✔︎Ballerina Boy ❥ ot4

❥ten❥

❥Ten❥

            "Michael, wakey, wakey." Luke giggled as he attempted to wake his black haired boyfriend, biting at his ear and nosing at the boy's pale neck.

"You are the only person who actually sleeps in during showcase week," Calum commented, from where he was reaching under Michael to make the bed. The footballer wore a black wrist brace, but somehow made it work with one hand.

The pale boy groaned dramatically. "I need to sleep," he responded. "All my work is done. I just have to hang out in the front row of a comfy theatre and watch movies."

"But you can't do that if you don't get out of bed," Luke reminded, before he, Calum, and Ashton lifted the pale boy out of bed and to his feet. Once he was steady, they each held up a fancy suit from his closet. Michael walked by all three, grabbing black jeans from his dresser. He flipped through his shirts, pausing on a band tee, before moving past it and grabbing a long sleeved, button-up shirt, that was the same colour as raven's feathers.

Michael then proceeded to look at the the clock on his bedside table, sighing dramatically. "It is eight in the morning," he said, speaking each word in a staccato. "I don't have to be at the theatre until noon." The photographer/filmmaker/editor sighed loudly and dramatically, his companions giggling and chuckling in response.

"Want to go for ice cream?" Ashton offered. Michael perked up immediately.

"Yeah," he said, grinning brilliantly. Michael's puzzle piece had been filled with colour. Happiness was something the boy had struggled with as a child; he'd always preferred his computer over socialising. Luke and Calum had been the first people to change that. Luke gave Michael an eccentric, enigmatic type of happiness, the kind where you'd laugh hysterically without really knowing what was so funny. Calum gave him a type of happiness that could be overexcited or lacking a filter, the joy of a teenager swearing and giggling in a store without noticing the dirty looks from passing strangers. Ashton supplied a soft and gentle happiness, the innocent, quiet bliss of someone lying under the sky and cloud gazing with the love or loves of their life.

—

            "I can't believe that you got ice cream on your fancy freaking shirt for your fancy freaking day," Calum said exasperatedly, yet he was chuckling as he scrubbed at Michael's shirt with a dampened napkin. The skilled photographer and videographer had a smear of cookies and cream ice cream over his chest, one that Calum was struggling to remove.

            "It's Luke's fault," Michael whined, petulantly sticking his tongue out at the lanky blonde. Luke retorted with an equally childish response, pulling at his cheeks and sticking his tongue out. "He's the one who spilled on me!" The boy paused before speaking again, this time with an immature smirk. "That's what she said."

            Luke giggled, and Calum gave up on trying to be mature. He leaned on Michael and laughed, before pulling the napkin away to reveal the same smear of ice cream, but it had gained a dark wet spot around it. "Crap," he mumbled.

            "I can fix it," Ashton said, taking the napkin and flipping it to the side lacking ice cream. He took over on Michael's shirt, his long fingers spreading warmth through the thin fabric and onto the boy's soft chest.

            "If you wanted to touch my chest you could've just asked," Michael commented. Ashton giggled, his cheeks tinting pink and a small smile forming on soft lips. He scrubbed for a few more minutes, before smoothing Michael's shirt and stepping back. The ice cream was gone, and the water was invisible on the black fabric. "You're a miracle worker," Michael said, grinning brightly and kissing Ashton on both cheeks. "I have to sit in the front row with the other filmmakers, so I'll see you guys after," he promised. Both Calum and Luke kissed his pale cheek before the two of them and Ashton headed for the seats in the theatre. The four boys had been in a small room by the projector, similar to a backstage.