5 Seconds Of Summer Preferences [Book two]

#7 Early Mornings

Ashton: “Wake up, sleepy head. I’m going to the grocery store, want anything?” Ashton asks, gently shaking your shoulder. He’s dressed in trainers, sweats, and a hoodie, with his sunglasses keeping his hair off his forehead. “Can I come with you?” you ask, sitting up and squishing your toes into the rug kept on your side of the bed. “Of course. It’s raining, do you want to drive?” he asks, following you into the bathroom as you smear toothpaste on your toothbrush and begin scouring your teeth. You nod, pulling a pair of sweatpants on with one hand. You’re ready after pulling a San Francisco Giants sweatshirt on and scraping your hair into a bumpy ponytail. Ashton pushes you down the aisles in the cart, letting you grab food off the shelves as you go by. You spend an excessive amount of time in the freezer section in front of the ice creams, arguing whether American Dream or Cherry Garcia would be better, finally settling on Phish Food as a compromise. Back at the flat, and after a few rounds of Mario Kart, you both move into the bedroom, lips attached and clothes sliding off, as you find a better way to heat up the chilly day.

Luke: Your own shivering woke you up, leaving you to roll over onto the empty space where Luke had fallen asleep with you. Stuffing socks on your feet and throwing an old sweatshirt on over your sweats, you silently make your way downstairs. “Come back to bed.” Your voice is hoarse, but he hears you nonetheless. “I’m making pancakes. I wanted to surprise you.” He pouts, pouring a fresh round of batter in the pan and wrapping his arms around you. You slide your hands up underneath his sweatshirt and he withdraws your icy fingers too cold on his warm chest. “You’re freezing, love. Get back in bed; I’ll be up in ten minutes.” He says, kissing your forehead. Bleary eyed, you nod and trod back upstairs to collapse underneath the untidy mass of blankets. Luke comes up with a massive stack of pancakes on a plate, complete with tea, and you spend the rest of your morning watching Grey’s Anatomy.

Calum: "Sleep is for the weak!" you cry, unloading an entire casing of Nerf pellets onto your sleeping best friend’s back. "I’m weak," Calum moans. Rolling onto his stomach and sliding his head under his pillow. "Must be, but come on, I’ve made breakfast." you say, clicking another round into your gun and shooting Calum’s side. He reluctantly follows you downstairs to be met with crepes and a toppings bar. "You’ve somehow managed to be both the best and the worst friend I have," he says, inhaling 3/4 of the food. "I’ve learned from the best," you reply, shooting one more pellet at his forehead. With a glare, he helps you clean up before both making your way upstairs, dropping back onto his bed and pulling out your laptop for a hardcore Bob’s Burgers marathon. Lying against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat. He lays his cheek against the top of your head, lightly running his fingers across your palm. He falls asleep again, still holding you, so you just plug in earbuds and finish the season. 

Michael: “Its 3AM, you absolutely do not have to be playing guitar right now.” You say, hand on Michael’s shoulder. He starts with a jump, flipping his notebook closed. “You’re right, I just got an idea and I wanted to write it down,” he says, standing up and sliding his hands down your sides to rest on your hips. “Come back to bed?” you ask, sleepily kissing him. He murmurs his assent, picking his guitar up by the neck and placing it back onto the stand before leading the way upstairs. Back in bed, you strip down to your underwear, and after following suit, Michael pulls you into him. Lazily running his hands up and down your thighs, he starts humming the song he was playing on his guitar. “New song?” you ask, eyelids struggling to stay open. “Yeah. I’m writing it all on my own. It’s, uh, about us, actually.” he says, voice low. “Are you going to mention that you want me to pretend to be a Minecraft Creeper because you think it would be hot?” you ask, smiling. “No, although it’s not that weird. I just think you’re pretty wonderful, so, I’m writing a song because I’m not so great at telling you.” he says, pulling you even closer. You blush, and even though you can’t see his face, you know he is too. “I think you’re pretty wonderful too, Michael. I hope you know that,” you say, pressing your back into his chest and snuggling your head into the space beneath his chin.