Hold My Hand - Lashton

Prologue

Prologue

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"No, you haven't done it right," Luke groaned as he took the pillows off the bed that his mother had carelessly placed against the wall in an attempt to be helpful.

Standing back she watched her son place them up straight in a specific order and smoothing out the new, grey duvet cover that she had just put on.

Taking a deep breath Luke turned around and returned to the wardrobe where he was slowly hanging his jumpers in an orderly fashion. Ensuring that they were all in colour order and that all the hangers were facing the same way. However, the colour palette was small, ranging only from white to black - with a couple of different shades of grey and one navy jumper. Anyone who stepped into the blonde's room would instantly figure that his favourite colour was grey

His father went to pick up a folder but his wife motioned for him to put it down, and the pair stood against the wall watching their son proudly.

"I don't know why he's so pedantic," his father mumbled to Liz. "I bet every other boy's room here is already covered in posters and clothes are chucked everywhere!"

Liz chuckled. That was likewise for her other two sons, but Luke was different. He was a little odd but he was their son, and whilst they complained, ultimately did not mind. "They're not allowed posters on the walls. I don't why, it's a silly rule. But you know how paranoid he gets about breaking rules," she whispered back.

Luke had closed the wardrobe and was now scanning the room in satisfaction. There were still some items out of place, but the room was practically done.

The eighteen-year-old didn't own much, and he brought even less. For one he didn't want to burden his parents with bringing everything when he wouldn't need it all. Likewise, Luke liked having less stuff; it kept him calm and with no cluter hiding important documents it provided mental clarity.

Anxiously Luke looked over at his parents, wondering what they were thinking or what they were planning on doing next. He waited for them to speak.

"Do you want to go and get something to eat?" his mother asked, looking at the small clock he had placed on the bedside table on top of his latest reading book. He had already read it twice, but the blonde liked to leave it somewhere besides his bookshelf as an allusion to his parents.

Luke followed his mothers gaze to the clock wondering if she also caught the title of the book; A Picture of Dorian Gray that largely focuses on the homoerotic bond between two men. Even if she did, Luke figured she had probably never read it. Maybe he'd have to lend it to his parents. Or maybe he would simply have to tell them: Mum. Dad. I'm gay.

A thousand times now he had acted it out in his head. Each time scripting a new and improved response. But his parents had their own completely autonomous minds. He didn't know what they were thinking. He didn't know how they'd reply.

Two hundred thousand different words they could utter from the English language; some Luke didn't even know yet. A multitude of different intonations that could be applied. And even then those could be misread or mispronounced. He could not possibly account for all of the responses. And because he couldn't prepare himself for the reaction, Luke didn't have the courage to tell them yet.

Turning back to look at his mother he simply nodded. Luke barely ever uttered any of those two hundred thousand words. He felt safer with a nod of the head and the shrug of his shoulders. Sometimes what came out of his mouth was inaudible or just didn't make sense. He spoke so fast that he only made himself more anxious in conversations.

Checking the key card for him the room was still in his back pocket, Luke turned off the light and let the door loudly closed behind him. The loud bang was instantly followed by an enthusiastic greeting.

"Hi, I'm Ashton!" a curly-haired boy exclaimed as he emerged from a room the other side of the hall, practically opposite the blondes.

Throughout the journey, Luke had thought about how he would introduce himself. This was easy to script and easy to walk away from. It might seem rude, but it helped keep Luke calm and on good terms with everyone.

Gently taking Ashton's hand he shook it and gave him a slight smile. "I'm Luke." He glanced behind his shoulder at his parents who were waiting patiently. "I um - I'm going out with my parents right now I'll see you sometime later," he quickly added wondering if it was comprehensible to the other boy.

Ashton chuckled and let go of Luke's hand and grinned at the boy's parents. "See you later Luke!"

The curly haired boy watched the blonde trail after his parents awkwardly and laughed to himself. He could tell he was nervous, but he knew that was natural. Ashton was nervous too, new beginnings are scary. But he was also excited and that overpowerd any fear that could have be expressed.

Leaving his door wedged open with a doorstop, Ashton returned back into his room and smiled. He looked up at a band poster that he shouldn't have stuck up with tape, he hoped it wouldn't show up when he removed it.

Most of his stuff was unpacked and just shoved wherever what convenient. There was no art to his organising. It didn't matter to him what went where. His textbooks sat angled on a shelf so they didn't slide over. A small model of a brain sat on the top shelf, a little wonky but for sure the most prominent item in the room.

He had a plate and cutlery on his bed, that he still needed to take downstairs to the kitchen and place into his cupboard.

However, at present, he was too overwhelmed by a whirl emotions. Excitement, nerves, happiness and maybe a little bit of lust.

Collapsing onto his bed, still grinning stupidly, Ashton stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath to process all of his emotions. Taking a psychology degree certainly made the nineteen-year-old believe he was some sort of psychological expert when all he really knew was a little about Freud and too much about sex.

His head turned to the direction of the door and his mind wandered back to when he met the boy who was going to be living next to him. He recalled him looking young. Ashton had taken a gap year, so it was likely that he going to be a year older than most people here.

But this boy, recalling his name as Luke, had smooth and milky white skin, with full cheeks, that appeared so innocent. Even the small bits of stubble and acne didn't do justice to the boy's actual age. It seemed as if he had been trapped in a room most of his life. That his skin hadn't be damaged or burdened by harsh air and the sun.

Ashton laughed at his thoughts. He could never stop them. He picked people apart. And that was not just because he was a psychology student. He often moved quickly from one idea to another, his brain chaotic and scattered. He was often pushed boundaries too far  and was critical of people.

His mind was now recalling the past five minutes like a spool of film, grainy and distorted as he tried to remember the blonde face, but his psyche kept settling on his eyes. He remembered they were blue, a nice blue in fact. But they weren't as young as the boys youthful exterior.

They say the eyes are the portal to the soul, and Ashton didn't know if he believed in souls. But, he did think eyes tell a lot about a person; whether they were happy, sad or even how their life had been before they had made eye contact at that present moment.

Frowning slightly Ashton sat up and looked over at his desk. He was going to write the blonde a note. Tell him a little about himself and that he is good at helping people, and that maybe they could go for a drink tonight - alcoholic or not.

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Trigger warning: please read at your own risk. Some difficult topics are discussed and it may be hard to read. If you ever need to talk just message me.

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I know things are a bit unclear here but I don't want to reveal things straight away. I want the writing to do the explaining if that makes sense.

Please let me know what you think.

Thank you so much for reading.