๐ป๐บ๐ผ๐ ๐๐ ๐ฟ๐๐๐พ๐๐ฝ๐ ๊ฅ ๐บ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐
Summary: Inspired by "Back to Friends" by Sombr (Ironic, sorry...)
Warnings: Implications of sexual content, swearing & angst of course!
Copyright ยฉ 2025 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.
THE lights on the set were a little too bright for how early it was.
I stood off to the side of the studio, arms crossed loosely over my chest, trying to look like I belonged there..like I wasnโt holding my breath with every question the interviewer threw at the band.
The boys looked good, comfortable on the cushioned couch, joking with each other and flashing smiles that had probably been trained into muscle memory by now.
Luke sat at the far left, one long leg crossed over the other, and Calum, with a baseball cap tugged low, was already laughing at something Michael had said. Ashton sat closest to the interviewer, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee, a faint shadow of stubble along his jawline.
It had been months since Iโd seen him in person like this.
โLetโs talk about the new record, Youngblood,โ the host said, shuffling her cards. โItโs been called your most vulnerable album yet. A lot of songs that sound like breakups, heartache, holding onto something thatโs already slippingโฆโ
Luke nodded. โItโs definitely more personal. We werenโt trying to write a breakup album. But I think we had to get a lot of stuff off our chests.โ
My stomach twisted. I already knew what was coming.
The host turned to Ashton, a glint in her eye. โAshton, you co-wrote most of the tracks, including โLie to Meโ and โWhy Wonโt You Love Me,โ which fans think are heartbreak anthems. Were those songs about anyone in particular?โ
He let out a small laugh, the kind that was meant to disarm. โI think every songโs about someone. Butโฆ you know, itโs not always that straightforward.โ
The host leaned forward. โSo are you single now, orโฆ?โ
Ashton blinked, caught off guard for the smallest second before his lips quirked into a half-smile. โItโsโฆ complicated.โ
A beat. The silence behind the camera buzzed in my ears.
โOh?โ she pressed, clearly thrilled. โBecause this photo has been circulating. Want to tell us a little about this?โ
She held up a tablet, the screen turned toward the camera, and toward me.
The image was a candid. Ashton and I in a park, laughing about something, his hand on my cheek, forehead pressed to mine like he was telling me a secret. I remembered that day. It was the last day things felt easy between us. Before the fights. Before the distance. Before the silence.
I didnโt realize Iโd moved until I felt my shoulder bump a light stand. I straightened immediately, pretending like Iโd only shifted weight, but Ashton saw. His eyes flicked toward me, then back to the screen.
The smile he gave was tight.
โThat was a while ago,โ he said.
The host grinned. โStill look pretty cozy.โ
He didnโt respond, just nodded once, gaze fixed on the coffee table in front of him like it suddenly held every answer he couldnโt say out loud. Calum quickly picked up the awkwardness, deflecting the host by talking about some picture of him that was leaked a few years back.
I slipped out of the studio quietly.
I sat outside the green room, sipping on my burning hot coffee that tasted like cardboard and waiting for the adrenaline to wear off. My phone buzzed in my lap. My bestfriend Alyssa.
Lys: Saw the clip... Yikes girl. You ok?
I stared at the screen but didnโt type anything. What was I supposed to say? That I felt like my ribs had been rearranged hearing him say, โItโs complicatedโ? That I still hadnโt figured out how to stop missing him when I knew damn well I had no right to?
The door creaked behind me. I didnโt need to look to know it was him. I recognized the soft shuffle of his boots and the way the air seemed to tense just before he spoke.
I nodded, still staring ahead. My phone gripped tightly in my hand.
He stepped around to face me, and I finally looked up.
Ashton. Taller than I remembered. Or maybe I just felt smaller now. His curls were longer, pushed back beneath a beanie, and his arms crossed loosely over his chest like he was guarding something fragile.
โYou didnโt have to come today,โ he said quietly.
โI was invited by the label."
He nodded, kicking at the floor with his boot. โYou saw the picture?โ
I laughed, but it came out more like a scoff. โKind of hard to miss.โ
He sat down on the bench beside me, careful to keep some space. Not too much. Just enough to feel like old ghosts were sitting between us.
โI didnโt know she was gonna do that.โ
โI figured.โ I sipped my coffee, felt the burn on my tongue.
โYouโve been okay?โ
That question. The one people ask when they already know the answer. When theyโre hoping youโll lie so they donโt have to feel worse than they already do.
