandmates. Not only is he a great singer, but he’s a killer on the drums,
showing off on his mate’s drum set for a bit at a fan’s request. It’s clear
that the band is splitting up, however, as the tension on stage is palpable,
the guitarist throwing dirty looks Ashton’s way when he sings, the drummer
rolling his eyes when Ashton goes to play on his set. 
 
Michael drinks three vodka sodas before I tell her it’s time to cut off the
alcohol for tonight. She nods and hangs onto my shoulder for support, already
stumbling with the effects of the vodka. Michael and I watch as the band takes
their bows and exits the stage. “They’re so good,” Michael slurs. “We should do
a band, Lukey.” I raise an eyebrow at her idea. It’s actually not a half bad
suggestion — with Calum’s bass, Michael’s vocals and my guitar, we could make a
pretty decent team — but it’s certainly not something to discuss when Michael’s
drunk and Calum’s flirting with a girl in the corner. Speaking of which, I
better go get Calum before he takes anyone home.
 
Not wanting to leave Michael alone, I drag her with me to rain on Calum’s
parade. Calum’s not drunk, thankfully (God knows if I could deal with two
drunken teenagers), but he’s backed into a corner with a girl, flirting like
there’s no tomorrow. I tap Calum on the shoulder, and he whirls around, clearly
a tad irritated I’ve interrupted his fun. “Cal,” I say gently, “the concert’s
over. It’s time to go home — with no plus-ones.” Calum groans in protest, but
when I don’t back down, reluctantly parts ways with the girl.
 
Calum’s helping me carry Mikey (she’s a sleepy drunk) to the exit when a
familiar curly head jogs up to us. Damn it, it’s Ashton — why did he have to be
friends with Calum? “Hey, mate,” Ashton says, clapping a hand on Calum’s back.
“Did ya enjoy the show? What’d you think of my drumming?” 
 
I speak up for Calum, who was too busy flirting to actually pay any attention
to the show. “It was great, Ashton. Thanks for inviting us, but if you’ll
excuse us — our friend here needs to get home,” I say, gesturing to Mikey,
who’s currently slumped between my shoulder and Calum’s. 
 
“Oh, of course,” Ashton replies, looking worried when he sees Mikey’s state. He
suddenly seems to remember something, and digs a piece of paper out of his back
pocket, handing it to me. “If I was so great, maybe I deserve a second shot?”
Ashton says tentatively, smiling in a shy way that almost makes my heart melt.
Dammit, Luke, don’t fall for his trap, he’s just going to hurt you like
everyone else. I take the paper anyway, the wide grin on Ashton’s face making
it worth the risk. You’re just doing this to shut him up,I remind myself. You
can throw away the paper when you get home. 
 
We say our goodbyes, and Ashton watches from the club’s entrance as Calum and I
help Mikey into the car. Calum gets in the driver’s seat, and I climb in next
to him, waving goodbye to Ashton, even though my mind screams at me to just
leave. Get away from him, my mind says. Get away and leave, run as fast as you
can from this boy, because this beautiful boy will kill you. The most beautiful
boys have the ugliest souls.
 
But I don’t listen. I never do — not when it’s good for me.
 
                                       ∞
The next morning, I wake up at midday, phone buzzing with countless texts from
Mikey, complaining about her “monster hangover.” Talk of Michael’s hangover
reminds me of her drunken idea last night — we should do a band, Lukey. I call
her up, even though I know it’ll kill her to talk on the phone. 
 
“What the fuck do you want, Luke?” Michael grumbles, picking up on the second
ring despite her bad mood.
 
“Michael,” I say excitedly, “you make really good suggestions when you’re
drunk.” 
 
“What the hell are you talking about, Luke?” Michael groans. I can hear the
creak of her bed as she leans back in it. “I’ve never heard you this excited
about something, so hurry up and spill before I puke all over my phone.” 
 
“Last night, we were watching the concert, and you said we should start a
band,” I remind her. “And you know what, I think that’s a great idea. I mean,
we all love music, don’t we? And we’re pretty good at it, too — I mean, Calum’s
a killer bassist, and you have a great voice, and I can play the guitar. We
could totally do this.” 
 
“Did someone drug your cereal, Luke?” Michael chuckles. “You’re unusually
enthusiastic today. But yeah, I do think that’s a pretty good idea. I’ll do
lead vocals, Calum be our bassist, you and I will do guitar. Sounds awesome.” 
 
“We just need a drummer,” I murmur, glancing over at the slip of paper on my
nightstand. I quickly dismiss the idea from my head — I do not need another
source of pain in my life. “We’ll have to find someone.” 
 
“Yeah. Anyway, I gotta go, babe, or I’m gonna blow chunks all over my bed,”
Michael warns.
 
“Okay. Bye, Mikey.”
 
“See ya.” 
 
 
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     this chapter is ridiculously short.
                                     Seven
                   Is this the life you’ve been waiting for?
                                 -Ask Yourself
I  float through another miserable Monday, enthused by the idea of a band, a
united front that Calum, Michael and I can present to America’s record labels.
Maybe things won’t be so hard in the States if we’re working together to have a
future, rather than working independently. 
 
After school, I have work — a three-hour shift at a local gas station, with a
kind boss and coworkers who barely notice I’m there — which goes by
surprisingly quickly, despite the dull nature of the job. After work, I’m due
to hang out with Michael, so I bike home and shower. I’m not surprised to find
Michael waiting on my bed when I emerge from the shower — she has a key to my
place and I have a key to hers.
 
“What’s that smirk on your face about?” I ask as I wriggle into some clothes. 
 
“I got us a drummer,” Michael says pleasantly. I freeze where I am, cold dread
settling in my stomach as I realize what Michael has likely done. 
 
“Who?”
 
“The one and only Ashton Irwin,” Michael grins.
 
Though I anticipated this answer, it doesn’t make hearing it any better. “Are
you fucking kidding me, Michael?” I hiss. “Ashton Irwin? Out of all the
drummers in Sydney, you chose Ashton Irwin? How did you even get his number,
for fuck’s sake?” 
 
Michael rolls her eyes, pointing to the piece of paper on my nightstand. “He
gave you his number. You were in the shower. I took advantage of an
opportunity,” she shrugs, unfazed by my enraged shriek.
 
“Michael, you know how I am with guys,” I shout. “You know I don’t let anyone
in, especially not people like him! No matter how interested he is in me, it’s
never going to happen! They’re all the same, Michael, they are all just like
Alex on the inside!” I didn’t realize that I needed to cry, but tears are
rolling down my cheeks, enough to fill an ocean. 
 
Michael crosses the room and gathers me into her arms, rubbing my back. “Shh,
it’s okay, Lukey,” she whispers, the sobs wracking my body. “Don’t cry, please,
I’m sorry.” When my sobs have subsided to sniffling, Michael leads me to my
bed, sitting next to me on the edge. 
 
“Look, Luke, I know you’re scared,” Michael begins, shushing me when I try to
talk, “and I know that you’ve been hurt. I know you don’t trust people,
especially boys, and you know what? That’s fine. I know you need time to
recover. But you have to realize that Ashton has no intention of hurting you.
We don’t even know if he likes you, okay? For all we know, he was just a
stranger doing a good deed, and we happened to run into him at the concert, and
now he’s going to be our drummer. If it really makes you uncomfortable, then I
can call him and tell him never mind, because I love you, and I don’t ever want
you to feel anxious or uncomfortable because of something I’ve done.”
 
 My eyes widen, and I’m about to thank Michael, but she’s not done yet.
“However, I do think you should give Ashton a chance. We really need a drummer,
and he’s so good, Lukey,” Michael pleads. “Because you know what I think?” 
 
“What?” I ask hesitantly.
 
“I think Ashton Irwin can help us get out of here.” 
 
 
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     the bolded phrases represent texting. thank you for reading.
                                     Eight
                     I was scared as fuck and out of touch
                                  -Alleyways
After Michael’s “motivational speech” (her words, not mine), Michael sets up a
video game and I sketch out a tentative schedule for the band, based on the
information Michael’s given me. Ashton is nineteen and has graduated, but he’s
not going to university, so his schedule is pretty open. Calum, Michael and I
have more limited availability, thanks to jobs and school, so we decide on
practice from 6PM-9PM. Our first practice is Wednesday, two days after
Michael’s decision to include Ashton in the band, so Michael and I spend
Tuesday creating a list of songs to try out the next day. 
 
Wednesday sneaks up on me, and if not for Michael’s reminder text this morning,
I probably would have forgotten completely about practice — but I made it, and
here I am, sitting on Michael’s couch, being lectured by said couch’s owner.
 
“You’ve gotta give Ashton a chance, okay, Luke?” Michael says sternly. She
notices me flinch, and Michael’s face softens. “I mean, if you get
uncomfortable, please tell me. But I think Ashton’s a good guy, and he could
really help this band. I think he’s going to get us to America,” Michael
explains.
 
I shrug. “I’ve already agreed to behave, Michael, is the lecture really
necessary?” 
 
Michael sighs, wiping sweaty hands on her jeans. “No. I’m sorry, Luke. I’m just
nervous,” she whispers, perching next to me on the couch. “I really want this
to work, y’know? I don’t want this to be another one of my failed experiments,
something I didn’t do right. I want this to work. I want us to get to America.
I wanna get out of here, Lukey.” 
 
“We will get out of here, Mikey,” I promise. 
 
The doorbell rings, and Michael jumps up from the couch, running to the door
like a kid on Christmas morning. “That must be Ashton!” Michael trills as she
fumbles with the door latch. Her face falls as Calum steps through the doorway,
bass in hand. 
 
“Never mind, it’s just Calum,” Michael says disappointedly as Calum sets his
bass, still in its carrying case, down by the couch, kneeling down to open the
case. 
 
“Well, that’s always the kind of welcome you want to come home to,” Calum
teases. “Nice to see you too, Michael.” 
 
“No, I’m sure she’s overjoyed to see you, Cal,” I say, shooting a dirty look at
Michael, “she just thought you were someone else.” 
 
The opening strains of “Can a drummer get some” ring out in the air, and I look
over at Michael to see her pull out her phone. “That’s the ringtone I have for
Ashton,” she says sheepishly, before disappearing to answer the call. Calum
starts to tune his bass, while I do the same to my guitar. 
 
A few minutes later, Michael returns, looking a little happier than she did
before. “Ashton’s going to be here in five minutes,” she announces. “He’s just
a little late because of traffic.” Calum and I shrug simultaneously, and
continue to tune our instruments. “Well aren’t you two party-poopers,” Michael
grumbles. “Whatever, I need to find a capo.” She heads over to a duffel bag in
the corner of the room, full of guitar accessories, with has two guitars
propped next to it — an acoustic guitar, and Michael’s preferred electric
guitar.
 
Michael’s just finished clipping the capo on her guitar when the doorbell
rings. I swear Michael’s about to squeal as she claps her hands together,
looking more like an excited little kid than a punk rock guitarist — then
again, Michael can swing from “badass rocker” to “bows and ribbons girlie girl”
in the span of a minute. 
 
Calum beats Michael to the door, opening it and letting Ashton in. Our new
drummer looks frazzled, running his hands through messy hair and apologizing
profusely. “Sorry, guys, I really wanted to be early, but I had to get Harry
and Lauren straight and the traffic was just so bad…” 
 
“It’s fine,” Michael interrupts. “Calum, Luke, why don’t you give Ashton a hand
with his drum set? I’m still working on my guitar.” She gestures to the tuner
and guitar in her lap. 
 
“Um, I’m still working on tuning my guitar, too, Mikey—” I start, but Michael
doesn’t let me finish.
 
“I can get that for you,” Michael says sweetly, grinning deviously. She’s
clearly aware of my intense hatred for her in this moment. “You just help
Ashton with his drum set, okay, Lukey?” 
 
Ashton and Calum look incredibly awkward, standing there with slightly scared
expressions. They exchange a look, as if to say, Who’s going to risk their neck
first? Finally, Ashton speaks up, rubbing his palms together as he talks.
“Great, it’s all in the trunk. Luke, you can take the lighter things, Calum,
you and I’ll tackle the rest.” 
 
After we’ve all nearly broken our backs lifting Ashton’s drum kit down into
Michael’s basement, we’re ready to go. Michael glances at our list of practice
songs, and decides on “Teenage Dirtbag” for our first song. She declares that
Calum should start off, as she’ll be singing the chorus.
 
“Her name is Noelle, I have a dream about her,” Calum sings. His voice is so
unique, unlike any I’ve ever heard. Calum’s voice is one of the reasons Michael
and I thought he’d have the best chance at getting signed in America. “She
rings my bell, I got gym class in half an hour. Oh how she rocks, in Keds and
tube socks… But she doesn’t know who I am, and she doesn’t give a damn about
me.” 
 
Michael joins in, our guitars syncing together perfectly, as she belts the
chorus. “Cuz I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby, yeah, I’m just a teenage
dirtbag, baby, listen to Iron Maiden, maybe with me.” Michael’s smirking,
thinking the reason my jaw dropped a few moments ago was due to her singing —
and well, Michael’s singing is stellar, but Ashton’s drumming is what made my
jaw drop. Ashton is fabulouson the drums, even better than what I’d seen at the
concert last Saturday. 
 
As we continue with “Teenage Dirtbag,” all I can think is, Maybe Michael did
make a good choice. 
 
                                       ∞
The rest of practice goes well; Ashton gets so into his drumming that I’m
surprised he doesn’t break his drumsticks. Calum departs at 8:45 for a date,
and when the clock strikes 9, Michael mysteriously disappears for the longest
bathroom break in history, leaving me alone with Ashton as he packs up his
drums. I sit on the couch in silence, watching as Ashton puts his things away
(he’s decided to leave his drums in Michael’s basement, as we’ll be practicing
there pretty much every day anyway). 
 
Ashton’s the first to break the silence. “Hey, er, Luke…” I look up from my
hands, which I’ve been staring down at for the past ten minutes. Ashton blushes
bright pink and doesn’t say anything else.
 
“You’ve got my attention,” I say coolly. I know I’m being a little rude, but
it’s best to keep Ashton at a distance when I know I can’t trust him — no
matter what Michael wants. I’ll keep it civil, just so he’ll stay in the band,
but there’s no reason to indulge Michael’s unnecessary fantasy of a potential
relationship between myself and Ashton. 
 
Ashton’s face becomes a vivid shade of red. “Um, yeah, I just wanted to say
that I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward at the concert last Saturday,” he
says hesitantly. “I  definitely did not mean to be pushy about giving you my
number, and I totally understand if you don’t want to text me — you have no
obligation to, and I’m really sorry if I tried to make it seem like you did.” I
feel guilty all over again, though I’m sure that wasn’t Ashton’s intention, and
simply shrug as Ashton grabs his keys and turns to leave.
 
However, I surprise even myself when I call out, “No worries, Ashton.
Goodnight,” as he leaves. 
 
Seconds later, Michael emerges from the bathroom, flopping down onto the couch
next to me. “You were kind of rude, Lukey,” she mentions after a few moments. I
shrug, and Michael continues, “I know you have a hard time letting people in,
Luke. I know what Alex did to you—”
 
“Don’t bring Alex into this, Michael,” I hiss. 
 
Michael sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She pushes her bangs out of her eyes,
and turns to face me, taking my hand in hers. “But you know I just want the
best for you, Lukey, and I just feel like Ashton would be so good for you. He’s
a good guy; he means well, and I can tell. And if you don’t believe me, just
ask Calum. He’s known the lad for years.” Michael smiles, becoming more
enthusiastic when I don’t protest. “And Luke, he seems so into you. Don’t try
to say he’s not, I know you’re totally oblivious with these sort of things, but
he definitely thinks you’re cute.” 
 
“You seem to be oblivious to a certain guy who’s so into you,” I retort. Ever
since we met Calum in Year 7, he’s clearly been crazy about Michael. Michael’s
been more into other boys than Calum, however, so by now, Cal’s accepted that
he and Michael aren’t going to happen, and adopted his girl-chasing nature in
Year 9. That was a rough year for Cal — he caught Michael making out with a boy
at a party, after Michael had unintentionally led him on for weeks, and he left
the party in tears. 
 
If looks could kill, with the glare Michael’s giving me, I’d be blown to
pieces. “You know full and well that Calum and I can never happen, Luke,”
Michael reprimands me. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, and besides, I
think he’s moved on — he did have a date tonight.” Even I, the “oblivious” one,
can’t miss the brief flash of hurt in Michael’s eyes. Those two certainly have
some unresolved issues. 
 
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
 
“It’s fine. I kinda did the same to you,” Michael smiles. “Anyway, I’d better
go pick up the pizza — ordered it while I was eavesdropping on you and
Ashton.” 
 
“Oh, you bitch!” I laugh, throwing a pillow at Michael as she grabs her keys
and slips out to grab the pizza. 
 
“Remember, you’re crashing at my place tonight,” Michael calls over her
shoulder, “and if you reallywant to make it up to me, you’ll text Ashton.” I
hear the door upstairs slam shut, and sigh as I’m left alone, the silence
unbearable. My phone lies on the coffee table in front of me, a temptation I’m
struggling not to partake in. If I text Ashton, it could mean I’m letting in
another person who doesn’t deserve my trust — but at the same time, it would
make Michael so happy, and it’s not like I’m the one who deserves to be happy
anyway. If I don’t text Ashton, I’ll be safe from potential hurt, but Michael
will be upset, and it will make things awkward within the band. 
 
It only takes a few minutes before I crack under the pressure. Reaching for my
phone, I compose a quick text in my head, throwing out every draft until I
finally settle on the perfect message. I enter Ashton’s name in the “To” bar,
and write,  Hey, I totally didn’t mean to be a jerk tonight — or Saturday
night, or at the mall Saturday morning haha. Anyway, I’m really sorry and I
don’t think you were pushy at all. 
 
When Ashton doesn’t respond after five minutes, then ten, and finally fifteen,
I smile to myself, relaxing back into the couch as I reason that I’ve paid my
dues to Michael, and now I’m free of any debt to anyone. I hear Michael walk in
upstairs, and rush to help her with the pizza, grinning at my newfound freedom.
“What’s that grin all about?” Michael chuckles. “Ashton say something that made
you smile?” 
 
“Actually, quite the opposite,” I grin, carefully navigating the stairs to the
basement — with a heavy box of pizza in one hand, a liter of soda in the other,
this is more difficult than it sounds. “He didn’t say anything at all. So,
consider me free of—” We both freeze as my phone dings with a text, the sound
loud and clear even from the basement below.
 
“Eat your words, Luke Hemmings,” Michael cries, doubling over with laughter in
front of me. I push past her and set the pizza and soda down on the table,
frantically unlocking my phone to see what Ashton’s said. Maybe it’s a “Fuck
you I never want to talk to you again,” or “Sorry you’ve got the wrong number
mate,” or a— 
 
Damn. It’s none of the above. 
 
Ashton Irwin
9:30 PM
Sorry, I was in the car & I don't look @ my phone when I’m drivin. Apology
accepted :) Does this mean I can consider you a friend now?
 
I let out a long sigh and let Michael read the text. “Damn, he doesn’t even
touch the phone while he’s driving!” she laughs, picking up a slice of gooey
pizza. “See, Luke, this man is perfect. You’ve got to give him a chance.” 
 
I bite my lip, laying the phone on the table as I arrange myself on the sofa.
“Michael, I don’t need another beautiful mistake,” I remind her. “Remember
Alex? We allthought he was my perfect man, and look how that went.” 
 
Michael sets down the pizza, face turning serious — a perfect example of the
way Michael’s mood can swing from hyper to serious in a matter of seconds.
“Luke, sweetie,” Michael begins, “I know you like to think you’re okay. I know
you love pretending, and you’ve always been a damn good actress, there’s no
denying that. But we’ve been playing this game for years, Luke, this game of
you meeting someone and putting your walls up because you’re scared you’re
gonna get hurt again. It’s been too long, Luke, and frankly, I’m exhausted — I
can’t imagine how tiring it is for you.” 
 
I hug my knees to my chest, failing to formulate a sarcastic response to that
emotional punch to the gut. It’s true, and Michael knows it, and more
importantly, she knows that I know it — so she continues with her impromptu
speech. “Luke, you are really good at fixing others, babe,” Michael says
sincerely, patting my hand. Her eyes darken as she carries on, not finished
yet. “But have you ever considered that maybe you need to let someone else fix
you for once? I know you’re an independent woman, Luke, don’t get me wrong. But
I think you just need a little help picking up your broken pieces.” It’s
achingly familiar to what Ashton said at the mall Saturday. “I’m sure you’re an
independent woman, you look like you can take care of yourself, but it just
seemed like you needed a little bit of help, okay?”
 
Michael’s known me for sixteen years. She knows me better than anyone else,
better than I know myself. So maybe, just maybe, it’s time to start listening
to her. 
 
Luke Hemmings
9:40 PM
Let’s not get too carried away, Irwin. 
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     thank you for reading! things get a little crazy towards the end
     here. bolded phrases represent texting.
                                     Nine
                        I’ve been spending all my time
                            Just thinking about you
                                -Fallin for You
To everyone’s surprise (including and especially my own), Ashton and I become
fast friends. There’s something about him that makes it so once he’s pulled you
in, you just can’t get enough of him. Maybe it’s his wide smile, with those
lovely dimples, or the way his eyes really shine when he’s happy (which is 90%
of the time), or perhaps it’s that giggle of his, the giggle he hates but
defines his personality — the laughing, bubbly goof that is Ashton Irwin. 
 
Michael loves that she was right about something. I do think Ashton is good for
me — I’ve been a lot happier lately, and I’ve cut down on my “bad habit.” The
band is doing great because of it — I show up to every practice, viewing them
as an opportunity to do some of the things I love, make music and hang out with
my best friends. It’s safe to say that I made the right decision in taking
Michael’s advice. Of course, Michael takes pleasure in insisting that I’m
“falling for” Ashton, but that’s total BS — is it illegal to be good friends
with a guy? Okay, maybe a guy you think about all the time, a guy you’re
insanely attracted to, but still… Even if I do like Ashton, I can’t be in a
relationship with him. I’ll just get hurt again, and I don’t know if I could
handle that pain a second time around. 
 
I’ve just finished my maths exam (last test before finals week, and then
break!) when my phone buzzes with a text from Ashton. I check to make sure the
teacher’s not looking (nope, she’s comfortably propped up with a Hello!
magazine), and slide my phone under the desk, typing out a quick response.
 
Ashton Irwin
2:00 PM
how’s school? 
 
Luke Hemmings
2:01 PM
miserable. just finished a maths exam. 19 mins left until i’m out.
 
Ashton Irwin
2:02 PM
haha good. too bad there’s no practice on fridays, wanted to ask you somethin.
 
Luke Hemmings
2:02 PM
well ask me now!!!
 
Ashton Irwin
2:03 PM
nah it’s something that should b done in person
 
Ashton Irwin
2:04 PM
u doin anything tonight?
 
Luke Hemmings
2:04 PM
no wbu
 
Ashton Irwin
2:05 PM
nope. u wanna hang out?
 
I’m about to respond with a resounding yes when my phone buzzes with a text
from a different person — Calum. 
 
Calum Hood
2:05 PM
remember, u me & mikey @ my house 2nite — games, pizza, beverages ;) also since
i’m givin u a ride 2day u have 2 go w/ me 2 get beverages. meet me @ front
doors. c u n 15 mins. 
 
Shit. Looks like I won’t be hanging with Ashton tonight. I’m disappointed, but
Cal and Mikey will kill me if I cancel tonight’s plans, even for Ashton — we’ve
had this planned for months, as it’s not often that Calum’s parents are out of
town and he can get some booze for us. Underage drinking or Ashton? Well,
obviously I’d rather be with Ashton, but I don’t want to find out what death at
the hands of Michael Clifford is like. I sigh loudly and open up my
conversation with Ashton.
 
Luke Hemmings
2:06 PM
omg ash i’m so sorry but i have plans w/ cal & mikey tonight! totally forgot. :
( sucks i really wanted to hang out :( :( 
 
Ashton Irwin
2:07 PM
lol is this just your way of saying you don’t wanna hang out? :P
 
Luke Hemmings
2:07 PM
no! i definitely wanna hang i just can’t tonight, you know mikey, she’ll kill
me if i don’t show up. it’s something we’ve been planning for a while, cal’s
parents don’t get out of town much. maybe another day?
 
Ashton Irwin
2:08 PM
sure. i’m busy the rest of this weekend but i’ll see you at practice saturday
and we can figure something out then.
 
Luke Hemmings
2:08 PM
great :) well i g2g, my teacher is giving me the evil eye, but i’ll text ya
later.
 
Ashton Irwin
2:09 PM
bye! have fun with cal & mikey ;) 
 
I slide my phone into my pocket and pull out a book. Attempting to actually
read anything is futile, not when I’m so excited at the prospect of hanging out
with Ashton next weekend. I don’t know why I’m so eager, really — I guess it’s
just thrilling, having a new friend in my life (and a guy, at that) when I
haven’t made a new friend in such a long time. In fact, the last time I made a
new friend (excluding Alex, of course) was when I became friends with Calum —
and boy, was that a long time ago. 
 
I still remember the day I introduced myself to Calum Hood. It wasn’t in the
conventional, “Hi, do you wanna share a sandwich?” way that most people seem to
have met. The actual circumstances around our friendship are really rather
violent. We were in Year 7, and Michael got in a fight with the new boy at
school, a quiet guy with black hair and dark eyes. Michael was a pretty violent
girl during that period of her life (from Year 6 to the start of Year 9) — I
think she felt she had something to prove, as people could be quite rough on
her. Michael wasn’t like everyone else at school — she was a little awkward,
lacking the confidence that defines her now, and people liked to make fun of
her appearance, as she hadn’t lost all her baby fat in Year 7. So Michael got
in a lot of fights.
 
That one day, Calum just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Another boy was making fun of her during lunch, and Michael made a sarcastic
remark in response to one of the boy’s taunts. Calum thought this was funny,
and he laughed, but Michael assumed he was laughing at her, and proceeded to
beat the leaving shit out of him. I had just emerged from the lunch line when I
saw the fight, and I immediately intervened before a teacher could see and haul
Michael to the principal’s office. Once I’d pressed a napkin to Calum’s bloody
nose, I’d asked Michael what the hell she was doing. Michael explained the
situation, Calum explained his side, and I became the peacemaker.
 
Calum said he liked something about Michael, and that was why he didn’t run
away as soon as I’d interrupted. Michael couldn’t bring herself to hate someone
who’d given her a chance when no one else would, and as Calum was thankful I’d
stopped the fight, we all bonded quickly. Calum admitted he’d had a rough time
at first, as it could be hard as a new kid at our school. That had explained
his quiet attitude — as soon as Calum became friends with us, he started to
show his hyper and loud side. The kids at school liked this new attitude
better, and Calum became a social butterfly of sorts. Still, he never forgot
Mikey and I, and we’ve been his best friends since. 
 
I’ve lost myself in my thoughts, and the loud beeping of the bell startles me.
I hurry to shove my things in my bag — Calum will not be happy if I make him a
second late to the liquor store. A part of me is convinced he wants to make
this night as great as possible so he can impress Michael, but maybe Calum’s
just always been this neurotic, and I’ve somehow never noticed (yeah, right). 
 
I meet Calum by the school’s front doors, where he’s already waiting, an
impatient scowl marring his handsome features. “Cheer up, Cal,” I tease,
“you’ll get to see Michael in a few hours.” 
 
“Oh, fuck off,” Calum hisses back, unable to keep the grin from his face as we
head to his car. “But, speaking of Michael,” Calum continues, “make sure you
text her and remind her of tonight’s plans. You know how she is, she’s probably
already forgotten.” 
 
“Right.” I nod and reach into my back pocket for my phone, but only find empty
space. Confused, I check my other pocket, then start searching every pocket I
have. When that search produces no phone, I look through my backpack, but still
no phone. “Ugh,” I groan, smacking my hand to my face, “I’m sorry, Calum, but I
think I left my phone in my maths class. Go ahead and get in the car, and I’ll
be right back.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder and run back into the
school.
 
Of course, my maths classroom is locked and empty, so I decide to check the
girls’ locker room, where the lost and found is located. I’ve just bent over
the lost and found box when I hear footsteps behind me. I straighten up,
thinking it’s the gym teacher (the teachers do occasionally hold found items of
high value, such as phones), and turn around, but no one is there. Someone
whispers, “Looking for something?” When I turn my head to the source of the
voice, I see Alex standing there, dangling my phone from his hand. My blood
runs cold at the sight.
 
