Archive of Our Own ^beta

Luke is easily the most concerned about his appearance in the band. He spends the most time styling his hair, takes the most care in selecting his outfits (even though they're usually the same combination of ripped jeans and t-shirt, maybe with a hat thrown on if the quiff is particularly unruly), and, as a result, consistently looks the best out of the band. It's not that Ashton and the other boys don't care about how they look; obviously they do. They just care more about getting an extra ten minutes of sleep than taking a shower for an interviewer who probably learned their names five minutes ago.

So it really shouldn't be a surprise to anyone when Luke starts wearing makeup.

They've all worn makeup before. At photo shoots there's always a bored-looking makeup artist dabbing concealer under their tired eyes, expertly camouflaging any blemishes that may have popped up or hiding scars from before any of them knew what face wash was and incessantly picked at their skin. Sometimes before award shows they'll swipe on a bit of the stuff so they look half-decent while they awkwardly stumble down the red carpet, feeling so out of place they don't know what to do other than pull stupid poses and laugh at each other.

So if it had just been the concealer or whatever, Ashton probably wouldn't have even noticed or really cared. Luke had had the worst skin out of the band and, being so young while the band was gaining popularity, there were probably more pictures than Luke cared for of his acne-ridden complexion. He was a hormonal teenager; everyone at that age has shitty skin. In Ashton's mind, it's not a big deal. But Luke's always been a little more self-conscious than the other boys so Ashton let's it slide, even kind of understands why Luke might want to wear a little makeup, especially if it makes him feel better.

But it's not concealer. It's not even that noticeable, just a little mascara, from what Ashton can tell but it's definitely there. It doesn't really bother him per say – he's not some sort of macho, heteronormative asshole – but something nags at him. He finds himself thinking about how lush Luke's eyelashes are more than once and that's – well. It's a thing, and he chooses to ignore it.

The first time Luke shuffles out of the bathroom, lashes thick and dark, making his ridiculous eyes stand out even more than they already do, no one says anything. Ashton stares because – just – this is ridiculous. Luke is ridiculous. Such a small change shouldn't make such a huge difference but it does and Ashton just. Doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to think about Luke like that, like he's pretty and desirable because just. No.

He thinks Michael or Calum might comment on it when he catches them exchanging a look, but when Luke settles between them on the couch, acting as if everything is normal, they seem to think it's not worth the effort and go back to the game of FIFA they're playing. Ashton stares a little longer until Luke notices, eyes drifting to his. He smiles, a tiny little lift in the corners of his mouth. He looks nervous, Ashton realizes, and he clamps down on anything he was thinking of saying before grinning back at him.

They spend the rest of the day in the hotel room, watching movies and playing video games. No one mentions the mascara.

After that first time, the makeup becomes a regular thing. Luke doesn't wear it every day, but often enough that it becomes fairly routine, and the band doesn't really notice anymore. They still don't talk about it, but Ashton thinks that's probably more for Luke's sake than anything. He figures they'll talk about it when Luke is ready, and that's fine with him.

He eventually ventures into other things, like blush and even a bit of eyeliner. He doesn't wear the eyeliner out even though it makes his eyes look hazy in the most amazing kind of way. Ashton doesn't tell him so, but he thinks about it. He thinks about it a lot.

They're at Sirius, doing a quick little acoustic session, and all Luke's got on is a smidge of subtle brown mascara, hardly even noticeable. Maybe it's because he knows it's being filmed, and he knows it'll be obvious what's on his face if a camera gets too close, or maybe he just doesn't feel like going all out that day, but either way, Ashton's a little disappointed.

They run through Amnesia first, and Ashton hangs back. He doesn't really have much to do in the song, and normally he gets pretty bored. He finds himself staring at Luke, something he catches himself doing more and more often these days. The thing is, Luke is genuinely pretty. Like, Ashton's almost one hundred percent sure Luke would make a really hot girl, and maybe that's why he likes the makeup on him so much. He knows Michael wears eyeliner sometimes, and he looks good too, but Luke is... Luke is beautiful, and the makeup just accentuates that in a way Ashton thinks is more than a little unfair.

He's so busy admiring Luke he almost misses his cue, giggling a little bit when he comes in a fraction late. The crowd titters, and he grins, making a couple girls in the front squeal and turn their heads toward each other, hands covering their mouths as they smile. He suppresses a laugh and focuses on the song, eyes drifting over the crowd.

The song wraps up quickly enough after that. The audience claps and cheers and one girl even cries and they all coo at her a little because they're actually all huge dorks. They make senseless banter for a few minutes while the cameramen fiddle with their equipment, setting up for the next song. Once they give them the go ahead, Luke ignores them and keeps talking, laughing at a dumb joke Michael tells. The station manager looks annoyed, again signalling that they're ready to go. Luke can't avoid it this time and seems to reluctantly play the opening cords of Teenage Dream.

