Luke paced back in forth in the small hotel room, desperately wanting to be able to just go outside and clear his mind.
But if he even looked out his window, fans below would scream at the top of their lungs. But why? What was the point? If they were trying to get Luke to notice them, they definitely succeeded, but even if they hadn't screamed, he would have seen them.
It's not like he could miss eighty fans outside of his hotel.
He heard his room door open and turned, seeing Ashton quickly entering the room and closing it behind him.
When the older boy's eyes landed on Luke, he scowled.
Luke stopped pacing and chewed on his thumb nail, waiting for Ashton to speak.
"Not cool, Hemmings," was all Ashton said before grabbing some clothes and walking into the small bathroom.
The younger boy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He sat on his bed, thinking about how horrible he had been earlier that day.
He was in a pissed off mood for no reason that people knew of, and he ignored fans, something he'd never done before. He didn't really speak to anyone, and when he did, it was just to yell at them for not getting him his water or something stupid like that.
Yet the fans were still there, still smiling, still being supportive, and Luke felt overwhelmed from the amount of love they gave him.
But then he realized he was being too hard on himself. He was only being bitchy that one day. It was the first day he'd ever been that way, and the fans probably understood that he needed to just seethe for a bit.
The other boys all got their time alone, but Luke never did. He was always in the midst of something that just couldn't be private.
It wasn't fair, really. Michael always disappeared, and the fans never got mad or that curious as to where he was. Calum would usually be out with his friends and too drunk to care if fans saw him Ashton loved the attention he got, and he loved the fans, so he didn't mind his life not being private. But if Luke ever did anything remotely private, fans would freak out and ask where he'd gone.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when Ashton exited the bathroom, wearing a pair of sweatpants so low on his hips that his boxers were visible above them.
"Why were you such a bitch tonight?" Ashton asked as he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes.
Luke merely shrugged and kicked his shoes off, then stood and shimmied out of his pants. He reached the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, but stopped when noticing that Ashton was looking at him.
"Please stop looking at me," he mumbled, waiting for Ashton to turn away. The older boy knew Luke didn't like people seeing him shirtless.
"I'll look away when you tell me why you were acting like that tonight. It wasn't fair to the fans!"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that the fans mattered more than I did. You could've asked me what was wrong, but no, you had to ask why I was such a bitch."
"Those are the same question, just different words."
Luke looked at him in disbelief. "No, they're not. If you had asked me what was wrong, it would have shown that you cared more about me than the fans. But you obviously care more about them."
Angry tears filled his eyes, and he turned away from Ashton and crawled into his bed, not caring that he was sweaty and should take a shower, or that he was still wearing his shirt.
What stung even worse than Ashton asking why he was acting like a bitch was when he said, "Maybe you're right."
That night, Luke silently cried into his pillow, biting his lip to hold back whimpers and breathing through his mouth so he wouldn't have to sniffle - and give away that he was crying - to breathe through his nose.