“Surprise, surprise, princess,” Alex smirks. I don’t even get to respond before
there’s a sharp pain in the back of my head, and everything goes black. 
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     thank you for reading! this chapter's longer than usual. hope you
     like it :)
     HUGE trigger warnings for self-harm, attempted rape, violence, etc.
     PLEASE be careful!
                                      Ten
                          You found me, you found me
                              Lyin’ on the floor
                                 -You Found Me
I  wake up to total darkness. I don’t know where I am, but the throbbing ache
in the back of my head, accompanied by the iron taste of blood in my mouth,
reminds me how I got here. Shit. I’ve got to get out of here. I feel around for
my cell phone, but it’s not there — Alex probably still has it. In fact, Alex
likely has all of my personal possessions, as I don’t feel my backpack anywhere
around me, and even the tube of lip balm I’d had in my pocket is gone. I shiver
at the thought that Alex touched me to take all my things — I already feel
dirty enough to take a thousand showers.
 
The room floods with light as someone steps in, allowing me to recognize the
features. The floors are scratched, water-damaged oak, the walls a stained
taupe, and the room isn’t furnished — I’m lying on the floor, wrists and feet
bound by scratchy rope. A shattered window would normally allow light into the
room, but Alex has covered it with butcher paper. I know this room — it’s on
the upper level of an abandoned house, commonly used for Sydney teenagers’
Friday night parties during the cold months. Hell, Michael’s thrown her fair
share of parties here. My chest tightens with anxiety; I know that it’ll be a
while before anyone finds me here if Alex decides to leave.
 
“Eyes here, babe.” A rough hand jerks my chin up so my eyes meet my captor’s —
Alex. I sneak a quick glance and discover Alex’s partner, one of his jock
friends, this one named Sean. Figures he’d take a different friend to help him
torture me — Cameron probably got scared off from his encounter with Ashton at
the mall. The mall reminds me of Michael, and oh my god, Michael and Calum are
probably freaking out now, and who knows if they’ve called the police, and oh
my god this is terrible.
 
Alex grins, enjoying the worry in my eyes. “You like the pretty new scar Sean
just gave you?” I can’t breathe. I don’t know what he’s talking about but this
can’t be good. 
 
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I spit, injecting as much venom into my
words as I can. 
 
“Oh, just look, babe.” Alex rolls up my left sleeve, which is sticky with
blood. I fight the urge to vomit as Sean’s “pretty new scar” is revealed — a
long, vertical cut on my left wrist. It’s deeper than I’ve gone in a long time,
and it’s bleeding profusely, enough that I’m worried about bleeding out if I
don’t get out of here soon enough.
 
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and manage, “What the hell was that
for?” It’s hard to speak, with the tears collecting in my eyes and the tight
anxiety in my chest making it difficult to breathe. 
 
“Insurance, baby,” Alex whispers in my ear, stroking my hair. It’s hard not to
recoil from his touch, but I try not to, knowing I’ll get hurt if he sees how
disgusted I am by him. “Sean and I know what a little whiny brat you are, so we
came up with a plan, smart lads that we are. If you try to report us, we’ll go
straight to the counselor and tell her that poor Lukey Hemmings tried to kill
herself. And you’ll be straight back in the psychiatric ward, won’t you?” My
jaw drops. Alex knows I won’t be out of the hospital for months if I’m sent in
again for anything the hospital classifies as an attempted suicide. 
 
“So I’m sure you won’t tell on us for what we’re about to do, right, babe?”
Alex mouths against my neck. It’s getting hard not to puke at this point, as
Sean approaches with a devilish grin, moving a hand to the fly of his jeans. I
close my eyes, tears rolling down my face, and it’s Alex’s bedroom all over
again, trying not to scream out how much I hate it, how much I don’t want it,
please don’t touch me please don’t touch me please
 
The sound of a car engine shatters my silent terror. Sean freezes, stopping his
attempt at ripping off my top, as Alex stands up, moving to the doorway. “I’ll
go check that out. Keep an eye on the bitch,” Alex calls out, going down the
staircase, “and you better not fucking touch her until I’m there to watch.” 
 
I contemplate attacking Sean, but he’s far too big for me, with huge muscles
from daily rugby workouts. So I sit there, trying to pretend it’s all a dream,
and maybe I’ll wake up in Calum’s car, listening to the radio, but it’s not a
dream, and this is real, and there’s blood dripping down my arm and oh my god
what am I going to do—
 
“C’mon, mate, we gotta fuckin’ go! Someone’s here!” Alex shouts, pounding up
the stairs. Sean gives my bonds a tug, making sure they’re tight enough for his
liking, and runs after Alex. I can hear their car sputter to life and roar as
they zoom off. 
 
It feels like I lie there for hours, sobbing and bleeding, but in reality, it’s
probably only a few minutes, as the door downstairs opens. The tears come
harder, and I’m openly wailing now — Sean’s come back for me, I’m going to die,
I’m not going to make it, I’m sorry Mikey, Calum, Ashton, Mum, Dad, Ben, Jack,
I love you, I love you, the person’s coming up the stairs now, oh my god I’m
going to die—
 
The figure in the doorway is not Sean or Alex. It’s Ashton. For some reason,
this makes me cry harder. He’s seeing you weak, pathetic, broken like the
mistake you are.
 
“Oh my god, Luke!” Ashton cries, rushing over to undo my bonds. “What happened?
Who did this to you?” 
 
I can barely talk through my sobs. “G-guys from s-school,” I stutter, gasping
for air as my chest carries the weight of the world on it. “B-beat me u-u-up,
b-brought me h-here, were g-going to — g-going t t-to—” I gesture to my ripped
top, unable to finish. The fury in Ashton’s eyes could scorch a hole in the
wall, and if it weren’t for my bleeding state, he’d probably be off forming a
mob right now. 
 
I hear the ripping of rope as Ashton flicks out a Swiss Army Knife and cuts
through my restraints. My wrists are released first, then my legs, and I wince
as the blood rushes back into my limbs. The cut on my left arm is bleeding
profusely now, dripping onto the floor and making a complete mess I’m sure will
horrify any teenagers who come here to party this winter. “C’mon, babe,” Ashton
murmurs, helping me up, “let’s get you home.” 
 
I hate to look weak, but I can’t walk properly. There’s something wrong with my
leg — Alex and Sean must have been pretty rough with me when I was unconscious.
“Ashton, I-I can’t,” I whisper, gesturing to my leg. Without a second look,
Ashton picks me up, cradling me to his chest like he’s a firefighter and I’m in
need of rescue. Maybe I am in need of rescue, though I shudder at the thought.
It’s sad enough that I have to rely on Ashton to go anywhere at the moment — I
can’t depend on him for anything else, or he’ll see how pathetic I really am.
 
It’s clearly true that drummers build up a lot of muscle in their arms, because
Ashton carries me down the stairs and out of the house with minimal effort — he
lays me down in the backseat of his car so carefully, it’s almost like he
thinks I’m fragile. Well, I think, wincing when he straightens up and allows me
to see the blood I got on his t-shirt, maybe I am a little fragile right now.
 
“What time is it?” I ask as Ashton gets in the driver’s seat and starts the
engine. “I don’t have any of my stuff, Alex took it all.” 
 
“5:30,” Ashton replies, glancing at his watch. “How long were you there?” he
questions as we drive away.
 
“God, thinking about it now, probably at least three hours,” I groan, pressing
my sleeve to the cut to try to slow the bleeding. “Do you have your phone? I
need to text Calum, he’s probably freaking out, I was supposed to go home with
him.”
 
“Yeah, um, what exactly happened? Who is this Alex, and how did he kidnap you?”
Ashton says through gritted teeth. His face softens when he sees my pained
expression, and he quickly adds, “Only if you feel comfortable talking about
it.” 
 
“No, it’s fine,” I assure him. “Um, let’s see, where to start…. Well, Alex is
my ex-boyfriend. We dated for a year and broke up last January. We didn’t end
on good terms, and he’s kind of been a jerk since — getting his friends to call
me names, harassing me, et cetera.” Ashton looks like he wants to punch
something. “Um, anyway, I was supposed to go home with Calum — y’know, I had
plans with Calum and Mikey tonight, and I was gonna go with Calum to pick up
some drinks. I forgot my phone in my maths class, but the classroom was locked
when I went to go check it, so I went to the locker room, cos that’s where the
lost and found is.” I stop for a second and take a deep breath.
 
“Only if you’re comfortable,” Ashton reminds me. I nod and resume with my
story.
 
“Well, someone came into the locker room and asked if I was looking for
something,” I continue. “When I turned to see who it was, Alex was standing
there with my phone, and his friend, Sean, knocked me out with something, I
don’t know what.” Ashton’s hands are white on the steering wheel. “They brought
me to that house, I woke up, and, well, you know the rest.” 
 
“You bet I do,” Ashton growls. “Was this Alex the idiot who was choking you at
the mall?” 
 
“Yeah,” I whisper, slightly scared of what Ashton will do. He can’t get
involved in this — Alex and Sean will just make things worse for me. 
 
“I knew that asshole looked familiar!” Ashton cries, braking roughly as we hit
a red light. I’m jolted violently, and I can’t help but let out a wince. Ashton
turns around in his seat. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, my temper got the best of
me and affected my driving,” Ashton says apologetically. 
 
I nod, rubbing my throbbing head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Anyway, what were you doing
at that house?” I ask. “Do you just have some kind of sixth sense that enables
you to find people in danger? I mean, c’mon, first the mall, now this…” I trail
off, and Ashton chuckles lowly.
 
“No,” he says. “Unfortunately, my explanation is far less interesting. See,
when I have a day off, I go to that house to practice drumming — my house can
be pretty hectic, with two younger siblings, so I haul around a cajon drum box
that I can use to practice and when the house is too loud, I just go.” 
 
“Wow, aren’t I lucky,” I murmur. “I mean, if you hadn’t gone to practice today,
I’d probably still be in that house. What made you suspicious?” 
 
“I saw those guys speeding off so quickly,” Ashton explains, “and I figured
that was pretty shady. Besides, I’m the only weirdo who would be at an
abandoned house at five o’clock in the afternoon — anyone else who does that is
suspicious to me.” 
 
I laugh softly at Ashton’s words. “Well, thank you for saving me, Mr. Hero
Irwin,” I grin. 
 
“No thanks necessary,” Ashton replies. “I shouldn’t have to be thanked, because
this shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Speaking of, should I go to
the police station, or would you rather go alone?”
 
“What are you talking about, Ashton? I’m not going to the police,” I clarify.
 
“Jesus Christ, Luke! You were kidnapped, assaulted, and nearly raped! That’s at
least three different charges I can think of,” Ashton cries. “Why wouldn’t you
want to file a report? Maybe they’ll leave you alone if the law comes after
them.”
 
“I know, Ashton, but…” I bite my lip, having a quick internal debate as to
whether or not I should inform him about the cut. I decide Ashton will probably
find out one way or another, so I might as well tell the truth. “Alex’s friend,
Sean, cut me as a form of ‘insurance.’ They made the cut really deep, and
vertical, so it looks pretty bad, and they said that if I try to report them,
they’ll go to the counselor’s office and claim I tried to kill myself. I
wouldn’t get out of the mental hospital for months,” I explain. 
 
Ashton falls silent, either out of anger or a sheer inability to come up with a
response to that heavy-hitting answer. I break the quiet as we pull up to an
unfamiliar house — a nice one, but it’s not my house.
 
“Ashton, where are you taking me?” I ask. “This isn’t my house.”
 
“Oh, I know,” Ashton replies. “I remembered your mom won’t be home right now,
cuz she thinks you’re at Michael’s, so I figured I’d take you to my house to
get patched up.” I glance nervously at my arm. If Ashton tries to tend to
Sean’s cut, he’ll definitely see my self-inflicted wounds, and I’m not sure if
I’m ready to have that conversation yet.
 
“Well, thank you, Ashton, that’s a really sweet offer, but I think I’d rather
just head to my place, I have a key—” I start.
 
“No,” Ashton interrupts, shutting off the engine. “I’m not letting you out of
my sight until I’m certain you won’t bleed to death when you’re left alone. Now
c’mon, I’ll help you inside.” Ashton exits the car and opens my door, waiting
patiently as I slowly slide out of the car and into his arms, hissing in pain
the whole time. 
 
Ashton carries me into the house, setting me down when we reach his kitchen. I
like Ashton’s house — it’s warm and inviting, and smells of vanilla candles.
We’re obviously not alone — a pretty blonde woman who I assume is Ashton’s
mother is cooking, and two young children, a boy and a girl, sit at the table,
doing homework. Ashton clears his throat to announce his presence, and when the
blonde woman turns around to greet him, she gasps in shock.
 
“Ashton! What on earth is going on?” she asks worriedly.
 
“Mum, this is my mate, Luke. She’s been attacked and I need to help her get
patched up,” Ashton explains. “Her parents aren’t home and I’m too worried to
send her off in this state.” 
 
Mrs. Irwin looks me up and down before nodding in agreement. “Yes, best to take
her to your room and grab the first aid kit,” she says. “It’s in the medicine
cabinet. We’ll talk later.”
 
“Thanks, Mum,” Ashton calls, already helping me up the stairs. The two kids,
who I’m assuming are his siblings, look on in wonder, clearly curious about the
current situation. The kids start to chatter as Ashton and I reach the top of
the stairs, but Mrs. Irwin quickly shushes them, turning on the radio to
distract the little ones.
 
Ashton leads me down the hallway, stopping at the third room on the right. The
door is wide open — Ashton clearly doesn’t have much to hide — and the walls
are plastered in band posters. I spot a few of my personal favorites — Blink-
182, Green Day, and Nirvana — and laugh at the crappy, clearly homemade poster
for Swallow the Goldfish. All of the band members, except for Ashton, have been
crudely scribbled out with black Sharpie, probably a rash decision made during
a fit of anger. Ashton follows my line of sight to the poster, and shrugs,
helping me lay down on the bed. “I was a little pissed when I found out we were
breaking up,” he tells me. “So I stole one of my little brother’s markers and
went to town.” This makes me laugh even harder, and I can’t help but grimace —
excessive movement certainly doesn’t help my soreness. 
 
Ashton notices my face, and says, “I’ll be right back,” disappearing to
presumably find the first aid kit. Left to my own devices, I worry about the
best way to fix myself up without Ashton seeing anything suspicious — I’ll
definitely have to wrap up the cut that Sean gave me, as allowing Ashton to do
it would reveal my other injuries, the ones I’d rather not talk about. I allow
a small smile at the thought of Ashton bandaging my wounds — the whole
overprotective caveman attitude is kind of hot on him. Not that I find Ashton
hot — he is my best friend, and that’s all.
 
Less than five minutes later, Ashton returns with not just a first aid kit, but
a blanket and heating pad. “Best to be over-prepared than under-prepared,”
Ashton says with a shrug, clearly aware of my quizzical glance his way. He sets
his items down on the bed and moves to perch on the edge, before leaning over
me and placing a gentle hand on my forehead. “You’re a bit cold,” Ashton notes.
“Probably from blood loss or shock. Not cold enough to warrant a trip to the
hospital, though. I’ll get you set up with a blanket and some hot tea once
we’re done with the first aid kit.” 
 
“Actually, Ashton, I can just patch myself up with your first aid kit,” I say,
sitting up. “No need for you to do it, though it’s very sweet of you to
offer.” 
 
That familiar fire is back in Ashton’s eyes. “Luke, you’re in my house, and you
are my guest. I found you, and I will help bandage you up,” he insists. “I
don’t think you’re capable of doing it yourself at the moment.” 
 
My chest tightens with anxiety. “Please, Ashton, I really think—” I protest.
 
“No,” Ashton interrupts. “I’ll do it, Luke.” I fall silent, caught up with
attempting to formulate a Plan B, as Ashton opens the first aid kit and sets up
shop.
 
Life must really hate me, as Ashton goes straight for my left arm, currently
covered by the blood-soaked sleeve of my sweatshirt. Rolling up the sleeve, he
surprisingly doesn’t pay much attention to my wound, simply pressing some gauze
to it and instructing me to hold it there until the bleeding’s slowed (I can’t
help but snort at this; like I haven’t been through this rodeo before?). After
cleaning and bandaging some minor cuts on my face and chest, Ashton goes back
to check my arm. “Should have almost stopped by now,” he says, gently lifting
up the gauze and peering at the cut closely. Thankfully, the bleeding’s stopped
— but then again, I’m not too sure if I should be thankful for that, as it
allows Ashton to inspect the wound more carefully.
 
I almost think that maybe it’s dark enough in the room that Ashton doesn’t see
it. He doesn’t say anything at first, and there isn’t a weird look on his face.
“The cut is actually shallower than it appears,” Ashton says, furrowing his
brows. “You must have thin blood, that would explain why it bled so much.
However, it definitely still warrants a covering of some sort.” He leans over
and grabs a few bandaids, pressing them onto the wound, before wrapping it with
a larger dressing. I sigh in relief, thankful that it’s done and Ashton somehow
hasn’t noticed my cuts, and roll my sleeve back up. That’s when Ashton looks at
me, and I see how his eyes have gone hard.
 
The soft warmth has completely leeched out of Ashton’s eyes, replaced by
coldness and a hint of raw pain. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, Luke,” Ashton
hisses, grabbing my good wrist when I try to get up from the bed. 
 
“Notice what, Ash?” I try to play dumb, like I don’t know what he’s talking
about, but I’ve always been a bad liar with Ashton.
 
“Oh, you know, the cuts, scabs and scars?” Ashton snaps. I flinch; he’s never
been this livid with me. I don’t think he’s ever even raised his voice with me,
actually. “You know you’re playing with your life, Luke, right?” Ashton
continues, getting even louder. I look around, worried his mother will burst in
any moment and ask what the commotion’s about. 
 
“Ashton, I’m perfectly aware—” I begin.
 
“Are you, Luke?” Ashton interrupts, coldness melting away and changing to fire.
“Do you really know what’s at stake? How long, Luke? How long?” 
 
“Please, Ashton, stop,” I plead. Tears are pooling in my eyes now, threatening
to spill over at any moment. “Please, I don’t want anyone to hear, I couldn’t
deal with that.” Maybe it’s the desperate tone of my voice, or the liquid pain
falling down my cheeks, but something strikes a chord with Ashton, and his face
softens. 
 
“Let me show you something,” he breathes. Slipping off the sweatband that
covers his left wrist, Ashton turns his palm over, revealing his wrist to me.
The tears come harder at what I see — dozens of pale, horizontal scars,
reminders of my own personal struggle.
 
“I stopped,” Ashton says quietly, rubbing a thumb over the whitened parallel
lines, “and it was really hard at first.” He glances up at me, a look of clear
determination set on his face. “But after a while, you realize that you can do
it, and it’s so worth it — staying clean, I mean. And if you can’t do it for
yourself, then you do it for the people around you, the people you’re
unintentionally harming by hurting yourself,” Ashton continues, taking a
bandaid and pressing it onto my face. “Sorry,” he adds, breaking into a smile.
“Missed one.” 
 
I grin back at him, but pull away from his touch, still lingering on my cheek,
when I remember our topic of conversation from just a few moments ago. “I’ve
been clean for a few days,” I murmur, “but it’s just hard.” Ashton simply gazes
at me, eyes clearly expressing the words I know he wants to say— I know exactly
what you mean.
 
“What’s your reason?” Ashton asks, getting up and rearranging the first aid
kit, nearly empty after my ‘fix-up session.’ “I mean, I guess you don’t have to
have one, but there’s probably a reason why you started, right?” 
 
“Mhm,” I nod, picking at a stray thread on my shirt. “It was the bullying, I
suppose. I’ve been bullied all my life, and although it got better as I got
older, it left me with virtually no self-esteem. I just… hate myself.”
 
“Luke.” Ashton’s sitting next to me again, the heat from his skin warming me
more than any promise of hot tea ever could. “You know I think you’re perfect,
right?” I’m silent, unable to formulate a coherent response to that. Ashton
thinks I’m perfect… Oh my god. “I mean, it’d be dumb if I expected you to stop
just because of that, but I just thought I’d throw that out there. Anyway, I
think you should really consider trying to quit. Flush your blades, wear a
rubber band, whatever it takes—”
 
“Don’t you think I’ve heard all this before?” I cut in. “The long, boring spiel
about how so many people care about me, and they’re getting hurt too when I
cut? I know, Ashton. I know.” 
 
Hurt flashes briefly in Ashton’s eyes, before he sighs and says, “I’m just
trying to help. But I understand. You need time.” 
 
“Yes,” I agree. “I do need time.” I reach out and place a hand on Ashton’s
shoulder. The electricity from the contact sends shivers through my body. “And
look, I do appreciate you trying to help. It means a lot to me, really. I just
don’t think I’m in a place where I can make a promise to you that I know I’ll
break.” The sadness on Ashton’s face nearly kills me. “But,” I add, “I think
with your help, I’ll get to that place, sooner rather than later.” Ashton
smiles widely, and hops off the bed.
 
“Well, that’s enough serious talk for now,” Ashton declares, helping me get off
the bed. “Luke Hemmings, it’s time for you to meet the family.” 
 
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     yayyy actual progress on making 5sos in this one. thank you for
     reading!
     Trigger Warnings: Talk of self-harm, Underage alcohol abuse
                                    Eleven
                        Oh, you are my guilty pleasure
                               -Guilty Pleasure
Ashton leads me back into the kitchen, where his mother is still working on
dinner, and his siblings have resumed with their homework. I’m introduced to
Mrs. Irwin first, and she’s just as bright and sunny as her son, giving me a
warm hug before she even knows my name. “So, Luke, how do you know Ashy?” Mrs.
Irwin asks, grinning devilishly at the redness creeping into Ashton’s cheeks.
 
“We met at the mall, Mum,” Ashton says quickly. “Then Luke’s friend Michael
invited me to join their band, and you know the rest.” 
 
Mrs. Irwin nods. “Well, that’s just great,” she beams. “I’m so happy my Ashy
has made a new friend, he’s had a hard time since his old band broke up—”
 
“That’s enough, Mum,” Ashton interrupts, dragging me over to the table, where
his siblings are seated. He taps the little girl on the shoulder, and she turns
around, giving Ashton a massive bear hug. The Irwins certainly know how to give
a proper hug.
 
“Lauren,” Ashton coos, “there’s someone I want you to meet.” He wriggles out of
his sister’s hug and pushes me gently, forcing me to step forward. “This is
Luke. She’s in a band with me. Luke, this is Lauren. She’s my twelve-year-old
sister.” 
 
“Hi, Luke,” Lauren waves. Her gaze immediately falls on my bracelet-covered
arms, and I stiffen. “You have pretty bracelets,” she grins.
 
I relax, relieved that Lauren was only examining my choice in accessories.
“Thanks, Lauren,” I grin. “I’m glad you like them. I can get you a few, if you
want.” 
 
“Really?” Lauren’s entire face lights up, and I swear her megawatt smile could
generate power for the whole of Sydney. 
 
“Of course,” I laugh. “I’ll bring you some next time I come over, okay?” 
 
“Yay! Thank you!” Lauren says happily. 
 
“Are you implying there’s going to be a next time?” Ashton murmurs in my ear.
 
“Maybe,” I quip, and Ashton chuckles. 
 
“Well, you know you’re always welcome,” he responds, before leading us toward a
small boy. “Harry,” Ashton booms, “c’mere for a second.” The little boy jumps
out of his chair and runs into Ashton’s arms. Ashton picks him up and swings
him around a few times before setting his brother back down on the ground.
 
“Harry,” Ashton whispers, almost like he’s sharing a secret, “there’s a very
special person I want you to meet. Will you let me introduce you?” 
 
“Yeah!” Harry nods eagerly. Grinning, Ashton hoists his brother into the air,
so we’re eye-to-eye.
 
“Harry,” Ashton says, “this is my friend, Luke. She plays with me in a band.
Luke, this is my little brother Harry. He’s a big boy now; just turned seven.” 
 
“Hiya, Luke!” Harry squeals, and I giggle at the sincere happiness in his
voice.
 
“Hiya, Harry,” I respond. Ashton sets him down, and turns back to his mother. 
 
“Mum, can Luke stay for dinner?” he asks. I start to protest, but the older
Irwins ignore me.
 
“Of course, honey,” Mrs. Irwin replies. “And don’t you say a thing, Luke — it’s
nice to have some new company around here. But I do think you should call your
parents and let them know.” That reminds me of Calum and Mikey, who have
probably organized a search party by now.
 
“Definitely,” I agree, “but I don’t have a phone. Could I use yours?”
 
“Sure.” Mrs. Irwin points to a handset by the sink. 
 
“Thanks.” I head over to the phone, and Michael’s house is the first number I
dial. Calum picks up on the first ring.
 
“Luke! Where the hell did you go?” he fumes. 
 
“It’s a long story,” I sigh, “but I swear I didn’t ditch you, okay? I’m really
sorry, i was something, um… unexpected.” 
 
I can hear Michael shouting in the background, attempting to convince Calum to
give her the phone. There’s a brief struggle, before it’s Michael on the other
line. “What the fuck happened, Luke?” Michael hisses. I wince, praying that
Harry and Lauren don’t hear Michael’s harsh language. “You promised! We’ve had
plans for months!” Michael continues, yelling now.
 
“I know!” My voice is rising, too, as I attempt to get my explanation in. “But
I got, like, jumped, okay? I’m fine, Ashton stopped it and I’m at his place
now, and I’ll be over soon, I promise! Okay?” 
 
Michael’s silent now. “You better have give me the full fucking story when you
come over, or I’m finding out for myself,” she says. “I’ll see you in thirty
minutes. Oh,  and by the way, you’re not getting let in unless you have a good
idea for a band name. Bye.” The line goes dead, and I slam the phone down,
forgetting I’m at Ashton’s house in my moment of rage.
 
“Goodness! What was that all about?” Mrs. Irwin cries.
 
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “My friends were just worried about me, and my
friend Michael, well, she tends to be very, um, passionate when she’s
stressed.” 
 
“I understand completely,” Mrs. Irwin shakes her head. “Will you still be
staying for dinner? I’ve made enough chicken for four.” 
 
“Thank you, Mrs. Irwin, but I really need to get going,” I say regretfully. “I
wish I could stay, you’ve been so kind, but my friends will probably call the
police if I don’t show up soon.” 
 
“Oh, that’s just fine, dearie,” Mrs. Irwin chirps. “Ashton can drive you
there.” 
 
“Yeah,” Ashton agrees. “Just let me go to the bathroom really quick.” He
wanders off into an adjacent hallway, and I hear a door close. I stand there
awkwardly, Harry and Lauren quieter than ever, as Mrs. Irwin finishes making
dinner.
 
“So,” Mrs. Irwin pipes up, “this band that you and Ashton are in, what’s it
called?” 
 
“Well,” I say sheepishly, “we haven’t really come up with a name yet. I’m
supposed to, but I only have a few ideas, and I can’t quite decide on
anything.” 
 
“Well, Harry, Lauren and I would love to help, if you’d like,” Mrs. Irwin
suggests. “Just tell us your names, and we can have a vote.” 
 
“That’s a great idea,” I smile. “Tell me when you’re ready.” Mrs. Irwin quickly
explains to Harry and Lauren what we’re doing, and then signals that she’s
ready to go.
 
“Okay, my first name is Up and Out,” I say. Mrs. Irwin shrugs at that, and no
one raises their hand. “My next idea was Sydney Sideshow.” I get an even worse
response, with Harry making a disgusted face at the name. “Okay, well, this
last one is pretty personal for me,” I sigh. I pause for a moment before
announcing my final idea. “5 Seconds of Summer.” 
 
Harry and Lauren exchange a grin, and Mrs. Irwin claps her hands in excitement.
“Oh, dear, that’s the perfect name,” she smiles. “But we should still take a
vote, just to be certain.” Harry and Lauren’s hands shoot up in the air, and
Mrs. Irwin’s hand joins them. I look to my right and see Ashton, smirking and
holding both hands high for 5 Seconds of Summer.
 
“5SOS it is then,” I declare, the kids cheering in excitement. 
 
“Well, Ashton, I believe it’s time for you to take Luke home,” Mrs. Irwin
declares, wrapping me in a gentle hug. “Thank you for coming over,” she murmurs
in my ear.
 
“Thank you for having me over, and helping me with the band name,” I respond,
waving goodbye to Harry and Lauren as Ashton grabs the keys. We head out, and
Ashton helps me get into the car; I’m still sore from Alex and Sean’s assault.
 
“Congrats on the good name idea,” Ashton says as we back out of the driveway.
“How’d you come up with 5 Seconds of Summer? It’s really perfect.” 
 
“Well, there’s a backstory to it,” I confess. 
 
“What is that backstory, if I may ask?” Ashton questions. Sighing deeply, I
decide now’s a better time than any other.
 