Ashton can't figure out why he looks so uncomfortable until he starts singing, voice a little shaky. His ears go bright pink when he mumbles out, “I think you're pretty without any makeup on...” and Ashton wants to laugh but also wrap Luke up in a big hug at the same time because the boy is so dumb sometimes. He's hardly wearing anything today. Does he think if he so much as mentions the word “makeup” people are going to just know?

The blush spreads down Luke's neck as he stumbles over the next line, slurring his words so that the “P” in “punchline” comes out sounding more like an “F.” Michael immediately rags on him and Calum joins in, but it's all goodnatured and Luke seems to relax after that. They sound exceptionally good that day, if Ashton says so himself, and, when they're done taking pictures with fans, he pulls the boys in for a group hug as they tumble towards the car.

The closest they get to actually talking about it, is talking about Luke's eyebrows.

Luke wanders in the front door late in the afternoon after managing to catch a few rare hours alone. He calls out a brief 'hey' to Ashton, who's perched at the kitchen counter, idly flipping through a homeware magazine he's not particularly interested in. Michael and Calum are sprawled out in front of the TV, some football match blaring away. Luke flops down beside Michael and greets them both. Calum waves without taking his eyes off the screen, and Michael turns to ruffle Luke's hair for no other reason than to bug him probably. He reaches out, a wicked smile on his face but stops, hand frozen in the air. He stays there for a moment, blatantly staring at Luke until he fidgets.

“What?” he finally mutters.

“Did you get your eyebrows done?” Michael asks.

Luke blushes, and Ashton knows that's a yes.

“What d'you mean?” he replies, avoiding eye contact, and Michael hoots, smacking his hands together once in a loud, precise clap.

“I knew it!” he crows. “Look at that guilty face; you have been getting them done!”

“I didn't say yes –” Luke tries helplessly, but Michael cuts him off.

“You didn't have to, it's all in the,” he stops to gesture at his face with puckered lips, putting on a horrible French accent, “expression,” he finishes with a grin before turning to Calum and nudging him with his elbow. “Oi, you owe me five dollars.”

“He didn't say yes,” Calum replies, eyes still glued to the screen.

“Just look at his eyebrows, mate!” Michael demands. “They're all red and shit.”

Calum turns to inspect Luke's eyebrows, which, admittedly, do look a little irritated. Calum seems to consider this for a few moments before shaking his head and turning back to the game.

“Nah, man, he's gotta say it.”

Michael groans and punches uselessly at Calum's shoulder, pouting a little bit. They sit in silence, watching the match for almost ten minutes before Luke says quietly, “I do get them done. My eyebrows, I mean.”

Michael jumps up with a cry of victory and thrusts a fist in the air, while Calum rolls his eyes, reluctantly digging his wallet out to hand Michael a bill. Luke blushes, looking a smidgen relieved but mostly embarrassed, as Michael starts in on him, teasing, but not cruelly. Michael likes to poke fun at all of them but most especially Luke. Normally Ashton would let it go, but Luke's squirming and looking just slightly uncomfortable even though Michael's not saying anything particularly cutting, and Ashton can't help but interject, just so Luke stops looking that way.

“Maybe we should all start getting our eyebrows done,” he muses aloud.

“What?” Michael asks, so easily distracted.

“We've all got pretty bushy eyebrows. Maybe we'd all benefit from a trip to the spa. Especially you, Mikey. Wouldn't want to revisit that unibrow from sixth form, eh?”

Michael splutters for a moment before turning to wallop Calum with a pillow. “You asshole!” he cries while Calum uselessly tries to fend him off.

“It was funny!”

“You swore you'd never show anyone that picture.”

“Luke's seen it! I figured Ashton would feel left out if I didn't show him too.”

Michael stands and gives Calum a final whack with the pillow before declaring, “I hate you all. This band sucks. I quit.” and heads off to his room.

“Hey, that's my line,” Luke says with a mock pout.

“Shut up, Luke,” Michael calls from down the hall. They all laugh quietly at that, and Luke shoots Ashton a soft, grateful smile that melts his very being, which is simultaneously the best and worst thing to ever happen to him.

The first time someone else notices the makeup, they're doing a photo shoot. Ashton's the first one finished as he has the least fussy hair and wardrobe. After bothering the stylists and the photographer's assistants, he's exiled to a plush chair next to the hair and makeup area. He's lazily spinning around on it while he watches one of the makeup artists work on Luke; the girl runs her hands through Luke's hair, somehow wrangling it into an organized mess. Ashton wonders distractedly if he'd look good with his hair styled similarly. Luke always looks so soft and cuddly, and Ashton feels like he sort of looks like a bum with his long curls. He runs his fingers through his hair distractedly, but before he can do any damage, another stylist floats by and swats his hand, shoots him a stern look. He lets his hand drop back to his lap obediently with a sheepish smile and focuses his attention back on Luke.

The girl moves on to the makeup and starts gently patting some concealer under Luke's eyes, leaning in close. She's blending away when she abruptly pulls back, eyes narrowing. Luke shifts uncomfortably in his seat, pulls the sleeves of his shirt down to cover his hands.

