the sound, settle down [mashton af]

// e i g h t //

It's not about reciprocation it's just all about me/ A sycophantic, prophetic, Socratic junkie wannabe

Ashton likes getting high.

It doesn't matter what kind of high it is, he just wants to be high. He likes being high, he likes the feeling of feeling nothing. It's that type of nothing where he can feel everything. So much everything that it dulls out his own head, his own fingertips, everything around him.

Ashton likes it. Ashton likes getting high.

It's pretty pathetic. He's thirty years old and is smoking a joint in his dirty bedroom. Is he too old to be this stoned?

He takes pride in the fact that he has his own apartment. His most proud accomplishment is having his own apartment. Most thirty year old have a house, a family, maybe even a dog or two.

He figures Timothy is a pretty good accomplishment, too.

Ashton lays back in his bed, his few pillows propped up. He leans his left hand behind his head, his right hand holding the burning paper with his laced weed wrapped in between. He brings it up to his lips, inhaling before blowing out a cloud of grey smoke. He doesn't bother opening up a window.

He stares up at the dark ceiling above him as he tries to focus on one train of thought.

There's a lot that needs to be done in Ashton's life, he doesn't plan on doing it though. He needs money, he needs company, and he needs a future.

A thought pops into his buzzing head, Michael could do that.

Michael has money, Michael is good company, Michael can create a future for Ashton. Michael can do all of the dirty work, Ashton can sit back. Ashton likes that, he likes that a lot. He likes sitting back and watching his ex-significant-other do everything.

Ashton remembers their first semester at college—Michael's first semester at college, Ashton's first semester as a stay-at-home-Dad. Tim was three, Michael was eighteen, Ashton was nineteen.

He remembers staying home with babbling Timothy, waiting for an exhausted Michael to come home from his evening classes. Mike was always tired in those days, he was doubling up the recommended credits trying to get everything out of the way.

Ashton remembers kissing Michael's forehead as he collapsed on the couch, he remembers listening to his partner as they both watched their baby play around in their laps.

Ashton remembers being happy. He remembers being content. He liked having everything handed to him on a silver platter, he wanted that forever. He wanted Michael to do everything for him.

The brunette doesn't regret doing everything he did, he just regrets getting caught.

Back in present time, Michael came home from work. It was Friday night and the television was blaring. Mike was tired and he didn't want to yell, he didn't want to yell at Timothy to turn it down, he didn't want to start.

He dumped his work bag and coat by the stairs before heading to the back hall to find Tim sitting alone on the living room eating a bowl of ramen noodles. "Hey," the teenager said, putting his dinner down, "I didn't see your note about eating leftovers until after I made this hella nice bowl of microwavable noodles."

Michael gave his son a soft smile, "It's fine." Timothy was pretty much his happiness.

Mike pulled off his button down and threw his slacks on the ground. He was left in his grey undershirt and loose blue briefs. He kicked off his socks until his feet felt more free.

The older man collapsed next to his son, curling up on the couch like a child.

"Long day?" Tim asked. He grabbed the television remote, turning down Keeping Up With The Kardashians. He placed a hand on his father's shoulder, trying to show some type of comfort.

Michael nodded, "Everyone is stupid and I want to retire."

"Me too."

"You don't work."

Tim shrugged, taking another forkful of ramen. "You're missing the point," he said, a mouthful of dinner. He lifted his hand off of his father, curling up back into the side of the couch. "Are you awake enough to have a serious conversation?"

Michael lifted up his head, resting his chin on his hands and looking up at Timothy. "Yeah," he said, rubbing his eyes, "'m always awake enough for you."

The teenager turned his dinner around a bit, the noodles have gone cold and didn't taste good anymore. "I'm okay with Ashton being in our lives again."

"Yeah?" Michael asked. In reality, though, Timothy didn't really have that much of a say in what was happening. Michael was his parent—his legal guardian—which meant that whatever Michael said would be exactly what was going to happen. "He's not going to just drop in and move in, I promise you that."

"He left when I was, like, five. Right?"

Michael nodded.

It was right before his sixth birthday, actually. Ashton was half dead on he bathroom floor while he was supposed to be looking after Tim. Michael came home for evening classes to see everything unravel in-front of him.

He was angry at his lover, this wasn't even the first time this has happened. He yelled at Ashton and it scared Timothy. Michael's yelling scared himself but it didn't scare Ashton. It didn't scare Ashton until Michael told him to leave.

"I don't remember what he was like as a father, but I'm ready to see."

"He's not ever going to be your father again," Michael said, a laugh between his words. He rolled over onto his back, kicking up his knees and resting his elbow over his eyes. "Don't romanticize him."

"Dad," Timothy whined, "You're putting words into my mouth again!"

"I'm just saying! I don't want you to pretend he was, like, Mr. SuperDad."

Tim got up, turning off the television and heading to their kitchen. Tim was bothered, "Whatever."

"Tim!" Michael called, sitting up. "Come back! I thought we were talking!"

His kid kept walking, circling the first floor before heading up their stairs. He wasn't mad at his father, just annoyed. Michael was headstrong sometimes, and it was beyond bothersome.

He wanted to have that type of relationship where he could talk about anything with his father, but he doesn't. Tim often wonders if he could have had that relationship with Ashton. Would Ashton have let him talk about everything? Would he have been that parent?

Ashton collapsed into his bed an hour before six. The sun was rising and he was out cold. He would never have been a good father. 

Do you have that two parent thing where, like, one is the hardass and the other is very calm? 

Thoughts on Timothy trying to open up on Michael?

Thoughts on Ashton?

Did you catch any The 1975 references ;---)-)-)-)))))