“It has to do with the summer before Year 10,” I tell him. “That was during my
original, first period of self-harm. I was hospitalized that August after I
went too deep. My brother Jack found me in the bathroom, and I was stuck in the
mental ward for several weeks. When I got out, school was about to start, and
to me, it felt like time had frozen when I was in the hospital, so that was
really weird. It felt like I’d only had five seconds of summer, and that’s
where the name came from.” 
 
“Wow. That is pretty intimate,” Ashton muses. 
 
“I didn’t expect for anyone to like it,” I admit. 
 
“It’s honestly perfect,” Ashton says sincerely. “It’s bittersweet, but in a way
that only people our age could understand, y’know what I mean?” 
 
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know exactly what you mean.” We’re silent the rest of the
way to Calum’s house, Ashton only speaking up when we pull into the driveway. 
 
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ashton says, shutting off the car and turning to face
me. “You had me really worried there for a second, Luke.” 
 
“Yeah, I was pretty scared, too,” I acknowledge. “But thank you for helping me
get all patched up.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and already have a hand on the car
door when Ashton jumps out, too.
 
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he offers, and after all that Ashton’s done for me
today, I can’t say no. Without any bags for him to courteously carry, Ashton’s
arms lay awkwardly by his sides, fingers drumming nervously on his thighs.
Ashton is a ball of energy, always moving, always doing something. He
practically skips to Calum’s front door, only slowing when he realizes that I’m
moving cautiously due to my injuries. A sheepish grin overwhelming his
features, Ashton waits for me to catch up before ascending the steps to the
front door and ringing the doorbell.
 
“I’ll get out of here before Calum and Mikey ring my neck,” Ashton whispers in
my ear, hearing the footsteps coming down the stairs inside the house. “Bye,
Luke. I’ll see you at practice.” He catches me by surprise with a hug far too
intimate for my taste, but I allow him to wrap his arms around me anyway.
Ashton’s hugs are a guilty pleasure, an unnecessary indulgence I’ll gladly
partake in any time, and something about this one flips a switch in me. I’m
suddenly drowning in a wave of emotions, a tsunami of caring for Ashton and
anxiety about Sean and Alex and a million other things I can’t decipher. I need
to get numb, fast, but I’m obviously not going to find a razor blade at Calum’s
house (he knows better than to have anything sharp around me), so it’ll have to
be the alcohol Calum surely has stashed away for our little party.
 
Ashton’s car is already speeding away when Michael opens the door, a bemused
expression crossing her pretty features. “Who brought you here, Luke?” she
asks, craning her neck to check our surroundings. “There isn’t a car here, and
I know your parents aren’t home — I called your house probably fifty times.” 
 
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” I quip, ducking under Michael’s arm to
enter the house. 
 
“Hey, wait! You have to give me the band name first!” Michael calls after me
angrily, following me up the stairs, where I’m sure Calum will be waiting in
his ‘party room,’ AKA the game room his parents haven’t touched since it was
built. 
 
“I’ll give you a name as soon as you give me a drink,” I chirp back, throwing
open the door to Calum’s party room. The poor boy jumps at least a foot into
the air, startled by my sudden entrance — he was probably wrapped up in his
iPhone. 
 
“Nice to see you, Calum,” I drawl, heading over to his covered box of alcohol
and rifling through it for what I need right now. I find a bottle of whipped
cream vodka, the same thing I drank at the club the night I met Ashton, and
examine it carefully. Normally, I won’t even go near this stuff — it tastes
pretty horrible — but right now I just need to numb my feelings. Twisting open
the cap, I reach for a red cup with shaking hands, pouring the vodka into it
and downing my entire cup in one gulp. 
 
“Luke, what the hell is going on?” Calum demands, storming over to me and
ripping the vodka bottle from my hands. 
 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist, attempting to steal the
liquor back, but Calum’s stronger. 
 
“Really? First, you disappear from school and don’t text us or call us for
three hours, then you show up here and you won’t even tell me who brought you!”
Michael exclaims, having rushed to Calum’s side to back him up. “And now you’re
about to go through a bottle of vodka like it’s water! Luke, you don’t even
like alcohol that much, what the fuck is your deal today?” 
 
“Maybe I wanna have a little fun,” I slur, already feeling the effects of my
drink. I’ve always been a lightweight. 
 
“No, I don’t think that it’s, Luke,” Michael says quietly, placing the vodka
back in the box and covering it up again. “I think something happened, and
you’re just too scared to tell us.” 
 
“Why would I be scared to tell you?” I hiss, attempting to escape to the couch.
I want to avoid the lecture I can tell is brewing in Michael. 
 
“Because you don’t like to feel,” Michael answers matter-of-factly. “And if you
told us, it might bring up bad feelings.” 
 
Michael’s statement is too true for me to handle, and the harshness of it
brings tears to my eyes. Suddenly, I’m curled up on the couch, sobbing quietly.
The couch sinks with the weight of an additional person, and I know it’s
Michael by my side, stroking my hair and whispering words of comfort into my
ear. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Michael murmurs.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you. But know that we’re here, okay?” 
 
                                       ∞
I don’t tell them until a few hours later, at midnight, when we’re busy playing
video games and eating lukewarm pizza. I’m at peace, aching feelings soothed by
the distraction of the false reality of the game, and it kind of just slips out
— but I don’t stop the words flowing from my mouth. Michael and Calum are my
best friends, and they deserve to know.
 
“I went to get my phone, and Alex was in the locker room. His friend Sean
knocked me out, and they beat me up when I was unconscious,” I whisper. Michael
and Calum drop their controllers, shocked by my sudden outburst, and pause the
game, knowing I’ll need their silent support to continue.
 
“They took me to that abandoned house, the place where you had that party in
Year 10, Mikey,” I say softly. Michael shivers in disgust next to me. “Sean cut
my arm, Alex said they’d use it as insurance in case I tried to report them, so
they could say I tried to kill myself and get me sent to the mental hospital.”
I roll up my sleeve, showing them the bandage wrapped around my arm. “They were
going to use me, for their own pleasure, but when Ashton showed up, they left.
Ashton found me and took me to his house, bandaged me up.” I close my eyes,
tears slipping down my cheeks. You’re so weak, Luke, stop crying. Pathetic
bitch. 
 
“Did he…” Calum trails off, not allowing himself to continue.
 
“Yes. He saw,” I breathe. “But he was so loving about it, so helpful, and—” I
take a shuddering breath, shaking with sobs. “He cares too much, and it hurts,
I love him and it hurts. I’m scared, Mikey, Cal, how do I deal with this, I
can’t handle getting hurt again—” I’m cut off by the warmth of Michael and
Calum’s arms around me, and I cry into Calum’s shirt, weeping until there
aren’t any tears left. When my breaths are no longer choked with tears, my
friends release me from their grip, allowing me to rock back on my heels.
 
“You needed that,” Michael says plainly. 
 
“Yeah.” Calum nods in agreement. “Feelings suck, Luke, but we want to help you
deal with them,” he continues. “Any time you need one of these good cries, just
call me or Mikey, you know we’re down to hang out any time.” 
 
“Thanks, you guys,” I mumble. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I breathe
deeply before continuing, Michael and Calum looking on sympathetically. “Let’s
just pretend this didn’t happen, alright? I don’t want Ashton to think
anything’s going on. I’m just going to move on and act like I don’t have
feelings for him, and eventually, we’ll get over this, this… whatever it is.” 
 
“Are you sure?” Calum questions. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for
you to bottle your emotions up—”
 
“It’ll work,” I say sharply. “Just trust me on this, okay?” My tone turns
pleading as I continue. “Please, I need it to be like that.” 
 
“Okay, Luke,” Michael says slowly. “Okay.” 
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     this is a little fluffy. but it has to get worse before it gets
     better, so you'll get more fluff towards the end. thank you for
     reading!
                                    Twelve
                              You’re my sunshine
                            -You’re My Best Friend
The rest of the weekend passes by quickly, and Monday (three days after the
attack) is here before I’m even remotely prepared. I console myself with the
knowledge that winter break starts the moment the last bell rings this Friday.
Freedom is so close I can taste it, and that helps me convince myself to wake
up this morning.
 
Michael hasn’t mentioned the attack since the sleepover Friday night, but her
silence as we drive to school says everything. Her grip is tight on the
steering wheel, so tight it’s a wonder she hasn’t lost sensation in her
fingers. Texting Ashton is the only way I get through the awkward ride — he’s
incredibly bubbly today, even more so than usual. It almost seems odd, but I
don’t want to cause friction in this friendship when I worry my feelings may
already complicate it, so I leave the matter alone. 
 
As Michael and I walk up to the school, I swear I see a familiar head of curls
glinting in the sunlight. “Mikey.” I nudge my best friend. She looks up, caught
off guard by my sudden movement. “Look, did you see that?”
 
“See what, Luke?” Michael pops her gum, scanning the sea of students for
anything out of the ordinary. “Oh, the guy in the pickle shirt? Yeah, I know,
totally weird.” 
 
“No.” I shake my head. “I swear I saw…” I trail off, stopping in front of the
front doors. There he is, my own personal ray of sunshine, leaning next to the
entrance and clutching a beaten leather schoolbag I’m all too familiar with.
Forgetting about Michael next to me, I run up to Ashton and jump into his arms,
hugging him tightly in an attempt to recreate the infamous Irwin grip. He
chuckles lowly in my ear, warm breath blowing against my skin and sending
shivers up my spine.
 
“How’d you get this?” I ask as Ashton gently sets me back on the ground. “I
mean, I assumed Alex would have it at his place…” I trail off, lowering my
voice and looking around to ensure no one heard me. “But he’s known to be kind
of careless, so it would make sense for him to just dump it somewhere.” 
 
Dangling my bag from his fingers (those ridiculously long fingers), Ashton
drops his other loot into my waiting hands, a smirk set on his face. “Sure, he
dumped it somewhere,” Ashton quips, dimples deepening as his smile grows at my
shocked expression. My phone, songwriting journal and keys to Michael and
Calum’s houses rest in my hands. “The rest of your books are in your bag,”
Ashton explains. He grins devilishly as he continues, “Not like there were
many. Do you ever study, Luke?”
 
“Don’t need to,” I shoot back, playfully snatching the bag away. “Guess I’m
just that smart.” 
 
“Well, I can’t say I have a hard time believing that,” Ashton snorts, adjusting
the bandana enveloping his curls. God, those fucking bandanas kill me every
time. “Anyways, that’s all I found,” Ashton adds. “If there’s anything else
missing, tell me, and I’ll grab it for you.” 
 
I’m buzzing with happiness as I wrap my arms around Ashton again, gratitude
washing over me. “I’m so happy, I could kiss you,” I murmur against Ashton’s
chest. Both of us surprised by my words, Ashton stiffens against me, and I
cringe, praying I haven’t made a silly mistake. With shock, I note that I’m not
regretting my words because I don’t want Ashton to think I have feelings for
him — I’m regretting my words because I’m scared Ashton won’t reciprocate those
feelings. I’ve never been so comfortable around anyone, and normally, that
would scare me enough to send me running to first period, but I’m drunk on joy,
something I’ve never experienced before, and it’s overwhelming me.
 
I pull away from Ashton, and his eyes are sparkling with warmth, though his
face is as red as Michael’s favorite hair dye. “Well, if you feel like it, you
have my permission,” Ashton laughs awkwardly, fiddling with a hole in his t-
shirt. Caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, I close the distance
between us, until our noses are practically touching. Ashton’s breath catches,
and I smile slightly as I tilt my head, close my eyes and—
 
“EXCUSE ME! Do you have a VISITOR’S BADGE, young man?” a voice shouts. Ashton
and I spring apart, and I groan mentally as I realize it’s my principal
barreling towards us. 
 
“Sorry?” Ashton asks, confused. 
 
“A visitor’s badge,” the principal says icily, peering down at Ashton through
her cat-eye glasses. “You’ll need one to be on school property at this hour.
Class is about to start.” 
 
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ashton apologizes, running a hand through his hair. “I was
just bringing my, er, friend something she forgot. I’ll be going now. Have a
good day, Luke.” Giving me a quick squeeze on the shoulder, Ashton hurries into
the parking lot, disappearing in a sea of cars. 
 
“Miss Hemmings, after three years as a student here at Norwest High School, I
am sure you are aware of our rules on public displays of affection,” the
principal hisses, guiding me through the front doors. “So I cannot imagine why
I just found you on the verge of breaking those rules with a young man who is
not even a student here!” The principal’s voice becomes shrill as she
continues, making me wince.
 
“I’m sorry, Principal Maynard,” I whisper, shrinking under the woman’s
intimidating gaze. “It won’t happen again.”
 
“Good,” she sniffs. “And do keep in mind that the next time your frienddecides
to visit, he must have a visitor’s badge.” I nod mutely, unable to meet the
principal’s stony gaze. “Wonderful. Hurry to class now, or you'll be late.” 
 
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I scurry off, nearly sprinting to my first
period, though my mind is occupied with thoughts of Ashton that weigh me down.
I’m disgusted with myself for even thinking about kissing Ashton, let alone
almost going through with it. I’ve been reckless today, and that’s not a good
sign — I’m losing control. I’d better get a hold of myself, or my life is going
to become even bigger of a mess than it already is — and frankly, I’m not sure
if I can survive that.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     thank you for reading! bolded phrases indicate texting.
                                   Thirteen
                       Because these things will change
                             Can you feel it now?
                                    -Change
I'm distracted the whole day, unable to focus on anything but the huge mistake
I made this morning. The best plan of action, I decide, is to just play it cool
and act like nothing happened — which is why when Ashton texts me and asks if I
want to hang out, I immediately say yes. He tells me he’ll pick me up at school
at 2:40, 20 minutes after classes let out for the day, so I kill time primping
in the bathroom. It’s not a good idea, not when I’m trying to dispel any
notions of attraction between Ashton and me, but I do it anyways. I’ll allow
for today to be my “cheat day” of sorts — I can be a little rebellious, though
not overly so, and tomorrow everything will go back to normal. I won’t show a
hint of flirtation to Ashton.
 
I’m at the school entrance in seconds when Ashton texts me that he’s here. He
pulls up in his beat-up Ford sedan, blasting Green Day loud enough that I’m
convinced the principal will come outside and lecture us again. I quickly hop
in the front seat before anything disastrous can happen, prompting Ashton to
give me a confused look. “What’s got you in a hurry?” he questions, turning out
of the school parking lot.
 
I don’t want to bring up the principal and remind Ashton of this morning’s
awkward encounter, so I settle for a lie. “Didn’t want to see my chemistry
teacher,” I shrug, buckling my seatbelt. “He’s kind of after my head right now…
I didn’t do so well on my last test.”
 
“Oh.” Ashton falls silent for a moment before piping up again. “I was always
pretty good in chemistry. I can help you after practice some time, if you
want.”
 
“Thanks, but I already have a tutor.” Avoiding Ashton’s inquisitive eyes, I
play with my phone, shooting a quick text to Calum and checking my Instagram.
 
“Hey, can you check the weather?” Ashton asks. 
 
“Um, sure.” I open the weather app and report my findings. “30 degrees, clear
all evening.”
 
“Sound like beach weather to you?” Ashton says, glancing over at me. I’m paying
attention now, noticing the lively change in his tone.
 
“I guess. Why?” I have no idea what Ashton’s got up his sleeve, but judging by
the huge smirk that’s spread across his features, I’m betting it’s something
good.
 
“Because,” Ashton grins, shutting off the engine, “we’re going to the beach,
Lukey.” 
 
                                       ∞
In my attempt to distract myself from the awkwardness of the environment in the
car, I hadn’t noticed Ashton pulling into the parking lot of our local
boardwalk. At this time of year, Sydney’s boardwalk is just picking up as far
as business goes, but by late December, when most of the schools let out, it’ll
be bustling with activity. However, Mondays clearly aren’t a busy day here, as
we only find a few sunscreen-slathered tourists wandering about. Ashton takes
me to his favorite ice cream shop — one of Sydney’s “hidden gems,” he tells me
— and splits a vanilla cone with me, forcing us to wait until we reach the
beach to actually take a lick out of it. My friend is well-prepared with a huge
towel and a jumbo-size bottle of SPF 50, which, at Ashton’s insistence, I coat
my face with — wouldn’t want to damage that envied pale complexion.
 
We’ve only been sitting on the beach for a few minutes, watching the waves
glint in the sunlight and making small talk in between bites of ice cream, when
the subject of family somehow gets brought up. I think it starts with a small
comment from Ashton, something about how Lauren is so excited for her bracelets
(I promise to bring them to practice on Tuesday), and that turns to talk of our
relatives. It’s a relatively innocent conversation at first — I explain that I
have two older brothers, Ben and Jack, both of whom are at university — but
then the time comes for Ashton to talk about his loved ones, and I know things
are about to go incredibly wrong when I see the dark shadow crossing Ashton’s
face.
 
“What’s wrong, Ash?” I ask quietly. The crash of the ocean almost drowns me
out, but I know Ashton can hear me when I see his face soften. “We don’t have
to talk about it,” I add. Come to think of it, that’s always been our policy —
don’t talk about it if you don’t want to. Funny though, Ashton’s usually the
one saying it, not me.
 
“No, it’s fine,” Ashton sighs, brushing back a stray curl. “I mean, you were
gonna find out at some point, and it’s gonna suck to talk about anyway, so why
not get it over with?” I freeze, vanilla soft serve dripping down my fingers
and onto the sand. Am I about to find out Ashton’s mother is a serial killer or
something?
 
“My dad, he, um… He’s not exactly around,” Ashton mutters, staring at the sea.
“He left when Mum was still pregnant with Harry. I was twelve, Lauren was maybe
five. We had no idea it was coming; Dad just said he was going for a business
trip and never came back. No child support, no anything. We can’t even track
him down.”
 
 I brush Ashton’s arm gently, murmuring soft words of support, but Ashton
continues with his story, sounding more determined now. “Mum had to go back to
work right after Harry was born, get a job and do what my dad wouldn’t, so I
looked after my siblings. I was there when Harry learned how to walk, I taught
him how to read, and I protected Lauren from the people at school who didn’t
see how special she was.” Ashton’s voice is thick, and my chest tightens with
worry for him. I’ve never seen Ashton cry.
 
“So, I don’t really have a dad anymore,” Ashton says tightly, wiping at
something in his eye. “I raised those kids, because he didn’t care enough to do
it himself. And you know what? I’m fucking glad he wasn’t there for them,
because he would’ve been a shit dad anyway. He wouldn’t have gone into school
and yelled at Lauren’s bullies, ya know?” Ashton laughs, but it rings hollow in
my ears.
 
“You’re really brave, Ash,” I whisper, squeezing his hand when he turns to meet
my eyes. “Not many people could have done what you did. I don’t think I’ve ever
met someone strong in the ways that you are.” 
 
Ashton’s face breaks into a soft smile. “Thank you, Luke,” he says quietly.
“You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me. You’re the first person to
actually acknowledge what I did, instead of trying to apologize for my dad not
being there.” My heart swells at Ashton’s words, and I force myself to calm
down. No matter how happy you are about him saying that, it’s not going to
matter come tomorrow, because you can’t have anything with Ashton.
You’refriends, just friends, Luke.
 
The quiet peace between us is shattered abruptly when Ashton’s phone goes off.
He looks down at it, eyes scanning the screen hurriedly as a deep frown emerges
on his features. “I’m sorry, Luke, but I’ve got to go,” Ashton says quickly,
standing and helping me up. “There’s been an emergency and I have to leave as
soon as possible. I feel like an asshole for doing this, but could you get
someone to give you a ride home? If I don’t get there in time, who knows
what’ll happen…” Ashton trails off, eyes heavy with anxiety, and I’m not about
to stop him from going somewhere he needs to be.
 
“Go, Ashton,” I insist, folding up his towel and handing it to him. “I’ll get a
ride from Mikey. You need to go take care of your emergency.” 
The gratitude on Ashton’s face speaks volumes as he waves me goodbye and
hurries to his car. I only wish this afternoon could have lasted longer as
Ashton departs, and I’m left standing there with a melting ice cream cone and
fantasies about a potential reality that will never survive in my world.
 
                                       ∞
Michael’s at the boardwalk in minutes, no questions asked, and whisks me away
to an impromptu pre-practice study session at her house, far away from any
thoughts of Ashton, vanilla ice cream and the dimmed sunshine in a pair of
hazel eyes. I’m poring over a chemistry textbook when Michael announces she’s
called an emergency band meeting.
 
“For what?” I ask, looking up from my cozy spot on the bed. Michael’s perched
on a spinning office chair, which she’s been using for the past half-hour, not
to read over her notes, but to complete an endless cycle of 360s that have left
her green in the face.
 
“Oh, a few changes,” Michael says, waving her hand dismissively. “Nothing huge.
But I do wonder if Ashton will be able to come.” 
 
“Who knows,” I mutter, looking back at the book. Michael senses the change in
my attitude, and hops up, sashaying over to slam my textbook closed and giving
me a paper cut in the process.
 
“Ow, Michael, what the fuck,” I hiss, clutching my bleeding thumb.
 
“Let’s go grab some sodas for the boys,” Michael suggests cheerfully. “We’ve
only got ten minutes before the meeting anyway. Calum should be showing up
soon, and, knowing him, he’ll be thirsty — always is at this time of day.”
 
We end up rifling through the fridge, arguing over how many sodas we should
pull out. Michael thinks that we should bring out four, just in case Ashton
does show up, but I’m in favor of three sodas — why waste the extra? Finally, I
can’t take it anymore. “Let me just fucking text him and solve this whole
stupid issue,” I sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket and composing a
message. 
 
Luke Hemmings
5:05 PM
hey. hope everything turned out okay with your emergency. just wondering if
you’re coming to michael’s “emergency band meeting” — wanna know how many
refreshments we’ll need. thanks
 
Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with a response, and Michael grins
triumphantly.
 
Ashton Irwin
5:05 PM
heyyy yeah everything’s fine. harry just broke his arm @ school 2day & i had to
be there at the hospital b/c mum was at work. i’ll be there in ten mins c ya
soon. xx
 
“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” I tell Michael, grabbing another soda from the
fridge. 
 
                                       ∞
Come 5:15 PM, everyone’s arranged around the coffee table in Michael’s
basement. At Mikey’s insistence, we’re sitting in a circle, with Ashton on the
couch and Calum and myself in chairs. Michael’s standing, pacing around like
she’s not sure what to say — but that seems to be a foreign concept for
Michael. She always has something to say, even if it’s not the right thing.
However, there’s tension in the air that I don’t like, and as I look at Calum,
I wonder if he knows something that I don’t — Cal is clutching his Coke like
it’s a life preserver and he’s drowning in water I can’t see. 
 
“Okay,” Michael exhales, stopping in front of the couch. “First of all, we need
to clarify something — all of us here want this band to be serious, right?” We
all nod, confused by Michael’s seeming uncertainty of our dedication. “Good.
Here’s the thing — in order to become a serious band, we have to get gigs, but
in order to get gigs, we have to be at least halfway decent. Right now, I don’t
think we could even schedule a show at a kindergartener’s birthday party.” 
 
Calum winces at Michael’s harsh words, and she takes that as her cue to walk
over and stand in front of him.
 
“So, this means we need to practice more. We’ll be practicing every day but
Sundays,” Michael informs us. “I’ll give out the new schedules at the end of
practice today. Now, my estimation is that after about three or four months of
serious practice, we may be able to book a gig at Sydney’s cheapest, seediest
club.” 
 
Ashton raises his eyebrows. When did Michael become so…serious? 
 
“Additionally,” Michael continues, “while in the process of deciding what would
make this band more serious and overall a better band, I’ve reflected on each
member’s respective role, and I have realized that these roles need to change —
because right now, we’re more like the Island of Misfit Toys, not a band.” 
 
We’re all shocked, and Calum grips his Coke even tighter, while Ashton drums
his fingers nervously on the coffee table, forming a rhythm of anxiety.
 
“Don’t worry, Ashton,” Michael reassures him, “you’ll still be on drums, and
Calum, you’ll still be a bassist. Our instruments will remain essentially the
same. It’s the vocals that need a serious overhaul.” Calum, Ashton and I
exchange a puzzled look — I’m not sure we’re all on the same page as Michael.
 
Michael turns to face me. “Luke. Do you remember that time in Year 10 when I
caught you and Calum singing I Miss You on the way to the bus?” Michael
chuckles at the memory. “You two were the loudest idiots at Norwest, but you’re
also incredible singers. Calum, your voice is unique — it’s unlike any I’ve
ever heard. And Luke, you’re a master at vocal techniques, and you hit notes
that I could only dream of.” I smile at Michael’s kind words. It’s nice to know
that she admires my voice, but I’m unsure of the compliment’s relevancy to the
band. 
 
“So.” Michael’s tone becomes serious again. “I’ve decided that Luke should
become our lead singer, with Calum and me as backup vocalists. I’ll switch to
main guitarist — basically changing roles with Luke — and Calum and Ashton will
stay with their original instruments. Ashton, you’ll stick to singing choruses
and the occasional verse, just like you asked.” 
 
My jaw’s on the floor, though Calum and Ashton look pleasantly surprised.
“Michael, I’m an awful singer,” I protest. “Why did you feel things needed to
change, anyway?”
 
Michael responds with a sly smirk. “Some things are meant to be kept secret,”
she says. 
 
Calum rolls his eyes playfully. “Sounds good,” he grins. Ashton smiles in
approval, so I’m the only one who doesn’t like Michael’s changes. I stare at
her icily for a few moments, hoping it’ll wear her down, but I should know
better — Michael will stand her ground and win or die trying. I’m forced to
relent when Michael gives me one of her world-famous pouts, the kind that could
bring any boy in Sydney to their knees.
 
Satisfied with our compliance, Michael claps her hands together eagerly.
“Great! Now, did anyone come up with a name for our band? I gave you a week to
think it over,” she reminds us. Ashton and I glance at each other, both of us
knowing I’m far too nervous to shout out my suggestion.
 
“Luke came up with a name,” Ashton pipes up.
 
“Oh, really?” Michael raises an eyebrow. “Cool. What is it, Luke?” 
 
“5 Seconds of Summer,” I mutter, pulling my knees to my chest. I tongue my lip
ring anxiously (a nervous habit) when Michael’s silent for a minute. Oh god,
she won’t like the name, of course she doesn’t like the name, it’s the worst
band name she’s ever heard, oh my god why did I even bother —
 
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Michael says slowly, a smile spreading across her face,
“we have a band.” 
 
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     this is a really short chapter, just including some necessary rising
     action. things will get, um, interesting in the next chapter. thank
     you for reading!
                                   Fourteen
                   We’re not friends, nor have we ever been
                  We just try to keep those secrets in a lie
                                   -Friends
As the months go by, practice becomes more and more intense as we feel the
pressure of trying to get a gig in a city of struggling musicians. My mother
worries that I’m overworking myself, what with juggling schoolwork and
consistent band practices, but I’ve managed to convince her that I’m fine —
which I honestly am, because thanks to Ashton, I’ve been clean for two months.
Right after the band got serious, he’d told me that he wasn’t one of those guys
trying to romanticize self-harm by viewing me as a damsel-in-distress, and he
as the shining knight in armor; rather, he promised he would help me fix
myself, not try to do it for me. I’ve tried to keep things light and playful
between us, but Ashton and I attract each other like magnets, and the line
between “friends” and “more than friends” becomes very blurred for us. I tell
myself I’m only allowing it because our great chemistry will look good on
stage, but inside, I know it’s something more than that. Meanwhile, Michael’s
attempted to get us gigs multiple times, but to no avail — no one wants to
listen to a bunch of teenage punks — until finally, one day in March, Michael
sends out a celebratory text message announcing we’ve booked our first gig. 
 
The details are sketchy, but according to Michael, a friend owed her a favor,
and that friend happened to work at one of Sydney’s seediest clubs. All it took
was a little pouting on Michael’s part, and we had our first performance, just
like Michael had predicted back in December. I try not to worry too much that
this friend may be a drug addict, though Michael assures me otherwise. 
 
The gig sneaks up on me, and before I know it, I’m at the club, waiting
backstage with Mikey, Calum and Ashton. Guitar in one hand, bottle of water in
the other, I hear our name being called, and everything turns into a blur of
adrenaline, a rush of singing and playing and smiling till I think my face will
crack open. When it’s all said and done, as I walk off that stage, listening to
the dying noise of the crowd that had cheered for us, I know that this is what
I want to do with my life. With that little bit of talent the world’s given to
me, I know I’m going to fight tooth and nail to make it big, make it out of
here, and make it to America — just like Michael and I had always dreamed.
 
