✔︎Baby | OT4

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a/n yo more shameless self promo, go check out ballerina boy, it's fluff and ashton centric ot4 💛

Ashton's sketched quickly, his slender fingers appearing even longer against the thin charcoal. He created the flawless image of slightly chubby cheeks, with a smooth, uneven tan, visibly soft in a way only a child's skin could be. Bright eyes filled with wonderment, and an adorable smile with small, pearly white teeth. Small hands with short fingernails clutched a five dollar bill, brandishing it with a proud grin. A blazer that obviously belonged to a teenager or adult swamped his frame, and a giant, bright pink bow tie was strung around the young child's neck.

It was Harry, on his fish's birthday. The young boy had insisted upon celebrating the occasion, borrowing Luke's suit jacket and a bow from Lauren's Barbie poodle toy. He'd bought a little confetti shooter, and blasted the Spider-Man theme song for three hours. It was one of the last memories Ashton had of his days before Luke, Calum, and Michael had started their stupid, who-can-make-the-others-come-first competition.

A tear escaped Ashton's eye, hitting the paper and narrowly missing his sketch. The liquid seeped in immediately, and the brunette watched carelessly as it spread out in spiderweb-like tendrils. The lines connected almost immediately, creating an ugly dark patch, but there were a few short seconds of beauty. A small moment in time that was pretty, that you'd think was worth the slight destruction of the paper before reality caught up. It transformed the patch into something bad, making you wish the water had never fallen.

The tear was the competition that'd bloomed between Ashton's three ex-friends, the sketch their original relationship. At first, the liquid, the competition, improved it. But, in the end, it destroyed both friendship and romance, leaving behind a flawed mess with small chance of fixing.

   Ashton shoved the drawing in his desk drawer roughly—well, as roughly as a flower-boy like him could. The brunette lad didn't put much worth on his artworks, as he just couldn't see any talent in them, despite the rest of the world disagreeing.

   "Asthton." Harry's soft voice spoke from the door, lisping slightly through the gap where his tooth was missing. The seventeen-year-old glanced up, where his younger brother stood in light blue footie pyjamas, trains covering the soft fabric. A fluffy pink blanket hung from his grip, his curls covered with a black SnapBack that was obviously too big.

   The familiar hat belonged to Michael, Ashton realised. The three lads had impacted more than just Ash's life, they'd become a big part of his whole family's life.

   "Are you going to school today?" Harry questioned, bringing his brother from his thoughts.

   "Yeah, Har," the older of the two responded softly, resisting the onslaught of tears that pooled behind his eyes.

   "Have a good day," the blonde said in his innocent, childish voice, with an earnest honesty behind the words. He slid across the fluffy carpet to hug his big brother, small arms wrapping around his neck.

   "Thank you, Har," Ashton murmured, ruffling the eight-year-old's head of unruly, tangled curls. "Now c'mon, let's go to the kitchen and I'll make you breakfast, okay?" The shorter boy nodded, scrambling up the lanky brunette's back and piggybacking him through the house.

   Once they reached the smooth floored kitchen, Ash sat his brother on the counter, the eight-year-old's legs swinging. "What d'you want, pancakes or-?"

   Harry cut him off. "Pancakes!" he whooped, clapping and kicking his pyjama clad feet excitedly. The older boy chuckled, kissing the child's forehead before turning to the fridge.

—

   Ashton walked slowly, glancing at the looming high school with his lower lip pinched under his lip. Stress whipped down his spine and across his skin, and his air supply was limited.

   He entered the school nervously, and was ignored for a solid thirty seconds. The positive, sunshiny personality within Ashton had him taking those as a win, before Amylee—the blonde girl who'd chosen Ash as her target for cruelty—was on him. "How you doing, slut?" she spoke bitingly. "What's that, cum from your new fuck-buddies?" the wretched girl asked, pointing to a white patch on Ashton's powder blue top. Pancake batter, Ashton thought, but couldn't manage to say it. Instead, the brunette stood silently, his solid hazel eyes turned to the floor.

   "Leave him alone," a voice ordered—a heart wrenchingly familiar voice. Michael, Calum, and Luke stood to the side of the hallway, the blonde having spoken. His blue eyes flashed dangerously, Cal's were dark, nearly black, and Mikey's a sharp, electric green.

   "Oh, shut it, sweetie," Amylee scoffed. "Ashton dumped you, remember?" Her tone was mocking and incessantly sweet, speaking softly like a hissing snake. Michael took a threatening step forward, only for the cruel girl to step back into her group of lackeys. "Give it up, sugar lips. Your ex-sex slave is a whore, and it's time you boys accepted it."

   Michael took a threatening step forward, backed up closely by Calum and Luke. "Don't," Ashton whispered, or tried to. With the amount of people stood around, he ended up mouthing it. Despite, his ex-mates got the message. They glared venomously at the smug-faced blonde girl, before storming away on black denim clad legs.

   "Don't let the hooker touch you," Amylee said to her audience, cackling and swerving around Ashton, leaving a solid four feet between her and the brunette.

   He held back tears, ducking down and disappearing towards his locker.