player ♚ lrh

45 - sorry

Luke didn't know what to do.

He had yet to address his new predicament any further. He didn't particularly want to, nor did he enjoy where the situation between him and Calum had landed him; in a bout of confusion, uncertainty, and a considerable amount of anguish he couldn't quite shake.

Ashton had tried to help, stopping by every so often, just enough to make sure his stubborn friend hadn't reverted back to his self-destructive ways, but careful not to intrude on his time with the girl who had already done the same. Though, 'helping' someone who so adamantly believed they didn't need it was somewhat futile, and he knew it.

"You should call him," he'd said, aware his friend had avoided doing just that at all costs, also aware he'd received many, many calls and texts from the three boys hoping to make things right.

He knew that because he'd also been getting the same calls, the same hesitant texts with the same frantic message. And while he'd chosen to respond, he was aware that moving forward was not his decision to make, and forgiveness had first needed to come from the boy who'd been hurt far worse at the hands of their former friends.

Give him time. It was all Ashton would say, the only vague response he would grant them with, for patience was a virtue and Luke was going to need every bit of it he could get.

"You've said that," Luke had muttered back, dryly, not bothering to shift his gaze from the Xbox game he was only half-heartedly participating in.

"And you've ignored it."

Luke averted his eyes to the controller in his hands, feeling his jaw lock slightly in his gaze, letting out a small scoff. "Can you blame me?"

"No," Ashton had answered, all traces of mockery gone from his sincere tone, a lasting frown on his face as he set his own controller down, shifting his position on the couch to look at his friend; his tired, stubborn, broken best friend. "I don't, Luke. I don't blame you at all,"

Feeling the shift in the air, the unspoken tension returning as it was made clear they were no longer pretending the ordeal from days ago hadn't happened, all Luke could do was roll his eyes. He tossed his controller to the other side of his couch, aware Ashton wasn't planning on letting it go, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasping together. Great, he thought. We're doing this.

"Then I don't know what you expect me to do," he stared at his hands still, flexing his knuckles.

Ashton had sighed. "I don't expect anything, mate. I just think you should call him, for your sake more than his,"

Luke glanced at him, forcing himself to stop the bouncing of his leg. It annoyed the hell out of him, how anxious these conversations made him. He'd never been like that, but now, when he was consciously putting something off that he knew he needed to do—because he knew his friend was right—he just couldn't help the feeling that settled in his chest. "And say what, exactly?"

Shrugging, Ashton returned his gaze, aware the boy was silently asking for guidance—something he didn't do often. "Whatever you want,"

Luke scoffed, head shaking as he leant back, one hand running through the strands of his hair. "Whatever I want," he echoed. "That's the fucking problem. I don't know,"