After our successful show, Michael declares drinks are on her, but with one
look at the rotten state of the club, we decide our vices are better purchased
from a liquor store. We arrive at Michael’s empty house (her parents are away
on a weekend trip to see the grandparents) with a plastic bag full of illegal
fun. Set up in the basement with pizza, Michael’s Xbox and some red solo cups,
Calum is the first to suggest a game.
 
“Sure, but what kind of game?” I ask, wincing as the burn of vodka slides down
my throat.
 
“Never Have I Ever,” Calum giggles, clearly already tipsy.
 
“That’s so childish,” Michael says dismissively. “Why can’t we play something
more… adult? I like a little more spice in my games.”
 
“No, let’s play Never Have I Ever,” Ashton insists, eyes lit up like New Year’s
Eve fireworks. Michael sighs in defeat and turns to her Xbox, ignoring us while
we play.
 
Ten minutes later, Ashton still has most of his fingers, while Calum and I are
pretty close to being out. Still, Ashton’s clearly a lightweight, as he’s red
in the face from only a few sips of his drink. Now it’s Ashton’s turn. He
thinks for a few moments before staring directly at me and saying, “Never have
I ever been in love with my best friend.”
 
Ashton takes a swig of his beer. 
 
I’m frozen to my spot, knuckles white around my own beer. Calum’s laughing,
saying, “Wow, Ashton, you must be really knackered to say something you’ve
already done,” but I can’t hear anything, heart pounding in my ears. What is
Ashton saying? Is he in love with me? Is he in love with someone else? Was he
in love with a best friend in the past? If he was, then why would he look at me
like that? And why does he look so goddamnhurtthat I didn’t drink?It’s true —
Ashton’s eyes are like that of a kicked puppy’s, and I wish I was anywhere else
but here right now. Calum’s stopped laughing, sensing the tension in the air.
 
“I’ll go next,” Calum offers, trying to melt the ice that’s developed between
Ashton and me. “Never have I ever TP’d someone’s house.” I roll my eyes at how
lame that is, but take a swig. Ashton does, too, and Michael turns from her
Xbox to take a drink. “Remember how I’d wait in the car while you and Michael
went to go TP the houses?” Calum asks, laughing so hard I worry about the state
of his sides. 
 
“Yup,” I respond dryly. We continue with the game without another hitch, but
when we all leave Mikey’s house the next morning, I fear I’m not the only one
who can see the panic in my eyes, the panic that hasn’t left since Ashton’s
drunken quasi-confession. 
 
But it’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll just go on like nothing ever happened.
 
I have to give myself credit — it does work for a little while.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm aware that the Annandale Hotel is more of a pub in real life, but
     I decided to turn it into a fancy hotel for my story. thank you for
     reading!
     Trigger Warning: self-harm
                                    Fifteen
          You gave me all your love and all I gave you was “Goodbye”
                               -Back to December
That sleazy March gig seems to be the kick-off for us, and suddenly 5 Seconds
of Summer’s Facebook page is seeing double the hits. My Twitter followers
increase exponentially, and Ashton finally makes his own Instagram, if only for
“band-related purposes.” The cold comes and goes, fading into the warmth of
November — the month that Michael calls us together for another “emergency band
meeting.” 
 
“I swear to God, if she’s changing things again, I might lose it,” I joke with
Calum, arranged in Michael’s basement just like last December. 
 
“Nah, I think we’re good,” Calum snorts, watching as Michael finishes her
pacing and straightens up, all business.
 
“Guys,” Michael says excitedly, “we’ve got our first good gig.”
 
“Hell, I’d consider any gig a good gig,” Calum mutters. Michael shoots him a
stony glare.
 
“It’s at the Annandale Hotel, right here in Sydney, on December 3rd,” Michael
beams. I haven’t seen her this excited since she finally got her hair the
perfect shade of crimson back in Year 10. “Thanks to Calum, who’s been a huge
help and has assisted me in arranging this, we’ll be staying at the hotel the
night before the gig and the night of the gig. It’s at 7:00 PM in the ballroom
— some kind of rich rockers’ memorabilia auction, quite a few people there.” 
 
Calum grins unabashedly, clearly proud of his efforts. “Way to win some brownie
points with Michael,” I whisper, elbowing him. Calum blushes bright red and
thumps me on the shoulder.
 
Michael clears her throat, noticing our bad behavior. “Now, I wanted to remind
you all that this could be our ticket to getting noticed,” Michael continues.
“Not just our ticket to getting noticed, but our ticket to America — several
important agents will be at the auction, and if we’re good enough, they’ll
notice us. We’d better not fuck this up, guys. This could be our last chance at
getting this band out of Australia and someplace better.” We’ve all gone quiet,
faces solemn at the mere prospect of screwing up this chance. Michael’s right —
this could be our last opportunity to get out of Sydney and do something with 5
Seconds of Summer.
 
“Got any less nerve-wracking news, Michael?” Ashton asks, drumming his fingers
on his legs. Michael laughs, playfully flipping Ashton off, and perches on the
edge of the sofa, resting an arm on Calum’s shoulder. The poor boy is as red as
Ashton’s favorite bandana by now.
 
“Well, yes,” Michael says teasingly. “We have a radio interview this Saturday,
9 AM sharp. Be there or be square — square being code for ‘no longer a member
of 5SOS.’” 
 
                                       ∞
I must spend at least an hour getting ready for the interview Saturday morning.
I don’t know why I’m taking so long to primp — it’s not like anyone can see me
other than the DJ and my bandmates. I chalk it up to a need to get on Michael’s
good side, though truth be told, I’m sure it’s an inner desire to look my best
for Ashton. Perhaps the primping also distracts me from my nerves, which are
very frayed at the moment. The DJ who will be interviewing us today is
notorious for mischievous pranks and flirtatious games that I’m praying won’t
be included in our segment. The last thing I need is to embarrass myself in
front of thousands of locals.
 
I’m silent the entire drive to the station — Michael’s unusually quiet, too,
probably just as wracked with anxiety as I am. We park and hurry inside the
building, Michael muttering something about the humidity ruining her makeup.
The receptionist informs us that Ashton and Calum are already situated in the
green room, and Michael curses under her breath, grumbling that they’re
probably already drunk off a few beers. I don’t bother to remind her that it’s
only eight-thirty in the morning — Michael will skin me alive if I irritate her
today.
 
To Michael’s great relief, Ashton and Calum are reasonably sober in the green
room, promising the redness in their faces is simply due to the intense heat
outside. Carefully searching for any slurring in their words, Michael seems to
accept this and moves on, taking on a businesslike tone and outlining the
“rules” of the interview. She spends extra time on Ashton and myself —
apparently Ashton really needs to know not to badmouth Swallow the Goldfish,
and I shouldn’t be too sullen with the interviewer. We’ve been through this
rodeo a million times in the past year, but whenever Michael shows up to an
interview, she seems to forget this, becoming a frazzled, harried Michael I’m
not quite familiar with. 
 
After the fiftieth rule spat out by Michael, Calum’s finally had enough. “Okay,
Michael,” he says, raising his hands in defeat. “We get it. But please stop
freaking out. That’s not going to do anything except make us all more
anxious.” 
 
Michael breathes deeply, running a hand through her hair, recently dyed a
gorgeous plum ombré shade. “Okay,” she sighs, sinking into the chair next to
Calum’s. I raise an eyebrow at Calum, surprised that he’s gotten Mikey to
concede so easily. Then again, Calum kind of has that effect on her — he just
relaxes Michael. They’re a good pair, and I wonder how long Michael is going to
keep Calum waiting. I know he’s developed that method of bringing home a
different girl every night to cope with the silent rejection from Mikey, but
this can’t go on for much longer — the sexual tension between them is
undeniable. Yes, and what would Michael say about you and Ashton? I shudder at
the nasty little voice inside my head. That voice always pops up at the worst
of times.
 
“5 Seconds of Summer?” a prim, proper voice calls as a tiny blonde woman steps
into the room. She’s dressed in a neatly pressed button-down and a denim skirt
that Michael would say is “so 2005” (like we were even old enough to keep up
with the fashion trends in 2005) and is slender enough to spark tendrils of
envy in my chest. Stop, I tell myself. She’s just as skinny as you, just more
proportional maybe, but there’s nothing wrong with that, you’re both healthy.
 
“Yes,” Michael nods, eagerly jumping up from her seat. “When are we on?” 
 
“Right now, actually,” the woman smiles, guiding us into the studio, where our
host is chattering behind a microphone about Coldplay’s latest album. The woman
equips us with mikes and headphones as the show breaks for commercials, then
quietly exits the room when we’re back on air. The host, a mischievous man who
looks like an older, brunette Ashton, introduces us, Michael smirking when he
says we’re Sydney’s “hottest up-and-coming pop punk band.” 
 
We start off with the typical question-and-answer session (although they did
throw in a new fan question, asking about the kind of girl Calum likes; I’m not
surprised when he says he loves all girls, but colored hair really gets him
going) before our host announces we’ll be playing a game. “Ooh, fun,” Ashton
grins, clapping his hands together. “What kind of game?” 
 
“Well, we figured since you guys are 5 Seconds of Summer, we’d pick a game
typically played at summer parties,” the host explains, gesturing to the blond
woman from earlier. She’s bringing in an empty bottle of sparkling water, and I
groan internally, knowing what that probably means. “So, 5 Seconds of Summer,
we’ll be playing Spin the Bottle today.” My stony face sets off alarm bells in
Michael’s head, and she shoots me an admonitory glare, while Calum looks at me
like he’s expecting me to speak up and react to this.
 
I laugh nervously, fingering one of my bracelets. “I’ve never been too good at
that game,” I joke. “Just what are the rules, Doug?” I hope that’s his name, I
can’t exactly remember. 
 
“No kissing me,” Doug shoots back, chuckling at his stupid reply. “But really,
it’s simple, Luke. We have some questions about your bandmates for you to
answer, and if you’re wrong, then you have to spin the bottle. Whoever it lands
on, you have to kiss.”Ohh, sothat’swhy we had to send in four different facts
about ourselves last week.
 
“But where?” Ashton questions, leaning forward in his seat. “Just where are we
kissing each other,” he clarifies, smiling sheepishly about the implied
naughtiness of his statement. 
 
“Well, that’s what this lovely little wheel is for, Ashton,” Doug cries
excitedly, pulling out a brightly colored spinner divided into four sections,
each labeled with a different body part — “Mouth,” “Forehead,” “Cheek,”
“Butt.” 
 
“Butt?” Ashton shrieks, far too vibrant for this early in the morning. “I will
not kiss any of my bandmates on the butt!” he declares resolutely, crossing his
arms in defiance. 
 
“That’s what you say now,” Doug teases. “Anyway, guys and girls, we’ll get this
game set up during commercial break, and we’ll be back with you, Sydney,
shortly!” Ads begin playing on air as Doug gets up and motions for us to do the
same. The blonde assistant comes over and places tiny microphones on us,
presumably mikes that will broadcast our surely entertaining audio to all of
Sydney. Doug shuffles the deck of questions in his hands, looking awfully
pleased with himself. “Ready to start, kids?” he asks as the last commercial
plays. We all nod, Ashton bouncing on the balls of his feet like a little kid. 
 
Doug reintroduces us and explains to the listeners what we’ll be doing. Calum’s
the first up, and Doug grins devilishly at the question he pulls out. “Calum,
what is Luke’s favorite movie?” he reads. Calum reddens, scratching the back of
his head in thought.
 
“Erm, I’m not quite sure,” Calum admits, “so, sorry, Luke, but I’m going to
guess Mean Girls?” Calum waits patiently as Doug flips the card over and checks
for the answer. “I remember we watched that one time and she really enjoyed
it,” Calum adds.
 
Doug smiles. “Good memory, Calum,” he congratulates him, “because you’re
right.” Calum whoops excitedly. “Now you get to pick who goes next,” Doug
instructs.
 
Calum immediately chooses Michael, who incorrectly answers a question about
Ashton’s favorite food (it’s spaghetti) and is forced to spin the bottle (not
like she seems too disappointed about that). Like fate wants them to get
together, the bottle lands on Calum, and when Michael spins the wheel, the
spinner lands on “Cheek.” Coyly, Michael beckons Calum over with a come-hither
gesture, and reaches up on her tiptoes to give him a saccharine kiss on the
cheek. Calum blushes bright red and immediately looks down at the ground, while
Ashton and Doug cheer loudly. I’m silent, imagining nightmare scenarios of my
bottle landing on Calum and Michael strangling me with a guitar string. It
doesn’t even cross my mind that I’ll have to go until I hear Michael calling my
name, pulling me out of my thoughts.
 
“Your turn, Lukey,” Michael smirks. I roll my eyes when Doug’s not looking,
before flashing a smile full of honey and sugar to our host. 
 
“I’m ready, Doug,” I say in a sing-song voice. Pleased with my enthusiasm, Doug
laughs at the card he pulls out.
 
“Ooh, this is gonna be a tough one, Luke,” he taunts. “I hope you know your
bandmates well.”
 
“Oh, I’m quite certain I know them like the back of my hand, Doug,” I respond,
crossing my arms and tapping my foot impatiently.
 
“Alrighty,” laughs Doug. “Here’s your question, Luke — what was Michael’s first
artificial hair color?” 
 
I bite my lip. That is a tough question — with the number of times Michael’s
dyed her hair, all the different colors tend to blend together, and it’s hard
to establish a concrete timeline of hues. I guess anyway. “Green?” I offer.
 
Doug shakes his head. “Nope,” he says smugly. “Black. Spin the bottle, Luke.”
Trying to muster up a half-hearted smile, I wrap my hand around the bottle and
give it a good spin. As the bottle slows, I silently pray it won’t land on
Calum — Michael will give me death glares for days if that happens. 
 
My prayers are answered, but my fate is even worse than the bottle landing on
Calum. The bottle lands on Ashton.
 
Calum and Michael exchange a nervous glance before cheering loudly, pretending
for Doug like this isn’t a disaster in the making. My fingers shake as I turn
the spinner, and I can’t help but gasp when it stops on “Mouth.” 
 
Michael mutters a quiet “Fuck,” and Calum’s wide-eyed, staring at me like he’s
the one about to be kissed. Doug is oblivious, teasing Ashton for the way he’s
fidgeting in his place. I know I should act like I’m joking around, playfully
complain about the kiss with Ashton, but all I can focus on is the cold, hard
fear in the pit of my stomach. What are you so scared of, Luke? Falling for
him? I think you’ve already done that. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the
voice in my head to shut up and let me be. It’s not the voice that responds to
this, but Doug.
 
“Let’s go, Luke, pucker up!” Doug still thinks this is just a friendly game,
something we’ll forget about once we leave the station, just a little something
to bring up in conversation when we want to embarrass each other. Michael and
Calum can sense the tension in the air, while Ashton’s on the verge of getting
up and leaving, and I’m tempted to join him.
 
I shake my head. “No,” I say softly. “I’d rather not.” Michael’s eyes are
burning a hole in my head, but I ignore her.
 
“Aww, c’mon, Luke, doesn’t have to be a French kiss, just a little peck on the
lips,” Doug urges. 
 
“No,” I insist, firmer now. Ashton pales, while Michael’s practically purple
with rage.
 
“You’re no fun, Lukey, not even a—” Doug starts.
 
Michael cuts him off. “It’s alright, Doug, I’ll substitute for her,” she says
sweetly, walking over to Ashton. She gives him a quick kiss on the lips,
giggling at Ashton’s flustered expression, and skips back to her place next to
Calum, glaring at me the whole way. “Guess Lukey’s feeling a little frigid
today,” Michael simpers, shooting daggers from her eyes. Doug laughs awkwardly,
finally picking up on our strained expressions, and allows Calum to have one
more turn before ending the game. Interview complete, we thank Doug and his
assistant and hurry into the parking lot. I barrel past Ashton and Calum,
speed-walking to Michael’s car, and I’ve just pulled on the handle of the car
door when I realize it’s locked.
 
“Michael, let me in,” I call over my shoulder, spotting the purple-haired girl
a few feet away. She shakes her head, stopping a few inches away from me. We’re
face to face, noses practically touching.
 
“That was utter fuckery, Luke,” Michael growls, breath cold on my face— she
tends to suck down dozens of mints during interviews. This time, it may just be
a reflection of the current state of her heart. I take a step back, already
sensing where this conversation will lead.
 
“I mean, what were you thinking?” Michael continues, stepping into my space
once again. “Listen, Luke, I get that you and Ashton have that awkward ‘let’s-
pretend-we’re-not-more-than-friends-even-though-we-totally-want-to-be’ thing
going on, but that shit needs to be left at home. When it comes down to the
band, I don’t give a flying fuck about your personal feelings.” I cringe at
Michael’s harsh words, but she doesn’t even notice how uncomfortable I’ve
become — or worse, just disregards it.
 
“Do you know how that made us look, Luke?” Michael spits. “Do you? I really
don’t think you do know. Well, I’ll tell you — it made us look like entitled,
ungrateful, spoiled little brats!” Michael’s shouting now, words echoing across
the parking lot. I can see Ashton and Calum stop in their tracks a few spots
down, clearly unsure of whether to break up the argument or let Michael have
her little lecture. Better you than them, that’s what they’re thinking, the
voice taunts. I shut it down with a shrug, but Michael seems to think it’s
directed at her.
 
“Oh, you don’t care, huh, Luke?” Michael hisses. “Well, that’s great. In fact,
if you don’t care so much, why don’t you go get a ride with Ashton?” When I
don’t move, simply standing there in shock, Michael raises her voice again.
“Well, c’mon, go! CALUM, c’mere, you and Luke are switching!” Tears pool in my
eyes, and I storm off, stopping when I see the blurry outline of Ashton’s
sedan. I can barely see where I’m going, and Ashton seems to know this,
wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me into the passenger’s seat.
 
Ashton starts the car and peels out of the parking lot, sensing my need to
escape from this catastrophe. I blink away my tears, roughly swiping at my face
when a few stray drops escape. Ashton’s silent, the low roar of the engine
speaking for him. My eyes clear now, the hurt expression on his face is
obvious, and it has a worse effect on me than Michael’s harsh words could ever
produce. The pain dulling that beautiful hazel hits me like a punch to the gut,
and I double over with silent sobs, shoulders shaking. You’re an awful person,
you bitch, how could you ever do that to such a lovely boy, you don’t deserve
to breathe the same air as him. You don’t even deserve to breathe at all.
 
Ashton doesn’t notice, and my crying jag is over quickly, as I compose myself
with a few wipes of my sleeve and a deep breath. I’m quiet the rest of the
ride, readying myself for a quick goodbye. When we pull up to my house, I’ve
already got my fingers wrapped around the door handle, but Ashton stops me with
a light hand on my back. “Can we talk for a second?” he asks softly. I don’t
dare to respond with anything but a mute nod.
 
“Okay,” Ashton says shakily, taking a breath to steady himself. He’s more
anxious than I’ve ever seen him, running a hand through messy curls like he’s
trying to anchor himself to something that isn’t me or this crappy car.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, laughing at himself a little. 
 
“Ashton, I don’t have all day,” I say, sharper than I intended to. Surprise
flashes across Ashton’s features, before he shakes his head.
 
“Yeah, of course. Sorry,” he responds sheepishly. It’s started to rain outside,
fat, dark clouds pouring water onto dry Sydney streets. The sky is crying,
though judging by Ashton’s nervous glances, I have a feeling I’ll be crying
along with it pretty soon.
 
“So.” Ashton’s picking at a thread on his shirt, barely making eye contact. “I
understand if you don’t feel the same way — I mean, you kind of made that
abundantly clear during Spin the Bottle — but I really like you, Luke, and I
was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.” He says it all in a rush,
in one singular breath, like if he says it any slower, it’ll be a toxic poison
that seeps into his system and eats away at his heart. But really, love isa
toxic poison of sorts, isn’t it?
 
I used to be okay with love, that toxic poison, back when I had an antidote for
it. But Alex stole my antidote when he left, and Mikey and Calum were left to
soak up the damage. I don’t think I can handle being poisoned again. 
 
“No,” I say quietly. Ashton inhales sharply, rocking back a little in his seat,
before nodding quickly.
 
“Okay,” he says, voice wavering. “I totally understand that, it’s your right to
say no. But could you just tell me why?” 
 
“What?” I jerk up abruptly at that. “Why do you care about that, Ashton?”
 
“Because I want to know where I went wrong.” Ashton’s voice is sad, and every
inch of my skin goes cold. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.“Just tell me what
mistake I made. Give me that, and I’ll never bring this up again, and we can go
on pretending that nothing ever happened.” Pretending… My whole life with you
is fucking pretending.
 
I snap.
 
“Do you know why I can’t date you, Ashton?” I hiss through tears. “Because I
don’t trust you! I haven’t trusted anyone since Alex, and I can’t!” My voice
cracks, and I can’t focus on anything but the ball of anger threatening to
burst out of my chest. 
 
“Why can’t you trust me, Luke?” Ashton’s voice is steadily rising, though I can
see the struggle in his face to keep as quiet as possible. “After all we’ve
been through together? What did I do to lose your trust?”
 
“You never had it, Ashton!” 
 
“Why?” Ashton’s voice is thick. 
 
Because you’re a man, and I can’t trust you, because you’ll hurt me just like
Alex, because I’ll inevitably fuck it up and lose you, because—“Because you’re
you!” I shout out. Ashton recoils like I’ve shot him, and I immediately realize
what I’ve done, how my words came out all wrong when I was just trying to say I
didn't trust him because of my past experiences with men. I stumble over my
words, trying to apologize, but Ashton won’t hear it.
 
“Get out,” he says through gritted teeth, unlocking the door.
 
“No, Ashton, please, wait, I’m so sorry—” I try.
 
“Get out!” Ashton yells, thunder booming in sync with the pained shout. I’m out
of the car in a flash, standing there and sobbing as the rain soaks me to the
bone, while Ashton speeds off like I’m a hitchhiker and he’s just dropping me
off at my destination.  I’m chilled down to my very core, shaking as lightning
flashes nearby, a bright reminder of the even brighter boy I’ve just managed to
lose in the blink of an eye.
 
I’m so cold. I don’t know how long I’m out there before my teeth begin to
chatter, and my legs start the automatic walk into my house. 
 
I’m so cold. My mother’s not home, no one there to stop me as I enter my
bathroom.
 
I’m so cold. The blade doesn’t even hurt.
 
I’m so cold. I don’t even cry as I throw away the bloody tissues.
 
I’m so cold. And no one’s here to thaw me out.
 
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     thank you for reading.
     Trigger Warning: self-harm.
                                    Sixteen
                          I feel this cold inside me
                     It howls away all through the market
                              It calls your name
                                  -Apartment
Michael knows something’s wrong when I show up to practice that afternoon in a
long-sleeved shirt. “Really, Luke?” she sighs, irritation showing in her voice.
“It’s thirty degrees out.” 
 
“I was cold,” I respond, memories of the argument with Ashton still flashing
through my head. I tried to text him a million times, but all I got back was a
harsh, Please stop texting me or I’ll have to block your number. It’s only been
a few hours, and it's like Ashton’s already completely cut me off. He’s sitting
in the corner, joking around with Calum as he does his pre-practice stretches.
 
“Bullshit,” Michael says, eyes narrowing. It’s like she knows, because her hand
shoots out to grab my hand and turn my palm to face the ceiling. I wince as
Michael’s fingers make quick work of rolling up my shirt sleeve. Michael reels
back on her feet at the harsh, angry lines that confront her.
 
“I thought you stopped,” Michael whispers quietly, tears pooling in the corners
of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Luke, I shouldn’t have been so mean earlier, why
didn’t you call me—”
 
“It’s not you, Mikey,” I interrupt, shaking my head at her. “It’s Ashton.”
Michael glances over at the boys on the other side of the room, oblivious to
our conversation.
 
“What the fuck did he—” I slap a hand over Michael’s mouth; she’s getting loud.
 
 
“Shh,” I hiss. “Stay quiet. I don’t want Calum or Ashton to know.” I pull my
hand away and work on tugging my sleeve back down.
 
“What did he do?” Michael lowers her voice. “Did he get mad at you because of
Spin the Bottle?” 
 
“It’s not worth talking about,” I say smoothly. I pick up my guitar and start
to test the strings. Michael’s silent, her face showing her struggle between
confronting Ashton and obeying my wishes.
 
“Okay, fine,” Michael says after a few moments, raising her hands in defeat.
“But if this little argument spirals out of control too much, it could ruin our
dynamic — so you’d better be careful.” I watch as Michael saunters away,
wondering exactly how I managed to fuck up my life in the span of seven short
hours.
 
                                       ∞
 I keep telling myself that Ashton will get over it eventually, that one day
all my stupid apologies will click in his head and he’ll finally send me that
reconciliatory text I’ve been hoping for. But that text never comes, and I
watch over the next month as Ashton’s name slowly falls to the bottom of my
messages list. It’s depressing to see, and the utter silence from Ashton takes
its toll on me. Everyone can see it — when Jack and Ben come home from
university, even they ask if I’m okay. And now I’m no longer hurting myself for
control or to feel good at something, I’m hurting just to feel anything other
than this frozen emptiness inside of me. Because I miss Ashton, more than I’d
ever dreamed I would.
 
I miss his giggles, his tousled curls, his bandana, his dimples — oh, those
fucking dimples. I miss his stupid drumming face and the way he’d always bang
his drums a little harder just to make me laugh, even if it meant he broke a
drumstick or two every once in a while. I miss the daily “how are you”s, the
supportive messages when it’s twelve am and I’ve hit a low, the cute little
videos from Harry and Lauren he’d send me during babysitting duty.
 
I miss him. And worst of all, he knows it.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     it's been too long! so sorry for the delay. i've been busy with
     school and just haven't had the time to update. but here's chapter
     seventeen, and i have to say, i'm particularly proud of this one (not
     quite sure why though haha). thanks for sticking with me and
     continuing to read :) things get interesting in this chapter! my
     lovely beta reader T hasn't had the chance to edit this chapter yet,
     but i was so eager to post that i figured i'd go ahead, and i'll
     change things as necessary after T sends me her edits.
     Trigger Warnings: mentions of self-harm; underage drinking
                                   Seventeen
                           We can fight our desires
                        But when we start making fires
                              We get ever so hot
                           Whether we like it or not
                               -In for the Kill
December 2nd, the day before our very first “real world” gig, arrives, and it’s
already going awfully. Sure, it turns out that Calum booked us some of the
nicest rooms at the Annandale Hotel, but the group car ride there is miserable.
Calum’s driving with an employee from the hotel in a separate van carrying our
guitars, his bass, and Ashton’s drum kit, so it’s just me, Michael and Ashton
in Ashton’s crappy sedan. Ashton’s stony and silent, his new norm when he’s
around me, and though Michael tries to lighten up with the mood with some bad
puns, it doesn’t work, and I end up blasting some Green Day through my earbuds
just to get through it.
 
My hotel room does make it kind of worth it, though. It’s huge, with freshly
polished wood floors and the coziest bed this side of Australia, along with a
fully stocked minibar that I definitely intend to take advantage of. The
furniture is obviously expensive, though apparently torn between imitating
pieces from Louis XIV’s era and a more modern style. The view is breathtaking —
I can see the Sydney Opera House in the distance, and the water is sparkling in
the evening moonlight. I draw my curtains shut and sigh contentedly, collapsing
onto the bed for a nap. I figure I’ll order room service when I wake up, watch
some Netflix on my phone and then get some shut-eye. No blades allowed —
Michael searched my luggage before we left, and though I could’ve hid some if I
really wanted to, it wasn’t worth the extra effort. It’s only one night, and if
I just stay in my room and avoid Ashton for as long as humanly possible, I
think I’ll be okay. 
 
I’m only just drifting off into sleep when there’s a knock on my door. Groggy
and reluctant to get up, I pull the covers tighter around me, shivering as a
blast of cold air conditioning hits me. My plan would’ve worked if the person
on the other side of the door was less persistent — after five additional
minutes of relentless pounding, I hear the click of a key card, and a very
angry pair of heels storms into my hotel room. The opening chords of “American
Idiot” blast by my left ear, and I groan, throwing off the covers. “Still using
the same tactics, I see,” I say, rolling my eyes at my uninvited guests — a
very provocatively dressed Michael, and a clearly uncomfortable Calum, both
wearing what could only be described as “clubbing attire.” Calum’s the more
casual of the pair, clad in a muscle tank and ripped black skinny jeans similar
to mine, whereas Michael’s gold bandage dress is short enough to be the
probable cause of Calum’s red face.
 
“Yes,” Michael smirks, “because this way always works so well.” She hits pause
on the music and opens her black clutch, throwing in her phone. “Get dressed.
We’re going clubbing.” 
 
