Lashton AU One-Shots

Drowning

"You and I both knew this was never going to last... you know Luke, there's a difference between giving up and realising when you've had enough" the curly haired man coughed, wiping his cut lip. This made Luke chuckle with a mixture of pain and amusement. Did he actually say 'giving up'? Did he actually just stare him right in the eye and have the guts to say that?

"Give up!? Ha. I fucking gave up because you never ONCE fought for me!!" he screamed, fisting the floor before standing to his feet and stepping forward to Ashton. The looming silence between them was a powerful scream of agony. The pause felt much longer than anticipated. "You never ask how I feel. I feel drained, mentally exhausted. I feel hopeless, depressed, angry but most of all I'm frightened"

"Should it make a difference when somebody loves you? It's not anyone's fault though; it's human nature to believe that things happen to other people and not us, but when misfortune comes our way, I don't blame you for finding yourself surprised, scared, angry or sad" Ashton said, it was clever but oh so magnificently thought through. An unforgettable trait he possesses is his articulate way to say pretty words at the wrong time. Sickeningly influenced or not. For second, the simple phrase of this drunken poet had Luke at a complete loss for words. Bastard. He had to think of something, or otherwise he'd think Ash had got him under his thumb if he stands there any longer like an illiterate idiot.

"I doesn't matter what we say anymore. We both know how this ends. There's nothing else left to say, because now it seems we're like a broken record constantly repeating ourselves. It ends one way or another". It was then that Ashton sat himself up properly, he opened his mouth to speak but came out as deep exhale. He dropped his head, resting it on his crossed arms and lifted it back to look Luke dead into his fiery blue eyes. The difference was they were utterly distressed and even in the dark ambience of the room Luke could see shiny droplets of hot, fresh tears threatening to flow down his bruised cheeks. The sound of his heavy, laboured breaths became increasingly louder; a queue for Luke to leave him suffer in a pool of his own fear and embarrassment.

"Luke... please... don't leave me... I'm sorry... so... sorry..." Ashton whispered under his breath, leaning forward into a ball of eternal guilt and shame.

******

One Week Later...

The apartment looked so dead and bare and less like a warm home sweet home, perfectly fit for the delight of two happy, committed people. It looked more like sweet homestead for a serial killer, ripped wallpaper, shattered glass lying camouflaged within the shaggy rug waiting to stab it's unwilling victim, and the dried burgundy blood drops acting as a portrait of rapid violence and immense fury. Somehow this horrid sight concocted Luke to return here time and time again. This time it was to collect the rest of his things and be completely out of Ashton's life – for good. It was obvious that he didn't need Luke because all he need was at the end of a bottle. Any bottle as a matter of fact.

Luke had planned on moving back to his parents place, only for a while, until he found a suitable place (and maybe a suitable partner) to settle down in, just to get himself back on his feet again. He could see nothings changed with his former lover, even after a week, he still remained the same all but with one difference. You see Ashton only rarely wore long sleeved shirts or sweaters during the summertime. What was the deal with that? It was quite warm both inside and out. The younger boy gave him a narrow glance cocking his head to the side, as the other stared back in an identical fashion, it was only much worse. He didn't want to say anything further to provoke another repeat of the few nights before, it was not like could help himself.