#i was having an absolute misery yesterday when we finished watching and that final title match was so beautiful

[clumsyclifford]

if you're still taking prompts “i haven’t seen him smile like that in ages.” with emo lashton maybe? so perhaps emo lashton having a good day i guess 😅 i love them so much sorry if you want just change this to normal lashton 🙈 -fiancee

emo lashton having a GOOD DAY i think you’re messing with the entire natural order of the world fiancee i dont even think this is legally allowed but i tried my best for you. also this fic includes a secret shoutout to @reveriesofawriter & her long way home theory so.......yeah

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The thing about feeling bad is that Ashton always forgets that it ends. 

When it’s him, it’s so easy to lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel in favor of shutting his eyes and drowning in the darkness of it, sinking as deep as he can go until the pit of his stomach reaches the floor, until the soles of his feet hit rock bottom. Under the heavy weight of bad days, bad weeks, it always slips Ashton’s mind that it won’t always be this dismal. There’s an all-encompassing fact to his depression, so that when it sinks its teeth in it swallows Ashton up whole, and he thinks this is it, there’s only this, it’ll be just like this for the rest of my life, and it’s in those times that Ashton wonders if he shouldn’t just maybe cut that timeline short.

But he has to grit his teeth and bear it, because that’s really not an option for him. So he shoulders his own weight, and then one day he finds himself cracking a smile at a funny joke, and the realization strikes like a hammer, that this is the end of the darkness, for now. The tunnel has finally opened up, and the sun is starting to shine again, and Ashton feels dizzy with freedom.

The feeling of floating after being bogged down by the absolute bitch that is depression is relieving, no doubt. But there’s nothing compared to watching Luke get that feeling.

Ashton recognizes the signs of a crash as soon as it happens. Normally maybe he wouldn’t, but he’s so attuned to Luke, these days especially, that when something shifts, Ashton feels it. It’s small at first, and gets worse; Luke doesn’t really talk when they have dinner, and then he just stops coming to dinner. Ashton sees him around the house less and less, and makes a habit of knocking on his bedroom door just to hear the monotonous, “Yeah,” just to be sure Luke’s still inside, breathing. There’s no use trying to prise Luke from his misery — Ashton knows how listless Luke can be, how heavy he must feel — and all Ashton can do is tap subtle reminders into the doorframe that he’s here, if Luke needs him. 

(One way or another, Luke always needs him. Selfishly, Ashton is glad, because God knows he needs Luke more than is probably good for him, and this way it’s at least a two-way street.)

In the dark fog clouding the house, Ashton rigidly maintaining his role of caretaker, they both forget their plans.

“Alex.”

Alex's smile becomes tinged with uncertainty. “Ashton!”

“You’re at our house,” Ashton says slowly, racking his brain for a reason why.

Alex furrows his brow. He’s brought his guitar, Ashton notices, and it hits like a fucking freight train.

“Aren’t we writing?” Alex asks, and Ashton slaps his palm against his forehead.

“Fuck. Shit, we so are. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry, man.”

Alex grins. “No problem. I’ve been there. You want me to go, or…?”

“No, no, you’re here already. Sorry. Come in.” Ashton glances behind him as Alex crosses the threshold and the door swings shut. Luke is in his room. Luke’s been in his room all day, and for most of yesterday too. Fuck. If he’d remembered he would have rescheduled with Alex, but now Alex is here, and Ashton likes to hang out with him even if they can’t get much done. Besides, Ashton likes writing with Alex.

It just feels wrong without Luke, but — whatever. Life has to go on. 

“Let me just,” Ashton says, feeling frazzled. Alex laughs.

“You’re high-strung today,” he observes, and Ashton runs a hand through his hair, feeling kind of embarrassed.

“Yeah. Uh, maybe. Sorry. Let me grab Luke, um, if I can.” He bites his lip. “He might not want to…he’s kind of, um.” Ashton trails off, but Alex picks up the thread anyway, and nods soberly.

“It’s cool,” he says.

“I’ll just check,” Ashton says, and leaves Alex in the living room, setting up his guitar, while he disappears to the back of the house to drum his fingers against Luke’s door.

“Luke?”