โIโve been around. And Iโve been mad at you, Ashton.โ
His eyes met mine then, sharp and unblinking. โI know.โ
โIโm mad because you walked away like I was supposed to just understand. Like what we had wasnโt worth a conversation. Like I didnโt deserve an explanation.โ
He took a breath, then another. โYouโre right.โ
I wasnโt expecting that.
โI didnโt handle it well,โ he continued. โThe band was changing. Everything felt like it was cracking under me. And I didnโt want to drag you through all of it. But leaving the way I didโฆ I still think about it.โ
Silence stretched between us.
He looked down at his hands. โI wrote about you, you know.โ
I blinked. โWhich one?โ
โโGhost of You.โโ A pause. โAnd a few others.โ
That one hurt. I swallowed hard. I had heard it the exact day the album came out, in a grocery store somewhere in Maine. I dropped my grocery basket and made a beeline to my car before the tears started. I felt sick to my stomach.
โItโs weird,โ I said, voice quieter now. โHearing yourself in a song that millions of people scream every night.โ
He gave me a small, sad smile. โI didnโt think anyone would know it was about you.โ
I looked at him. โI did.โ
I donโt know why I said it.
Maybe it was the heaviness in the air, or the way Ashton was sitting beside me like gravity itself had finally gotten tired of holding us apart. Maybe it was the way his voice cracked when he said he wrote songs about me. Or maybe it was just the truth, clawing its way to the surface after all this time.
โYou remember that night?โ I asked, not looking at him.
He didnโt ask which one. He didnโt need to.
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he nodded slowly. โYeah.โ
I blinked hard, trying to focus on anything other than the pounding in my chest. But memory is a cruel thing, it doesnโt ask permission before showing up.
It was a Wednesday. The kind of evening that hung low in the sky, thick with leftover summer heat and the scent of asphalt still drying from a quick storm. Iโd stopped by Ashtonโs place under the flimsiest of excuses, heโd left a hoodie in my car, and I didnโt want it โcluttering my backseat.โ
Really, I just missed him. Missed the way his voice softened when he was tired, the way he made silence feel like it had shape. We hadnโt defined whatever it was we were doing. I wasnโt sure if we were allowed to.
But that night, something was different. His eyes were rimmed in red like he hadnโt slept, and he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world not slipping through his fingers.
โStay,โ he said, his voice hoarse. Just one word.
The music playing in the background was low and fuzzy, some lo-fi record spinning on vinyl like it was melting into the walls. We sat on his couch for hours, our knees brushing, words trailing off mid-sentence. I remember the feel of his hand grazing mine as he handed me a glass of water, hesitant at first, then certain. I remember how quiet his apartment felt, like it was holding its breath right alongside us.
And when he kissed meโฆ God, it wasnโt rushed. It wasnโt heat or urgency or recklessness. It was reverent.
He kissed me like he needed to memorize the exact way my lips fit against his, like he already knew he wouldnโt get to do it again.
It was wrong. We were crossing the line of professionalism; I was one of the band's producer for christ sake. But we lost all signs of professionalism, along with my morals.
We didnโt talk much after that. Just let the night pull us under. Shirts came off. Fingers fumbled. But there was nothing clumsy about it. It felt like falling asleep in the middle of a storm, terrifying and safe all at once.
His body was warm, his touch careful. He ran his thumb over my cheekbone as he moved deep inside me, his mouth pressed to my collarbone like a prayer. I remember the way his breath hitched, the way he whispered...
It was so soft I almost missed it. But I heard it. Clear as anything. The words spilled from his lips like theyโd been waiting in his mouth for weeks.
And for a moment, I let myself believe weโd crossed some invisible line. That things would change. That maybe, finally, we were choosing each other. I didn't say it back, afraid that it would change things for good.
But when it was over, when the sweat was drying on our skin and the room had gone still again, Ashton pulled away.
Not gently. Not cruelly. Justโฆ deliberately.
He climbed out of bed like it was on fire. His back was to me as he reached for his jeans on the floor, yanking them up in a practiced motion.
My heart was still fluttering in my chest, stupid and soft.
He ran a hand through his curls and let out a breath like he was about to dive into deep water. โYou canโt tell anyone what we did.โ
The words landed like a slap.
I sat up slowly, the sheet clinging to my chest. โWhat?โ
He didnโt turn around. He tugged on his shirt. โIโm serious.โ
I laughed, sharp, bitter. โAre you kidding?โ
โItโs not a good time,โ he said, finally facing me. โThe album. Press. Management already thinks Iโm distracted. If they knew..."