“Are you wearing mascara?” she asks a little sharply.

“Um. No,” Luke tells her and avoids eye contact, probably hyper-aware of that 'um', so uncertain, giving him away.

Her eyes narrow further, and she leans in, swiping at something on Luke's cheek. “That's definitely a mascara fleck.”

Luke turns an alarming shade of red and ducks his head, and Ashton is ready to fight someone. He's never seen Luke look so ashamed, and Ashton hates it, never wants to see that expression on his face again. He feels his body burning with anger and wants to smother Luke in the biggest hug possible. He wants to shield him from all the judgemental, cruel comments he worries will come spilling out of this girl's mouth and knows will come from the media if she decides to make his secret public. He's half way out of his seat when the girl is tilting Luke's head up, looking kind of cross.

“You've got great eyelashes, but this shit you're piling on isn't doing anything for them. And if it's flaking off like that you should probably start using a waterproof formula.”

Ashton freezes, hovering uncertainly between his half-seated, half-standing position, that fierce protectiveness still burning deep in his chest but now mixed with confusion. Luke looks more than a little shocked and just nods numbly in response to the makeup artist's advice. She continues chattering, filling Luke in on a bunch of tips and tricks while she finishes up his makeup, Luke slowly relaxing and looking more comfortable.

Once she's done, she takes a step back and examines him carefully, checking for mistakes. Luke sucks his lip piercing into his mouth, fiddling with it like he always does when people stare at him.

“You should let me do your makeup for real one day,” the girl finally says after she deems her job done. “I'd make you look downright bangable.”

His entire face goes an alarming shade of red but he stutters out, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “Not that you need help in that department,” she adds with a wink after some thought. Luke laughs, and the tips of his ears flush even darker, making something twist painfully in Ashton's stomach.

The girl smiles and winks again before pulling a scrap of paper out of nowhere, scribbling down what Ashton assumes is her number, and hands it to Luke. His stomach coils tighter, and a sour taste forms in his mouth. Luke takes it and smiles, immediately takes out his phone and programs the her information in. Ashton turns away at that, a foul mood settling between his shoulders.

He does his best to be pleasant during the photo shoot, but he's not into it. He's irritable and knows he snaps at people who don't deserve it, but he can't shake this mood off. Luke talks to the makeup artist the whole shoot, which just annoys him even more, and he's not sure why – well, actually, he's pretty sure why it bothers him but he's just not in the right head space to think about that probably ever. Luke can talk to whoever he wants. It shouldn't bother him. It doesn't.

After a series of lacklustre shots, the photographer calls it, waving Ashton off the set. He sees the annoyance in the photographer's eyes and knows he did a shit job. A small part of him feels bad but a larger, louder part of him is screaming in his head, so pissed at Luke for talking to some random girl, for accepting her number so easily, for looking so damn good all the damn time.

He stomps off the set in a huff, knowing full well he's acting like an asshole but not caring.

“You're turn,” he mutters gruffly as he pushes past Luke, refusing to pause or make eye contact.

“Hey.” Luke grabs his shoulder as he's brushing past, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Everything okay?”

“M'fine.” He attempts to shake off the boy's hand, but it stays there, rooted firmly.

“You sure?” Luke asks. He looks so worried, and Ashton doesn't know what to do with his hands. God, does he always just leave them dangling there uselessly like that? Is that what everyone does? Why can't he figure out how to stand properly?

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Luke says as he gives his shoulder a tight squeeze. He peeks back at him, looking uncertain as he heads toward the set where the photographer is waiting impatiently. Ashton gives him a small smile and a thumb's up before tossing himself onto a couch in the space they've sectioned off as a kind of make-shift lounge.

All throughout his shoot, Luke sends quick little glances Ashton's way, as if he's checking in on him. Ashton tries to not read too much into it, but after his part of the shoot's wrapped up, Luke lopes over to where he's seated, flopping his gangly limbs all over him.

“You sure you're feeling alright?” he asks once he's cuddled up into Ashton's side.

“Yeah, m'fine,” he mumbles a little sleepily. It's been a long day, and Michael and Calum haven't even shot yet.

“If this is about earlier, you know, with the makeup girl –”

“It's all good, Huke Lemmings,” he cuts him off as he rests his arm on the back of the couch, fingertips ghosting over Luke's shoulder. He rests his on top of Luke's and closes his eyes, just enjoying the closeness. Luke doesn't say anything, and they stay like that, dozing off now and again, until an intern gives them a gentle shake and shyly informs them they're done for the day.

Luke keeps texting the makeup artist from the photoshoot. Ashton catches him smiling goofily at his phone more than once, and it makes something ugly churn in his stomach.

Instead of dealing with it, he goes for a run.

(He goes for a lot of runs.)