Luke pulls the door open, and Ashton breathes a sigh of relief without meaning to. Luke’s in the cotton t-shirt and joggers that he sleeps in, and his hair is unruly. Ashton resists the urge to reach out and fix it, and then thinks fuck it and reaches out anyway. He’s missed seeing Luke. There are dark circles under his eyes, and if Ashton peers further into the room he can spy Luke’s laptop open on the bed and his songwriting notebook next to it.

Luke says, “Alex is here. I know, I heard.” He leans into Ashton’s touch when Ashton rearranges his hair, and Ashton leaves his hand cupping Luke’s crown even after he’s finished fixing it up.

“You wanna join us?” he offers quietly. “It’s fine if you don’t. Alex will —”

“No, I will,” Luke sighs. “I should.” 

“Don’t do us any favors,” Ashton says, joking but also serious. “Honestly, Luke.”

“I’m coming,” Luke says firmly. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palm — almost childishly, Ashton thinks — and says, “Give me a minute to, like.” He gestures vaguely, kind of towards himself.

“Okay,” Ashton says, because he knows too well how it feels to be babied when he’s set his mind to something, and it’s too frustrating for words. Luke is an adult. If he says he’s fine, Ashton has to trust that.

“He’s coming,” Ashton relays when he returns to the living room. Alex is sitting on the couch, messing around. Ashton gets snatches of familiar tunes, but Alex switches it up before he can put a name to them.

“Is everything okay?” Alex asks. Ashton shakes his head, smiling wryly.

“That’s the wrong question,” he says, and exhales loudly. “Everything will be okay. We’ll be fine.”

Alex gives a short nod. “I get it,” he says, and Ashton believes him.

Luke appears then, bundled up in a hoodie that once belonged to Ashton and the same joggers. “Hey,” he greets Alex, with a smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries, man,” Alex says, hopping to his feet to pull Luke into a hug. Ashton half expects Luke to jerk away, but Luke sinks into it, and Alex maybe hugs him tighter than usual. 

When they break apart, Alex says, “There’s something I want to show you guys, actually. I forgot I had this here, but — it’s all in my 5SOS book.”

“Your 5SOS book?” Ashton repeats, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Luke sits beside him, and Alex stares at them for a moment before shaking his head.

“You know I’m, like, a grown-up, right? I shouldn’t be forced to sit on the floor with you spry motherfuckers.” Despite this, he eases himself to the carpet, stretching his legs out next to Ashton’s knee. He retrieves a familiar notebook from inside his guitar case — Ashton recognizes it from past writing sessions. “My 5SOS notebook,” Alex explains, waving it at them. “Where I put all the stuff I write with you guys.”

“Aw, he has a notebook just for us,” Ashton coos, nudging Luke gently with his shoulder. Luke huffs a tired laugh.

“I’m organized,” Alex says pointedly. Ashton grins. “Anyway, I was looking through it when you went to get Luke, and it has all the stuff from our first writing sessions ever, remember that? Five hundred years ago, or something?”

“Something like that,” Luke says. Ashton rests a hand on Luke’s knee, almost unconsciously.

“Long Way Home,” Alex muses, and hands off the notebook to Ashton. “You almost made me cry with that one.”

“What?” Luke says dimly. The page is covered in scribbles, many of them crossed out, and it’s faded with time and wear. Still, Ashton can make out Alex’s messy handwriting — Long Way Home (?) across the top, and underneath, (love song to the boys).

“Not in a bad way,” Alex says. “It was just — I don’t know. It’s like watching your kid sibling enter high school. I’d already done it, and seeing you guys do it — I mean, I knew you’d be a smash. I wished I’d had someone telling me, you know, take it slow. You don’t need to grow up so fast.” Ashton studies the page, Luke peering over his shoulder at the words. REMEMBER: SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! it says under the song title, and immediately beneath that, no one let these boys grow up before they’re ready. “I know it’s your song, but I like to think of it as my song to you,” Alex says, and when Ashton looks up at him he’s grinning shamelessly, but there’s not a hint of insincerity on his face.

“You wrote this about us?” Luke repeats, incredulous, running his fingers over the page as reverently as if it were the Bible, instead of some ratty ten-year-old notebook.

