he dies at the end / l.s. + m.c.

18. teenage dirtbag

𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕
𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝟻:𝟻𝟼𝚊𝚖

Michael was absolutely fucked. So totally and completely fucked. He was so fucked, in fact, that he was sure no one had ever felt such fuckery ever in their lives before.

How did he manage to end up in these situations? They weren't even bad situations. That would be better. He could handle bad situations because at least then you know they're bad. With weird situations, all you know is they're so fucking weird and, honestly, what do you do with that?

First of all, Ashton Irwin in a hot garage working up a sweat while pouring his soul into playing the drums? Hot. Very hot. So insanely hot that Michael's thoughts were quickly turning into something he did not want them to be. Ashton was his boss's son. Michael was ogling his boss's fucking son. Of course, he probably didn't need to feel all that guilty considering he would be too dead for anyone to do anything about it, but, by God, while he was still on Earth, Michael was enjoying himself and his conscience was eating him alive for it.

He followed along with Ashton's beat on the drums, strumming out something slow and chill on the guitar that he knew but couldn't place as sweat began to bead on his forehead and drip off of his hair into his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe it away in fear of ruining the rhythm he'd built with Ashton. He let it sting and blur his vision.

They'd played for a while, Michael thought, but he'd really lost all sense of time. The day seemed to have lasted for ten, but, realistically, it'd only been several hours.

Ashton was the one to finally stop playing, Michael halting upon not hearing the drumming anymore and turning back to see Ashton shaking out his hands and working to catch his breath. When Ashton seemed to notice him watching, he looked up and smiled sheepishly, his black hair slick with sweat and hanging in his eyes.

"Sorry. The hands aren't used to playing anymore, I guess. You can keep going if you want."

"It's fine." Michael set the guitar on a stand, making sure it was steady before turning back to Ashton. "I was getting tired anyway." He went over to the couch, collapsing on it with a heavy sigh. Ashton followed his lead, but opted to sit cross-legged on the floor instead. There was more than enough room on the couch next to Michael, but he didn't question it.

"I have to admit," he smiled at the boy on the floor, feeling a blissful exhaustion rush through him, "that was fucking awesome. Usually when I play, I'm just messing around in my room, but, with you, it sounded like actual songs." His smile faded a bit. "I always wanted to be in a band - do the big music thing- but I guess I thought I'd have more time. I wish I tried harder."

A grin twitched at Ashton's lips as he met Michael's gaze and he would be lying if he said he didn't like the twinkle of mischief in the boy's hazel eyes.

"Who says it's too late?"

Michael stared at him. "I don't know. God? I'm dying today. There's no time to do anything, let alone start a band and get famous."

Ashton pushed himself off the ground just enough to pull his phone out of his pocket and wave it in Michael's direction. "I think you're wrong. We've got a phone, we've got a drummer, we've got a guitarist, and we've got a singer. I think that's a pretty good start."

"Who the fuck is the singer?"

"You are." Ashton smirked and Michael felt himself go even paler than usual. He started to wildly shake his head, but Ashton was quick to cut him off. "Nope. Don't fuck with me, Clifford. I know you can sing. You do it all the time."

Michael gaped. "No, I don't-"

"Yes, you do. Last week you sang, like, the entirety of the Little Mermaid soundtrack while you were driving me and Harry to Anne's."

Michael flushed bright red. It was entirely possible that that was true but he was going to deny it until his very last breath. He snapped his mouth shut and crossed his arms in indignation.

"Well, what if I don't want to be the singer?"

"Then I guess you're gonna die without fulfilling your life's dream." Ashton moved a bit closer to Michael, his gaze softening and expression fading to one of more genuineness. "C'mon, Clifford. What's the worst that can happen? If it's embarrassing, you'll be dead tomorrow anyway. Live a little while you still can."

The tension in Michael's body faded a bit and he knew Ashton was right, but he couldn't deny that he was still scared. He shook his head. "Yeah, maybe so, but what if it's horrible and that's how everyone remembers me? And what about you? You'll still be here tomorrow to deal with the humiliation of it."

If Michael didn't know any better, he'd say that, for a split second, Ashton almost looked sad. But, before he could comment on it or even really take note of it, it was gone and Ashton was smiling again.

"I don't give a fuck what people think, and you shouldn't either. Let's just try. If you hate it, we can delete it and no one will ever have to know anything happened."

Michael knew he would regret it. He was so sure that this was a bad idea. But those eyes drilling into his with their sweet, innocent hope ultimately took control even when he knew better.

"Fine, okay. Let's do it."

"Fuck, yeah, Clifford!" Ashton jumped to his feet with as big a smile on his face as Michael had ever seen. He grabbed the older boy's arm and pulled him up as well, Michael very nearly falling over at the force that was used before he was being dragged over to the guitar he'd been playing earlier. He felt like he was in a daze as it was shoved in his hands and Ashton was going to set up the camera several feet away. He propped it against a metal rod and set it to record. He went behind his drums and looked at Michael expectantly.

"Your move, Clifford."

Michael was at a loss for several moments, but it wasn't long before a lightbulb went off in his head. He felt a smile tugging at his lips. "You know Teenage Dirtbag, right?"

Ashton broke out into a grin which he quickly tried to suppress and play off as cool. "'Course, I do. You sure that's how you wanna leave your mark?"

"Why not?" Michael shrugged. "Gonna die as a teenager, might as well live as one too."

"Fair enough." Ashton's eyes lingered on Michael's a moment too long before he averted his gaze to his drum kit and began to count off, the beat of the song beginning.