I laugh sharply. “Very funny,” I hiss, “but I’d like to get back to bed now. I
have a date with the TV tonight and I’d rather not miss it.” Michael throws the
covers to the ground and pulls me out of bed, pushing me into a chair while she
sorts through my luggage for a suitable outfit. Calum’s doubled over with
laughter, finding the situation far more humorous than I do.
 
“God, Luke,” Michael groans, running a hand through perfectly curled hair, “you
don’t have anything nice to wear, do you?” 
 
“Oh, please,” I scoff from the chair. “I don’t think that’s the issue here. We
obviously have different opinions on the definition of ‘nice.’” 
 
Michael kneels by the chair so we’re face-to-face, her bright green eyes
burning into my faded blue. “Luke,” she coos, “c’mon. We have a huge gig
tomorrow, and you’re sitting here in a slump. You’ve got to find some energy
somewhere, or we’re gonna suck tomorrow.” My resistance is weakening, and
Michael can tell; she knows if it involves the band’s future, I’ll likely give
in.
 
“Besides,” she adds with a wink, “if you get too hungover, it’s nothing a few
of the Annandale’s famous Bloody Marys won’t fix.” Michael’s so earnest, so
determined to make me happy — I can see it in her face. I take one look at my
phone and decide that a night out with my two best friends is a lot less lonely
than a night spent with Netflix and pizza. 
 
“Fine,” I relent, “but I don’t have anything to wear, as you so kindly pointed
out.” Michael muses over this fact for a moment before a light bulb switches on
in her head, and she grins at me excitedly.
 
“You can wear one of my dresses!” Michael squeals, pulling me out of the room
and into the hallway before I can resist. The next few minutes fly by as
Michael shoves us into her room, locks the door (probably so Calum can’t sneak
a peek), and tears through her luggage to find the perfect dress. She settles
on a gray bandage dress, similar to hers but with below-the-shoulder straps
that display my collarbone — one of Michael’s favorite parts on me, for some
reason. After Michael does some emergency tousling and mousse-spritzing with my
hair (and adds about 50 pounds of smoky eyeliner), she has me look in the
mirror. I have to admit, the charcoal shade makes my eyes pop, and Michael’s
makeup skills definitely make me more presentable. After forcing on some 4-inch
heels (Michael tried to go with 5-inch platforms, but we both knew that
wouldn’t end well), I stumble out into the hallway, deemed ready for a night of
clubbing with Sydney’s craziest partiers. 
 
“You look great, Luke,” Calum compliments me, but he still can’t tear away his
eyes from Michael, dazzling in her golden ensemble. “Mikey, have we invited
Ashton yet?” My blood runs cold, and as she walks over to his door, I silently
pray that the drummer will reject Michael’s invitation. 
 
Ashton answers after two knocks. “Hi, Michael,” he grumbles, obviously
exhausted. “What’s up?” 
 
“We were just wondering if you wanted to go clubbing with us,” Michael replies,
gesturing to Calum and me in the hallway. Ashton glances over at me, face
turning sour. 
 
“I think I’ll pass for tonight,” he mumbles before shutting the door in Mikey’s
face. Michael’s jaw drops, and she’s about to knock on Ashton’s door again and
curse him out when Calum walks over, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.
 
“Give him a rest for tonight, Michael,” Calum murmurs in her ear. Michael’s
shoulders, raised high with anger, relax instantly at his touch. She nods
dejectedly, allowing herself to be upset for a few moments before replacing her
frown with a huge smile. 
 
“No problem,” Michael says, surprisingly upbeat considering Ashton’s bad mood.
“Let’s have some fun tonight, guys!” 
 
                                       ∞
Clubbing with Mikey and Calum is actually a lot more fun than I’d expected. The
dark pulsing of the music, the burn of alcohol in my throat, the mindless
dancing with strangers — it all contributes to a feeling of a false reality.
It’s like I’m enjoying a fantasy, and sure, maybe when it’s all over I’ll go
back to the hotel and become that ugly, awkward Amazon everyone knows and
hates, but for now, I’m unexpected beauty. In this club, I’m a flash of a
pretty mystery in most people’s eyes, and I didn’t expect to enjoy it this
much, but I do. Now I understand why Cal and Mikey enjoy this so much — you
have permission to be anonymous, have the time of your life, maybe fuck things
up a little, but then you go home and wake up the next morning as yourself.
 
After the harsh encounter with Ashton at the hotel, I have no problem downing
five shots of tequila and a Cosmopolitan. Michael encourages me to do body
shots with her, but that’s a little much for my taste, even in my wasted state.
While Calum flirts in the corner and Mikey appeases her crowd of suitors, I
head for the dance floor. It’s a writhing mass of bodies that I struggle to fit
into, and though this task would normally daunt a sober Luke, when the world is
spinning around me, I’m not scared at all. 
 
I’ve just settled into the rhythm of the music when a pair of hands settles on
my hips. Someone’s dancing behind me, and when I turn to ask for some space, I
spot a flash of auburn hair and green eyes. Chest tightening, I wrench myself
away from the stranger, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. It’s okay, it’s
not Alex, you don’t even know this guy. Stop freaking out, stop it, stop it,
stop—
 
“What’s wrong, don’t like dancing?” the stranger purrs. His voice is deeper
than Alex’s, and I let out a sigh of relief. “How about I buy you a drink,
princess?” I freeze in my place. Alex used to call me princess. “Princess,
please, you’ve been teasing me all night… Why the fuck not, Princess? You goin’
frigid on me or somethin’?”My blood runs cold, head pounding with painful
memories of Alex’s words.
 
“Um, m-maybe not tonight,” I stammer, stumbling backwards. I trip over
someone’s foot in the process, causing me to crash to the ground in an
embarrassing mess of spandex and stilettos. The stranger hovers over me, eyes a
familiar shade of cold, and I’m up and running before anyone can ask if I’m
okay. I slow down when I reach the bar, panting heavily (sprinting in heels is
not an easy feat). I tear through my clutch, searching for any semblance of
money for a taxi, before I spot Michael’s glimmering black clutch, abandoned by
its owner. I only hesitate for a moment before I’m grabbing ten bucks out of
her bag, mentally apologizing for my misdeed. Sorry, Mikey, I’ll pay you back
later.
 
Tears burn in the corners of my eyes as I hail the cab, cursing myself for ever
thinking it was a good idea to come here.Your friends should know not to bring
you anywhere fun, the nasty voice whispers. You always ruin a good time. No
wonder Alex got sick of being with you… You’re not worth it.Harsh words ring in
my mind the entire ride back to the hotel, drowning out my surroundings to the
point where I don’t even realize I’m back in my hotel room until my overheated
skin meets the cool cotton sheets. 
 
Chest numb, body on autopilot, I slip out of my dress and splash water on my
face before collapsing back on my bed. I’m shivering uncontrollably, a nasty
side effect of an awful combination of too much alcohol and a heavy dose of
fear. The clock on my nightstand only reads 11:20 when my eyelids drift shut,
and I finally spiral into a restless sleep.
 
                                       ∞
Though I desperately need sleep if I’m going to be halfway decent at tomorrow
night’s show, the world around me has other plans. It’s five minutes past
twelve when a harsh, relentless series of knocking cruelly rips me from my
dreams (or lack thereof). Thanks to the little bit of rest I’ve managed to get,
I’ve sobered up to the point of rational thought, though my head still pounds
with unshed tears. It takes a few more insistent knocks to convince me to get
out of bed and answer the door. 
 
Maybe I’m still not completely sober, because in my haste to stop the pounding
on my door, I didn’t bother to look through the peephole, and now Ashton
Irwin’s standing in front of me, looking ridiculously flawless for twelve in
the morning.
 
Fuck.
 
“Hey,” Ashton breathes out, rubbing at the back of his head with one hand, the
other tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh. 
 
I can’t help myself. This is the first time Ashton’s talked to me in a month.
“Hey,” I whisper, voice rough-edged with grogginess. Ashton smiles softly,
before doing a double take at my attire that makes me realize I’m still wearing
my bra and panties from the club.
 
“Sorry, did I wake you up?” Ashton stammers. I let out an awkward laugh,
wrapping my arms around myself to cover the skimpiest parts of my sleepwear,
and Ashton’s face flushes. “Sorry, stupid question,” he mutters, staring down
at his beat-up Converse. 
 
“I mean, yeah, I was kind of asleep, but we need to talk anyway, so…” I trail
off, mind going a thousand miles a minute. Ashton’s here, at my door, at twelve
in the morning, looking like he doesn’t want to rip my head off. This is my
chance. “Wanna come in?” I offer, nudging the door open wider with my foot.
 
Ashton’s silent for a few moments, and my heart pounds in my chest, slamming
against my ribcage so roughly I worry it might explode. His eyes still trained
on the floor, Ashton doesn’t respond, simply strides past me and into the hotel
room, taking careful measures not to brush against me. Hurt flares briefly in
my chest, but I close the door behind us anyway, hesitation causing me to
remain standing in the doorway. Ashton paces the room, giving me the sense that
this is going to be a long conversation, and I take the opportunity to perch on
the edge of my bed.
 
After five minutes of silent pacing, Ashton finally stills, stopping a few feet
away from the bed to look at me. Gone is all the awkwardness and uncertainty of
the hallway; it’s been replaced by anger, pure fury burning in those beautiful
hazel eyes — though Ashton’s rage can’t disguise the palpable hurt on his
features. I know he hates that — it’s obvious from his body language, the way
his knuckles stand out white against folded arms, the dilated pupils. 
 
I hate that I made him feel this way. It’s my fault, hurting him with stupid
words I should’ve kept to myself, stupid things I shouldn’t have thought in the
first place. Then again, maybe it’s for the best. I don’t deserve Ashton; he
deserves someone who can give him the world, maybe the fucking universe even,
and all I can give him is a crappy chord on a guitar and a meaningless story
about some scars.
 
“What is it about me that screams ‘untrustworthy,’ hm?” Ashton says, voice low
and husky. I’d be lying if I said the way he advances a little closer with each
word didn’t turn me on.
 
“What is wrong with me, Luke, that makes it so impossible for you to trust me?”
I’m trembling now, but I’m hit with a bolt of confusion when I realize it’s not
fear causing this reaction.
 
“You can’t trust me because I’m me, huh?” Ashton spits, voice dripping with
scorn and poorly disguised pain. He’s right in front of me now, so close that
it’s almost unbearable, and I have to stand up to anchor myself, remind myself
this is real.
 
“Well, I’m sorry Luke, but you’re going to have to sort out whatever problem
you have with this,” Ashton gestures to himself, “because I am not changing.”
Now he’s shaking, too, a frozen ray of sunshine threatening to fall into pieces
at any moment.
 
I look up at him, and have to bite my lip to keep from gasping. He’s so fucking
close. In the shadows of the hotel room, Ashton looks like a fallen angel, the
hurt in his eyes staring back at me accusingly, reminding me of everything I’ve
done. The faint beams from the streetlight outside the window fall onto his
hair, highlighting the blond in the curls, making a devilish halo of sorts. I
want to kiss him so badly. Maybe I’m still not sober, maybe it’s that last shot
of tequila from the club, but something makes me reach out and lightly caress
Ashton’s stubbled cheek. He inhales sharply, eyes never leaving mine.
 
“I would never want you to,” I murmur sadly, and, closing my mind to the
consequences, I press a trembling kiss to Ashton’s mouth.
 
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     hi, guys. it's been a while! sorry about that. i've been writing a
     lot and trying to make these chapters as perfect as possible for you
     all. thank you so much for reading - this story has become my baby of
     sorts, and it's so great to know that you all support it. i love the
     5sos community on here and i have loved writing this story.
     so far, i have 27 chapters planned out. of those 27 chapters, i have
     written 24. i will be writing the remaining three chapters in the
     next few days, though i may add more chapters, depending on how long
     each chapter gets. i like my chapters long, but not novel-length
     haha.
     anyway, i'll be posting the chapters i have written kind of all at
     once. so chapters 18-24 are all going to go up tonight (march 7). i
     should have chapters 25, 26 and 27 finished by march 13th.
     things will be getting dramatic from here on out. no trigger warnings
     for this chapter. again, thank you for your support, and please
     enjoy. :)
                                   Eighteen
                And I thought you can leave it all in your mind
                                 -Open Season
I curse the ridiculously bright Australian sunlight, harsh rays streaming
directly into my face and tearing me from my dreamless sleep. Normally I’d be
pretty upset at being woken up so early anyway, but last night was my first
peaceful rest in a month, as my nightmares returned without Ashton to talk me
through my worries every night.
 
I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, finally appreciating the hotel room
Calum booked. I didn’t get a proper glimpse of it last night — or at least, I
don’t remember getting a good glimpse of it. There’s a gaping hole in my
memory, a huge black canyon stretching on from my hasty exit from the club.
Even getting ready with Michael and Calum before the club is a bit hazy. I’m
tempted to crawl back under the covers and fall back asleep, and the bed’s not
making it easy for me to resist. Apparently the incredible softness isn’t the
only benefit of an expensive bed, as mine is deliciously warm, almost like it
would feel if another person was in here with me —
 
I look to my left and almost scream. Shit. Another person is in here with me,
and not just any person, but Ashton fucking Irwin himself. Goddammit, Luke, you
aresucha fucking idiot. Memories rush back in flashes, and I have no choice but
to watch as scenes from last night play behind my eyes.
 
 “I would never want you to,” I murmur sadly, and, closing my mind to the
consequences, I press a trembling kiss to Ashton’s mouth. Something seems to
snap inside him, and he moans gutturally, crushing his lips to mine. We back
across the room, never breaking apart until — stupid me — I back us into a
chair, and stumble against Ashton’s chest.
 
 …His fingers are everywhere at once, and it’s too much and never enough.
 
 …In a flourish of movement, Ashton picks me up in his arms and strides across
the room. I giggle uncontrollably, staring up at him with what I’m sure is a
disgustingly adorable face. I can’t help it. He looks down at me and grins, a
mischievous twinkle in his eye, before dumping me unceremoniously on the bed. I
yelp in surprise and stare at him reproachfully as he examines me from the foot
of the bed. “Beautiful,” he declares, as though it were a fact of life.
 
 …Ashton collapses on top of me, a warm, comforting weight. He’s pressing
little kisses onto my neck and chest as I realize with a jolt that he’s still
inside me. For some reason, that makes me incredibly happy, and I want to stay
this way, full of Ashton and covered in Ashton, for as long as I can. My
eyelids work against me, dragging me down towards sleep, until finally, I give
in.
 
It’s not a complete memory, but it’s enough to make me fully aware of what
happened last night. Head pounding, I bury my face in my hands, trying to
evaluate the best possible course of action for the extremely awkward situation
I’ve put myself in. I mean, what exactly is the best course of action when you
drunkenly fucked your ex-best friend, who is still in a band with you and is
performing a gig with you tonight? I look around for solid evidence of the past
night’s events, and can’t help but gag when I see the foil wrapper in the
trash. At least you used protection — God only knows you wouldn’t wanna carry
Ashton Irwin’s demon spawn baby.
 
However, any dream of using protection like a responsible adult flies out the
window when I move the cover to get out of bed and see that what should have
been in the condom actually ended up on my thighs. Resisting the urge to puke,
I run to the bathroom and hurriedly scrub at my legs with a towel, already
concocting plans of petty revenge on Ashton. 
 
After I’ve practically scrubbed myself raw, I brush my teeth and run over to
the dresser to find some clothes. I throw on a band tee, a pair of jeans and
some sneakers and head out the door, wallet in hand, to buy myself a backup
plan.
 
                                       ∞
When I return from the drugstore, having downed some emergency contraception in
the parking lot of a Macca’s, I find that Ashton has left, not even bothering
to put a note in his place. I try to pretend it doesn’t bother me, but the
blatant disregard for my feelings does sting a bit. Still, I should have
expected as much — it’s not like we ever really sorted out our issues last
night, which I guess means we’re still technically enemies, not friends. 
 
No matter, Ashton’s sneaky departure isn’t my biggest issue at the moment, as
I’ve come back to exactly twenty-two voicemails and fifty-five text messages
from Calum and Michael, all centering around the issue of where the fuck I am
and why the hell haven’t they heard from me since I left the club last night. I
let out a loud groan of frustration — Cal and Mikey are always so
overprotective, and of course the night I had a fling with Ashton would be the
night I forget to check in with them after an unexpected departure. 
 
Moaning in exasperation, I begin to type out a quick group text to Calum and
Michael, explaining that I’m okay, just super hungover, and that I’ll see them
at the soundcheck later, but I realize by now, my friends have probably
attempted to file a missing person’s report. My best option is to call one of
them and let them hear my voice.
 
Calum is a safer bet, so I dial his number and prepare myself for a string of
curses and a long, stern lecture. “Hello?” Calum picks up the phone on the
second ring, obviously anticipating my call.
 
“Hey, Cal, it’s Luke. I’m sorry I didn’t text you guys last night, I was just
really wasted and I kinda fell right into bed, totally forgot,” I explain,
playing with my lip ring. “I know that’s no excuse and I’m really sorry to have
worried you.” 
 
“Luke, it’s twelve in the afternoon,” Calum hisses. “Don’t tell me you’ve just
woken up.” I open my mouth, ready to tell him I was out doing something, but
shut it quickly, realizing he’ll probably ask why I needed to run errands in
the first place. I love Calum like a brother, and I’d trust him with my life,
but hell will freeze over before I’m telling him about my one-night stand with
our very own drummer.
 
“Yeah,” I say sheepishly, praying my freshman theatre class actually taught me
something about acting. I’ve always been a bad liar, especially with Calum. “’M
sorry.” I hold my breath, waiting for Calum’s response.
 
“Uh-huh,” he finally sighs out. I can picture him right now, probably running
his hand through jet-black hair and rolling his eyes, something Cal always does
when he’s irritated. “Well, remind me to never take you clubbing again,” he
says, and I can hear the smile breaking through in his voice. I grin, knowing
that I’m forgiven. “I’ll call Michael, let her know you’re safe and sound. But
let’s keep this a one-time thing, okay?” Calum adds. I can hear the words he
won’t dare to say — You made Michael really upset, and I was worried about her.
 
I nod. “Of course, Calum. Thanks, man. I’ll see you at soundcheck.”
 
“Yup, 5:30 sharp — don’t be late!” Calum teases as he ends the call. I toss my
phone onto a nearby chair and let out a huge breath of relief, collapsing onto
the bed for a much-needed nap. When did (half-)drunken flings get so goddamn
exhausting?
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Notes
     oh, the drama. ashton is a jerk (but he secretly thinks luke is cute
     when she's mad shhh don't tell her he said that).
     disclaimer: i am fully aware the annandale is a pub in real life. it
     has been turned into a hotel for my purposes, seeing as this is an AU
     (alternative universe) story. also, i have no idea if 5sos actually
     played "superhero" at their first gig (i don't think they did because
     i don't think they had written superhero at the time, but please
     correct me if i'm wrong) but let's just roll with it ok.
     thank you for reading :) enjoy!
                                   Nineteen
                    I know how it goes from wrong and right
                         Did they ever fight, like us?
                                   -You & I 
My eyes crack open at exactly 5:20 — just in time for the 5:30 soundcheck. As I
throw my stuff together and head out the door, a beam of light hits the foil
packet in the trash, reminding me of last night’s mistake. Alone with my
thoughts in the elevator (everyone else must already be downstairs), I shudder
at the thought of tonight’s gig. While just twenty-four hours ago this gig
seemed like a great opportunity, now it feels more like a chore. Pretending to
pal around on stage with Ashton is going to be torture — even if he doesn’t
interact with Calum, Michael and me until the end of the show, when we take
requests that may not require the drums.
 
As I predicted, soundcheck is awful — Ashton broods in the corner, staying as
far away from me as possible, while Calum and Michael shoot concerned looks my
way when they’re not too busy goofing around. By 6:20, when our soundcheck’s
finally over, the palpable tension in the air has had an obvious effect on
Michael. While Calum and Ashton grab bottles of water and go to fix their hair
in the mirror backstage, Michael pulls me to the side. 
 
“What’s up?” I ask as casually as possible, fiddling with the flannel tied
around my waist. I avoid Michael’s gaze, instead focusing on the workers adding
the final touches to the ballroom for the auction. Our set-up is quite nice,
actually — while the silent auction goes on below us, we’ll be playing on a
slightly elevated stage, front and center. We’re in an ideal spot where
everyone will be able to see us — whether that will end up being a good thing
or not, only time will tell.
 
Michael grabs my wrist, forcing me to look at her. Eyes narrowed into hard
chips of jade, Michael looks like she’s on the warpath. “Look, Luke, I don’t
know what the fuck happened last night,” Michael begins, and my blood instantly
runs cold. She pauses, seeing me flinch at her words, before starting over
again. “I don’t know what happened last night, but you guys have got to get
your shit sorted out. The crowd is gonna hate us if there’s all of this
unresolved tension onstage — and yeah, they can tell.” 
 
I open my mouth, ready to hit back with a sarcastic retort, but Michael’s not
having it. She barrels on, determined to finish her speech without
interruption. “So you and Ashton better go find a private place to sit, talk,
scream, pull each other’s hair out— whatever,” Michael continues. “Just get
this fixed before our gig. You have thirty minutes. Go.” When I just stand
there, mouth hanging open like a fish, Michael gently pushes me forward, right
as Calum’s steering Ashton my way. Shit. They clearly thought this one out. A
surprise attack, you could say.
 
Checking behind me to ensure Ashton’s following, I lead us out into the hallway
and into our dressing room, one door to the right of the ballroom. I slip in
the keycard, nudge the door open and arrange myself on the couch, wincing when
Ashton slams the door behind him. 
 
I watch as Ashton paces the room — just like he did last night, my mind says. I
cringe at the flashback and focus on picking at a stray thread on my jeans. The
clock on the wall ticks on as we remain still and silent, so unlike the vibrant
friends we used to be.
 
Finally, Ashton decides to speak up. “I’m not sure what your issue is, Luke,
but Calum and Michael are right — your negative attitude towards me needs to
change before we go onstage tonight, or you better become one hell of a good
actress in thirty minutes,” Ashton says icily. My cheeks heat up instantly, the
snarky remark making my blood boil. Still, despite the heat in my veins at
Ashton’s word, my heart is aching, frozen over at my former friend’s comment.
Ashton’s tone has never been this cold with me, and something about him
speaking to me like this just makes me see red.
 
After a month of the silent treatment, a month of being ignored, a month of
allowing myself to hurt so Ashton can wallow in his own pain, I finally snap.
 
“Are you kidding me, Irwin? You don’t know what my issue is?” I shriek, leaping
to my feet and glaring at the curly-haired asshole across from me. “We fucking
slept together last night, after a period of not speaking for a month, and when
I come back from buying emergency fucking contraception, since apparently we
didn’t even use protection, you have up and left, without even leaving me a
fucking note! You didn’t have to write me a goddamn sonnet, just a little Post-
It note or something would’ve been nice, maybe an, oh, I don’t know, ‘Sorry for
hooking up with you last night. You sucked, I won’t make that mistake again,’
or hell, even just a, ‘Sorry we fucked, see ya later!’” I’m steaming now, fists
clenched and tempted to attack my former best friend.
 
Ashton’s in shock, lips moving soundlessly in a struggle to find the right
words to say. I don’t give him a second chance to make things right. Instead, I
grab my keycard and leave, storming into the ballroom without another word. 
Ashton doesn’t follow, and though Michael and Calum give me inquisitive
glances, I’m done. I hide backstage and stay silent, trying to muster up the
energy for the show — but try as I might to distract myself from the drama
that’s just unfolded, it’s no use. Despite Calum loudly tuning his bass a few
feet away from me, the only thing ringing in my head is Ashton’s final cold
words — you better become one hell of a good actress in thirty minutes.
 
Well, Ash, I barely passed theatre, but I might as well try. Annandale gig,
here I come — ready or not.
 
                                       ∞
Final chords of “Superhero” still ringing in the air, we slip off the stage
quietly, only leaving to a smattering of applause. My acting skills? Still
terrible. I can practically feel the heat of Michael’s anger radiating off her
from a few feet away, and I can definitely hear Calum’s soft words of comfort
in her ear. Ashton’s stony-faced, grabbing a bottle of water and a towel to
wipe the sweat off his face. 
 
We put away our instruments in a locked room — we’ll collect them tomorrow
morning when we check out, and hotel workers will disassemble Ashton’s drum kit
after the auction — and pack into the elevator, completely silent. I glance
over and see Calum rubbing slow circles on Michael’s back. Maybe at least one
couple will be brought together by this. I sigh, leaning against the railing; I
really fucked this one up. The gig was awful — the drama between Ashton and I
meant shaky drumming for Ashton, and missed or misplayed chords for me. I
forgot lyrics, Ashton nearly broke his drums, and Calum and Michael tried
desperately to keep the whole mess in one piece. A valiant effort, but still, a
failure. 
 
Guilt settles heavily on my chest as we head to our separate rooms. Our final
shot at getting to America, our final chance at making something of ourselves,
and I’ve ruined it. We’ve all given up so much for this — Calum gave up
football, a career he’d showed a lot of promise in; Michael gave up her time
and money; and Ashton and I gave up our friendship, in the end. And now it all
means nothing, because I had to screw up and act like an immature little kid,
because I couldn’t move past things with Ashton and be a responsible adult for
once.
 
No wonder Michael’s mad at me. No wonder Calum’s disappointed. No wonder Ashton
can barely stand to look me in the eye. I’m an utter fuck-up.
 
I’m starting to wish I’d snuck in that blade.
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
     the drama continues. also whoops i kinda-sorta attempted to give
     michael a bit of a backstory but that kind of failed oh well.
     also the neighbourhood is one of my favorite bands so of course i had
     to include some neighbourhood lyrics in here :)
     thank you for reading :) please enjoy!
                                    Twenty
              You’re too mean, I don’t like you, fuck you anyway
                You make me wanna scream at the top of my lungs
                                    -Afraid
The next day, the ride back to my house is awkward and quiet. While I’m not
subjected again to torture in the sedan with Michael and Ashton, being left
with Calum in the van isn’t all sunshines and rainbows, either. I can tell by
the way Calum stares blankly ahead, clutching the steering wheel tightly, that
he’d rather be anywhere else — probably with Michael, if my assumptions about
their feelings for each other are correct. Then again, I’m not really the best
person to talk about feelings, considering how badly I fucked that up with
Ashton.
 
I can only stand to be alone in my house for a few hours before I decide that
Michael deserves an apology — a face-to-face one. While I could get a lift from
Calum, I’d rather avoid the certain tension; but Michael’s house is only a
short bike ride away, and while I haven’t dragged that rusty old thing out
since seventh grade, maybe it’s time for a little exercise. I slip on a pair of
Vans and haul my bicycle out of the garage. I have to take a few moments to
inflate the tires, but once my bike actually wants to move, I’m off, pedaling
past the same old cookiecutter houses and greasy restaurants I’ve known since
birth. My body knows where to take me, and I barely have to think about where
I’m going; my feet just instinctively pedal to Mikey’s house.
 
I throw my bike down in front of Michael’s house, letting out a sigh of relief
when I spot her mother’s car in the driveway. When Mikey gets mad, and she’s
not satisfied with the way her inevitable confrontation went, she’ll isolate
you for days at a time. While I have experience with calming Mikey down thanks
to years of mistakes on Calum’s part, she hasn’t been this angry with me in a
long time, and it’s a good thing her mother’s home, because otherwise Michael
probably wouldn’t even answer the front door for me. 
 
I ring the doorbell, wiping sweaty palms on my jeans. No matter my amazing
persuasive skills; this is still going to be a tough conversation. Mrs.
Clifford answers the door, the exhausted look on her face hinting at a recent
argument with Michael. Although Mikey loves her parents to death, she’s gone
through a rough patch with them recently, as they’ve been having money troubles
and Michael’s constant purchases of video games, pizza and alcohol have been an
issue for the Cliffords. Mr. Clifford is a little more apprehensive about
confronting Michael, but Mrs. Clifford knows her daughter well enough to
attempt to discipline her — although the Cliffords are well aware Mikey will
eventually get her way. They’ve stopped trying to punish her, really, as
Michael’s worn them out over these past few months.
 
Michael wasn’t always a heavy partier, nor was she always boy-crazy. When I met
her, she was actually very quiet, a reserved girl who would rather stay at home
and play video games than go outside and engage in a game of doctor with the
neighborhood boys. However, Mikey was quirky, always just a little different
from everyone else, and her slightly off-color sense of humor didn’t really
help. As time went on, our classmates began to notice this difference, and they
began to bully her. If I wasn’t the one being picked on that day, it was
Mikey’s turn, and she couldn’t stand it. By the time grade six rolled around,
Michael declared she needed to enroll in self-defense classes; to this day,
she’ll still boast about having the best palm strike in her class, despite
being the youngest in “Protection and Self-Defense 101.” 
 