“Kind of,” Alex says. “You wrote it about yourself. I just helped.”

“The bridge,” Ashton remembers. “We’re just taking it slow. You wrote that part. You fucking sneak.”

Luke shakes his head, and when Ashton turns to look he’s smiling. This one isn’t like the one from before; it goes far past his eyes, pulling up every part of his face, loosening muscles that have probably been stagnating for weeks. 

“I just thought you might want to know,” Alex says. “I played it for the band — mine, I mean — and the moment they heard it, they knew. But, you know. We get it. We got it then, and we get it now.” A hint of timidity now curves itself into Alex’s smile. It’s not a familiar look. “I don’t think you really did take it slow, actually. Ignored your own music and shot straight to fame, but whatever, it’s none of my business.”

Luke actually laughs. The sound goes straight to Ashton’s heart, gives it wings, eases an ache he hadn’t even really known he’d had, and the energy of the room shifts. Ashton thinks maybe he’s the only one who feels it, but it’s definitely different.

“We’re taking it slow now,” Luke offers, sweeping a hand around the room. The other hand settles on top of Ashton’s, on his knee. Unthinkingly, Ashton flips his palm up, threading their fingers together. “Just took us some time to realize we needed it.” 

“Well, better late than never.”

“Yeah,” Luke says. It seems mostly to himself.

“So,” Ashton says. “Not that that wasn’t super sentimental, and I will be needing photos to send to Mike and Calum, but I feel like we should maybe try to write?”

“Yeah, okay. Give it back.” Alex snatches his notebook back, flips to a blank page, pulls out a pencil.

“Let me grab my guitar,” Luke says, and pushes himself to his feet, abruptly severing the connection between their hands. Alex’s eyes travel around the room, but Luke’s guitar is missing from its usual spot on the wall.

“It’s in his room,” Ashton explains. Luke drags his fingers across Ashton’s scalp as he leaves, a tingling trail in their wake. 

“He’s been pretty bad, huh,” Alex says in a low voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so…”

“Listless?” Ashton suggests bitterly. “I know. He’s been bad. But that was good. I haven’t seen him smile like that in ages.”

Alex shakes his head. “I was so worried that this would happen to you,” he says. His tone is almost mournful. “Maybe I should have done something more, I just thought —”

“Dude, stop,” Ashton says. “There’s really no point. You’re not responsible for us. As much as you probably wish you were. We made these decisions, and this is our life. It’s not all bad. It’s not even mostly bad.” At Alex’s skeptical expression, Ashton rectifies, “It’s usually better. You caught us at a rough time.” 

“I’m sorry,” Alex says.

“Don’t be sorry. Fuck, man, just don’t be sorry for anything.” It’s pointless, is the thing, and Ashton had meant what he said. Alex isn’t responsible for their growing up. Nobody is but themselves, and — and despite everything, despite the burning, piercing anguish that sometimes balloons in his chest, threatening to drown him, if he could go back he wouldn’t really change anything. There are downs, and they are low; but there are also ups, and those are too high to surrender. Ashton knows he’s lucky. If he’s going to be depressed, he may as well be doing the job of his dreams.

“I’m smarter than you, you know,” Alex says, with a hint of a mocking smile teasing at his lips. “And so much older.”

“More susceptible to damage, you mean. Let’s see you crowdsurf nowadays, grandpa.”

“I’m seriously gonna fucking poison you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I know where you live, you —” 

“That’s nothing, I could gather your whole band —”

“Just because your band fucked off to Australia —” 

“Alright, lads,” Luke interjects, returning with his guitar and the notebook Ashton had seen on his bed. “Enough fighting over me. I assume that’s what was happening.”

“If it was, I think I was winning,” Alex says immediately.

“Doubt it,” Luke says. “Not likely to leave Ashton that easily, am I?”

Alex inclines his head. He knows when he’s been beaten, evidently. “I surrender,” he says.

Ashton looks at Luke, and Luke is deliberately not looking at him, pink staining his cheeks. But the corners of his mouth are tugging themselves unwillingly into a smile, and Ashton breathes out and resists the urge to kiss Luke’s cheek, because he can see the sun coming out, finally, and it’s going to be a beautiful fucking day from here on out.