I cut him off, heart thudding in my throat. โIf they knew you slept with me? If they knew you cared about someone?โ
His eyes flashed with guilt. โItโs not like that.โ
โThen what is it, Ashton?โ I stood now too, my voice rising with every word. โBecause it sure as hell felt like it meant something five minutes ago.โ
โIt did,โ he said, too fast.
โThen why are you acting like Iโm a mistake?โ
He flinched. โIโm not. I justโฆ I canโt have people knowing right now. Everything is too unstable. Iโm trying to protect-"
โProtect who?โ I snapped. โMe? Or yourself?โ
That was the last night I let him hold me.
And the last night I worked for the band. He had asked me not to come to the next couple meetings; He was worried the boys would be able to read our guilty faces. I took it a step further and walk away from the company as a whole.
โYou said you loved me,โ I said again, the memory leaving a weight in my chest that hadnโt dulled with time. โAnd then you told me I had to keep it quiet. Like it was shameful.โ
Ashton looked up at me, his expression drawn and hollow. โI did love you. I still...โ he broke off, swallowing hard. โI thought I was doing the right thing. That if I could just keep you away from all of it...the noise, the chaos...youโd be better off.โ
โBut you didnโt keep me away,โ I said. โYou just made me feel disposable.โ
His hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice rough. โI never wanted to hurt you.โ
The tears stung before I even felt them fall. โI wouldโve stood by you, Ashton. If youโd asked. If youโd just told me the truth. But instead, you made me carry it alone.โ
He stepped forward, slow, like he was afraid Iโd bolt. โI didnโt know how to choose you without losing everything else.โ
I met his eyes, my voice trembling. โThat's not fair.. why are you telling me this now?โ
โBecause Iโve spent the last year writing about you,โ he said, voice breaking. โTouring the world with your name buried in every goddamn lyric. And I canโt keep pretending like thatโs enough.โ
I exhaled shakily, hating how badly I still wanted to reach for him. โSo what now?โ
He looked down, then up at me with something like hope flickering behind all the hurt. โMaybe we just talk. Maybe we try to be friends again. Or maybe we finally stop lying about what we are."
โI donโt know how to do either of those things.โ
โThen letโs figure it out. Together. If youโll let me.โ
I didnโt answer right away.
Because love was never the hard part with Ashton.
The silence between us lingered like smoke, curling into the air even though neither of us dared speak. Ashtonโs words still hung in the space between us: honest, heavy, bleeding. And mine, still burning on my tongue, tasted like regret and something too close to longing.
But I didnโt have time to decide what any of it meant.
Because the door swung open.
โMate, weโve been looking for-" Calumโs voice cut off mid-sentence as he stepped into the hallway, Luke just a step behind him. Both of them froze when their eyes landed on me.
Luke blinked like he wasnโt sure I was real. Calumโs eyebrows shot up, and a slow grin spread across his face.
โNo way,โ Calum said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. โNo way. Is that really you?โ
I swallowed hard and took a quick step away from Ashton, who immediately straightened like he hadnโt just been standing inches from me with his heart on the floor.
I tried to smile, but it came out uneven. โHey.โ
โHoly shit,โ Luke laughed, stepping forward, arms out. โItโs been forever. Y/n... You... look...different. Good. Better than last time we saw you.โ
I let him hug me. He smelled like cologne and faint sweat, his embrace warm and familiar in a way that made something in my chest ache. Calum was next, wrapping an arm around my shoulder like it hadnโt been over a year since we last spoke.
Michael stood against the doorway, a bag of chips in one hand as he scrolled on his phone with the other. I didn't expect a welcoming hug from him. After all, Ashton clung to him once we parted ways.
โDidnโt know you were here,โ he said, voice warm. โYou working with the label again or just visiting?โ
My gaze flicked to Ashton before I could stop myself. โJust visiting.โ
Calum noticed. His eyes darted between us, subtle, but sharp. He didnโt say anything, just tilted his head slightly like he was clocking the space, the tension.
Luke, blissfully unaware, looked between us all with a grin. โYou guys catch up already? Should we give you a minute?โ
โNo, weโre good,โ I said quickly, backing toward the wall, away from Ashtonโs reach, away from the truth. โWe are done catching up."
Ashton cleared his throat behind me, that guarded look sliding over his face like armor. โThey were about to reset the stage, werenโt they?โ
โYeah,โ Luke said. โThey want us back in the green room to talk over post-show plans.โ
Calum gave Ashton one last glance, a quiet flicker of question in his eyes. Ashton ignored it.
โIโll be right there,โ he said.