Michael turned to violence to protect herself, and though her daily fights were
never a pretty sight, my best friend always came out on top. People started to
learn to stay away from Michael Clifford if you didn’t want to exit the
cafeteria with a bloody nose, but Mikey had developed an attitude similar to
that of a wounded animal. Whenever she felt cornered, Michael would resort to
thinking with her fists, and that scared me. Though I knew Mikey would never
hit me, I wished she would use her words and not her knuckles to communicate. 
 
With Calum’s peaceful influence, Michael slowly came out of her aggressive
phase, and by the middle of Year 9, she’d sorted things out. However, without
her fists to protect her, Mikey turned to partying and boys. In moderation,
these things are fine — but in excess, and especially when combined, they can
be dangerous. Mikey knows that full well — she simply doesn’t care. Sometimes I
think that clubbing for Michael is just as much a form of self-harm as my
cutting. She’s destroying herself, corroding her liver with prettily-named
vodka, breaking her heart with shiny-eyed boys. But I don’t say anything, god
knows the one time I tried to was disastrous enough, and I watch with Calum
from the sidelines as Michael dances her way to destruction.
 
The band’s been good for her. Thanks to 5SOS, Mikey’s focused on something more
productive than the cheapest way to get good liquor. She’s only visited the
clubs a few times since the band got serious, and I’m thankful for that. I
can’t lose Michael, too, not when I’ve already lost Ashton. But now, thinking
back on Michael’s bad partying ways, I wonder if fucking up the gig at the
Annandale may ruin 5SOS and send Michael back into the clubs.
 
Mrs. Clifford (she prefers for me to call her Karen, since I’m “like family”)
stares at me, clearly waiting for the answer to a question I must have missed.
“Sorry, Karen, I zoned out for a second,” I apologize. “It’s been a long few
days, what with the gig and all.” Karen smiles, likely thinking the same thing
about Mikey being a better person with the band on her mind. 
 
“It’s fine, honey,” she smiles. “I was just saying that Michael’s in an awfully
bad mood today — she’s locked herself in her room and everything. I’m not sure
if you’d want to talk to her, considering the state she’s in.”
 
“Well, if anyone’s going to calm Michael down, it’s probably me,” I remind her.
“Aside from Calum, I know Mikey better than anyone. I just need to talk to
her.” 
 
“If you say so, Luke,” Karen sighs. She opens the door wider and ushers me
inside, quietly closing the door behind us. “See if you can get her to come
out. I’ll have lemonade waiting in the kitchen, if you’d like some.” Karen
disappears into the kitchen, and I take the steps upstairs two at a time, far
too eager for a confrontation I know probably won’t end well.
 
Michael’s room is the first on the right — not like I’d have trouble finding
it, what with all the “KEEP OUT” signs plastered on the door. Michael goes
through phases of peeling the signs off and putting them back up, depending on
the amount of arguments she’s had with her parents recently — and judging by
the state of that door, the Clifford household has been a nightmare lately.
 
I rap a quick rhythm on Michael’s door — the guitar riff for “Rejects,” a song
we wrote a few months ago. “Mikey?” I call. “It’s Luke. I know you’re mad at
me, and I completely understand why, but please open up, I just wanna talk.” 
 
It takes a few minutes. Michael’s always slow, lumbering and lazy when she’s in
a mood like this one — her attitude is that of an injured cat licking its
wounds after a lost fight. It’s similar to the cornered-animal personality she
developed in year six, but it’s more mellow, and at least I’m fairly confident
Michael won’t resort to using her fists to settle this argument.
 
The door creaks open, Michael making sure every inch is heard and counted. “You
can come in, but make it quick,” she mumbles gruffly. I’m pleasantly surprised,
quickly darting into the tornado that is Mikey’s room — I’d expected a soft
“Fuck off,” but maybe Karen’s been putting something in the food around here,
because Michael seems awfully subdued. 
 
I perch on the end of Michael’s favorite stained sofa, while Michael sits on
the edge of her unmade bed, fingers absentmindedly tracing the plain black stud
in her left ear. It’s then that I notice the spiderwebs of red in her eyes,
harsh and vibrant against the white of her sclera, and suddenly all the warning
signs are popping up and screaming at me. The dark purple circles, the
tearstained cheeks, the messy hair — Michael’s having a breakdown, and fuck me
if I’m the cause.
 
“Mikey,” I breathe, the frazzled state of my best friend, normally so calm and
composed and unflappable, like a punch to the gut. “Are you okay?” 
 
“That’s a fuckin’ stupid question, Luke, considering what happened at the
Annandale yesterday,” Michael mumbles, picking at a loose thread on her
oversized sweater. The pullover’s huge, swallowing up Mikey’s frame, the harsh
black highlighting the pale alabaster of her skin, and suddenly my best friend
looks so breakable.
 
“I’m sorry, Mikey,” I whisper, chest constricting painfully. I’ve clearly had a
bigger effect than I thought. God, Luke, you reallyarea fuck-up.“This is all my
fault and I’m sorry. But we’ll make things right, okay? There will be other
gigs and other agents and we’ll build ourselves back up from this, it’s not the
end of the world—”
 
“God, Luke, you really areoblivious,” Michael interrupts, laughing bitterly.
It’s a sound I’ve never heard from my best friend, and I’m digging my nails
into my skin as it replays in my head, over and over again. God, Luke, you
really areoblivious.
 
All I can manage is a soft, “What?” It’s a whimper, like that of a wounded
puppy’s, and Michael’s turning to me, eyes flashing dark green when they should
be light, light like spring grass and happy thoughts and fuck, I’m in for it, I
know I am.
 
“Do you not get it, Luke?” Michael shouts, face flushed with rage. “That was
our last chance! That gig, it could’ve been our one-way ticket to America — and
you fucked it up!” 
 
I’m silent, stunned and unsure of how to respond, so Michael continues with her
rant. “We’ve been dreaming of this for years, to get out of this sorry town and
go somewhere we might actually have a future, but now that it’s apparently 5
Seconds of Luke and not 5 Seconds of Summer, you couldn’t even give us that!”
Michael’s panting by now, chest heaving with the anger of her words. “Don’t you
see, Luke? We are stuck here now!”
 
Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden and unwanted but an ugly presence
anyway.Probably just like me, I think to myself.
 
Time seems to slow down, seconds stretching by in an awful warped sense of
living, before I can come up with a coherent response. “Michael, I’m so sorry.”
That’s all I can say, after twelve years of friendship that’s all I can fucking
say, and I know it’s pathetic, I know it’s not enough but it’s all I fucking
have.
 
“Get out,” Michael hisses through clenched teeth, shaking finger pointing at
her door. I simply sit there, dumb and mute, unable to believe that any of this
is reality and really fucking wishing it was all just a really bad nightmare.
“Get out!” Michael yells, and I’m scrambling off the couch, running for the
door like maybe if I escape things will all go back to normal.
 
“Wait,” Michael calls as I’ve got one hand on the doorknob, and I turn back,
hope blooming in my chest like a damaged flower. Maybe Michael’s changed her
mind, maybe we can just talk this out and start working on the band again,
maybe—
 
Something lands by my feet in a blur of neon colors. I pick it up and shove it
in my pocket, still staring at Michael hopefully. “Now get the hell out,”
Michael utters, low and dangerous, and she doesn’t have to tell me twice, I’m
practically falling down the stairs in my rush to get away, run and just leave
it all behind me.
 
Karen’s shouting into the hallway as I slam the door behind me, asking
questions and wanting to know if everything’s okay, and it’s not until I’m
getting on my bike that I even bother to look at what Michael threw to me. 
 
I feel the object, soft and worn, in my jeans pocket, and I pull it out,
unfurling it in the palm of my hand. Examining it closely, it only takes me a
few seconds to realize what Michael’s given back to me.
 
Her friendship bracelet. One of the first things we ever made together, back in
fucking year one. Michael and I strung together colors that resembled a neon
version of a bruise, making two bracelets that we proudly presented to our
mothers as a sign of our blossoming friendship. We stopped wearing the ratty
old things when they began to fall apart in year five, and instead kept them in
secret places in our rooms, hiding spots no one else knew about so nobody could
ever steal our friendship away.
 
Except now, Michael’s taken our friendship and thrown it right back in my face.
 
Karen’s out on the lawn now, loudly begging me to please come back inside, and
my feet are taking me to Calum’s house before I even decide to. Taking me to
somewhere safe.
 
 
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Notes
     SEVERE TRIGGER WARNING for self-harm ok please be safe. if you ever
     have any doubts about a chapter, please feel free to message me, i
     want you to be safe.
     also these next few chapters are going to be angsty and full of
     coldplay lyrics. i apologize in advance.
     thank you for reading. :) please enjoy
                                  Twenty-One
            I’m so scared about the future and I wanna talk to you
                                     -Talk
I ring Calum’s doorbell frantically, and Mrs. Hood only has to take one look at
me before she lets me in, calling something after me that I don’t bother to
stop and hear. I just need someone right now, and a dose of Calum Hood Comfort
sounds perfect.
 
I burst into Calum’s room, eyes burning with tears, tears that I’d like to save
for when I’m safely in Cal’s soothing arms. The door bangs open, but I’m
silent, mouth dropping open as I take in the sight in front of me. I wouldn’t
have cared about walking in on Calum and a potential hook-up, Calum caught in a
“personal moment,” or Calum on a crying jag — but what I’m seeing right now
hurts me so much, I can barely process it. Here, in my best friend’s room, is
the source of all my problems — Ashton Fletcher fuckingIrwin, sitting on the
bed with my best friend and having a nice little heartfelt chat.
 
Turning to the source of the noise, Calum spots my hurt look and immediately
begins to stutter out an apology. “Luke, I-I’m so sorry, this isn’t what it l-
looks like—” I don’t allow him to finish, turning on my heel and running, tears
streaming freely down my cheeks, leaving Ashton with a smug smirk and Calum
shouting my name.
 
I stumble down the stairs, Mrs. Hood folding me into her arms as soon as I
reach the bottom. “What happened, honey?” she murmurs, stroking my hair. “I
tried to tell you Calum had a friend over, but you didn’t seem to hear me.” 
 
I linger in Mrs. Hood’s arms for a few moments before pulling away — I can hear
Calum thumping down the stairs, and I’m not in the mood to talk to him right
now. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Hood,” I say, smiling weakly and wiping away my tears.
“Just had a bad day. I’ll see you around. Thanks for your hospitality.” 
 
As I leave the Hoods’ house and jump onto my bike, I can hear Calum opening the
door to his house, shouting something at his mother about letting me get away.
My bike speeds off just as Calum’s figure emerges on the lawn, and I pedal
faster than a cyclist in the Tour de France. Suburban Sydney rushes by in a
blur, and I let out a relieved sigh at the cool darkness that envelops me when
I bike into my garage. I step off the bicycle and throw it onto the ground,
barely flinching at the loud crack that resonates through the air.
 
The garage is cool, but I’m craving something cooler. Body on autopilot, I
trudge up the stairs like my feet are made of solid iron, feeling numb. Is this
reality? What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep fucking up sobadly?
 
My first stop is my room. I search through my desk for a piece of paper and a
pen, fingers landing on the thick, creamy parchment my father brought home from
Italy as a gift for my thirteenth birthday. Even back then, I was obsessed with
songwriting. I grab a pen and scrawl a messy list onto the paper. 
 
Calum — anything masculine my parents don’t want, band shirts, laptop
Michael — guitar, phone, jewelry (split bracelets with Lauren Irwin)
Ashton — bookbag, songwriting book, guitar picks
xx Luke
 
When Calum, Michael and I were younger, probably about fifteen, we had what
many would call an “existential crisis.” We worried about dying, began to check
every inch of our bodies for potentially cancerous moles or signs of poor
health (Calum was especially concerned about the moles, considering he didn’t
bother with SPF much as a child). During that crisis, we made up a list of
things we wanted each other to have if we did indeed die at a young age. I
decreed that Michael could have my guitar, while Calum was satisfied with my
band shirts and laptop. I got to have Michael’s vast collection of hair dye,
while Calum said he’d leave me his bass (an instrument I’d always wanted to
learn to play). 
 
As our meager inventories grew with age, the list changed, but the essential
purpose behind it never did — don’t forget me, but move on. When our parents
found out about our morbid practice, they put a stop to it immediately, but I’d
memorized the basics and kept a running list in my head. Since Ashton came into
the picture about a year ago, I had to adjust things a little bit, but I’m
pretty proud of the final product. I think it’s pretty evenly split — I gave
each person the things that had the most meaning to our relationship (or
whatever they’d just flat-out asked for; since Ashton and I never discussed the
subject, I just went with meaning). 
 
I leave the paper on my desk and walk over to my bookshelf, where my favorite
book is waiting. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, also known as the home of
Luke Hemmings’ personal razor collection. I select my favorite blade, the one I
nearly killed myself with that awful August day, and head to the bathroom,
rolling up my sleeves in preparation. 
 
Crouching on the tiled floor, it only takes a few seconds for Michael’s words
to start rolling into my head. Get the hell out… God, Luke, you really are
oblivious… You fucked it up…Then Ashton’s remarks come into play. Please stop
texting me or I’ll have to block your number… Get out… You can’t trust me
because I’m me, huh?
 
Soon enough, every hurtful statement I’ve ever heard is playing back in my
mind, and the metal’s digging into my skin. It should bring sweet release, but
I’m just getting angrier, slashing harder and faster and deeper with every new
phrase I hear in my head. Failure, fuck-up, reject, disappointment, outcast,
loser, nerd, idiot. As my hands move more, the words die down, until the voices
finally fall silent. Then it’s just me and my arm, flesh turning to red turning
to white until the 
                                                                               
  only
                                                         thing
                                         I
                        see
           is
black.
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Notes
     trigger warning: talk of self-harm, anxiety attack.
     this is really long and sad and i'm sorry.
     thank you for reading :) please (try to) enjoy!
                                  Twenty-Two
                        Oh, come on love, stay with me
                                -White Shadows
"Luke? Luke, sweetie, can you hear me?” Shadows swim underneath my eyes, but I
struggle out of sleep anyway at the sound of my mother’s voice. It’s instinct,
I suppose.
 
My vision’s blurry for the first few moments after I open my eyes, but I can
make out the details of sterile white walls, smell the antiseptic and hint of
iron in the air, hear the beeping around me. I’m in the hospital. 
 
“Oh, honey.” Tears fall onto my gown as my mother cries over me, weeping in a
way that will inspire weeks of nightmares. “You had me so worried, darling, I
thought I was going to lose you. I know it’s been hard, what with your brothers
gone and your father away most of the time, but we’ll get you the help you
need, love, don’t you worry.” The silent plea for sanity is clear in my
mother’s voice, so I simply nod, throat sore. I touch my fingers to my neck,
glancing up at my mother in an inquisitive way I know she’ll understand.
 
“Oh, yes, they had to give you a breathing tube for a little while,” my mother
informs me. Her voice catches as she continues. “You—you lost a lot of blood,
sweetie. We almost lost you.” Mum’s unspoken questions ring loud and clear —
what were you thinking? This will put so much stress on the family, how could
you be so selfish? The therapy bills are going to skyrocket, how will we pay
for them?I blink back tears at the accusations ringing in my head, and turn my
face away so my mother can’t see.
 
I know my mother cares about me, or she’d have given up by now and allowed the
government to put me in a mental hospital; and I’m confident that the rest of
my family does love me, but the voice in my head always questions why. Why do
they love you, Luke? You’re a waste of space, a thief of precious oxygen. Why
does your family waste their time caring about you when all you do is take away
their time and money? 
 
I used to ignore the voice, but as evidenced by my recent actions, it’s clearly
become impossible to just brush away. No one knows about the voice, not even
Michael, but as I glance down at the thick bandages covering my arms, I wonder
if maybe it’s time to tell someone. Questions immediately bounce around in my
head at even the mere idea of being open about the voice, and I decide maybe
it’s best to keep it quiet for now. Surely the hospital will prescribe more
therapy sessions for me, and perhaps I’ll confide in Dr. Marcia Jones then, but
for now, there’s no need to give my mother a coronary with talk of a “voice.”
Even if I do confide in someone before my next appointment with Dr. Marcia,
that someone is more likely to be Michael or Calum, not my high-strung mum. 
 
Speaking of… I shut my eyes tight as flashbacks play in my head. Fucking up the
gig at the Annandale, fighting with Michael, finding Ashton in Calum’s room…
I’m beginning to remember why I relapsed so badly. Thinking back on it, I can’t
be certain of when I did cut deep enough to land myself in the hospital. Was it
last night, or just a few hours ago? I look around the room, eyes landing on a
whiteboard with all my stats and the gory details of my relapse. Apparently I
required surgery to repair damage to my left arm, which explains the morphine
drip by my bed, and fun fact: my blood type is O-, and I needed four pints of
the stuff. The date on the board tells me that it has indeed been a day since
my relapse, and my expected checkout date is three days from now.
 
Chest heavy with guilt, I reach for the glass of water on my nightstand,
careful not to rip out my IV. After gulping down the water, my throat feels
less scratchy, and I’m confident in my ability to speak. “Mum?” I whisper,
rolling back on my side so my mother can see my face. 
 
She smiles gently and strokes my cheek with heartbreaking tenderness, a kind of
affection that I wonder if I deserve. “Yes, sweetie?” she murmurs.
 
“Where are my friends?” I choke out, eyes welling up at the blatant absence of
my two biggest supporters. I know Michael probably hates me, so I wouldn’t
expect her to show up, but her missing presence still stings. As for Calum,
well, he doesn’t have an excuse. 
 
My mother looks ready to break down at my question. Her lip quivers, and she
scratches at her nose, something she’s always done when she’s struggling to
maintain her composure. She takes a deep breath before replying. “Well, honey,”
my mother says evenly, seeming to carefully select each word, “you do have some
visitors out in the hallway. Would you like me to bring them in?” 
 
I nod quickly, unsure if I can speak without crying, and my mother gives my
hand one last squeeze before disappearing into the hallway. I hear muffled
voices from outside before the door to my room opens again. In a last-ditch
effort to maintain some dignity, I try to smooth down my hair and adjust my
hospital gown, ensuring everything is covered properly. As my visitors enter
the room, I sink back into the pillows, fingers brushing over my bandages and
reminding me that I’ve failed everyone, yet again.
 
I look up, expecting to see Ben and Jack, maybe Calum, but what I see nearly
knocks the breath out of me. Next to a head of jet-black curls, vibrant plum
ombré hair stands out to me like a red flag to a bull. I’m not sure if the
apocalypse is coming or her parents bribed her into coming here, but beyond all
odds, Michael Clifford is standing in my hospital room.
 
My mouth is gaping, lips unable to form words. Seeing my shocked expression, my
mother says, “I’ll let you three have some alone time. I’ll be in the cafeteria
if you need me.” I wave her goodbye as she shuts the door behind her, leaving
me alone with my two former best friends.
 
A lump still at the back of my throat, I use these few awkward moments of
silence to examine the scene in front of me. While both of my bandmates look
like complete wrecks, Michael seems to be worse off than Calum. She’s the
picture of the walking dead. Despite a valiant effort to conceal them, dark
circles are prominent under Michael’s eyes, and her face is red and puffy, like
she’s been crying non-stop. Though Michael’s not typically one to go on a
crying jag, I know the signs. Yesterday’s oversized sweater hangs off of
Michael’s petite frame, and her hair’s a mess, a wild jungle of purple hues.
 
Calum isn’t looking too great, either. Like Michael, his hair is a mess, and
his cheeks are stained with tears — when he sees me looking, he quickly tries
to wipe them away. Calum’s nails are ragged, practically bitten down to the
quick — that won’t bode well for his bass playing, as now they’ll probably
bleed every time he tries to touch a string. 
 
Despite their grim appearances, I’m pleased to see Calum’s arm slung around
Michael’s shoulder. I know Calum is Michael’s rock in a rough time, and no
doubt Michael is the same thing for Cal. It would be ironic ifyourfailure
actually resulted in something good, the voice hisses. I push it away and smile
weakly at my friends. “Hey, guys,” I croak. “Long time no see.” 
 
As soon as the words leave my mouth, Michael’s sobbing, a blubbering,
hysterical mess. “Luke, I’m s-so f-fucking sorry,” she cries, burying her face
in her hands. “You d-didn’t fuck a-anything up, we were p-probably never meant
to leave S-Sydney anyway.” I cringe slightly at the last statement, though I
cover it up expertly with a fake cough and take a sip of water before speaking.
 
“Michael, it’s fine,” I say softly. “I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive
me. What I did wasn’t right; it was immature, and I’m sorry I ruined the gig. I
know how much it meant to you, and I shouldn’t have let some stupid drama
interfere.” Michael allows a small smile onto her face at my words, but she
hovers awkwardly at the foot of my bed, unsure of her boundaries. Seeing her
internal struggle, I pat the edge of the bed, motioning for Michael to come sit
down. She follows my lead and perches next to me, immediately wrapping me up in
a tight hug. 
 
“I’m sorry, Luke,” Michael sobs into my hair. “I love you, and I’ll never kick
you out again, promise.” I chuckle and rub Mikey’s back, glad to have made up
with my best friend. Once her tears have subsided, Mikey sits up and looks over
at Calum, who is watching us with a nervous expression.
 
“C’mere, Calum,” I grin. “Join in. I’m not mad at you; I know you’re friends
with Ashton, too, and that’s perfectly fine. I just overreacted.” Smiling
widely, Calum initiates a group hug that, although it makes my stitches ache, I
wouldn’t trade for anything.
 
Once we’ve pulled apart, I know I need to address the elephant in the room.
“So,” I sigh, leaning back into the bed, “what’s the story? Who found me? I’m
pretty clueless, Mum didn’t tell me much of anything.” 
 
Calum and Michael exchange an uneasy look, silently agreeing on Calum as the
designated storyteller, since he appears to be the more stable of the two.
“Well,” Calum begins, “after you left, I kind of had a huge argument with my
mom. She accused me of being mean to you and I got irritated.” Calum scratches
his head, clearly growing uneasy. “In the middle of the fight, Ashton got the
brilliant idea to go check on you and make sure you were okay.” My chest
tightens at the sheer mention of Ashton — where is he, anyway? I know we
weren’t on the best of terms, but as my bandmate, I can’t help but feel a
little hurt that he didn’t show up. 
 
“So,” Calum continues, “we showed up at your house, knocked on the door, no one
answered — but we knew you were home, because the lights were on upstairs. At
that point, I was ready to just go back home and call you later, cuz you
clearly didn’t wanna be bothered, but Ashton had a gut feeling that something
was wrong.” Calum shivers at the memory. “Luckily, I still had the spare key
that you gave me, so we got in through the garage.” Calum has to pause, visible
goosebumps appearing on his arms.
 
“The house was just too quiet. It was that eerie kind of silent you only ever
hear when something’s really gone bad,” Calum mutters, rubbing his arms.
“Ashton decided to check your room while I checked downstairs, and that’s when
he found the note.” I can see Cal blinking back tears. “I just lost it, man. I
was screaming and sobbing like a baby, and I got on the phone with 911 while
Ashton kicked your bathroom door down. And you were just… lying there.” Calum’s
voice cracks as he struggles to finish the story. “Ashton picked you up and he
said you were just so cold already, and there was blood… everywhere…” Calum
trails off, staring into space. Michael places a reassuring hand on his
shoulder, but he’s obviously done.
 
“Well, thank you, Cal,” I say sincerely. “I probably wouldn’t be here if you
hadn’t shown up.” 
 
“You should be thanking Ashton, not me,” Calum mumbles, and judging by the
wide-eyed, panicky look Michael shoots his way, I know there’s something
they’re not telling me.
 
“Speaking of…” I start. Calum pales, and Michael’s knuckles are white on the
bedrail. “Where is Ashton?” I ask casually.
 
I can tell Calum wants to lie to me, but Mikey knows there’s no escaping the
truth with me, not this time. She opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes
out is a choked cry, and then Michael’s crying again, shoulders shaking as she
weeps. Calum rubs her back and says cautiously, “He left, Lukey.” 
 
Suddenly, my vision has narrowed to just Calum and what he’s saying. “What do
you mean?” I ask frantically. I can hear my heart monitor beeping faster, and
Michael lets out a loud sob.
 
“I tried to text him a million times after the ambulance came, Luke,” Calum
says apologetically, face creased with worry. “I asked him to come to the
hospital, wanted to know if he needed a ride or anything. When he didn’t
respond after a few hours, I decided to go to his house — maybe his phone had
died or maybe he was stuck babysitting the kids and needed some support. But,
when I showed up…” Calum’s chin trembles, and he looks torn.
 
“When I showed up, his mum answered the door,” Calum explains. “And when I
asked her where Ashton was… She said that he was at the airport. I asked her
why he would be at the airport when our best friend and bandmate was in
surgery, and she looked so confused. All she said was that Ashton had received
a letter a few days ago, saying that he’d been offered a position as an intern
at a prestigious record label in London, and he’d bought the first plane ticket
he could get his hands on.” 
 
Time seems to stop, and my world blurs as tears roll down my cheeks. Ashton
left… Of course he left, you stupid bitch, you’re not good enough for him. This
is all your fault, you’re a fuck-up, you made him leave the band and go to
London, this is your fault, your fault your fault your fault your fault
 
I don’t even realize I’ve spiraled into a panic attack until nurses come
rushing into the room, injecting something into my IV and restraining my hands,
which have scratched at my wrists to the point where blood is seeping through
the bandages. The edges of my vision begin to fade to black, and the last thing
I see is the hopeless look on Michael’s face as Calum leads her away.
 
 Nice job, Luke. Way to fuck up yet again.
***** Chapter 23 *****
Chapter Notes
     trigger warning: talk of self-harm
     i don't know how this chapter turned out so long but it kinda did.
     thank you for reading :) please enjoy!
                                 Twenty-Three
                             And I can’t get over
                              Can’t get over you
                                    -Magic
After my “episode,” the doctors consult my therapist and decide to give me
anxiety medication. Adjusting to the new prescription is difficult, and for the
first few days, I’m so out of it that my mother’s convinced the cafeteria
brownies are laced with marijuana. Thankfully, the drowsiness side effect has
subsided in time for me to get checked out of the hospital on schedule. I leave
with strict instructions to see a therapist three times a week, and a
prescription for the new little pills that are supposed to calm me down. I
wonder if they’ll quell the voice in my head, too — though that’s probably
something to discuss with Dr. Marcia. 
 
It’s hard being at home. By now, school is out on break, and I get to be home
with my family, though that’s still awkward as ever. Dad is usually away on one
business trip or another, so he’s not as much of an issue, but my mum is always
hovering over me, like if she turns her back for five seconds, I’ll slit my
wrists with the nearest pencil sharpener. Ben and Jack, home from university
for Christmas, aren’t much better. Ben, being the eldest and therefore an exact
replica of my mother, is nosier than ever, always asking me what I’ve been up
to and if I’ve had any “bad thoughts.” As the middle child, Jack seems to be
more understanding. He give me space when it’s clear I need it, and asks to
play video games with me without a second glance at the pink scars on my
wrists. 
 
Oh, yeah, another annoying thing about being home? I’m forced to wear short
sleeves, all the time. If it’s a bit chilly, my mum will just offer me hot tea,
but no matter the circumstances, I’ve been forced to wear a t-shirt and shorts
every day. Yes, the good ol’ docs at the hospital even made my mother aware of
the cuts on my thighs, so now everyone gets to see the canvas of scars on my
legs. Jack knows how uncomfortable it makes me and offers to talk to Mum about
it, but I tell him not to bother. Maybe it’s for the best — if my mum can see
every inch of my former cutting territory, then I won’t have to worry about
relapsing, because I won’t be able to, at least not without notice. And that’s
the tricky part — if I do relapse again, or at least badly enough that it
warrants even the smallest amount of stitches at the hospital, I’m being thrown
into the psych ward. Turns out that Alex and Sean were actually wrong about a
second attempt warranting a stay in the mental health ward, though. The doctors
have invoked the “three-strikes-you’re-out” rule — three suicide attempts (and
they count even the shallowest cut as an attempt) and you’re going to the
mental hospital for a minimum of 72 hours.
 
Three days away from everything I love? I think that would just inspire more
suicidal thoughts, but I can’t argue with the law of the land. My parents
canvassed my room and threw away every sharp object I owned, so it’s not like I
have many options anyway. A hospital stay cannot be and will not be in Luke
Hemmings’s future. 
 
