the sound, settle down [mashton af]

// s e v e n t e e n //

17. But you're losing your words/ We're speaking in bodies/ Avoiding me and talking 'bout you/ But you're losing your turn/ I guess I'll never learn/ 'Cause I stay another hour or two

Ashton had a bottle of Macallan and two ounces of weed laying out on his bedside table. He is high and he is drunk. He feels like nothing but he feels like everything. His head is pounding but everything is feeling so still. His eyes itch but water when he blinks. He's breathing heavily but he can barely feel his lungs moving.

He rolls over in his bed, leaning up against his cold, cold wall.

Michael is laying on the floor with Timothy as they share a bowl of popcorn. "I don't understand how you watch this," Michael says, pointing to The Walking Dead playing on their television.

"I don't understand how you don't," his son responds, taking another handful of their butter-filled popcorn.

"Too much gore for me. You know I almost passed out at your birth, and every nose bleed you have ever had, and that paper cut I got last week." Mike pulled the blanket they were sharing closer to his body.

He felt so relaxed. His phone was off, his computer was away, it was time for just him and Tim. There was nothing to disturb the two (besides the moans of zombies).

Ashton was pretty sure he was on the brink of death when everything started to turn bad. His lungs had begun to burn, his ears began to ring. Ash could feel his stomach churning as he quickly turned over, vomiting straight onto the wooden floors.

He had his head hanging over the side of his mattress, all the blood rushing to his screaming brain. He was sick, he made himself sick.

The acid of his stomach came up his throat, his lack of eating hurting him. He reached for his phone as he was able to feel his breathing again, he dialed the only number he could trust.

"I had Calum pick up that ice cream that you like earlier, do you wanna go get it?" Michael asked Tim as a commercial blared through their speakers.

"The vegan mocha?"

Michael made a disgusted face as he nodded. "Yeah, your fake ice cream. I got me some good mint Oreo too, I think I'm the real winner."

Tim got out of the pile of blankets they've made the last two hours. "Do you want bowls?"

Mike laughed, "Who do you think I am?" Michael dazed back into his stare at the screen in front of him as his son went to retrieve spoons and their very different types of ice cream.

Michael was glad that he and his son were comfortable with each other. Mike was sure that Tim felt the same way about him.

Timothy walked back into the room, carrying their individual ice cream cartons along with Michael's phone. "I know you have a no phone rule but I happened to walk past your phone and I—," Tim paused as he tossed Michael his phone.

Mike sat up, taking a deep breath and pressing the home button. His screen lit up with email notifications, text notifications, and missed calls.

Ashton (16)

Sixteen calls from Ashton and not a single message, not a single voicemail.

"I hate your dad," Michael said as he stood up, "like, not really, but a little bit."

Timothy let out an uncomfortable laugh as he sat back down. He opened up his ice cream, taking a large spoonful of the flavor. "You should call him, it's okay."