He's heading out for fifth time that week after witnessing Luke actually, physically laugh at something the makeup artist probably sent him, and he's too jittery, has too much excess energy he needs to burn right the fuck now so he grabs his sneakers and a pair of shorts and is out the door in record timing.

He does a couple quick stretches before taking off. It's too early in the morning or too late in the evening for anyone sane to be out so the streets of LA are oddly quiet. In his rush, he forgot his phone so he focuses on his breathing, the steady, rhythmic thump of his shoes smacking the pavement. The sounds are so repetitive they lull him into a stupor, shutting out the world and running on autopilot.

“Ash!”

He blinks hazily, slowing his pace and turning his head to see Calum jogging after him. Once he's caught up, he leans forward, bracing his hands on his knees, and pants.

“Bit out of shape, are we?” Ashton questions, amused.

“Shut up,” Cal mumbles, shoving at Ashton's hip. He stands, stretching his arms above his head before swinging them around as if psyching himself up.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Let's go.”

The two take off, albeit at a slightly slower pace than before. They don't talk right away, and he appreciates it, has always appreciated that Calum is so comfortable with silence. They continue on like that for so long that he starts to think maybe the whole run will be like this and settles in, comforted.

But then Calum says, “Been going for a lot runs lately,” and it's so casual that Ashton might have let it go on any other day except he knows Calum hates running, much prefers the gym, so the fact that he's here now is already suspicious enough without the way he's resolutely staring forward, careful to avoid looking at Ashton for too long.

He decides to be equally as casual, shrugging. “Yeah, it's been rough cooped up in the house or the studio all the time.”

Cal nods. “Could always go to the gym. We haven't trained together in awhile.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

And he thinks, hopes, that's it, that Cal will let the conversation die, but his life would just be too easy if that was the case.

“Maybe you're avoiding someone.”

Ashton's eyes cut over to him quickly, but Cal's just staring straight ahead, posture relaxed, breathing even, the picture of cool, calm, and collected. Ashton hates him a little.

“Who would I be avoiding?”

This time Cal does look at him, hard, but it's only for a second.

“Don't be a dick. We know something's up.”

His chest constricts at the “something.” “Something” as in you've been acting weird lately what's going on? “Something” as in you're being a grumpy shit so cut it out? Or “something” as in the whole damn band knows you've got a dumb crush on Luke and you need to squash that shit right now because we can't afford relationship drama and Luke thinks you're super weird so stop staring at him and writing really cheesy borderline creepy poetry about how pretty his dark eyelashes look against the pale background of his cheekbones?

“I don't know what you're talking about, mate.”

Calum stops abruptly, grabs onto the back of Ashton's vest to pull him to a stop as well, and stares him down. “That's bullshit.”

“I'm fine,” he tells him and attempts to make eye contact. “Just restless.”

Calum holds his gaze for a long moment, but the eye contact thing must work because he relaxes slightly and picks up the pace again.

“You sure that's it?” he asks, watching Ashton through the corner of his eye.

Ashton swallows, nods in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner. “Yeah.”

Ashton hasn't really struggled with his sexuality in a long time. Around Year 11 he figured out he probably wasn't completely straight, and a weird fling with a cute but deeply internally homophobic boy in Year 12 confirmed that. He liked girls and boys and people who were both and neither. Ashton liked people in general, and he guessed his sexual preferences reflected that.

The band had known about his sexuality for awhile and were cool with it. He suspected that sometimes they didn't totally understand it, but they were supportive and that was good enough for him. So while these feelings towards Luke were definitely freaking Ashton out, it at least wasn't an 'oh god I like boys' thing, more of an 'oh god the guy I like is a member of the band I'm in and one of my best friends so if I fuck this up it's going to be absolutely fucking terrible' kind of thing.

He didn't want to do that to the band. He couldn't. This band is his life; he loves them all like brothers, and he would never jeopardize their careers and, more importantly, their friendships for his own stupid emotions. He thinks... he thinks he might really like Luke, but feelings go away, right? Shit, that's why so many marriages end in divorce, feelings just fucking fade. And what if that happens with them? Even if by some miracle Luke liked him back, there's no telling what could happen in a year, a month, a week... It scares the shit out of him, and it's why he pushes the feelings down, smothers them, then piles other shit on top, just hoping they'll go away one day.

And, Christ, Ashton doesn't even know if Luke likes guys. He knows that sometimes Luke gets a little too drunk and will kiss anyone and everyone, regardless of gender. But he also knows that Luke had really cared for his old girlfriend (Hell, if he's being honest, the kid probably loved her). And sure, while one girlfriend doesn't mean he's definitely not interested in guys, drunk cheek kisses sure as hell don't mean he is.

So Ashton resolves to ignore the feelings because there are too many... variables. He may have barely passed maths, but he's not an idiot.

