5 Seconds of Summer BoyXBoy one-shots

Sunlight // Malum

~ AN: this might be a bit confusing, idk really. But it's a bit different and I like it, althoguh it might be sligthly triggering so be careful when reading and remember than if you need someone to talk to I'm here. 

Dedicated to @9idiotsstolemyheart becaue she's amazing and her works are perfect and I just love her a lot, I love you very very much Tillie xx

I'd also like to mention that this was supposed to be a very happy and fluffy one-shot, but if you know me you know that doesn't happen a lot /M ~ 

The sun is only just starting to rise, sending rays of sunlight through the windows and giving everything in the room a golden tone. A young man is standing alone in the middle of the room, completely still except for his right arm that occasionally moves a brush over the canvas is front of him, and his eyes. He’s not wearing anything except for a pair of lounge pants and there are stains of paint on his chest and neck, accompanied by a few fading bruises, memories of long nights spent cuddled up in bed with a movie playing in the background, memories of soft lips pressed to his skin, of eyes screaming out the words they were both too scared to say out loud.

Dance with me. The whisper travels through the room and the man shivers slightly, leaning to put his weight on his right leg and lowering his arm, taking a moment to look at the painting, letting it take him back.

“Dance with me, come on.” he laughs as he walks further into the room, watching the love of his life move around the room with his arms raised as if he was waltzing with someone. “We’re damned after all, through fortune and flame we fall.” his lover picks up his pace as he sings along. “And if you can stay then I’ll show you the way”

“To return from the ashes you call.” He smiles and lets the other boy take his hand and pull him away from the door, into the middle of the room. It doesn’t matter that the song’s almost over or that it isn’t the kind of song you’d normally dance to, they slowly move around the room, giggling slightly when they step on each other’s feet. Once the song is over he returns to the table where he placed his glass as his lover walk over to the stereo and starts looking through the CD’s. As he watch him love washes over him and for a moment it’s like he’s seeing him for the first time and the beauty of the boy across the room takes his breath away. He’s never seen anything as beautiful as the boy in the black skinnies and the dress shirt with rolled up sleeves. The small bags under his eyes only makes him look even better, as does the fading scars on his wrists.

He puts his glass back down and makes his way across the room, getting the other boy’s attention by placing a hand on his shoulder. He then moves his hand from the boy’s shoulder to his chest, lowering it as he unbuttons the shirt.

“what are you doing?” the voice, filled with curiosity and amusement, doesn’t stop him, but the hand that is placed on his moments later does. “stop, you don’t want to do that.” his eyes moves from the hand that’s holding him up to the eyes he fell in love with, eyes that suddenly seems worried, scared and insecure.

“I do want to, you’re beautiful.” he lifts his free hand and gently strokes the other boy’s cheek, pushing the hair out of his face. “you’re beautiful.” and the grip on his hand disappears, allowing him to continue.

The sunlight is falling in from a completely different angle when another man enters the room, stopping in the doorway to watch the painter. He doesn’t want to be there, the room holds almost as many memories for him as it does for his friend, but he fights back the urge to leave and walks further into the room, placing a hand on the taller man’s shoulder, causing him to jump.

“you have to get ready.”

“Come on, you have to get ready.” he can’t hold back the smile that spreads across his face as his lover groans and rolls over to hide his face in the pillow, he can’t help but lay down and wrap his arms around the boy’s smaller frame, can’t help but press his lips to the soft skin on his neck. “it’ll only be for a couple hours and I’ll be here when you get back.” the smaller boy turns around so they’re facing each other and opens his eyes, green meeting brown for the first time that day.

“only for a couple hours?”

“yes, only a few hours.”

“and you’ll be here?”

“I’ll always be here, promise.” a pair of soft, plump lips are pressed to his and then he’s left alone on the mattress they’re using as a bed for the time being. He rolls onto his back and watches as the boy he’s lucky enough to call his own quickly changes shirts, not wanting to have his pale skin exposed to the outer world for more than a second, before pulling on a pair of jeans. He then pauses and turns around, seeking eye contact with the boy on the mattress, who immediately knows what he needs to say. “I’ll be here, you’ll be fine.”

“I can’t go.” he doesn’t take his eyes of the painting as he talks, barely acknowledging his friend at all. “I just can’t .” the hand on his shoulder disappears and his friend, their friend, walks over to one of the paintings that’s placed along the wall. He kneels in front of one of them and tears immediately fills his eyes as he looks at it, remembering. He was there, he was there when it was painted, and he remembers.

No one’s paying attention to anything except for what they’re doing and the only thing to be heard is the rain drumming against the windows and every now and again someone turning a page in a book. It’s a comfortable silence and something the couple that lives there are used to, but it’s all new to the third person in the room. He’s used to always talking to someone, always having someone to listen to, but now he’s sitting alone in the couch behind his oldest friend, watching as his hand moves the paintbrush over the canvas, watching as a portrait of the person sitting by the window across the room slowly takes shape. The third of them, the one who’s sitting by the window, hunched over a book as he chews on his lip, desperately trying to understand what he’s reading, has no idea he’s the object of the others’ attention. He’s used to being painted and drawn by now, but the best drawings and paintings are always the ones from when he’s not aware that it’s happening. Somehow his boyfriend always manages to really capture him, and it’s in the moments when he doesn’t know he’s being watched he seems to be the most relaxed.

So even though he’s new to the silence, even though he’s dying to break it, to say something, Ashton stays quiet. He continues to watch his friend paint, he smiles, knowing that if he walked around so he could see his eyes, he’d see nothing but love.

The sun is no longer shining in through the windows, but them young man is still standing in front of the canvas. He’s alone again and he’s no longer trying to hold back the tears. He blames himself, of course he does. All that time spent together, all those hours spent next to him on the tiny mattress, all those hours spent watching him, painting him, and he had no idea. He didn’t know what was building up inside his lover, all the pain that would lead up to that one moment, the moment he was left. He’s no longer the boy who met another boy in the library and fell in love, he’s no longer the boy who loved to wake up early just to have the chance to watch his lover sleep, he’s no longer the boy who dreamt of forever with him. He’s a man, he’s a man now, a young and scared and lonely man who’s lost his faith in love. For even though he knows so many different techniques, so many different ways to paint a pretty picture, he never knew that his lover did the same. The only difference being that instead of a paintbrush the boy had a blade, and instead of a canvas he only had his skin. He didn’t know, he had no idea, until the day he came home to find his lovers paint slowly running down the canvas, the paintbrush on the floor. He didn’t know, he didn’t notice until it was too late. And now he’s lost everything.

He puts the brush down and steps closer to his canvas, carefully writing a name in the corner of the painting before stepping back and turning around, leaving the room. And from the middle of the room, from the once empty canvas, green eyes filled with love watches him leave, eyes in the same colour as the name written above them.

Michael.