Hello, How May I Help You? | Lashton

Prologue

3 Weeks Earlier

[Ashton's P.O.V]

"Mum, do I look okay? Do I look like an innocent school boy or do I look punk rock?" I asked, walking out of my room for the thousandth time in the past twenty minutes. 

"Ashton, no matter what you do, you're not going to be punk rock. You're too...you," mum giggled, not looking up from her magazine. 

"I know, but I want to come across as a badass punk rock looking motherfucker," I told her, causing her to finally look at me. 

"Put your contacts in; you look too adorable with your glasses. Oh, and do something with your hair. It's too...something," mum said, scanning over my choice of outfit. 

"Um, okay?" 

I went back into my room and put in my contacts. I searched my room to find something to do with my hair. All I had were hats, bandanas, and mum or Lauren's stray ponytail binders. I, for one, knew that a fedora was not punk rock or badass on any level. I went back out to mum, seeing that she was now watching E!. 

"What are you suggesting I do with my hair? I'm not exactly educated in the subject of hair styling. Or a girl," I told her. 

"You're gay; you should know things like this," she sighed, getting up from the couch and took off towards my room. 

Yes, I'm openly gay. I'm not flamboyant to the point where I parade around and tell everyone I see, but most people know it. Unlike most people think, I've never had a boyfriend. People always seemed to think that I was dating my best friend Michael Clifford since we were always together, but I could never date him. I look at Michael as more of a brother and people don't date their brothers. That would be considered incest. 

"Here," mum said, shoving a red bandana at me. 

"You want me to wear this to a job interview?" I asked her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Don't question me, my sweet boy. I'm more punk rock than you and I'm a single mother," mum said, continuing to hit my abdomen with her hand with the bandana in it. 

I took it from her and wrapped it around my head, getting my hair positioned so I looked somewhat put together. But then mum went and messed up my masterpiece, claiming that I had made something that was supposed to be badass look cute and adorable. 

"Mum, you're going to make me look like a homeless person," I complained as she continued pulling at my hair. 

"No, honey, I'm going to make you look punk rock. Good God, you think I'm going to soil my son's oppurtunity to make himself lose the I'm-Less-Frightening-Than-A-Kitten image?" mum said, a smile forming on her face as she put her hands on her hips. "There's my gay punk son that I've always wanted." 

"Gee, I'm glad you love me now," I scoffed, a smirk tugging at my lips. She pulled me into a tight and restricting hug, making me grunt at the tight grip she had on me. 

"Oh, baby, I've always loved you! I am so happy you finally look like you can kick someone's ass instead of stand there and cry into your little sweater paws or whatever you call them," she said, giving me numerous kisses on my cheeks, in which I grimaced. 

"There is nothing wrong with sweater paws!" I said, lightly panting when she let go of me. 

Before either of us could say anything more, I heard a car beeping outside of the house, signaling that Michael had shown up to take me to my interview. Mum looked at me, tears forming in her eyes. 

"Don't you dare give me another life threatening hug. I need to actually be alive to get the job!" I told her, causing her to smile. 

"You're going to get that job, my sweet son. That's your domain; own it," she told me.