They're in the studio, trying to focus on this new song, and Luke is all made up, and Ashton can't figure out why. Even though he's taken to wearing some makeup on an almost daily basis, today is different. He's wearing the eyeliner that makes his eyes look smoky and tempting and Ashton thinks maybe even a little bit of lipstick, which is new, but he can't be sure. He'd probably put more brain power into it if it hadn't been such a long day. Everyone's in a bad mood for one reason or another. Michael's been groaning about how hungry he is for the past hour, and Calum keeps disappearing to play with the producer's dog. Luke's been basically useless, distracted (and distracting, if he's being honest. That damn eyeliner), laying about and fixing his hair every five minutes for no reason, and Ashton is so tired of trying to wrangle them all into the same room so they can just finish this fucking song that he's being extra snippy and almost parental, which he doesn't like doing but sometimes shit needs to get done.

“Calum,” he calls wearily for probably the fourth time in an hour.

“Yeah?” He pokes his head into the room, cradling the dog in his arms and playing with its little pink paws.

“We're so close, man, can we please just finish this chorus?”

“I'm out of ideas, mate,” he says distractedly, still flipping the dog's paws back and forth and making soft cooing noises when it snuffles. “I think we're done for the day.”

Michael moans in agreement from the couch, rubbing his stomach pathetically, while Luke checks his reflection in his phone for the third time in ten minutes, adjusting a couple front tufts of hair that looked fine before.

Ashton leans back in his chair, letting the back of his head thud against it before sighing. “Fine.”

Michael lets out a “whoop!” and bolts out of the room, booking it to the pizza parlour across the street. Calum trails behind him after dropping the dog in Ashton's lap and asking if he wants anything. He shakes his head and Calum shrugs, muttering, “I'll get you a couple slices anyway,” before chasing after Michael.

And it's just Luke and Ashton for the first time in a long time. It's awkward because, Ashton realizes, he's making it awkward, purposely not looking at Luke. He hasn't been alone with Luke in probably close to a month, carefully avoiding him just in case the feelings decide to make an appearance. Now there's no way to subtly excuse himself without it being weird so he stays, trapped in his chair with a half-finished song and a puppy in his lap.

“I'm gonna head out,” Luke finally says after a moment of tense quiet passes. Ashton looks up from the notepad he'd been doodling in and raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah? Where to? Got a big date?” He's joking but then Luke flushes and his stomach drops.

“You have a date?” he asks a little incredulously. It comes out meaner than he intends, but the words slip out before he can think.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Luke huffs back in response, shoving his phone in his back pocket with a touch of petulance.

“No!” he says quickly. “No, it's just, um. Surprising.”

The corners of Luke's mouth turn down, and Ashton wants to kick himself. “Surprising” isn't exactly better, God, get it together, Irwin.

“You just, you know, you don't go out much. On dates,” he clarifies.

Luke still looks a little put out but he shrugs, lowers his gaze to his feet, which he's pointed inwards and shuffles around. “S'not even a date,” he mumbles, so low Ashton almost doesn't catch it.

“It's not?”

“But I could get a date if I wanted,” he protests as his head shoots up, eyes grabbing Ashton's and holding him there. There's a slight whine to his voice, and it strikes Ashton as very young and even though there's only a two year age gap between himself and Luke, he suddenly feels very old and even more guilty for the feelings, which are clawing their way up his chest, tripping over one another to be the first one out. If something does slip out, he's hoping it's “I'd date you” and not “I'm maybe in love with you” because he can at least pass the former off as a joke because the band says shit like that all the time. No amount of spinning can make “I'm in love with you” sound platonic, even if Ashton's the king of spin doctors.

“Yeah, of course,” Ashton replies. “You're a right stud, Huke Lemmings.”

Luke smiles and lets out a quiet laugh. “You always call me that: 'Huke Lemmings.'”

He shrugs and giggles a bit, not sure what to say.

“I like it,” Luke says softly, almost bashfully and, God, Ashton is so gone, wants to kiss him so badly when he gets all blushy and shy like this. He doesn't, but he wants to. Christ, does he want to.

They're quiet for a moment, and it's weirdly intimate, but he doesn't mind. This kind of quiet is what Ashton is used to when he's around Luke. It's been so long since it's just been the two of them; he'd almost forgot what this easy familiarity felt like. He has it with the other boys, but it's not as calming as it is with Luke, and he treasures it, cares for it more than he'd probably like to admit. Cares for Luke more than he knows he'd like to admit.

“I, uh, I've gotta go.” Luke says after checking his phone. “I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, man. Have fun on your date.” The words stick in his throat but he forces them out anyway. He's a good guy, a good friend. He can be happy for his buddy. Even though Luke says it's not a date, the way he's reacting seems to mean he'd like it to be, and more than anything Ashton just wants to see his friend happy. If that means saying shit that burns a blister onto his chest, so be it.

“It's not a date,” Luke repeats with a laugh, shoving at him, trailing his fingers up Ashton's arm as he passes by to get to the door and raising goosebumps to his skin.

Well. That's something.

It's almost two in the morning when Luke comes stumbling into the house, home from his not-a-date. Ashton's on the couch, watching some mindless television and absolutely not waiting up.