The boys nodded and started back down the hallway, Luke tossing one last grin over his shoulder at me. โItโs good to see you. Donโt disappear to Maine this time.โ
When the door swung shut behind them, the silence returned, sharper now.
I turned my back on Ashton and busied myself with pretending to check my phone. My hands trembled slightly, so I locked the screen just to keep them still.
โYou donโt have to pretend,โ Ashton said behind me, his voice softer now, like he was afraid of scaring me off.
I didnโt look at him. โIโm not pretending. Iโm just trying not to make things harder than they already are.โ
He stepped closer, but not too close. Respecting the boundary. Stillโฆ his presence always had a weight to it, like gravity itself bent differently around him.
โYou pulled away the second they walked in.โ
โBecause I didnโt want them to see me falling apart,โ I snapped, sharper than I intended.
He didnโt flinch. โYouโre not falling apart.โ
I finally turned to face him, blinking against the sting in my eyes. โThen why does it feel like Iโm barely holding on?โ
His expression crumpled, just for a moment. Then he nodded.
"Dont you have a show to be preparing for." It came out harsher than I intended, but maybe I was just being irrational and wanted to be alone.
โIโll give you space,โ he said calmly, turning to walk away.
I waited until he was a far enough distance before finally saying the words I buried for months.
โHow can you just go back to being friends with me?โ
I wasnโt even sure heโd hear me. But he stopped, his boots stopped thudding down the hallway.
Ashton froze. His shoulders tensed beneath the soft fabric of his flannel, and for a second, he just stood there, back turned, like he was deciding whether to keep walking or come back.
He turned slowly, his expression unreadable.
โWe slept together, Ashton.โ I said loudly, my voice almost echoing.
He flinches, looking around embarrassed. The words sliced through the stillness like a blade.
He blinked, once, as if trying to process the way my voice shook. Like he wasnโt expecting me to say it out loud. Maybe he thought Iโd keep pretending with him, keep tiptoeing around the past we never really buried.
โWe slept together,โ I repeated, quieter now. โYou told me you loved me. And now you want to talk like none of it happened?โ
He looked wrecked. Not in a loud or obvious way, but in that quiet, soul-deep kind of grief. The kind people carry when they know they did the thing they swore they never would.
His lips parted, ready to answer, something, anything...but the moment shattered.
โYo, Ash!โ Lukeโs voice called down the hallway, upbeat and completely unaware. โThey need us back for post-roll. You cominโ?โ
Ashtonโs head dropped just slightly. Like he didnโt want to turn away from me. But he also didnโt know how to stay.
His eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, everything in them was wide open. Regret. Longing. Fear. The echo of every version of us that couldโve been.
Then the wall went back up.
He took a slow step back toward the direction of the stage, toward the voices calling his name.
โIโll call you,โ he said softly, almost like a promise.
I stayed behind, still trying to catch my breath, wishing it didnโt feel like I was drowning in everything I didnโt say.
Later that night, I lie on my bed in the dim glow of my bedside lamp, staring blankly at the ceiling. Shadows play along the plaster, and every quiet hum of the city outside echoes like memories of what once was.
My mind drifts, unbidden, back to a night in the studio a year before, when Youngblood was nothing more than a dream taking shape in the boys' whispered ideas. Before Ashton and I slept together.
The air in the studio was thick with creative energy and the scent of coffee that barely masked the underlying buzz of fretless guitars and beat-up drumkits. I still remember how the soft hum of amplifiers and the clatter of instruments mingled with our laughter...raw and unguarded. Ashton and the boys had gathered in that familiar space, each of us desperate to carve out something real in the chaos of sounds and scattered ideas.
I sat on an old, battered couch that creaked under every shift of my weight, when Ashton and I ended up side by side. Our legs tangled together without us even noticing at first, a fleeting, gentle contact that felt like an apology, or perhaps a confession, of what was unspoken between us. In that moment, our barrier cracked.
Ashton leaned closer, his voice soft despite the hum of the mixing desk behind us. โWhat if weโฆโ he began, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his eyes bright with something like hope and fear combined. Weโd been bouncing ideas off each other all night, weaving lyrics that hovered between heartbreak and redemption. Every word felt laced with meaning, our very souls pressed into the shared creation.
I could still feel the warmth of his skin against mine, the subtle brush of his hand near my knee as we scribbled down lyric ideas on a notepad. We sat so intimately that it felt as if the entire world had slowed down, leaving just the two of us cocooned in our creative bubble. Our whispered suggestions and half-finished verses spilled out in a conspiratorial murmur, blending with the distant howls of guitars strumming in tune with our hearts.
