two
I was packing for tour, shoving every pair of black jeans that I owned into a large duffle bag.
Ashton was sitting on my unmade bag, complaining about his life. "I was supposed to get this job, I was the one that fucking introduced you to the magazine." He put his feet up on my white walls, stretching out his toes and trying to reach up to them. "I'm proud of you, don't get me wrong, but I'm extremely jealous."
"I invited you over to help me," I said, dropping another pair of jeans into my bag, "and you're bing a dick."
Ashton sat up in my bed, fixing his muscle tee. "Sorry, I have to start preparing for when you're gone. I'm gonna sit here and cry. Every day, every night."
"You don't live here. Do not come to my apartment when I am not here."
Ash let out a short laugh. "I'll do what I want. You gave me a spare to your apartment for a reason." He started to reach over my mattress, grabbing my sheets and remaking my bed around his body.
"I gave you the key to water my plants," I responded, pointing at the dead plants in the windowsill,"you didn't even do that."
"I got you this job, you better fucking kill that attitude."
"We were fifteen!"
Ash rolled his eyes, "Whatever. You're missing the big picture." He picked up a candle on my beside table, "Is this mine?"
Ashton was a fidget-y type of guy. He was never able to sit still, never able to focus on one train of thought. He had so many things to do and he wanted to do them all at once.
I sealed my duffle bag with 80 percent of my closet in it, throwing it at him. "Are you actually mad?"
He snorted, "No. I'm going on tour with The 1975, you think I'm actually jealous of some pop star bitch?"
Ashton and I were usually a team. We went to concerts together, he did the photos and I did the interview. He was good at what he did, he had an eye for lighting and angles and everything in between.
Ashton and I met in middle school while both hiding in the bathroom during gym class. It was an instant friendship—one you only hear about in books. He's the only friend I've got and he's the only friend I need.
I ran a hand over my face as I looked at my small studio apartment, would everything be the same when I got back?
I made small steps to my bed, plopping next to my best friend. "He seemed okay in the meeting yesterday." I rested my head on Ashton's shoulder, listening to his slow breaths. "What if this is a disaster? What if he's, like, actually a dick?"
"What if you get some dick?"
I looked up at him, glaring. "You're really not helping right now. You aren't helping pack and you aren't helping my mentality." Ashton was my signature straight best friend. Every flaming homosexual like myself needs a heterosexual best friend in their life.
I looked up at the cracks by the windowsill, I was scared to leave home. I've made New York my home for the 13 months and I wasn't ready to leave for so long. I found comfort in my three-hundred square foot apartment. My childhood bedroom was the size of this place, but this was my first place.
My parents didn't put in a single dime to this apartment, no matter how badly they wanted to. It was my time to branch off into the world and show them what me, Michael Clifford, had to offer.
"Sorry, you're gonna get famous and I'm not. Do you know how upsetting that is?" He adjusted his body, curling his arm around my back. "I'm proud of you," he repeated, "but, wow. You're doing some great things."
I smiled, feeling the pride myself. "What if my writing suddenly goes down? Like, I can't form a sentence, I can't form a topic. Would Jack fire me?"
"I don't think Jack knows how to fire anyone," Ashton repeated. "Did he seem concerned?"
"No—."
"Then you shouldn't be concerned. Your boss has faith in you, Jack wouldn't have put you on the job if he didn't believe in you completely."
"Maybe it's a sick joke, though. Like, 'haha, let's see Michael cry'. I feel like that's something Jack would do," I worried, my head easily getting the best of me.
"It's gonna be so fucking cool," Ashton said, "really."
"I know, but—."
"You're a great writer, you're great at observing, you're great at everything. You're getting an entire issue to yourself next year: That's amazing! It's gonna get you the Pulitzer Prize or some shit for sure." I could feel Ashton's hand mindlessly tapping on my back, his ADHD mind running a mile a minute and then some.
"I'm not good at social contact."
"Yes, you are."
"It's scary!"
Ash tsked, "You've gotta do it, though."
"What if Luke doesn't want to answer my questions or something?"
Ashton rolled his eyes, I was bothering him. The only reason he wasn't leaving was because my bed was comfortable. "You're gonna be fine. It's gonna be great. You're a lucky motherfucker."
Gasp...,,,a Straight ^tm.
Michael is about to leave for tour, what do you think is going to go down?