“You're awake,” Luke announces and promptly trips over his own feet, stumbling into the back of the couch.

“I am.”

“Why.” It's a question but there's no inflection so Ashton doesn't feel obligated to answer. Luke doesn't seem to want an answer anyway as he tumbles onto the couch next to Ashton, immediately planting his head in his lap and snuggling into his thigh.

“How'd the date go?”

“Good. She bought me lots of drinks and told me I have nice cheekbones.”

He laughs. “You do have nice cheekbones.”

“So d'you. Your dimples are cute,” he murmurs sleepily and Ashton does not blush, he does not, God damn it.

“M'tired,” Luke declares as he flips over so his nose is pressed to the base of Ashton's stomach, making him swallow, hard, because, well, his face is really fucking close to his crotch and he's making these adorable snuffling noises and he keeps nuzzling into his thigh and just. Fuck.

“I can see that. Why don't we get you to bed?” He shifts a little, jostling Luke's head in the hopes that it'll make him uncomfortable enough to get his head away from his dick but to no avail. He just snuggles closer and Ashton swears someone out there hates him.

“Come on, buddy, let's get you up.” He absently runs a hand through Luke's hair before preparing to stand but Luke practically whimpers and mumbles a sleepy “do that again” and Ashton is just so damn whipped that he immediately settles back into the couch and starts gently carding his fingers through his hair.

“That feels amazing,” Luke sighs. “You're amazing.”

He curls into Ashton's body, his long legs tucked tightly to his chest. A pleasant buzz spreads through his chest at Luke's words, and he hums contently in response. Ashton just watches Luke as he drifts in and out of conscientiousness while he keeps combing his fingers through the boy's hair. He waits until he's sure Luke's definitely asleep, breathing even and deep, before hoisting him over his shoulder and staggering down the hall to Luke's room where he dumps him on the bed rather unceremoniously and attempts to tuck him in before tiptoeing back to the kitchen. He grabs a couple painkillers and a glass of water, which he sets on the bedside table. His actions are so – God, he wants to say domestic, he could die, but he knows Luke will feel those drinks tomorrow and he's grumpy enough in the morning on a good day so he ignores the surge of feelings rising in his throat and lets himself take care of his friend.

He gives him one last good tuck before starting for the door but Luke makes an aborted whimpering noise that dies in the back of his throat and flails his arms out of the tight swaddle Ashton had made to make grabby hands at him.

“Cuddle?” he suggests drowsily, eyes still closed while his hands grab the air uselessly.

And Ashton wants to – God does he ever – but something cold and heavy something settles in his stomach, stopping him. He looks so perfect, surrounded by all the plush white pillows, with his dark eyelashes splayed out across those damn cheekbones. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to crawl into bed and wrap himself around Luke, finally give himself a taste of the intimacy he's been dreaming about.

But Luke is drunk, and Ashton knows he's saying all this stuff and acting this way because this is just how Luke is when he's drunk: a cuddly, giggly, sleepy mess, and he can't take advantage of that no matter how loud his brain is screaming otherwise.

“Just go to sleep, Luke,” he whispers with a pat to Luke's head that ends up more like a stroke than anything. He is so gone.

“N'without you.”

“Good night,” he says, ignoring the comment as well as the whines that follow when he pulls away. But Luke looks so put out and pouty that he caves at the last minute, ducks down and presses a quick, light kiss to his hairline. He knows the motion is probably too affectionate to be interpreted as purely platonic, but he's hoping Luke will be too drunk to remember it tomorrow. It seems to placate Luke a little at least as he settles into the blankets while Ashton lets himself out, only feeling a slightly guilty.

If they're not in the studio working on the album, Luke is out with his mysterious not-a-date. He spends egregious amounts of time getting ready every time they meet up, running liner along his lashes and meticulously tweaking his hair until it looks the appropriate amount of mussed. Ashton is jealous, feels that burning ugly hatred at the base of his spine. He hates that Luke will put so much effort in for this person who (apparently) doesn't want to date him, that he's so taken with this person that he's actually spending substantial time away from the band. Most of all he hates that he's hating this person on principal, that he's the kind of guy that thinks “if I can't have you, no one can.” That bullshit is toxic, and he tries his best to quell those feelings.

It's probably the sixth time Luke is heading out the door to meet this not-a-date, and he's looking particularly breath-taking this evening, and Ashton just can't help but say something, blurting out:

“Another hot date, Hemmings?”

Luke stops, chuckles a little nervously and rubs the back his neck, almost embarrassed looking. “It's not a date.”

“Right, sure.” He nods, drawing the last word out teasingly. “She's only risking imprisonment, getting you drunk every night. Definitely not interested in you at all.”

“Imprisonment seems a bit dramatic.”

“It's America; who knows how their laws work?”

“Are you getting all social justice-y on me?” he asks with a small laugh and raised eyebrows.