But creativity, like love, has its moments of fragility. Before long, the energy in the room shifted. The rest of the band: Luke, Calum, and Michael, were growing restless. Frustration began to tinge their words as they circled back to discuss redoing a riff or tossing around changes that clashed with our mood. Voices were raised, and the tight focus of that intimate session splintered into a disjointed discord of opinion and irritation. There were pizza boxes or half eaten chinese takeout cartons sprawled across the studio, almost reminding me of them when they first started music. A twang of nostalgia shook my bones.
I looked toward Ashton, expecting him to mirror my quiet desperation for a break. And then, almost impulsively, I stood. โIโll get us some snacks,โ I declared, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all, a bout of rebellion against the chaos. โMaybe a little break will help clear our heads.โ
Before I knew it, Calum was at my side. โIโm coming with you,โ he said immediately, his tone laced with a warmth that reminded me of simpler times, back when being together wasnโt a secret or a puzzle. We left the studio, stepping into the cool night that felt like a balm, like quiet understanding after an exhausting argument.
Outside, under the buzzing fluorescent of a vending machine, Calum and I found a brief reprieve. The machine whirred as it dispensed a packet of chips, the sound oddly soothing against the residual echoes of the studio.
The fluorescent lights of the hallway buzzed faintly overhead, humming like static against the soft rhythm of my sneakers on the scuffed linoleum floor. Calum walked beside me, the hem of his hoodie clutched in one hand, the other buried in his pocket, shoulders slightly hunched in that way he always did when things inside the studio got too tense.
We didnโt say anything at first.
The vending machine buzzed to life as I fed in a crumpled dollar. I pressed a button for chips, something salty and safe. The silence between us settled thickly until Calum finally broke it.
โSo,โ he said casually, watching the bag drop. โYou and Ash. What are you guys?โ
I paused, hand still inside the vending slot, fingers curling around the foil packet. โWhat do you mean?โ
"Don't do that.. You know what I mean.โ
I glanced away, peeling the bag open, letting the scent of fake cheddar distract me. โWeโre friends.โ
โRight,โ he said, dragging the word out with a tone dipped in disbelief.
I shoved a chip in my mouth. โWe are.โ
Calum leaned back against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest. His voice was softer this time. โFriends donโt look at each other like that.โ
I swallowed hard, the crunch of the chip suddenly loud in my ears.
He didnโt stop. โFriends donโt sleep in each otherโs beds after long sessions. Or disappear for hours at a time. Or walk around with that look on their face like theyโve got something sacred no one else is allowed to touch.โ
I let out a breathy laugh, but it came out thin and strained. โYouโre being dramatic.โ
He didnโt laugh with me.
โYouโre lying to yourself,โ he said, voice low and careful, not judgmental, not cruel. Justโฆ honest.
I turned my back to him, suddenly fascinated with the vending machineโs warped glass. โThereโs nothing to talk about.โ
โYou sure about that?โ he asked quietly.
Before I could answer, something caught my eye. My reflection overlapped with the view behind the glass, and there, through the wide window into the studio, was Ashton.
One hand rested against the neck of Luke's guitar, the other holding a pen loosely by his side. His head was tilted just slightly, eyes fixed on me and Calum like he hadnโt even noticed the boys talking around him. Like heโd forgotten the whole damn world.
The second our eyes met, he blinked and looked away, too fast. Like heโd been caught in a moment he hadnโt meant to be in.
Calum followed my gaze, and something unreadable passed over his face. He didnโt say anything else. Just pushed himself off the wall and grabbed a granola bar from the machine, quiet again.
We didnโt speak as we walked back to the studio.
But I carried the weight of that look Ashton gave me all the way to the door.
The hum of my bedroom was all static and silence.
Iโd been lying on top of my covers for over an hour, the overhead light off, the bedside lamp dimmed to a warm flicker. Outside, the city buzzed faintly through the cracked window, a distant rhythm that felt detached from everything inside me.
My phone, where it sat face down on my chest, lit up with a name Iโd told myself I wouldnโt wait for.
My breath caught and I fumbled around my sheets, trying to break my hand free.
I stared at the glowing screen like it was a question I didnโt know how to answer. The phone vibrated gently against my sternum, pulsing with every ring, and I counted to four before picking it up. Not because I needed the time to decide.
But because I didnโt want to seem too eager.
โHello?โ I answered, careful to keep my tone flat, casual. Like I wasnโt replaying every word weโd said earlier in the hallway. Like I hadnโt just been staring at the ceiling reliving that night in the studio with Calum. With him.
