P.T.S.D |mashton

Red Flag Number Four

Something changed.

Ashton had been staying in Michael's room for the past three weeks, they had gotten into a sort of, schedule. They would wake up beside each other and the result of that was two wide smiles, Michael would leave for school at approximately 8 o'clock every morning, leaving Ashton in an empty house because the boy never wanted to go to school. of course being away from each other for 6 hours a day only made their evenings and morning more special, but 6 hours alone in a house of silence for a boy with p.t.s.d obviously wasn't going to last. Ashton was all alone with his thoughts.

Red flag number one.

Then Michael would come home, the two would have a heated make out session until the younger boy's mother got home, usually, or they'd just watch Netflix and cuddle. Michael's mum was a semi caring women but the way her tone would raise with impatience when Michael took a bit longer to answer a question, had Ashton balling his fists and grunting in anger. The older man had never felt such a protective tug to his heart until he met Michael, any sign of distress in the pale boy had Ashton's face on fire.

Red flag number two.

One day Michael came home with tear stained cheeks and an inability to speak due to how terribly he was sobbing. Of course Ashton became a furious mess of questions and assumptions, only scaring the pale boy as his voice raised with each passing second. Then once Michael finally confessed that a kid named Joshua had called him a fag princess in front of the entire junior class, Ashton had gone calm. Which only terrified Michael further.

That night when Michael was asleep, Ashton got into his Facebook account and found out where Joshua would be that same night. Around 3:30 in the morning Ashton found himself with bloody knuckles hovering above the boy who had made his beautiful baby cry.

Red flag number three.

Now, red flag number four came on July 2nd, that seems to be the day everything.... collapsed.

Ashton tightly gripped the edge of the porcelain sink, his knuckles turning snow white as he puffed out short breaths of air, trying his best to take deep breaths and calm his racing heartbeat. There were words and thoughts buzzing in his overcrowded brain, his head twitched every few seconds when his thoughts screamed an incoherent jumble of words. Ashton squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his head twitching again as he tightened his grip on the edge of the sink; if that was even physically possible.

Built up anger and frustration was bubbling like molten lava in the pit of his stomach and he didn't know if he was going to throw up or punch the mirror. He knew Michael was just out side of the bathroom, probably laying on his bed with his head tucked into his arms so the material of his oversized sweater acted as a pillow. His legs were probably sprawled out over the rest of the bed as his back rose and fell peacefully. He had no idea that there was a ticking time bomb in his very own bathroom.

"Michael where the hell are you?" Ashton's ears practically pricked up at the harsh sound of Michael's step fathers voice, the rough rumble of his voice echoed throughout the house making both boys uneasy. Ashton's skin was crawling, like a thousand tiny fire ants were running wild beneath his flesh, nipping and tearing away at his skin. His head was pounding in a way that made him want to bash his head against the sink he was gripping for dear life just to get it to stop.

Thundering footsteps against the staircase had Ashton flicking the light-switch off and cracking the door just enough to see Michael peacefully sleeping on his bed. His nose twitched adorably as Ashton desperately started making quiet pleading noises for the boy to just wake up.

"Michael. Pst-" the door swung open with a loud slam of the door knob against the wall. Ashton tensed as Michael simply groaned softly before falling asleep again. Ashton could see the tall buff man walk towards the bed, stumbling slightly as he clutched an empty bottle of whiskey. The man lazily slapped his hand against Michael's sweater clad back. The way the smack echoed through the room, even if it had little force behind it, had Ashton growling predatorily under his breath as his hands clenched into fists.