fanboy ↦ michael clifford {au}

sixteen: about

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

| michael’s pov |

I opened the door to Ashton’s room, only to find him there, drunk again. My eyes rolled involuntarily; it was as if my body was already moving on its own because of how common this sight was.

There was always the question at the back of my mind about him– why?

Why was he always like this?

Why did everyone think he was better?

Why did I think he was better?

“Hey, Mikey,” he shouted, staggering towards me. 

I walked past him, picking up the empty bottles of alcohol on his coffee table and placing them in the bin at the other side of the room.

Ashton’s protests were filling the room, but I chose to be deaf to his pleas this time. I wasn’t in the best mood to deal with his immaturity. He was nineteen years old, for fuck’s sake.

He should start to fix himself; else, I’d give up on him. 

But even though I do give up, I’m pretty sure he had other people to be there for him. If I was in his position, I doubt anyone would put up with me.

That was why, wasn’t it? 

It’s because I’m me.

That’s why Ashton was better.

Michael could never be better than Ashton.

“Sober up; you look like shit,” I told him, as he sat down on the floor, his eyes drooping. 

He laughed, amused at my comment. He didn’t stand, probably because he couldn’t, but he didn’t talk back, either.

I stared at him, crossing my arms; do I have to help him up and do everything?

“Come here; I’ll tell you a story,” he said, patting the space beside him, on the floor. That stupid smile of his was on his face.

Even though I didn’t want to, I approached him and sat down. “About what?” I asked, trying not to sound uninterested.

“About me,” he answered, laughing. 

I held back a sigh; I expected that.

“And about Belle, too.”