One Hell Of A Night ~~~ Lashton fanfic

Chapter 1

~~ Hi. This will just be another fanfic 'bout Lashton. There might be some Malum in here as well, ya never know. I'm just writing this to thank all of you for reading this. Or at least you read through a majority of the intro. You could just shut off your computer/phone/tablet right now and go do something more exciting than read my fanfic. And yet you chose to stay. I applaud you for that, and I thank you again for that :3
If this story can reach 5 readers, I'll continue because of my massive fan base (hahahahahahahaha. Oh man.)
Thanks guys. I love you all. Stay strong <3 ~~

I was asleep on the couch in my apartment when I heard the door open. I groggily peeked one eye open. Michael, my best and only friend and my roommate, crept in. His pink hair was wet due to the rain falling from the sky that day. He didn't notice I was awake. I'd like to keep it that way.
I snuggled up deeper into my blankets, which was really just my jacket, and squeezed my eyes shut. When my older brother told me that getting dumped by the one you love was extremely difficult, I didn't believe him. I didn't want to believe him. But, sadly, it's true. The fact that the mastermind behind being wrong all the time was somehow right this time blew my mind. And, no matter how many days I sleep in for, or how many nights I spend awake, thinking about everything and absolutely nothing, my mind would always bring my thoughts back to her. It annoyed me that I couldn't forget about her. I couldn't forget about her baby blue eyes or her wavy blonde hair or her punk rock style that I admired. I could never forget her smile, the way she laughed, the way her arms felt wrapped around my waist. It was physically impossible for me to do. Which is surprising, because I could forget about a lot of things if my mind just didn't want to remember it. I didn't want to remember her, and yet, I'm still thinking about her. It's like she's permanently imprinted into my brain with no escape for me whatsoever. No matter what I do, she'll always be there, in the back of my mind, haunting me, making me question what I did wrong. Making me wonder if I'll ever get her back. But we all know that's never going to be a possibility, with her or any other girl.
I squinted my eyes open and watched as Michael placed his keys in the bowl and walked over to the kitchen. My fatigue was taking over. I shut my eyes again and sighed off all the stress and nerve that I'd gained. The pressure coming off the world came pressing down on my shoulders, harder and harder until I thought I was going to burst from it all.
Suddenly, cold water ran down my face and down my shirt that caused me to jump off the couch. I let out a yelp before falling to the floor. I heard a bucket clattering behind me.
"Get UP, Ashton!" Michael yelled out from behind me. His lightly faded pink hair made him seem extra demanding, but I didn't care.
I shook my head, going into the best fetal position I could make on the ground with the couch and our coffee table squishing me in, as well as being now sopping wet.
"No," I mumbled out. He let out an frustrated sigh.
"C'mon, get up."
"No. What's the point of it?" I rolled onto my front side, my body now open like a cracked egg. "You wake up, you go to work, you come home, you sleep, and you do it all over again. There's absolutely no purpose in all of it, because we're all going to die someday. It doesn't matter if you become the president or if no one knows you exist. Either way, your life's going to end." I moved my body over again. "One way or another..."
Michael stared at me. "That was probably the most depressing thing you've ever said to me," he said. I nodded.
"It's the truth."
"Come on, man. It's been three months since it happened. You should be over it by now." I whined and kicked my legs around. I should be over her. I should.
"But I'm not," I harped like a four-year old child. "I'm not over her, and I don't think I ever will be." I turned around and looked up at him, standing behind the couch. He stared at me.
He sighed. "Relationships shouldn't be this hard to get over," he impatiently said. I scoffed.
"That's because you've been in plenty of relationships, way more than I have," I mumbled, my face now pressed against the floor.
"And I have the nerve and the tough spirit to get over all of them, a trait that you apparently don't carry," he said. He chuckled. "I'm surprised you didn't mention my sexuality."
"You're also gay," I added quickly. "Boys are much easier to get over than girls." The first part was true. Michael's been openly gay ever since the beginning (He's not ashamed to be who he truly is.) The second part, I'm not so sure. It's subjective.
"How would you know? You've never dated a guy before, and you're too lazy to get out of the house," he stated coldly.
"What's the purpose?"
"I don't know. To have a goddam life?!" He exclaimed. He came around the couch and knelt down next to my nearly lifeless and drying body. I looked into his green eyes. "Look. You've done nothing but mope around for the past three months. Nothing but sit around all day, watching Disney movies with your phone by your side, just hoping that she'll call you and apologize and ask for you back. Well, guess what, little buddy: it's not going to happen. It's a hard thing to hear, I know, but it's the truth. She's not coming back for you, and she never will. So you need to either go back out there and beg for her to come back, or get out of this damn house and start a new life with a clean slate." I furrowed my eyebrows and thought about his little speech. He's right. If I want to start a new life, I should be able to go out there and do it. If I don't want to die alone, then I should accept challenges and take risks, not only for the experience, but for the people I'll meet, the new faces I'll see, the hearts I might steal. I grabbed a pillow from the couch and held it against my face. I should be allowed to do that. No one's stopping me.
