Definition [ot4]

Twenty Five

((This is weird, but. I got bored of Calum, to put it bluntly.

-Mel))

Ashton crawls out of bed, walks past the covered mirror, and plops himself down on the bedroom floor, leaning against the door. There's a knock, followed by Luke's soft voice saying, "Ash? Dinners ready. Michael burned the food again, so we're having Chinese."

Ashton doesn't respond, so Luke tries the door. It hits Ashton's back, so he pushes against it in an attempt to keep it shut tightly.

Luke's quiet for a few seconds, before he gently knocks on the door again. "Ashton?"

Ashton clears his throat so it doesn't sound like shit when he speaks, but it does anyway. "I'm not hungry!" He calls, slouching against the door even more, just in case Luke tries to open it again. His voice is rough from lack of use, and sounds scratchy and... disgusting.

"Ashy, please?" Luke asks from the other side of the door. Ashton shakes his head, forgetting that Luke can't actually see him. Eventually, Luke sighs and walks away, leaving Ashton to be a puddle on his floor.

His stomach growls, but he ignores it. Maybe he is hungry. Either way, going to the kitchen to eat means seeing all three of his band mates at the same time, and he's not going to be able to hide it, then.

It's getting harder, and he doesn't understand. This isn't normal, this isn't what happens to people who are forcibly touched. He should be repulsed and scarred.

Instead, here he is, wanting Michael's hands and mouth on him.

He's so fucking confused, because he's had dreams of Michael whispering quiet praises against his skin, sucking marks all over, and he knows he wants that. He's never wanted to be touched more in his entire life, but the thought repulses him at the same time. It makes him gag to think about someone wanting to get fingers inside of him or a hand on his dick.

He groans in annoyance, getting up and crossing back over to the bed again, leaving the door unguarded. he takes to the internet, because that's what he did last time he didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him. All he really knows is that's he's sex repulsed, sometimes. Probably asexual. Or at least within the asexual spectrum.

He types that into the search bar on tumblr, pressing enter quickly and flicking his eyes up to the door nervously while the page loads. He's fidgeting, nervous that someone will find out what he's looking up. They might call him a liar for claiming he's asexual. He's so confused.

The page loads, so he starts scrolling, looking for something that fits. He knows he's not demisexual, because he's not sexually attracted to people he has a close bond with. Its only Michael, and it's only happened recently.

After scrolling through a few posts about asexuality and demisexuality, he stops and squints at the screen. Gray-ace, someone who occasionally feels sexual attraction.

He searches up gray-ace in the search bar, feeling his breath hitch at the first result. It's an ask, he doesn't really care to which blog, but it's the first few words of the question that draw him in.

"I'm a semi sex repulsed gray-asexual,"

Ashton stares at the words, feeling something click in the very back of his mind. Because, yeah. That's it. That makes sense. He stares at the message, because, holy shit. There's a name for it. There's people out there that feel like he does.

Before he can start searching anymore, the door clicks and flings open. Ashton slams his laptop shut and looks up frantically, just as Michael slams the door shut again loudly. He glances at Ashton before striding towards the bathroom with a purpose. Ashton frowns at him, then pouts when Michael disappears into the bathroom and starts banging around.