Ashtonโs voice came through soft, a little hesitant. โHey.โ
I could hear the rustle of movement in the background, like he was walking somewhere, maybe pacing, maybe outside.
โI hope itโs not too late,โ he added quickly. โI just got out of a meeting and- Look I justโฆ wanted to talk.โ I glance at the clock that I just so happen lost track of, and notice it was ten after midnight.
โItโs fine,โ I said, shifting slightly on the bed, letting my voice dip into something nonchalant. โI wasnโt really doing anything.โ
โWere you gonna call if I didnโt?โ I asked, one eyebrow quirking like he could see me through the line. I meant it as a tease, but there was a sharpness under it I couldnโt quite dull.
He hesitated. โYeah. I told you I would.โ
โYou tell me a lot of things.โ
That landed heavier than I intended.
On the other end of the line, Ashton went quiet again. Not defensive. Justโฆ still.
โIโm not trying to mess with your head,โ he said eventually. โI know Iโve done enough of that already.โ
โYouโre not,โ I said softly. โI justโฆ donโt know what this is. Or what itโs supposed to be.โ
โNeither do I,โ he admitted. โBut it doesnโt feel like it should be nothing.โ
I looked up at the ceiling again, phone pressed to my ear, fingers curled into my blanket. The memory of his stare through the studio window still lingered like a fingerprint on glass.
โIโve tried so hard to pretend it didnโt matter,โ I whispered.
โI know,โ he said. โMe too.โ
We were both quiet again, breathing into the same fragile space.
Ashton exhales into the receiver. โIโd ratherโฆ Iโd rather do this in person.โ
Thereโs a pause. A long one.
โI mean, weโre talking now,โ I say, pretending to keep it casual. โMight as well rip the Band-Aid off, right?โ
โNo,โ he says, and itโs not unkind, itโs just quiet. Final. โNot like this.
I hesitate, biting my lip. โOkay, thenโฆ when?โ
Heโs silent again for a beat too long, and then his voice comes, careful. โIโve got that interview with Zach Sang tomorrow. And then thereโs the radio taping Wednesday. Thursday weโre flying out to New York for Fallon, and...โ
I laugh softly, shaking my head. โAsh. You donโt have time.โ
He tries to cut in, but I keep going. โItโs fine. We donโt have to meet in person. I get it. Life goes on. Youโre busy, and this, whatever this is, doesnโt fit neatly into a schedule.โ
His voice slices through mine, sudden and sharp. โDonโt do that.โ
โMake this smaller than it is.โ His breath catches like heโs holding something back, something too heavy to say all at once. โI owe you more than that.โ
I swallow thickly. โYou donโt owe me anything, Ashton.โ
โI do,โ he says, softer now, like it hurts him to say it. โYou let me into your world when I didnโt even know who the hell I was. You stood by me while I burned everything down and pretended I was fine. You gave a shit when I didnโt. And then I pushed you out. I canโt make that right over the phone.โ
Thereโs something so raw in his voice I have to close my eyes.
โI want to look you in the eye when I explain,โ he adds.
I exhale, long and slow. โThen when? Because every day you just listed is full.โ
Thereโs a beat of silence.
Then his voice, low, careful, asks, โWould you come to a show?โ
I blink, caught off guard. โWhat?โ
โThe first date of the tour. Weโre in L.A. next Friday. You could come early, hang out backstage. After the show, we could talk. Iโll make sure no one else is around.โ
I hesitate. My mouth opens, but I donโt know what Iโm trying to say. The thought of standing in that crowd, watching him on stage again, feels like opening a wound Iโve worked hard to pretend doesnโt exist anymore.
โI donโt know if Iโm ready to see that.. Especially debuting the album that's supposedly written all about me,โ I whisper.
And then he says it, quiet, breathless, like a prayer.
That one word carries everything. All the apologies he hasnโt said. All the weight heโs been carrying. All the nights we never talk about.
And even though every part of me is screaming that this could hurt all over again, something softer inside me whispers back.
The concrete under my feet is cold, even through my boots.
I stand just behind the heavy black curtain, out of view, flanked by techs and crew members adjusting cables and mics and lighting cues like itโs any other night. But it isnโt.
The crowd beyond the curtain is electric.
A sea of voices echo in the stadium, the kind that vibrate in your bones even from backstage. The kind that makes your pulse quicken even when youโre not the one performing. The sound builds in waves: cheering, screaming, chanting, all for them. For him.
