fragile. || lashton

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It's been four days and there was still no further waking of Ashton so far. The three boys were kicked out on the second day to sleep, shower, and possibly get some food in their bodies. But Luke didn't want sleep. He didn't want to shower. (Well, he smelled pretty horrible but he didn't want to go through the entire process.) He didn't want to eat.

Mikey and Cal didn't force him either. They actually had no idea that Luke was refusing to eat anything. They'd gone back to their apartment they shared while Luke sulked in Ashton's. He could've been sobbing on his own bed but he preferred the vanilla smell of Ash's sheets over the nasty, boy smell he had.

He was in the middle of crying his eyes out into Ashton's pillow when a loud knock interrupted him. Luke hobbled downstairs while wiping his stuffy nose, answering the door shyly and staring at his feet.

A woman stood there, one Luke actually had never seen before. "Hello!" the blonde woman smiles brightly. "I'm Anne, Ashton's mother. Is he here?" Even though they shouldn't have, Anne's words his Luke in the chest. Hard.

"W-well, you see . . Ashton's in the h-hospital." The blonde stuttered out, watching as the woman's face contorted with confusion. "In a c-coma . ."

•

Luke didn't remember what time Anne left, or when he'd actually stopped bawling like a baby, all he remembers is getting a phone call from Michael that wasn't positive. Word was that as of now, from what Ashton's suffering from, he could die soon within the span of a week at the most.

That thought made Luke almost die instantly. He couldn't bare to think of the love of his life being placed into a coffin and lowered into the ground, that made his chest burn and his head spin.

He paced around his living room while tugging at his blonde locks, muttering curse words underneath his breath. He felt like punching the absolute shit out of himself. He was angry because Ashton doesn't know how he truly feels, he's angry because of Ellie, he's angry because his stomach is empty, he's just . . done.

That's what he is; done. He wants to be finished with everything. Ashton's dying, Luke's slowly - but surely - dying, Mikey and Cal are slowly fading away, everything's just coming to a close. Being in a band was amazing for them, it was surely the time of their lives, but Luke knows maybe it's time to put the instruments on the shelf.

So, on that cold, Wednesday night, he'd written four sloppy notes, all explaining feelings and intentions, and heartfelt goodbyes. He didn't want to be sloppy with it all. Luke wanted to do it with elegance.

He was researching ways on his computer all night, some possible and some unable to be done. He'd managed one, but when it broke he didn't really have any other way, so he had no choice but to go for the first option.

So there he sat on Ashton's bed, two bottles sitting in his large palms, one solids and one a liquid. He knew this wasn't the time to wiggle his way out, oh no, it was now or never.

He kept the window open so people know the pain he felt while he cried, left the notes on the edge of Ash's bed for them
to find, he made sure it wasn't messy and that it was planned out perfectly.

Luke sighed to himself, uncapping the bottle in his right hand and untwisting the cap from the one in his left hand. A menacing grin looped onto his lips, tipping one bottle back and the other soon after.

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{ I thought I was going to end this happily. and if you don't understand, read it until you do. and since you guys literally got me 1k reads in ONE
FUCKING DAY, some things are changing.

moral of the chapter; maybe Romeo and Juliet sets out an example of true love.

- Stella ☻}