“Maybe,” he replies with a shrug. “But really, when are we going to meet this mystery lady?”

“Who says she's a girl?” Luke says quietly and shit if Ashton's stomach doesn't fall out of his ass.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Luke brushes it off quickly, running a hand anxiously through his hair. “You've already met her anyway.”

“Yeah?” He can't help the touch of disappointment that settles over him at the “her.” He's more curious about this girl he's apparently already met.

“Yeah, uh, do you remember Jane? From the photo shoot like three months ago? We've been meeting up and, I don't know, just, you know, talking.”

Ashton does remember her, remembers how well she and Luke seemed to get on after the makeup incident, and this time he's pretty sure his stomach does fall out of his ass, dragging his heart and his lungs with it because there's no other way to explain this strange emptiness he feels inside.

“That's cool, man,” he says and musters up a smile. “Better get going. Don't want to keep her waiting.”

“Right, yeah,” he responds, checking his phone. “See you later.”

“See you,” he calls after his retreating back. Once he hears the door click shut, he waits a moment before he's grabbing his bag and practically throwing himself down the hall, on his way to probably the most abusive workout of his life.

Ashton starts avoiding Luke again. He's not proud of it but after Luke's last date, he'd come home looking so... content and happy and kind of excited if Ashton was reading him correctly. Seeing those emotions displayed so plainly on his face felt like a suckerpunch straight to the gut, and Ashton decides he needs the space for his own sanity.

He's at the beach, kind of just wandering without any specific destination in mind when he feels a tickling pinch at his sides. He whirls around to squawk at the person grabbing at him to find a grinning Michael, hands tucked innocently into the pockets of his jeans.

“You're outside,” he says with mock disbelief.

“Shut up, I like the beach,” Michael shoots back with a rough shove. Ashton stumbles and laughs, bumping him back.

After they've been walking in silence for a few moments, he says, “You've been avoiding Luke.” Cutting right to the chase, it seems.

He doesn't reply right away, trying to decide whether to deny or confirm. He doesn't really want to talk about it because he knows something's probably going to slip out, but he's also so tired of hiding. They do so much of that already; he shouldn't have to around his best friends.

He finally settles on a simple, “Yeah.” Doesn't offer anything more or less. If Michael wants to know more, he'll ask. He's easy to read, Michael, and Ashton appreciates it more than ever that day.

“Is it because of the makeup thing?” he finally asks and Ashton's head whips around so fast he thinks he might have given himself a concussion.

“What? No,” he responds immediately. Yeah, the makeup is definitely part of the problem but not in the way Michael's implying.

“You sure? Because you've been acting kind of off since he started wearing it. And no offense, man, but if it really bothers you that much we're probably going to have to kick you out of the band. A lead singer's way more valuable than a drummer.”

Ashton knows he's joking but there's a little edge to Michael's voice. For as much as he rags on Luke, Michael is the most protective of him, and even though Ashton knows they'd never actually kick him out of the band, knows that the poke at his role in the band is just that, a joke, there's some heat behind his words, and he doesn't for a second think Michael wouldn't wholeheartedly fight him if he had a problem with anything regarding any members of the band.

“No, no, I swear. It's got nothing to do with that.”

Michael's watching him carefully, a little suspiciously, but he's being honest so he's not worried.

“We should probably talk to him about it.”

“The makeup?”

Michael nods. “Yeah. I mean, I don't care; you don't care; Cal doesn't care. But I think management will probably care once they find out. Maybe we should, like, prep him or something? I don't know.”

Ashton nods along because, yeah, they really should talk about it. If he hadn't been so caught up in his own shit he probably would've mentioned it a lot earlier, and it makes him feel like crap that he unknowingly prioritized his own stupid feelings over the band because the band comes first, always. He's supposed to look out for them and he fucked up.

“What if they tell him to stop?” he wonders out loud. His heart sinks at the thought, not just because the makeup makes Luke even more beautiful than he already is but because it makes him so happy and Ashton doesn't want anyone to take that away from him.

“We'll tell them to blow it out their asses,” Michael says with a shrug, so sure and unconcerned. Ashton envies him.

“What if they drop us?”

He shrugs again. “We'll find someone who gets us better. It'll work out, Ash.”

He nods, swallowing hard.

“But you have been avoiding Luke,” Michael points out, derailing Ashton's self-pity train.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It's...” He pauses, trying to pick the right words. “...complicated.”

Michael snorts a little. “What kind of bullshit answer is that?”

“It's true,” he protests with a shove at Michael's shoulder.

“What's complicated about liking your best friend?” he demands, pushing back. Ashton's hands drop to his sides as his heart shoots into his throat, constricting it.

“What?” he squeaks.

Michael's eyes widen and he drops his hands as well. “Shit. Was it supposed to be a secret?”

Ashton splutters for several moments, not sure how to respond. He hasn't – He's never – God, he can hardly admit to himself that he likes Luke so how did Michael figure it out.

“How did you know?” he finally manages.