I can hear Lukeโs low laugh. The clink of a beer bottle. Calum shouting something about his amp. Michaelโs voice in response, teasing and loud. The boys are warming up, loose, wild energy spinning between them. It feels like theyโve done this a thousand times, and maybe they have. But to me, right now, it feels like standing on the edge of something Iโm not sure Iโm ready to fall into again.
I run my palms down my thighs, wiping off the nervous sweat, then clutch the fabric of my jacket tight in my fists. My heart is knocking against my ribs like itโs trying to escape.
The stage goes black and the crowd erupts.
Their names boom over the speakers, and suddenly the boys are running past me, silhouettes lit by strobes, instruments in hand and grins plastered to their faces. Luke throws a fist in the air. Michaelโs already waving to the crowd. Calum flips his pick and catches it midair like muscle memory. Ashton is the last to pass, and for a brief second, our eyes meet in the dark.
But it roots me to the floor.
He disappears onto the stage, swallowed by the roar of a crowd thatโs already in love with them.
The lights explode into color. Music crashes into life.
They open with an older track, one the fans scream every word to, their voices rising above the speakers. I step closer to the curtain, peeking through the gap. The boys are lit up in gold and white and deep purple, the kind of lighting that makes them look bigger than life. Calumโs bass thrums in my chest. Lukeโs voice is rich and effortless, slicing through the stadium. Michael spins toward the mic with a smirk, tossing out a line that makes the entire crowd scream louder.
Ashton is behind the kit, head thrown back, arms sharp and fluid, completely in his element. His hairโs wild, curls clinging to his forehead, sweat already gleaming on his skin. Every movement is controlled chaos. A storm with a rhythm.
They play two more songs before the lights dim again.
Luke steps forward, catching his breath as the audience quiets enough for him to speak.
โAlright,โ he says into the mic, grinning. โWeโve got something special for you tonight.โ
โWeโve been working on this new album for a while now,โ he continues. โItโs different. Itโs raw. Probably the most honest thing weโve ever done.โ
Calum nods beside him, his smile crooked. โIt nearly killed us, but we made it out alive.โ
The crowd laughs, shouts, claps.
Luke turns slightly, looking toward Ashton as if silently inviting him forward. Ashton rises from behind the drums, slinging a mic from its stand and stepping up to the front.
His voice comes low and steady through the mic. โThis albumโฆ itโs about change. About the people who pull you apart and the ones who quietly put you back together when no one else is looking."
The crowd stills a little. Leaning in.
Ashtonโs gaze drifts out across the stadium, but I know heโs not really looking at them. His fingers wrap tightly around the mic.
โItโs about mistakes. Regret. Forgiveness. Second chances.โ
He pauses, eyes scanning the crowd, and for the briefest second, they land backstage.
โItโs about someone who meant more to me than I ever really knew how to say,โ he continues, his voice softer now. โUntil I nearly lost them.โ
The crowd is hushed now, the weight of his words pressing through the silence.
โI wrote these songs because I didnโt know how else to say it. So if youโre here tonight...." his voice pauses slightly, but he swallows it down- "this oneโs for you.โ
The screams return. Louder than ever. But all I can hear is the echo of his voice.
It hits my chest like a stone in water. Rippling.
The show ends in a flood of noise.
The lights dim with a slow fade, the final notes of the last song still ringing in the air as thousands of voices echo one last cheer into the arena. The kind of sound you feel in your spine. The kind of sound that once made me proud, and now just makes me ache.
Backstage is chaos again. Crew members scramble to tear down equipment, sweaty towels are tossed over shoulders, water bottles are passed around like currency. Everyoneโs moving in different directions, hugging, shouting, laughing. High-fives and adrenaline fill the air.
And Iโm still standing in the same spot, half-hidden behind a curtain, heart in my throat.
I feel him before I see him.
That warm, unspoken presence like the sun after a long, cold morning.
Walking toward me, his curls damp and stuck to his forehead, his chest rising and falling like he hasnโt quite come down from the high. His black jeans hang low on his hips, and his shirt is gone, tossed somewhere along the way, leaving his skin flushed and glistening under the dim hallway light. A towel is draped around the back of his neck, forgotten.
And God. I hadnโt seen him like this in so long.
That version of him. The one that glowed under stage lights. That burned from the inside out.
My eyes drop to the floor for a second, cheeks flushing hot. I suddenly feel sixteen again, like Iโve wandered into something I shouldnโt be allowed to witness.
He slows when he sees me, something softer taking over the adrenaline in his expression. Nervous now. Or maybe shy.