"But I don't wanna..." I cried out, my voice filled with regret and loneliness hidden in all the cracks. Michael yanked the pillow from off my face and hit me with it.
Everything was quiet. The blanket of silence that I've grown all too familiar with over the past three months came back again. We didn't move from where we were.
"Umm..." Michael's voice grew soft, which I usually never get to hear. "I'm going out tonight. To a bar. A gay bar." My ears perked up when the word gay rang out. "Since you don't want to go out and do anything anymore, maybe you'd like to come with me and just... have a couple drinks. A few beers, maybe? Just this once. To give you a little taste on how much the world has changed. It'll only be a couple of hours, and no one will even know who you are. You can just linger by the bar table. No one will know you exist." I curled up into a tighter ball. He shook my body. It flopped around like a noodle. "Come on," he begged, "It'll be a lot of fun."
"No," I said, sinking my head back down again. He frowned, then sighed.
"Please... Do it for me," he pleaded. I peeked my head up to look at him. His green eyes and damp hair and begging smile we're screaming at me to tag along with him.
I let out a breath. You're the only one preventing yourself from having a good life. Or, at least a good night. "Fine. I'll go."
He clapped happily. "Yeah! Awesome." He reached his arms under mine, and I was on my feet in no time. He gave me a reassuring pat on the back. "See, that's the spirit. There's the man I became best friends with back in high school."
"Freshman year was the worst."
"But I got to meet you," he said. I guess that's true. I gave him a shrug before walking away, my hair no longer dripping water. "We're leaving in ten minutes!" he called out as I shut my bedroom door behind me. I opened my dresser, my stomach turning from the decision I'd just made. What am I doing? I'm a straight guy about to go to a gay strip club, I mean bar, just to get out of the house. There are a lot of other things I could have done. If he wanted me out so badly, he should've just convinced me to go to Starbucks. It'll be strange to go to a place where there will be guys making out with other guys just like them.
I threw my outfit of choice on my messy bed. Black skinny jeans, a Blink-182 shirt. I didn't bother to do my hair as I didn't want guys to come up to me and ask me to... y'know...
I quickly changed in my new attire and opened my bedroom door. Michael was waiting for me, looking ten thousand times better than I could ever appear. His light pink hair somehow looked darker, more musky, than before. He had on a Metallic tank top and, of course, his signature black skinny jeans that I see him wear everywhere.
When he saw me, I feel like he stared at me for a bit too long.
"What?" I asked, wrapping my arms around my body. He shrugged then looked away.
"Bro, I know I shouldn't say this, but-"
"Please don't..."
"If you were actually gay, I think I'd might try to get you tonight."
My lips turned into a thin line. I turned around and slowly began to make my way towards my room. "I'm changing!"
His grabbed my wrist and pulled me back and towards the door.
"No, no, no. We're leaving. You've been cooped away inside this little apartment for way too long. Besides," he shoved me outside and shut the door before checking his watch. "You agreed to ten. It's been 12 minutes." I rolled my eyes. The hallway was empty. I began walking down the stairs, not wanting to wait for him. I needed time for myself to think. I'm a straight guy about to go to a gay bar where there will be guys, and only guys, drinking and partying and hitting on each other and kissing and... Jesus, what am I doing?
I opened the door and stared up at the night sky that was so effortlessly pinned back by the stars. The darkness hurt. I've had enough of that. The cool autumn air blew icicles onto my skin, but it felt nice to be breathing this fresh, chilly air instead of that shared oxygen up in our 4th story floor.
Michael hopped out next to me and pulled over a taxi. He turned to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.
"Thanks for coming," he said. I shrugged.
"Well, I had to get out of the house, right?"
"Trust me, you'll have fun. Hey," he entered the taxi backseat, and I followed. "Wouldn't it be funny if tonight, we found out you were actually gay?"
I held back my loud outburst of unstoppable laughter. "Yeah, right. That'll never happen." He gave our driver our address and leaned back in his chair.
"Isn't that why she broke up with you? Because she thought you were gay?" My mind went back to her. I let out a little cry and curled up again in the backseat.
"No..." I mumbled. He laughed and put his hands on my shoulders.
"Sorry, sorry. I'm sorry."
"Wait, is that the reason?"
"Hmm? Oh, I wouldn't know. I was just poking fun at you."
"Argh..." I looked up out the window and into the starry night sky. The evening hasn't even begun, and already I felt miserable. Maybe that's why she called it off. Because she did think I was gay. Or maybe it's because she really doesn't like me...
Whatever her reason, it's not going to stop me from having a good 6 hours. All thoughts of her, or as many as I could get out, left me. I stared out towards the open road, the question of what I was doing beginning to repeat over and over again in my mind.
I sighed. I wished I could have a shot of whiskey right now.
This was going to be one hell of a night.