Ever since the apology-fest in my hospital room, Michael and Calum have been
more affectionate than ever. Though I suspect that Mikey still feels guilty
about our fight, we both know that you can’t change the past, so we’ve just
resorted to going back to how things used to be. 5SOS has been put on hold,
what with the flighty departure of our drummer and poor mental state of our
lead singer, so we have more time to focus on rebuilding our friendship. Mikey
got her friendship bracelet back, and I got my best friend back, so I think
we’re doing pretty well. As for Calum, he’s (understandably) still a little
shaken up about these recent events, but he’s doing alright.
 
Therapy is actually going okay for me. Dr. Marcia seems to be less irritating
now that I actually want to open up to her. I told her about the voice, which
she said sounded like a bad case of extremely low self-esteem. With Dr.
Marcia’s help and my friends and family’s support, I’ve been working on
learning to love myself. It’s still a struggle, and the voice definitely pops
back up from time to time, but I can already see the positive effects. 
 
Still, despite all my hard work on self-love and friendship reparation, life
without school or 5SOS can be a little boring. Sitting around the house,
playing the same old video games with Jack gets old after a while, and the same
goes for the pizza parties with Michael and Calum. I love my friends and my
family, but even they cannot completely substitute for the gaping void Ashton’s
left behind. 
 
Ashton is a subject I’ve held off on discussing for as long as possible, but at
my last appointment, Dr. Marcia said we would have to talk about him next time.
Now, on the way to visit my therapist for the second time this week, I worry
about the upcoming conversation. It’s hard for me to talk about Ashton, and I’m
not sure what this therapy visit will do to my mental health.
 
I’m ushered into Dr. Marcia’s office, where I carefully sit in the expensive
leather chair, watching as the therapist flips through her packet of notes from
my file. I feel like I’ve been there for hours when Dr. Marcia finally looks up
from the packet and greets me with a warm grin. “Hi there, Luke,” she says
warmly. “Nice to see you today. How have you been?” 
 
“Good,” I respond automatically. I’m happy that I don’t even have to think
about that answer anymore; it just comes naturally, which must mean I really am
doing well. “What about you?” 
 
“I’m great, thanks.” Dr. Marcia scribbles something on a notepad and leans
forward. “So, remember what we talked about at your last appointment?”
 
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I mumble, staring down at my lap. Pale white lines mix
with last month’s pink slashes to form a delicate web of scars on my thighs. 
 
“I know this is going to be hard for you to talk about, Luke, but it has to be
done,” Dr. Marcia says sympathetically. She presses the intercom button on her
phone. “Lindsay? Could I get a bottle of water, please? Thank you.” Dr.
Marcia’s blond assistant rushes in with a sweating bottle of Evian, which my
therapist immediately hands to me. I smile gratefully and take a large sip as
Lindsay scurries back out.
 
“So from what I’ve heard, a lot of your recent difficulties seem to stem from
this young man,” Dr. Marcia continues carefully. “Would you say that is an
accurate assessment?” I nod tightly. “Okay. Well, let’s just start with the
basics, and we’ll go from there, alright? How did you meet Ashton?” 
 
“Some jerks were being rude to me at the mall, and he, um, intervened,” I say
thickly, tears already beading in the corner of my eyes. I swipe them away
before my therapist can notice. “Then I went to a concert later that night with
my friends, and he was the lead singer of the band that was playing. I got his
number, and when my friends and I decided to create our own band a few days
later, my friend Michael contacted him and asked him to be our drummer, since
his band had broken up.” 
 
“Wow, that’s a real stroke of luck,” Dr. Marcia comments.
 
I shrug. “I don’t know, is it really?” I murmur. “I mean, if I’d never met
Ashton, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
 
“Low self-esteem and severe anxiety are still significant issues that would
have landed you here no matter what, Luke,” Dr. Marcia reminds me. Well, she is
probably right about that. “So, I’m guessing you and Ashton became quite
close?” she prompts.
 
I nod. “Yeah, he saved me from an, um… unfortunate situation, and we just kept
getting closer after that. Then I kind of… messed things up.” I squeeze my eyes
shut, trying to keep the tears from slipping out.
 
“Please elaborate,” Dr. Marcia urges.
 
“Well, the band had been together for about a year, and we had a radio
interview one weekend that just went completely wrong. The DJ made us play Spin
the Bottle, and I was in denial of my feelings for Ashton. I’d fallen in love
with him, but I didn’t want to admit it. I kind of have trust issues,” I admit.
“So the DJ wanted me to kiss Ashton, and I just flat-out refused. It made us
look bad, it caused a rift between me and Michael for being ‘unprofessional,’
and things only got worse from there.” 
 
“How so?” my therapist asks.
 
I sigh. “Michael made me get a ride home from Ashton because she was mad at me.
That would’ve been fine, except Ashton decided to tell me that he really liked
me and asked me out on a date,” I tell her. “I said no, and I was trying to
explain why, but some words came out wrong and I basically ended up saying that
I couldn’t trust him because of who he was, even though that wasn’t what I was
trying to say. Ashton got really mad and made me get out of the car, and
stopped talking to me after that. That’s when I started cutting again.” 
 
I’m crying pretty openly now, and Dr. Marcia passes me a tissue. “We stopped
talking completely, and Ashton basically just cut me off. A month later, we had
a big gig at the Annandale Hotel,” I choke out, dabbing at my eyes with the
tissue. “The night before, I slept with Ashton. I’m not sure if it was a
drunken mistake — I mean, I’d been clubbing earlier, but I was sober enough to
know what I was doing — but he’d come over to my hotel room to talk about our
argument, and I kissed him. It was a spur of the moment thing that turned into
a huge mistake. I woke up in the morning and I didn’t remember much, but I knew
what had happened, cuz he was still in my bed. I had to go buy emergency
contraception, and when I got back, Ashton was gone. Didn’t even leave a
note.” 
 
Dr. Marcia pats my arm reassuringly. “Men can be very stupid sometimes,
sweetie,” she says softly. 
 
I laugh bitterly. “That’s definitely true. Anyway, things were so awkward
between us that when we went to play our gig that night, we totally sucked.
Michael was furious, and when we got home, I went to her house to apologize,” I
explain. “We got in a huge fight, and I went over to Calum’s, seeking some
comfort. I found him talking to Ashton, and I just lost it. I went home and…
well, that’s when this happened.” I point to my scarred wrists. Dr. Marcia
smiles sadly. “I woke up in the hospital, and Calum told me that Ashton left.
He got an internship with a big record company in London, and he just left.” 
 
Dr. Marcia raises an eyebrow. “And how do you feel about that?” she asks,
writing furiously on her notes.
 
The words are spilling out, and I don’t bother to try to contain them. It feels
good to be totally honest for once. “It sucks, honestly. I miss him so much and
I miss his friendship, I miss the way he made me feel, I miss his smile and his
eyes and I just miss the hell out of him,” I blather on, grabbing more tissues.
“It hurts to not have him around, it hurts to not have his support, and I think
what hurts most of all is that he just up and left without an explanation or a
note or anything. He didn’t even tell his mother that I was in the hospital. He
just went.” 
 
“If Ashton came back, would you try to reconnect with him?” Dr. Marcia
questions, pen poised over her notepad.
 
“Of course,” I say wistfully. “God, I would walk to the UK and back just to
talk it out with him one last time.” 
 
Dr. Marcia pauses. “Well, why don’t you do just that?” she suggests.
 
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?” I stammer, confused. “You want me to walk to London
to see Ashton?”
 
“No, no,” Dr. Marcia laughs, dropping her pen and leaning back in her chair.
“Don’t walk to London. That wouldn’t go so well. But in my professional — and
personal — opinion, I believe you should go to London and try to find him.” 
 
My heart’s beating at a concerning rate, thudding in my chest like a
jackhammer.  “And why exactly do you think that, Dr. Marcia?” I say slowly.
 
“Please, call me Marcia,” she grins. “And why do I think that? Because I can
tell, just from the way you talk about him, that you clearly care about Ashton
a lot. And when you lose someone that you care about that much, it takes a huge
toll on your mental health. Loss requires closure if you want to recover from
it. If finding Ashton is attainable, then I think you should do just that, and
talk things out with him. Get some closure, and then you’ll finally begin to
truly heal.” 
 
“Thank you, Marcia,” I say breathlessly, hurriedly standing up from my chair.
 
“Where do you think you’re going?” Marcia asks, eyebrows furrowing. “We’ve
still got thirty minutes left.”
 
“I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll make
sure you get paid for the full hour, though. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got
some plane tickets to buy.”
 
                                       ∞
“So you’re telling me that your therapist, who is supposed to help you move on
from Ashton, told you to hunt him down in London?” Michael says incredulously.
 
“Yes!” I nod excitedly. Surprise flashes across Michael and Calum’s features;
they haven’t seen me this animated about something in a long time. 
 
“Luke, I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Calum pipes up from his spot on
the couch. We’re in Michael’s basement; I called my mum and rushed to be with
my friends at Mikey’s after my appointment with Marcia. “I mean, what if he
just ends up hurting you more?” Calum continues, picking at a loose thread on
his jeans.
 
“I know it’s probably going to be a difficult visit,” I admit. “So that’s why I
got these.” I slip my phone out of my pocket and show the screen to Michael.
She lets out a shriek, and when Calum hurries over to look, his face pales to
the point where I worry he may pass out.
 
In the car on the way to Michael’s, I used my meager savings to buy us three
plane tickets to London. It wasn’t exactly cheap, and I’ve practically drained
my bank account, but if this visit will help me on my road to recovery, then I
think it’s worth it. Now, Michael stares at the electronic ticket on the
screen, mouth gaping. “You’re kidding, right?” she whispers. 
 
“Nope,” I say proudly, tucking my phone back in my jeans.
 
“Luke, that’s a lot of money!” Michael cries. “I can’t afford that!”
 
“You don’t have to worry about the cost,” I inform her. “I’m paying for it.”
 
“That’s crazy, Lukey,” Calum mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.
 
“Well, you guys don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” I frown. “I can just
cancel the tickets and go alone. But I think my mum would prefer for you all to
come with; I need the support.” 
 
“Your mum’s not coming?” Calum asks.
 
“No,” I reply, rocking back on my feet.
 
Michael and Calum exchange an unsure glance. “We’re not saying that we don’t
want to go, Luke,” Michael says slowly. “We just think it’s kind of crazy that
you’re spending all this money when you don’t even know if seeing Ashton will
be beneficial for you.”
 
I sigh exasperatedly. “Look, guys, even if things with Ashton don’t work out,
we can still have a great time,” I plead. “We’ll be in London for four days.
That’s enough time to find Ashton, sort out that mess, and then no matter the
outcome, we can go sightseeing and eat good food and just have a damn good
time. A trip with time to bond may just be the spark we need to get the band
started again, drummer or not,” I add, knowing how important the band still is
to Michael. Hell, it’s still important to me, but 5SOS was kind of Mikey’s
baby, and I know she misses it. 
 
Michael bites her lip, looking torn, but I can tell from the look in her eyes
that she’s already made up her mind. “Well, London does have some pretty great
clubs,” she relents. I let out a squeal that could break glass, throwing my
arms around Michael until she’s falling back on the couch.
 
“Thank you so much,” I breathe, giving Calum a quick hug as well.
 
“I didn’t even say yes,” he laughs, ruffling my hair.
 
“You didn’t have to,” I smirk as I pull away. I know if Mikey’s going, Calum’s
sure to tag along, too.
 
“So, when do we leave?” Michael asks. 
 
“In two days,” I respond.
 
“Two days? Luke, you asshole, I don’t even know if I’ll find my passport in
time!” Michael screeches, already racing up the basement stairs. She’s
definitely off to her room to go look for her infamous passport, which she’s
lost more times than I can count.
 
“I’d better be off, too,” Calum murmurs, grabbing his keys. “Gotta pack and
talk to my mum about it.”
 
“See you at the airport,” I call after him. 
 
Score one for Luke Hemmings.
 
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Notes
     i wrote this at 12 am and for some reason decided to get all
     philosophical about teenage life so i apologize in advance for that.
     also london is one of my favorite cities in the world hence its
     inclusion in my poorly-written story that will never do it justice.
     i'm sorry, london.
     thank you for reading. :) please (try to) enjoy!
                                  Twenty-Four
                     I was a fool to ever leave your side
                      Me minus you is such a lonely ride
                                   -Reunited
London turns out to be an incredibly beautiful city. The mix of old and modern
architecture takes my breath away, and even Michael has to tear her eyes away
from her phone to take a second look. We check in, and Michael and Calum
immediately head to their rooms for naps. I understand why they’re exhausted —
our flight was 23 hours long, and I’m pretty sure Mikey spent most of her time
blasting rock music, to the dismay of our fellow passengers. 
 
While Calum and Michael sleep, I get to have some down time, which I spend
researching London’s culinary scene and some local clubs. For dinner, I make
reservations at a tapas place, and write down the names of a few nearby clubs
that don’t sound too sketchy. Confident I’ve planned the perfect night for us,
I close my laptop and sink into the chair by the window. No matter where I am,
the sky looks just a little grayer without Ashton by my side, though in this
case, it’s probably just the normal, rainy England weather. Truth be told, I’m
ridiculously nervous about tomorrow — that’s when I’ve decided I’m going to
find Ashton. I’ve also chosen to go it alone, as any discussion of the past few
months’ events should be kept between us. Michael and Calum don’t know yet, but
they’ll wait back at the hotel as emergency moral support.
 
At least I won’t have to search through London’s yellow pages to find Ashton.
The day before we departed for England, I went over to the Irwin household to
see if Anne-Marie could be any help. Though I’d worried that Anne would isolate
me just like her son (after all, they are quite close), the reality was the
exact opposite. Anne-Marie welcomed me back with open arms, and as soon as I
asked (explaining loosely that I missed him and wanted to go visit), I was
handed a sheet with enough information to rival any database of ASIS.
Apparently Ashton is interning for a company called Hi or Hey Records. Though
I’ve never heard of them, I did some quick research before we left and
discovered that Hi or Hey is an up-and-coming company, specializing in pop punk
bands, and Ashton seems to be quite lucky to intern with them. 
 
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive about seeing Ashton. When I lost
Ashton’s friendship, it was a quick, unexpected loss — a wound that took me by
surprise, and seeing him at band practice every day didn’t help me to heal. I
was a fool for sleeping with Ashton; I guess I’d thought it would give me
closure, after I’d been denying my love for him for so many months, but that
slightly-drunken mistake had the opposite effect. It probably made Ashton
wonder if I just used him for the sex — I don’t think he would have slept with
me if he thought I was drunk, because Ashton’s not the kind of guy to do things
without your total consent. No matter — everything that happened before, during
and after the Annandale gig definitely culminated in one huge fuck-up. There’s
so many questions I’m dying to have answered — why did he leave? What was he
going to say when he came to my hotel room that night? Does he still have
feelings for me? 
 
That last question is probably the most important one of all — because to be
honest, if he’ll have me, I’d still love to be Ashton Irwin’s. In spite of
everything that’s happened, I know the Ashton I care about is still in there.
If he left, he left for a good reason — I mean, I totally understand why he
stopped talking to me after I turned him down in the car. Ashton was wounded,
and he didn’t know how to deal with it, so he chose to stop dealing with the
source of his injuries, probably so he could heal. A slightly selfish decision,
yes, but I doubt Ashton had any idea what his silence would do to me. 
 
The truth is, we’re both just teenagers, and teenagers don’t always have a
reason for everything. Sometimes, we just do what feels right, or we go by
instinct to protect ourselves. Sure, later we’ll look back on it and think, Why
the hell did I do that?,but we certainly aren’t questioning ourselves in the
moment. We make mistakes (or fuck up terribly in mine and Ashton’s case), we
get hurt, but we lick our wounds, and then we move on and try to repair the
relationships we’ve damaged. It doesn’t always make much sense, but that’s just
how we live. And as adults, we’ll try to understand the actions of our teenage
selves, but we’ll just never fully comprehend it like we did back then. We lose
a little bit of our youth with every day that passes, and in that, we gain a
little bit of maturity. We begin to understand that the people we idolize
aren’t always who we think they are, we realize that our lives have a finite
end, we grasp the concept of living for yourself and no one else. Cuz you see,
when you’re a teenager, you think you’re living just for you, but you’re not.
Often times —unless you’re part of that rare breed of free thinkers, the people
who have never cared and will continue to never care,— you live by the judgment
of your peers. Not only that, but you invest too much in people who won’t
matter in five years and you love far too deeply. 
 
And that’s okay. It’s all just part of growing up. Granted, I’ve probably taken
“growing up” to a whole new extent, but I’m learning from my mistakes. That’s
what life’s about — living and learning and then living some more. I’ve learned
from my errors with Ashton, and I’m hoping that soon enough, he’ll realize his
(lesser) mistakes as well, and then maybe, just maybe, we can live and learn
together — if he’s ready. God knows I am.
***** Chapter 25 *****
Chapter Notes
     hi guys! it's been a while, i'm sorry. :( life gets in the way
     sometimes and unfortunately, that means my writing has to take a
     backseat. but i am back, albeit incredibly ill, so i apologize in
     advance if my updates have a few typos. my beta also has a very busy
     life and it can take her a while to edit chapters, but i don't want
     to keep you guys waiting, so i tend to upload things before she gets
     a chance to take a look at them.
     i will try to have this story finished by mid-April. I will be going
     on vacation next Saturday, and if I bring my laptop with me then I
     will try to work on this story. However, that may not happen, and I'm
     really sorry about that, but my family does not know about my writing
     and for now, I would like to keep it that way.
     Anyway, here's Chapter 25! Although I'd originally planned for this
     story to be 27 chapters long, I'm going to add an extra chapter
     because I felt the need to split up a chapter.
     Thanks for sticking with the story! No trigger warnings for this
     chapter, yay :)
     xo,
     L
                                  Twenty-Five
                         And you got those crying eyes
              It makes me wanna surrender and wrap you in my arms
                                -Coming of Age
After my bout of philosophical thinking, Michael woke up and Calum knocked on
my door, ready for a night of good food and (not too heavy) partying. We did
enjoy ourselves, the tapas restaurant being as good as it’d looked and the
clubs being as slightly sketchy as they’d sounded. When I wake up the next
morning, the dull ache of a hangover pounding in my head, I discover that
Michael’s not in the bed next to me. I smile, recalling the intense gazes Mikey
and Calum shared last night, and have a flashback of Michael never returning
from “watching TV” with Cal last night. Though I’d doubted that late-night BBC
1 was a traditional after-club custom for Mikey, I’d seen through the flimsy
excuse (given to me when I asked where she was headed after we returned from
our partying) and waved my best friend goodbye.
 
The door connecting my room with Calum’s is unlocked, and when I sneak a quick
peek into his room, I see that Calum and Michael are snuggled up in bed
together, looking like the picture of true love. I’m happy that, after years of
sexual tension and frustration all around, my best friends have finally gotten
together. Here’s hoping that after today, I won’t be the odd one out. It’d be
nice to come back from my little visit with Ashton in tow, even just as a
friend. Otherwise, my life is going to be very awkward, with Calum and Michael
paired up and me being the third wheel.
 
I gently shut their door, turning the knob so it won’t make any noise, and head
back into my room. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s 7 in the morning,
which means it’s 6 PM over in Sydney. I’m slightly tempted to call Marcia for
emotional support (I have her cell on speed dial, at her request)but this is
something I know I need to do totally alone. I think that no matter the
outcome, if I can do this all on my own, then I’ll be proving some kind of
emotional strength to myself that I lacked in the past. 
 
I sling my bag over my shoulder and slip out the door. My iPhone is clutched
tightly in my hands, screen alight with the address for Hi or Hey Records’
London headquarters. In the elevator down to the lobby, I take the time to come
up with a plan in my head: 1. Find Hi or Hey Records. 2. Somehow find Ashton
from there. 3. Get Michael and Calum Starbucks because, by now, they will
certainly be awake and hungover.Farmore hungover than you.
 
The elevator opens, and I stride into the lobby, flashing a grin at the hotel
clerk. For some reason, I’m especially confident today, a combined product of
therapy with Marcia and the newfound feeling of independence that flying to
London has given me. Boots clicking on the marble floor, I exit the revolving
door and walk onto the London streets. As the chilly blast of fresh English air
hits me, I know that today will change my life — for better or for worse.
 
                                       ∞
The tall building stares me down, its glass exterior so intimidating that I’m
already gulping down nervous breaths. In my defense, the skyscraper in front of
me must be at least twenty stories tall — taller than most Sydney suburban
structures — so it’s a definite change in atmosphere. Still, the large gray
letters declaring “HI OR HEY RECORDS” on the building’s lower level are
probably what scare me the most. 
 
I inhale deeply and stroll into the building, giving the receptionist a nervous
smile as I head for the elevator. A helpfully labeled array of buttons leads me
to press the fourth floor, where Hi or Hey Records claims to be located. My
heart thuds out a nervous rhythm as the elevator speeds to the fourth floor,
and I can’t help but wonder what’s waiting for me there. Am I speeding towards
rejection? A new love? Forgiveness? Closure? I have no idea.
 
The elevator dings, doors opening on my fate. Hi or Hey’s offices are sleek for
such a small space, all polished metal and sparkling glass. The office is
completely devoid of life, save for one woman, typing at her laptop with a
speed drag racers would envy. I push open the heavy glass doors and stand
there, waiting for the woman to realize I’m there. When she doesn’t, I clear my
throat, simultaneously scanning the room to see if Ashton’s maybe hidden in the
back or something. No such luck.
 
At my noise, the woman has turned her eyes to me, still typing furiously. “Can
I help you?” she asks. Her eyes are hazel, similar to Ashton’s, and it makes my
heart ache.
 
“Um, yeah, actually,” I stammer, offering a small grin. “I’m looking for Ashton
Irwin… I heard he was interning for your record label?” 
 
The woman’s fingers cease on the keyboard, and her hands fly to her ponytail,
which has shifted slightly off-center. Neatly-manicured fingers adjust and tug
at perfectly-highlighted locks until she’s satisfied. I wait patiently for my
answer. Finally, she responds, “Oh, yeah. Ashton’s one of our interns.
Unfortunately, he’s not in today. It’s his day off.” 
 
My stomach drops. “Oh, okay,” I murmur dejectedly. “Thanks for your help.” I
turn to go, feeling the woman’s eyes on me, but just as I’ve got my hand
wrapped around the door handle, she calls something out, making me stop in my
tracks.
 
“Wait! Are you Luke Hemmings?” I freeze in place, slowly turning back around.
The woman’s stood up, and now she stares at me, something clasped tightly to
her chest, like she wants to protect it.
 
“Um, yeah,” I breathe, shoving fidgeting hands in my pockets. “How’d you know?”
 
“You fit his description.” The woman smiles, loosening her grip on the mystery
item to reveal a letter. The messy scrawl on the envelope instantly tells me
it’s a letter from Ashton. “He asked me to give this to you if you stopped
by.” 
 
The woman steps closer, and extends her hand. I do the same, and she presses
the letter into my hand. “Good luck,” she says with a wink. “That one’s a real
keeper.” 
 
Thanking her profusely, I run to the elevator, envelope tucked safely in my
jacket pocket. I’ve got the feeling that this is something I’ll want to read in
private.
 
 
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Notes
     hey everyone! it's been a little while, so thanks for sticking with
     me and continuing to read. i'm so grateful to have your support - it
     means the world to me! i'm trying to finish up with this story, and
     i've still got some time before i go back to school, so rest assured,
     this will be done by mid-April. it's taken me a while to get chapters
     up, and i'm really sorry about that. i know i've said this before,
     but a lot of times, life just gets in the way and writer's block is
     also, unfortunately, a thing, as i'm sure many of you are all too
     aware of.
     just like for the last chapter, i haven't sent this chapter to my
     beta yet, so i apologize for any grammar errors, spelling errors,
     etc. if you notice something, you are always welcome to drop a
     message in my inbox and let me know!
     trigger warnings: mentions of hangovers, mentions of past self-harm.
     as always, if you're unsure about a chapter, you can always message
     me and i will answer any questions. please stay safe and do not read
     a chapter if you think it will trigger you. you can always just ask
     me to tell you what happened if you feel you cannot read a chapter.
     thank you so much for all the reads, kudos and comments! i'm so happy
     to know that people are enjoying my writing. i love you all.
     xo,
     L
                                  Twenty-Six
                                 Break me down
              Break me all the way down, before the night is over
                                Let’s get lost
                                -Let’s Get Lost
Before I return to the hotel, I stop by a Starbucks, ordering the darkest
coffees they have for Michael and Calum, who are surely so hungover I doubt
they’ll be able to listen to me over the pounding of their own heads. When I
get back to the hotel, Michael’s still not in our room, and so I knock on
Calum’s door, unsurprised to hear that Mikey’s showering in his bathroom. 
 
“Where’ve you been?” Calum questions, leaning back on the cheap wooden desk. He
graciously accepts my offer of Starbucks, though he winces as he sips it.
 
“The record label,” I answer. Calum chokes on his coffee.
 
“I thought we were gonna do that together,” Calum wheezes, coughing from the
coffee in his windpipe.
 
“Yeah, well, I decided it was something I’d better do by myself,” I say
cheerfully, perching on the edge of the bed. I hear the faucet turn off in the
bathroom and know Mikey will be out in a few moments. Best save the letter-
reading for when she’s around, or I’ll never hear the end of it.
 
“How’d it go?” Mikey asks, toweling off her hair as she emerges from the
bathroom. She’s only wearing a towel, and I chuckle to myself as I hear Calum
suck in a breath at the sight.
 
“You knew about this, Michael?” Calum raises an eyebrow. “How come no one ever
told me?”
 
“She didn’t tell me,” Mikey scoffs, flopping down next to me on the bed. “I’m
her best friend, Calum. I just know.” 
 
“But we’re all best friends,” Calum protests.
 
“You wouldn’t understand, Cal,” I laugh, exchanging a glance with Mikey. “Us
girls just have a sixth sense. Your Y chromosome disqualifies you from that
quality, unfortunately.” 
 
Calum fakes a pout, and as I look around the room at my friends, I feel truly
happy for the first time in a while. Gazing at the scene in front of me, I know
that even if Ashton doesn’t come back to Sydney with me, I can still be happy
without him. Yes, there will be a hole in my heart that no one will ever really
fill, but I realize now that I can still move on and allow myself to really
livelike I’m supposed to.
 
“So, how did it go?” Mikey prompts. My fingers graze the envelope hidden in my
jacket.
 
“Surprisingly well,” I answer. “He wasn’t there, but he left me a letter. The
secretary said he was a ‘keeper.’” I pull out the envelope, letting Mikey and
Cal examine it for a few seconds before I gently slide the letter out. It
remains turned over in my lap as I hesitate to read it, unsure if I’ll like the
outcome.
 
“Are you gonna read it or what?” Michael hisses. Sensing my discomfort, she
adds softly, “Look, Luke, if it’s gonna hurt it’s gonna hurt, might as well rip
the band-aid off, right?” I nod quietly and turn the letter over, eyes scanning
the paper with a speed my first-year teacher would be proud of.
 
                                  Dear Luke,
If you’re reading this, then I guess Mum’s spilled the beans and you’ve figured
  out where I’ve gone. Yes, it’s true — I ran off to London to intern at this
 record company. It’s a great job, really — I love working with the bands and
it’s lovely being surrounded by music every day. I get to play the drums in my
   spare time and I have a nice flat with a wonderful roommate. Everything’s
                               perfect, really.
  But I can’t help but wonder how you’re doing. I know I was an asshole. I’m
sorry. I could try to explain everything to you, but it’s too long to write out
  on paper, and anyway, I think that’s a conversation that should be held in
                  person — which brings me to my next point. 
 Luke, you need to let me go. I’m not worth all the pain and trouble I’ve put
   you through. The truth is, even if you forgave me this time, I’ll end up
 hurting you again, and I don’t want that. You deserve someone better than me,
someone who will help you with your recovery and someone who you can really put
                     your trust in. And I am not that man.
Go back home, Luke. Hang out with Michael and Calum and find a new drummer for
  the band. Make 5 Seconds of Summer into something great and work to achieve
those dreams you’ve talked about so much. I’m not worth sacrificing all that! I
know you’ll find yourself in LA one day — sooner than later, too. In fact, in a
few years I’ll probably turn on my TV and find you at the Grammys. That’s where
 I think you, Michael and Calum are headed. You’re headed to fame and fans and
                more possibilities than I could ever dream of.
          Good luck. Remember that you’re worth everything and more.
                                   xx Ashton
 
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I finish reading. I can feel the good
intentions radiating from the letter, and Ashton’s concern for me is clear in
his words, but a part of me just doesn’t buy it. After everything we’ve been
through together, I find it hard to believe that he doesn’t think back on our
connection and wonder if it’s maybe worth another shot. Even if we can’t head
back to Australia together, I wouldn’t mind being friends with Ashton, despite
the huge distance between London and Sydney. But giving him up completely?
Losing that bond and pretending it never happened? Acting like I never met the
hazel-eyed boy with the dazzling smile and bouncing curls? That’s impossible,
and Ashton should know me well enough to realize that.
 