We just stare at each other for a second, the space between us filled with the ghosts of every unsaid thing.
โYou stayed,โ he says, voice low and a little breathless.
I nod. โI said I would.โ
He smiles faintly, stepping closer. Close enough that I can see the way his fingers twitch slightly at his sides, like he doesnโt know if heโs allowed to touch me.
โI didnโt know if youโd make it to the end,โ he admits.
I shrug, trying to stay casual, but my voice is soft. โI almost didnโt.โ
His smile fades just a little. โWas it too much?โ
โNo.โ I shake my head. โIt wasโฆ a lot. But not too much.โ
He exhales, the tension in his shoulders loosening a little.
โCan I just say,โ he adds, wiping a bit of sweat from his temple with the towel, โyou look good. Different, butโฆ good.โ
I laugh quietly, looking down at my hands. โYouโre one to talk. Youโre....โ I gesture vaguely toward his bare chest, cheeks burning hotter. โYouโre kind ofโฆ half-naked.โ
He grins, finally catching on, and yanks the towel off his neck, swiping it over his chest and shoulders. โRight. Sorry. Force of habit. The shirt kind ofโฆ disappears after the second song.โ
โYou never used to do that,โ I tease, glancing up through my lashes.
He shrugs with a sheepish smile. โGuess I didnโt have as much to prove back then.โ
I look at him for a long second. โYou donโt have anything to prove now.โ
His expression softens again, and the air shifts. Slows. The noise around us fades to a low hum, distant.
โI meant what I said,โ he tells me quietly. โAbout the album. About you.โ
I nod slowly, throat tight. โI know.โ
โI didnโt write it to get you back. I wrote it because I didnโt know how else to carry it anymore.โ
Weโre quiet again. Not awkward. Justโฆ suspended in something fragile.
His voice is quieter now. โDo you wanna come with me? Just for a bit. Somewhere we can actually talk?โ
Not because I donโt want to.
But because I donโt know what talking might do to me tonight.
Still, I find myself nodding.
โYeah,โ I whisper. โOkay.โ
And as Ashton leads me through the backstage hallway, hand barely brushing mine like heโs afraid of asking too much too soon, I realize something.
He didn't tell the boys I was coming.
The dressing room is small and dimly lit , just a single bulb above the mirror and the muted glow of streetlights filtering in through the window slats. The hum of the city beyond the arena is a dull ache against the silence inside, like the world knows to stay quiet for us tonight.
I sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, fingers twisting the hem of my sleeve.
Ashton paces the room for a few moments, still wound up, still caught somewhere between the stage and here. His chest rises and falls with leftover adrenaline, his curls sticking to the back of his neck, the towel now forgotten on the floor.
Finally, he sinks onto the couch beside me, body warm and buzzing with life. Neither of us speak right away.
Red. Raw. Split open just at the curve of his knuckles , the brutal, familiar aftermath of playing too hard. Of giving too much of himself to the drums. To the crowd. To the songs that bled out of him.
โYouโre bleeding,โ I murmur, barely above a whisper.
He looks down at his hands, almost like he hadnโt realized. โYeah. Happens sometimes when I forget how to hold back.โ
I reach for him before I can think twice, my fingers brushing over his, careful. Gentle. Thereโs a faint tremble beneath his skin, not from pain, but from me. From this.
He watches me as I graze a thumb over his palm. Thereโs something unspoken caught in his throat. His eyes, tired and open, hold that familiar storm Iโve seen before, but now itโs quieted. Honest.
โI donโt want this to go away again,โ he says suddenly.
He swallows. โWhatever this is between usโฆ I canโt lose it again. Iโve tried pretending it didnโt matter. Iโve tried burying it in songs and cities and shows, and it doesnโt work. You leave holes in my heart when youโre gone.โ
The words hang there between us: raw and vulnerable and unpolished.
โI donโt know what I am to you,โ he continues, his voice cracking. โA mistake. A memory. A ghost. But I know what you are to me. Youโre the part I never got over. The one that still shows up in every verse I write. And I donโt want to write around you anymore.โ
I just slide my hand fully into his, fingers threading between the torn skin and callouses and everything heโs carried alone for too long.
He breathes out like heโs been holding it for months.
โI donโt know what this is either,โ I whisper finally. โBut Iโm tired of pretending it didnโt happen. And Iโm tired of wondering if you still think about me.โ
He lifts my hand and presses it to his lips, eyes closed.
We sit like that for a long time. The sound of the city humming through the window. His heartbeat steady under my palm. My thumb gently tracing the edges of his broken skin.
