Balls [5sos ot4]

balls balls

A/N: I wrote this at first on the wrong account and then lost most of it because I'm stupid af

Ashton's pov:

The car ride back home is silent. Michael is listening to music through his headphones again, closing his eyes and shutting us all out. Calum is leaning against the window, resting on their hands and watching the world go past.

I'm watching Luke. I watch the way he stares right in front of him, at the back of the driver's chair. His eyes don't move except for the occasional look at the time on his phone.

The way he rocks back and forth makes me nervous. He seems to be doing it without noticing. Last time I checked, rocking back and forth is a sign of being anxious, but what do I know? Sadly, a lot.

I don't know what happened while he was alone in that room, but it's obviously bothering him.

~

We arrive back home and Calum gives a sigh of relief before they exit the car with Michael. I take off my seat belt, my eyes still on Luke. He continues to rock and stare into space.

"Luke," I whisper as softly as possible. I don't want to startle him. His head snaps up to look at me.

"Luke," I say a little louder this time. "We're here, it's time to go."

The sadness in his eyes is obvious as he mouths an "okay" and unbuckles his seat belt. He sighs and leaves the car, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his jumper. Actually it's my jumper, but he wears it because apparently I smell nice.

I hop out of the car after him, where he's waiting for me. We kind of just stand there for a few seconds while I wonder what he's doing. That's before he walks up to me cautiously and proceeds to wrap him arms around my body. I'm okay with that. I love hugs. I love being close to people, being able to cling on to them as if I would lose them if I didn't. Hugs are special.

After he pulls away I follow Luke inside where Michael and Calum start to make food. Well it's more like Calum getting everything ready and Michael standing there watching.

Sitting down at the table next to Luke, I take out my phone and go onto Twitter. I don't tweet, or even read many of the fan's messages. I just pretend I am so I don't have to talk to anyone. Nobody knows what to say and that's probably for the best. I can tell that we've all had enough of each other for a while.

When I look up at Luke, he has his head resting in his arms on the table. That's a sign that he's probably tired, sad or just fucking done. I'm guessing it's all of them.

Calum makes pancakes for us which seem to be the only things they can cook without messing up. I taught them how to flip pancakes a while ago but they didn't do it this time. They're probably not in the mood.

Michael puts out some Nutella because there's no strawberries left in the fridge. I make a mental reminder to get some next time I go shopping.

Usually I would pile on teaspoons of the chocolate and roll the pancake up in my hand, but everyone else uses knives and forks. I can't be the only person at the table using my hands. That would be embarrassing and everyone might think I'm disgusting. Can't have that. Not today. Not now.

Luke is the first to finish. He only had one and the rest of us are just finishing our second. Once he puts his plate in the sink he turns around to face us again.

"I'm going to go out. I don't know where, I just need to go somewhere." Picking up the keys from the table, he continues, "Michael, Ashton, I want you to talk to each other. I'm-we're sick and tired of you two being stupid and ignoring each other. Just sort it out. Please."

I don't exactly like the idea of having to even talk to Michael at all, though I decide not to argue. Maybe this can do us some good. Maybe we'll be able to speak again and not have to worry about it 24/7.

"Actually, that's a good idea. I think I should go with Luke so I don't get in the way and also make sure he's safe." Calum suggests, standing up and putting on their coat slowly. It's only the morning so it's pretty cold. I sigh but nod my head along with Michael. There's no point trying to change their minds on this. We're going to have to talk no matter what.

Once the two leave, Michael and I sit awkwardly, both staring down at the table. I have to go through what I want to tell him in my head over and over before I can actually say anything. I need to make sure it sounds right and doesn't make me look like an asshole. I'm not the asshole here.

"What you said to our management," I start, causing Michael to look up at me finally. "It was about the fans that can't accept my decision. You said they weren't real fans to begin with. I think that's a bit hypocritical of you, especially as you took it worse than nearly anyone else."

He opens his mouth to speak but I immediately hold my hand out to stop him. I haven't finished yet. He needs to know how I feel.

"I couldn't control the fact that I had this... thing inside me. It wasn't my fault or anyone else's. You knew for a fact that we couldn't keep it. You knew that it would ruin our lives if we did, yet you still made me feel like crap for getting rid of it.

"It's my body that the baby was inside of. Not yours or Luke's or Calum's. Mine. If it was your body then you would've had a say in what happened but unfortunately for you it was not.

"I'm a boy, Michael. I'm a boy who has to deal with the fact that he hates his body every single day. I already have to be reminded constantly, just by walking past the mirror or hearing my own voice, that I was not born how I wanted to be. I need anything but a baby right now. Anyone would be able to see that I can't take having one yet. You're going to have to grow up and realise that. I'm sorry but all you've been is horrible at the time I needed you most. I want to hate you for it, I really do. I should hate you for how you made me feel."

I need to take a few deep breaths after saying all that. To be honest, it felt rather good to just let it out to him. Hopefully he understands now. Hopefully things will go back to normal and we'll all be able to relax for a while.

He doesn't say anything for a minute or two. He just looks me in the eyes. I look at him too. I need him to say something, anything. I just need to know that he still loves me, still likes me at least.

Clearing his throat he replies, "I'm sorry."