The day had already been monumentally shitty. The worst of the worst days. An absolute steaming-pile-of-crap day. So, really, it was only natural to finish it with a perfect cherry on top - his call from Death-Cast.
He was alone when the unmistakabl...
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𝙰𝚜𝚑𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝟷𝟸:𝟹𝟽𝚊𝚖
The day had already been monumentally shitty. The worst of the worst days. An absolute steaming-pile-of-crap day. So, really, it was only natural to finish it with a perfect cherry on top - his call from Death-Cast.
He was alone when the unmistakable ringtone began to blare from his phone. He knew what it was immediately. Of course he knew. It wasn't the first time he'd come face-to-face with it. It was, however, the first time it was intended for him.
He thought about ignoring it; throwing his phone out of the window or smashing it with a hammer. It was pointless, though. He knew that. He'd tried the denial route when Lauren received her call, but she was still buried in a cemetery up North.
So, what could he do but answer?
"Hello?" His voice shook, shook more than it ever had in his life. He was scared, which went against every fiber in his body. He didn't get scared - not ever. But as he gripped his phone in his paper-white palm, he was terrified. He wasn't afraid of dying - not at all - but he feared, more than anything, being helpless. And, well, being told you're dying with an alarming lack of details is about as helpless as you can get.
"Is this Ashton Irwin?" It was a man. Cool and calm with an American accent. He sounded completely unbothered, like he was calling about Ashton's car insurance.
"Yeah." He thought about making a joke. Saying it wasn't him. Anything. Anything but admitting he was the one set to die sometime in the next twenty-four hours. He didn't, though. He stayed quiet and listened to the words he'd been dreading since the very first day he learned of Death-Cast, when he was four and his father's mother had received her call while she and Ashton sat up watching cartoons. He'd watched her face pale, but he hadn't known why. She made him swear not to tell, told him it was a little game. She died in her sleep a few hours later. Ashton never told anyone that he heard the call, not even when his parents wondered aloud whether she'd answered it or not.
His own call was a blur. The guy's name was Mike or Mark or something like that, and he informed Ashton that he was going to die. He gave no details and offered no sympathy. He did his job well, Ashton had to admit, and his job was one most people couldn't even fathom doing. That didn't make Ashton hate Mike/Mark any less. Because, honestly, how are you supposed to feel towards a man who tells you that you have less than twenty-four hours left on Earth?
Ashton didn't know what to do. Post it on social media? Text his friends? Have a one night stand? He could probably rob a bank and it wouldn't even matter, though he wouldn't exactly have a lot of time to spend his fortune, not to mention the fact that his monthly allowance was more than most middle-class adults made in a year.
Eventually - after about fifteen minutes of thinking about life on his bed - he decided he should start with telling his older brother. Harry would want to know, he thought. It would kill him, but he'd appreciate getting to say goodbye instead of Ashton going without any warning.
