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Disability. ~Mashton~

Michael.

You're dyslexic.

"(Y/N), babe. Could you read this out to me?" Mikey passed me a page with a few simple notes.
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He was currently on the phone to his parents, trying to arrange the dates for when we'd all be able to meet for the first time. It was nerve-racking. But nowhere near a awful as what he'd just done.
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I nodded, swallowing harshly as the sweat began to form on my palms and bead across my forehead. Come on,
(Y/N). I thought silently to myself. It's just a few words.
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I stared long and hard at the squiggles and meaningless shapes before me. There were good days and bad days. Some days things made more sense, some days nothing at all could process through my idiotic brain. A problem I had struggled with my entire life, and now my boyfriend of only a short while was about to discover that I was an idiot because today, was one of the worst days I had endured in a really long time.
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"(Y/N)?" Mikey pushed, waiting with a pen in his hand, pressed ready on the blank notepad.
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I nodded, staring at the blurry lettering. The more I looked the worse it got. Tears of humiliation burned in my eyes as I stuttered out as much as I could. "Tu-T-Tuesday is flea- no free sorry, I . . ." Trailing off, I took a deep sigh. Concentrate, I needed to concentrate. Why were the words moving? Why couldn't they stay still?
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"And what about Friday?" Mikey asked carefully, giving me a concerned look.
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The paper began to shake as my hands trembled. "Friday is . . . Um. Friday is n-n-not, wait no. Friday we can, erm-"
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"Yeah, I think I was right mum." Michael cut me off, turning away to talk to his mother. I sighed, closing my eyes and looking painfully up to the ceiling in attempt to diminish the threatening tears. Why did I have to be so dumb? Why couldn't I read just like everybody else? "I'll call you later. Love you."
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He placed the phone on the worktop and turned back around to face me.
I hadn't even noticed that a teardrop had managed to trickle down my cheek until he brushed it away with his thumb before kissing me softly.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He sighed, our foreheads touching.
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I peered up at him, not catching on.
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"My mum has worked with dyslexic children all her life. I've learnt to read the signs." He told me.
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Everything stopped. "And you're . . . You're okay with that?" I asked weakly.
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"Why wouldn't I be?"
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"I can't even read a few fricking sentences Mikey!"
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"I bet it's not like that all the time." He used his thumb to gently caress my cheek. "And just because you find reading difficult, doesn't mean you aren't clever, or that I love you any less." He promised, and for once in my life I actually felt okay with my biggest insecurity.
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Ashton.

You're disabled.
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I just wanted to do something for myself. Was that too much to ask? Ashton was out with his friends for the first time in ages. He was so anxious about leaving me home alone. I wanted to prove he had nothing to worry about. I wanted to prove I could still do things by myself.
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All I had attempted to do was make myself a glass of water. We even had special lower down drawers so that I could reach everything I needed. How had I managed to drop the large water bottle?
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It all went downhill from there. I heaved my body as far as I could to the floor. Something I hadn't done since the accident. I didn't like to be reminded that my legs didn't work. That they were just to useless limbs attached to my now useless body.
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But the strain had been to much, and I had managed to tip the wheelchair over with me, leaving me stranded and helpless on our kitchen floor. I had left my phone on the counter and was left utterly powerless.
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The realisation that I really had lost all my independence hit me harder than ever as I lay in pain, twisted on the cold floor, wet tears trickling uncomfortably down to my neck.
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Thankfully Ashton came home around fifteen minutes later, always much too nervous to leave me for too long.
"(Y/n)? He called out, his heavy footsteps in the living room.
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"In here." I replied meekly.
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He gasped the minute he saw me, running to where I was and helping me up instantly.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" He panicked straight away, inspecting my body as he lifted me back into my wheelchair.
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"I just wanted some goddamn water." I sighed, miserably.
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He breathed loudly, running a hand through his worried hair. "This is why I hate to leave you." He exclaimed, pouring me my drink. "What if I had been later? What if you had been badly hurt?"
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I took the glass from him, suddenly unable to stop the tears from falling all over again. Ashton stopped his muttering immediately and got down on his knees.
"Hey." He whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and kissing my forehead. "Don't cry, baby."
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"I'm worthless, Ashton." I sobbed into his shoulder. He pulled away instantly.
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"Don't you dare." He said sternly. "Don't you dare ever say that about yourself. You mean everything to me. I love you with all my heart. Being in a wheelchair doesn't define who you are. I promise."