“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, noticing my distressed face. Gone mute, I hand
her the letter, allowing her to read it for herself. Mikey mutters a curse
under her breath when she’s done, before showing the offending item to Calum. 
 
Calum’s face crumples at the sight. “I’m so sorry, Lukey,” he murmurs, sitting
on the other side of me and rubbing my back. 
 
“What do we do now?” I whisper, face buried in my hands. “I mean, we came here
just to find Ashton, and now it all seems completely pointless…” I trail off.
 
“We can still enjoy the city,” Calum assures me. “There’s tons of stuff to do
in London, and you don’t have to let this taint your experience. We’ll have fun
together; we don’t need Ashton anyway.” I know he means well, but I still wince
at the last part.
 
“Wait, guys,” Michael says suddenly. She’s turned the letter over in her hands
and is now scanning it eagerly. “There’s something on the back.” She hands the
letter to me, and I read the messily-scrawled words as fast as possible, heart
racing a million miles a second.
 
But I know you’ve never liked doing what’s good for you, so here’s my address.
  Come whenever you want; I’ll be there. I hope you have a damn good argument
                                    ready.
 
There’s an address below, and I think it’s just a few blocks from Hi or Hey
Records. Ashton Irwin, here I come.
 
                                       ∞
I explain to Michael and Calum that, just like my visit to Hi or Hey, this is
something I’d like to do on my own. Though Michael’s clearly worried, they let
me go without too much fuss, and once again I find myself on the crowded London
streets, making my way to Ashton. 
 
After a half hour of struggling through huge crowds, I finally reach the
address Ashton wrote on the letter. The apartment building is old and run-down,
nothing like the pristine condos of Sydney — but then again, it’s exactly the
kind of place I’d expect Ashton to rent. He’s never been one to value luxury or
fancy penthouses, although I doubt he’d be able to afford that with his
intern’s salary anyway. 
 
I cautiously approach the intercom button, which is half-cracked open, exposing
a few of the wires underneath. This apartment building, from the rusty fire
escape to the peeling walls, is clearly in need of repair. Praying I won’t get
electrocuted, I quickly press the intercom button, heart thudding in my chest
as I wait for a response. 
 
I get my answer a few seconds later, when a girl’s voice crackles over the
speaker. “Who is it?” she demands. I’m frozen, unsure of what to say or do,
checking the directory over and over to make sure I’ve got the right apartment.
Yup, Apartment 107, that’s Ashton’s. “Hello? Anyone there? Ugh, I swear, it’s
probably another bloody drunk,” the girl complains to someone in the background
— and there it is, that distinct giggle I’d know anywhere. 
 
Ashton’s with a girl. Clearly, I’m not needed anymore — that letter must be
old.
 
Tears pooling my eyes, I shove my hands in my pockets, walking away from any
hope of a future with Ashton. Stupid… Should’ve known better… Ashton’s too good
for you… You scared him off… You don’t deserve him… Rain starts to fall, and I
silently curse myself for not bringing an umbrella — rain was in the forecast,
and it’s England, I should’ve known better. If the water pouring down on my
head wasn’t bad enough, the voice is trying to make a comeback, whispering
nasty things in my ear, curled up close to me like an old friend I’ve found
again. Why would Ashton want you? You’re a mistake to him; he regrets ever
befriending you. He took pity on you and became your friend, and now he’s seen
your true colors, why would he want you back in his life? He probably wrote
that letter when he was drunk. He doesn’t really care, you gullible little
girl. No one cares about you, especially not Ashton.
 
The distant heat of a hand on my shoulder breaks me out of my daze. Someone
whispers, “Luke,” and I’m spinning around to confront them, but then I’m being
pressed into a familiar hug and smelling a familiar cologne and oh my god it’s
Ashton. He’s holding me to him and it feels so nice, so good, so right that I
can barely process my own emotions. I’m crying, I know I’m crying because I can
feel the cold wet on my cheeks, and a part of me is aware that I’m probably
soaking Ashton’s t-shirt with my rain-dampened jacket, but at this point I
don’t think either of us care, we’re just holding each other and I never never
never want to let go.
 
But after an eternity, we do let go. I’m shaking, wondering if this is just
some weird hallucination produced by my Ashton-starved brain, but I know it’s
real when I take a step back and he pulls me towards him again, caressing my
cheek so gently it hurts. It makes me feel like he’s treating me as some sort
of porcelain doll, and Ashton realizes this, knows that I’ve always told him
I’m not the doll-like damsel in distress, so he drops his hand to his side and
simply looks at me for a few moments. “You’re really here,” he murmurs. 
 
The only thing I can think to say back is, “And you’re really here,” and I say
it so breathlessly that Ashton can’t help but laugh.
 
“I missed you,” he says softly. “I know I messed up, Luke, I messed up so bad,
and I don’t deserve to have you in my life anymore. I wish I could explain
everything that I did, but I can’t. Seeing you in that bathroom, though…”
Ashton pauses, eyes shining with tears. He wipes at them with the sleeve of his
hoodie, smiling sadly. “I couldn’t get that image out of my head. I had to
leave because I knew I was at least part of the reason why you did it, and I
couldn’t live with that guilt. So I did the cowardly thing and I accepted the
internship — which I’d applied for months ago, back when I thought the band
wasn’t going to take off — and I came here, and I’m sorry Luke, and I know I
can’t say it enough times and I know sorry doesn’t mean anything or even start
to make up for what I did but—” Ashton’s rambling is interrupted when I press
my mouth to his. He’s surprised at first, but he relaxes into me, kissing me
back just like I’d always dreamed he would. He tastes like cinnamon candy.
 
When I pull back from the kiss, Ashton’s breathless. “Wow,” he sighs. “You have
no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of that.” I chuckle at how dazed he seems.
A smile flashes across Ashton’s face, but then his brow furrows.
 
“Wait,” he says slowly, “does this mean you forgive me? Because I’m not sure
I’m deserving of forgiveness, Luke. I treated you like shit, and you’re so much
better than that. You’re so much better than me. I don’t want to make you bad
again or anything—”
 
I cut him off, unwilling to let him go on with this self-hating rant any
longer. “Let’s get a few things straight. First of all, you’re not going to
make me ‘bad again,’ Ashton,” I state. To emphasize my point, I roll up my
sleeves, showing him the faded silver-pink scars on my arms. “I’ve been going
to therapy. I’m a lot better now, and I can take care of myself. I’ve got a
great support system and people who love me. Whether or not you decide to be a
part of that picture, I’m going to be okay.” Ashton’s obviously on edge,
pressing a thumb into his lip as he mulls over this information.
 
“And it’s not a situation where we can confidently say that one person is
better than the other,” I continue, pushing my sleeves back down. “I treated
you pretty badly, too. I said things I didn’t mean, never bothered to explain
things that you misunderstood. Ash, when I said I couldn’t trust you because
you were you, that was just me trying to say that I have a hard time trusting
guys after Alex. For so many years, I’ve always put this wall up, tried to act
like I’m tougher than I am — but I’m not that tough, and you got my walls down
pretty quickly. There’s just something about you that makes me want to trust
you, even back when I thought that might not have been a good idea.”
 
Ashton opens his mouth to say something, but I hold a hand up to stop him, not
done yet. “So for such a long time, I went back and forth between pushing you
away and letting you in, because I was scared to trust you. I was scared I
would mess up again and I would have another Alex situation on my hands; I
wasn’t sure I could handle losing you like that. But then I realized that
you’re not Alex, and you’re not Cameron, either. You’re not Calum, you’re not
Ben or Jack — you’re not anyone but you. And if I feel like you’re trustworthy,
then I should trust you, because Alex is the only one who did that awful stuff
to me,” I explain. “I shouldn’t blame you — or any other guy — for Alex’s
actions. You are not him. Because you know what you are to me?”
 
I wait a few moments, allowing Ashton to answer if he wants, but he simply
shrugs. “You’re my sunshine,” I fill in the blank. “Which sounds cheesy, and I
know it’s pretty corny, but it’s true. You make me laugh, you support me, and
you’re just always there. And I’m sorry for hurting you like I did, just like I
know you’re sorry for hurting me. So I hope we can forgive each other and move
on — hopefully as more than friends, but I’m okay with whatever you’re
comfortable with, as long as I just get to have you back in my life.” I choke
up a little bit on the last phrase, but I let out a breath of relief when I’m
done — it feels good to get that all out after so long.
 
“I’d love to have you back, Luke,” Ashton says quietly, eyes searching mine for
any hint of a lie. I know he’ll only see the truth in my eyes, just like I only
see honesty in his.
 
My mind flashes back to the voice on Ashton’s intercom, and I realize I have
one more thing left to say. “I just have one question — who was that girl on
your intercom?” I ask. Ashton looks confused for a few moments, before doubling
over with laughter.
 
“That was my colleague, Sophie,” Ashton tells me through his giggles. “She came
over to ask me for advice on her girlfriend, and I ended up telling her all
about you in the process.” 
 
I can’t help but laugh, too. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” I snicker. “I thought that
was your new girlfriend or something.” 
 
“Speaking of new girlfriends, how would you feel about going on a date with me
when we get back to Sydney?” Ashton says nonchalantly. 
 
“I’d love to — wait, back to Sydney?” I can’t help it; I might have just
squealed a little bit. “You’re coming back to Sydney with me?” 
 
“Of course I am,” Ashton says sweetly. “Sydney’s where you are, and I don’t
want to live in a city where you’re not just a short drive away.” 
 
I practically launch myself at the curly-haired boy, tackling him in a massive
bear hug, the kind I haven’t enjoyed since last December. “Now we just have to
pass this by Michael and Calum,” I murmur into Ashton’s shoulder.
 
He freezes. “Oh, shit. I’m really not looking forward to dealing with Michael.”
He wriggles out from my grip. “But if it means I get to go back to Sydney with
you, then I’ll deal. Let me just grab my umbrella and then we can go.”
 
I grin widely as Ashton dashes back to the apartment building. “I’m sure you’ll
be fine — though I refuse to claim liability if Michael murders you for
leaving,” I call over my shoulder. And suddenly, even though I’m soaked to the
bone and standing in the pouring rain, I’m totally happy — and that’s a feeling
I’ve been missing for a long time.
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 27 *****
Chapter Notes
     here it is, the final chapter of "little plastic crown" (or what i've
     affectionately referred to as "fem!luke story" for the past few
     months). I'm just going to abbreviate the title to LPC (Little
     Plastic Crown) from now on so I don't have to write the whole thing
     out - yeah, lazy me, I know.
     There will be an epilogue, so I'll wait until then to get all sappy
     and everything, but as always, I'd like to say thank you for reading,
     bookmarking, commenting, leaving kudos, etc. It's great to know that
     I have supporters out there, despite all my procrastination and
     general laziness. I appreciate every kudos, every bookmark, every
     view, and every comment. I started writing this story at the
     insistence of T (this account's co-owner) and a few other close
     friends, but it wasn't until I posted it on AO3 that I really started
     to get motivated to finish it. If not for all of your support, I
     probably would have abandoned this at Chapter 10, simply because I've
     got a terrible track record for sticking with my ideas. Without a lot
     of motivation, I get discouraged at the first hint of writer's block,
     and then I stop writing and move on to another project. I'm so glad
     that didn't happen to LPC, because this story has actually kind of
     been my baby (T can attest to the endless amount of texts, emails and
     G-chats I've sent her about it) and now that it's pretty much done,
     I'm very proud of it. I know I have a lot of room to grow as a
     writer, and I'm okay with that. I know I'll probably look back on LPC
     one day with a lot more knowledge and think, "Wow, that really wasn't
     very good," but for now, I'm proud of this story and I am happy with
     how I did it.
     So much for not rambling. Ugh, sorry about that. It'll be even worse
     when I post the epilogue (I apologize in advance). Anyway, please try
     to enjoy. No trigger warnings for this chapter (this was my best
     attempt at fluff). Thank you for reading, and I love you all!
     xo,
     L
                                 Twenty-Seven
            Oh I would carry you over fire and water for your love
         And I will hold you closer, hope your heart is strong enough
                     When the night is coming down on you
                      We will find a way through the dark
                               -Through the Dark
Thankfully, Michael’s so distracted by how happy she is to see Ashton that she
(temporarily) forgets all about her past vow to knock his lights out.
Everyone’s just grateful that Ashton’s back with us — I think Calum even cries
a little bit, though he’ll never admit to it. 
 
Of course my best friends have plenty of questions for Ashton, which he
dutifully and thoroughly answers, even though I can tell it makes him a little
uncomfortable. Once she’s done with her part of the interrogation, Michael’s
wearing a satisfied expression, although I know it will still take her a little
while to fully trust Ashton again. Calum’s not quite as upset as Michael, so
his questions aren’t as intense and don’t take as long. Still, when it’s all
said and done, I feel a little bad for Ashton — this has to be exhausting for
him.
 
Just when I think we’ve moved past the awkward part, Michael decides to speak
up. “I’ve got something to say,” she declares, leaning against the hotel room
wall. With her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed, Mikey definitely looks
menacing — I wouldn’t blame Ashton if he got a little scared right now.
 
“Yeah, you’ve had something to say for about the past hour,” Calum jokes. It
falls flat, and Michael shoots him a death glare. “Sorry, carry on,” Calum
mutters, scuffing his shoe on the ground.
 
“I just wanted to let Ashton know that he’s not off the hook yet,” Michael
says, fixing her gaze on our former drummer. He gulps nervously, and a
saccharine smile settles on Michael’s face. She’s enjoying Ashton’s obvious
intimidation. “The moment you do something to hurt Luke,” Michael continues,
stepping closer to Ashton’s spot on the bed, “you better lock your doors,
because I’ve come up with a neat little system of justice. Every time you make
Luke cry, I break a piece of your drum kit. Starting with the drumsticks, and
finishing with the cymbals.” Ashton’s eyes widen, and Michael’s grin grows
larger. “Got it, drummer boy?” she hisses.
 
“Got it,” Ashton nods furiously. At his meek response, the fire dissipates from
Michael’s eyes, and she starts to look like herself again.
 
“Good,” she says. “Guess I’ll tolerate you for now.” 
 
Calum and Ashton have already hugged it out, and I obviously had my talk with
Ashton before anyone else, so I’m pretty sure we’ve cleared up all the
elephants in the room. Now we need to figure out our plans for the immediate
future.
 
“Ashton’s said he’s going back to Sydney with us,” I state, settling into the
desk chair. “So that means we’re gonna have to get him plane tickets.” My
laptop’s on the desk in front of me, and I power it on, fingers flying across
the keyboard as I type in my password and wait for the WiFi to connect.
 
“Wait,” Ashton interrupts. “I don’t know if I can pay for plane tickets yet,
Luke. My salary will just barely cover the cost of breaking my rental contract…
I don’t think I can afford to buy a ticket back to Sydney. Not until next
month, at least.” 
 
“I’ve got you covered,” I assure him, pulling up the British Airways website
and entering in the flight information. “Don’t worry about it.” 
 
“But Luke, that’s going to be £1918 — that’s almost $4,000 in Australian
dollars!” Ashton cries, peering over my shoulder at the computer screen.
 
Sighing exasperatedly, I turn around in my chair and face Ashton. “Look,” I say
slowly, “when I came here, I’d already set extra money aside to buy you a plane
ticket. It was a stretch, but I was hoping I could convince you to come back
with me, and I wanted to be prepared. Now you are coming back with me, and I’ve
already got the money, so don’t stress about it, okay?” 
 
Ashton’s forehead creases with doubt, but he relents anyway. “Okay,” he
mutters. 
 
I can’t help but smile to myself. Luke: 1. Ashton: 0. 
 
                                       ∞
With all of our grievances against Ashton addressed and duly noted, the four of
us can finally begin to enjoy our time together. With two days left before our
return flight to Sydney, we try to cram in as many touristy indulgences as
possible. We go sightseeing, stuff our mouths with enough Indian food to burn
our tongues for days, ‘take tea’ at London’s fanciest hotels, go clubbing a few
times, and generally just appreciate being with each other — something we
haven’t been able to do in a long time. We go to the Tower of London, and after
viewing the exhibit displaying the crown jewels, Ashton insists on buying me a
cheap replica of the Queen’s crown at a nearby souvenir shop. We ride the
London Eye, and while Michael and Calum practically hook up in the next cabin
over (thankfully, the Eye’s essentially deserted on that day), Ashton and I
kiss 443 feet above London. 
 
I’ve never had so much fun in my life; I’ve never felt so at peace with the
decisions I’ve made. All the stress, tears and heartache I’ve been through
these past three years seems worth it when I look around and realize I’m
enjoying a beautiful city with my three best friends (well, two best friends
and one best friend/unofficial boyfriend). To think that just a few months ago,
I was willing to throw this all away and give it to a razor blade… I can’t
quite comprehend it now, but I know that at the time, it made sense to me — and
while that does sadden me a bit, I’m just thankful to be as happy as I am now.
 
Now we’re on the flight back to Sydney. It’s a long haul (23 hours) and Michael
has already dozed off on Calum’s shoulder. Ashton and I have been discussing
our plans for the future — and then the thought crosses my mind. 5 Seconds of
Summer. It’s a subject I haven’t touched upon for a while, and I know that 5SOS
is pretty much damaged beyond repair, but I still feel like I need to confirm
that with Ashton and make sure he’s okay with ending the band — after all, he
technically never left it. “So, what are we gonna do, Ash?” I ask. After his
bag of complementary peanuts, Ashton’s busy licking the salt off his fingers,
but he pauses and listens anyway.
 
“What are we gonna do about what, Luke?” Ashton questions. When I don’t answer,
all Ashton has to do is take one look at my face, and he instantly knows what
I’m trying to say. “Oh, you’re talking about the band?” Ashton crumples the
peanut bag wrapper in his hand and shoves it in his jean pocket. “I thought you
were over that, Lukey. Thought we all were, actually.” 
 
“I don’t know,” I murmur, absent-mindedly tonguing my lip ring. “I mean, I
obviously ruined our chance at America when I messed up the Annandale gig, but
5SOS just keeps popping into my head. It’s like something is nagging at me,
y’know? Like it’s always in the back of my mind, bothering me.” 
 
“You didn’t necessarily ruin 5SOS, Luke,” Ashton says gently, taking my hand in
his. He intertwines our fingers and gently squeezes, our classic way of
comforting each other. I relax slightly, though I’m still on-edge, tapping one
black Converse on the edge of my seat in my own nervous rhythm. 
 
“We can always start over,” Ashton reminds me, tracing circles on the back of
my hand with his thumb. “The Annandale doesn’t have to be the end of the band.
Sure, there were a few agents there, but there will always be other agents, and
there will be other gigs — if we’re willing to work to get them. It will take
time, but if we reach out and regain those fans we lost and make new ones, we
can find our way again.”
 
“You think so?” I whisper. My eyes land on Michael and Calum, snoring
peacefully in the seats across from us. 
 
“I know so.” Ashton smiles at me and kisses my cheek. I smile back at him,
settling my head on his shoulder, the same pose that Mikey and Cal adopted an
hour ago. We just lie there, listening to each other’s breathing and the noises
of the plane around us, until Ashton suddenly taps me on the shoulder. I look
up at him, and the enthusiasm on Ashton’s face can only mean one thing — he’s
got a plan for something.
 
“I have an idea,” Ashton says excitedly. “Remember that YouTube account you
made with Michael and Calum when you were like, fourteen?”
 
I nod slowly, unsure of where he’s going with this. “Yeah, hemmo1996? How do
you even know about that? I don’t think I ever told you—”
 
“Mikey likes to embarrass you when she’s drunk,” Ashton cuts in with a smirk.
“Let’s just say she wanted your opinion on your level of, and I quote,
‘adorableness’ when you were a fourteen-year-old.” 
 
I bury my head in my hands, groaning in shame. “Oh god, that sounds just like
something Mikey would do.”
 
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Michael’s emo fringe, while somewhat
adorable, did not do her any favors,” Ashton consoles me. He clears his throat.
“Anyway, moving on. You stopped using that YouTube account when you started
dating Alex, right?” 
 
“Yeah,” I confirm. “Haven’t touched it since then.”
 
“What if we turned hemmo1996 into a joint band account for 5 Seconds of
Summer?” Ashton suggests.
 
“You think that’s a good idea? I mean, I don’t want to delete anything on
there, but what if people see our old videos and think we’re unprofessional, or
untalented or something?” I worry. 
 
“That’s not going to happen, Luke. Those videos are just a memory of who you
were before you really grew up, and anyone who watches them will know that,”
Ashton  reassures me. “And if the YouTube account doesn’t work out, we’ll just
close it or stop using it, okay?” 
 
Looking at the hazel-eyed boy next to me, simple warmth and love emanating from
him, I know I’ve got someone I can put my trust in. “Yeah,” I tell him. “Let’s
give it a go.” 
 
Ashton grins, and all my worries disappear. “hemmo1996, here we come.” 
 
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Notes
     so this is the end, the epilogue. i've worked on Little Plastic Crown
     since December, and it's now April, so that's about three months of
     planning and writing that I've put into this. That's not a lot of
     time, considering the years that other authors on AO3 will spend on
     their works, but it's a lot of time for me, so thank you for
     motivating me to do that. Every view, comment, kudos and bookmark has
     inspired me to keep going and keep writing, and I am very grateful
     for that. THANK YOU.
     Note that every infinity symbol is like a jump forward. So the next
     scene after the infinity symbol jumps forward in time. If that's
     confusing or you need clarification, feel free to message me or
     comment below -- it's 1:32 in the morning where I am so I'm probably
     not making much sense.
     There will be a sequel to this story. I need to go back, re-read
     this, and then start planning. I will write an outline for the
     sequel, just like I did for LPC, but that will take a week or so, and
     then it'll be probably another week before I post the first chapter.
     I do have some ideas written down already, so that will help me in
     the planning process. I'd estimate that Chapter 1 of the sequel will
     be out by early May.
     Thank you for sticking with me.
     xo,
     L
                                   Epilogue
                  I once was a kid with the other little kids
               Now I’m ripping up shows and them fans going wild
                              -Opposite of Adults
"Luke! Get your ass over here! You’ve got to check this out!” Calum calls from
downstairs. Standing in front of my bedroom mirror, I give up on trying to fix
my ridiculously bad hair day. Relenting to the frizzy mess that is my hair, I
throw on a beanie and clamber down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Cal,
Mikey and Ashton are already piled onto the sofa, all jostling for a better
look at Calum’s iPhone.
 
“What are you all so excited about? Please don’t tell me you’ve stumbled onto
the dark side of YouTube again,” I groan, squeezing in between Calum and
Ashton. 
 
Calum rolls his eyes. “Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared is not the dark side of YouTube,
Luke. Whatever, just look at this.” He shoves his phone into my hands.
 
“Twitter again? Fuck, Calum, we just changed the password last week, don’t tell
me you forgot it again,” I whine.
 
“I didn’t forget the password, asshole! Just read it,” Calum insists. I give in
and take a look at the screen in front of me — and what I see almost makes me
drop Calum’s precious iPhone 4.
 
It’s a tweet from Louis Tomlinson, one-fifth of the world-famous boy band, One
Direction. While their poppy music isn’t exactly our style, we all admire their
vocal talent and their deep appreciation for their fans. Normally a tweet from
Louis Tomlinson wouldn’t warrant a second glance, but this isn’t one of Louis’
normal life-of-a-pop-star tweets. No, this is far from any normal tweet,
because it mentions us.
 
The tweet says, “Been a fan of this band for a while, everyone get behind them”
and includes a link to our acoustic version of our latest original single,
Gotta Get Out. There’s already 40,000 retweets and 50,000 favorites, and it’s
only been a few hours — and the video Louis linked to now has a couple million
views and more comments than I can count.
 
“Guys,” I whisper, “this is it.” 
 
                                       ∞
“That was great, guys,” Joel declares, clapping his hands. “I think ‘Beside
You’ is going to be a huge hit.”
 
Calum laughs, setting down his bass guitar. After months of writing and
practicing in London (with the help of Joel Chapman and Christian Lo Russo, two
people I never thought I’d get to meet) we’ve finished a few songs that we’re
really proud of, and now we’re in the studio going over them. “You really think
so?” 
 
“Definitely,” Joel says confidently. Michael lets out an excited cheer, and
Ashton pounds enthusiastically on his drums. We’re all ecstatic, smiling wide
and in disbelief that we could be so lucky. The last time we were all in London
together, we’d been sure that 5 Seconds of Summer wasn’t in the cards for us.
Now, here we are, recording songs with some of our musical idols and preparing
to release our second EP. 
 
We sure have come far.
 
                                       ∞
 
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ashton and I break apart from our kiss as my cell phone goes
off. When we both see the caller ID flash “Louis Tomlinson,” I know this is a
call I’d better answer. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I answer with a
breathless, “Hello?” 
 
“Luke Hemmings,” Louis says smoothly on the other end. “Just the girl I was
looking for. Sorry to call you so late, I know it’s like 8:30 at night in
Australia, but we’re on tour right now and this is probably the only time I’ll
get to call you. I’ll make this quick, I just have one question for you, if
that’s okay.”
 
“Yeah, of course,” I say immediately.
 
“How would you like to go on tour with us?” Louis asks.
 
I drop the phone.
 
                                       ∞
November 21st. It’s a day that I know I will never forget. A grinning Ashton by
my side, I type out the most important part of the latest 5SOS newsletter:
 
“We also have some AMAZING news which is really exciting for us - we’ve
recently signed to Capitol Records!! They work with artists like Sick Puppies
and Katy Perry (Cal is planning to propose soon, despite many threats on
Michael’s part. Will keep you updated…). Our team is awesome and really
believes in us and our music — some of the best and coolest people we’ve met :
)” 
 
Tears gathering in my eyes, I’m forced to stop my work and turn to Ashton. He
frowns, immediately noticing my shiny eyes. “What’s wrong, babe? Why are you
crying?” he questions, brushing a thumb across my cheek.
 
“I’m just so happy,” I confess. “I mean, we made it, Ash. We got signed. Two
years ago, we didn’t even think that was a possibility.” 
 
“Yeah,” Ashton murmurs. “Who knew four crazy teenagers could end up here?”
 
                                       ∞
“Sydney, thank you so much! Goodnight!” I yell as the last chords of ‘She Looks
So Perfect’ fade away. Taking one last look at the shrieking crowd, I secure my
guitar strap and head off-stage. Calum and Michael follow me, while Ashton has
to take a different route to get to the dressing room. We’re all sweaty and
nasty from a two-hour, high-energy show, but hey — it was worth it.
 
“What’d you think about the concert?” Ashton asks, already waiting for us in
the dressing room. He tosses me a bottle of water and throws Michael a bottle
of water. 
 
“Crowd had a lot of energy,” Calum comments. “It feels weird to be performing
in our home town, though. It’s been a while.” 
 
“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “But at least we’re coming back as something big,
something Sydney can be proud of.” She puts her guitar in its case and grabs
her bag. “We should head to the hotel. It’s getting late, and Calum and I need
our beauty sleep.” Michael leaves for the car, and Calum trails after her. Once
they’re gone, Ashton and I burst into laughter — we know Mikey and Calum only
say that because they know Ashton and I take forever to leave the dressing
room, and they want a few extra minutes to make out in the privacy of the car.
 
“I’m actually set to go,” Ashton admits. “You almost done?” He eyes my guitar
case, which is still splayed open on the floor.
 
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Go ahead; I’ll be out in just a minute.” Ashton nods and
departs for the car. 
I finish putting away my guitar and double-check the room, making sure we
didn’t leave anything. My bag’s resting on the table, and I sling it over my
shoulder, pausing when something shiny falls out. When I move closer to grab
it, I realize it’s the plastic crown Ashton bought me in London, still shining
after all this time.
 
I leave the crown on the table. A part of me will always stay in Sydney, even
if that’s not how I originally wanted it to be. Maybe my future started in a
city 10,553 miles away, but Sydney is where I found the people who shaped my
future. I hated this town for so many years, but this is where I found Michael,
who taught me how to take care of myself and how to love myself. This is where
I found Calum, who taught me kindness and patience. And this is where I found
Ashton, who taught me trust and forgiveness. 
 
Sydney gave me an important part of myself — it gave me the people who love me
the most. I hated this town for so many years, but maybe it’s time I thank it,
even if it’s just with the little plastic crown I kept with me for a year, the
little plastic crown that never failed to serve as a reminder of those who love
me.
 
There, Sydney. Thank you.
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