“You get all, like,” he pauses, making some vague gestures with his hands, “melty around him. I don't know, you can just see it on your face.”

And Ashton kind of wants the world to swallow him whole. You can see it on his face? If he's that obvious there's no way in hell Luke doesn't at least suspect something.

“Does Calum know?” he asks weakly.

“Uh, yeah. He brought it up a couple months ago when you were, like, aggressively working out all the time. We didn't really talk about it after that, but we definitely noticed how you were acting around him more.”

“Oh, God,” he mumbles, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “This is awful.”

“We haven't mentioned it to Luke, if that's what you're worried about.”

“I can't – I mean, if you and Cal noticed how could he not?” he rambles on, ignoring Michael almost completely. “This is so bad. This is so, so bad.”

“I don't know, man, maybe it's not. Maybe now you can tell him how you feel or whatever.”

Ashton snaps his head up. “I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“It'll ruin the band.”

He snorts again. “Don't be an idiot.”

“He doesn't feel the same way,” Ashton tries.

“You don't know that.”

“Michael, I don't even know if Luke likes boys.”

Michael shrugs. “So ask him.”

“I can't do that!”

“Why not?”

“I – it – it'd be weird!” he stammers out.

“Look, all I'm hearing is a lot of excuses, mate,” Michael says with finality. He stretches, glances around, takes in the setting sun. “I'm gonna head back. I think I'm getting a sunburn.”

Ashton just nods numbly, watches his friends back retreat towards the house. He lets himself panic and keeps walking up the stretch of beach until the sun goes down. He can't believe this. The whole band fucking knew this entire time. Here he was, thinking he had been so good at hiding the feelings when they'd been parading themselves across his face like it was their goddamn job. He keeps thinking this is a disaster, that Luke has to know and that's just – God, that's the worst. That's just the absolute fucking worst.

Especially because now he can't ignore it. He'll know that everyone else knows and it'll be this gigantic elephant in the room and he has to tell him and it's goddamn terrifying. He trudges back to the house, shoulders weighed down with fear and anxiety.

He doesn't tell him.

When he finally gets back to the house (he walked a lot farther than he'd thought), Michael and Calum are no where to be seen. Luke's sitting on the couch, idly playing some FIFA and really, it's the perfect opportunity to basically spill the feelings all over the room. He settles down next to Luke, careful to keep a clear distance between their bodies. Luke murmurs a greeting, eyes focused on the game, and Ashton is so close, the sentences forming on the tip of his tongue but then Luke scores a goal and he's jumping up, thrusting a fist in the air, and the words die before they even leave his mouth, replaced by a rushed good night as he scurries off to his room.

He's not proud.

They're getting ready for some fancy dinner gala thing that Ashton vaguely remembers being told about but doesn't really remember what it's for and/or why they're going. All he knows is that suits were apparently mandatory and while he's a little uncomfortable, nothing compares to how morose Michael looks in his button down and dress pants.

“I hate this,” he whines for the fourth time in the last hour, tugging disdainfully at his tie.

“We know,” Calum replies dryly, lying on the bed and scrolling through his twitter feed. Out of all them currently present, he looks the most comfortable in the suit and tie getup. He'd barely even protested when management had showed up a couple days ago with the suits freshly pressed and sealed in their garment bags.

“Do not open these until the evening of,” the lady had warned. “If you ruin these suits, I will ruin you.” They'd all just nodded uncertainly, delicately taking the items from her and placing them in the hotel room closet. She'd looked wary leaving the suits in their care (and rightfully so if Ashton's being honest) but she did leave after giving them each a tired, piercing glare.

“Oi, Luke, hurry up, will you?” Michael calls, banging on the door to the bathroom where Luke has locked himself away for nearly an hour. “It's just us, there's nobody to impress at this thing, yeah?”

“Leave him alone,” Ashton mutters with an eye roll.

“The sooner we leave, the sooner I can take this thing off,” Michael insists with a jabbing finger in Ashton's direction.

“Calm down, I'm done.” His voice starts out muffled from the door but clears up once he steps out, adjusting his tie.

And holy shit. Like actual, literal holy shit because Luke looks amazing. His suit – like everyone else's; that lady may have been terrifying but she knows a good suit – fits impeccably, all crisp lines, highlighting those ridiculously broad shoulders of his. Everything is black, his suit, his tie, his shirt, and the dark background seems to make his eyes pop even more than usual. But it's not just the suit; it's the makeup. Ashton doesn't know what Luke's done differently tonight, but he looks breathtaking. There's some shimmering bronzey-gold-coloured stuff covering his lids and smudged into his lower lashline, making his blue eyes almost glow. His lashes look thick and dark and just ridiculous against his cheekbones which somehow look more defined than usual and Ashton is weak, so, so weak that he can't help the breathless, “Holy shit,” that slips out of his mouth.

“Are we ready to go?” Luke says, apparently oblivious to the mental breakdown Ashton is having at the sight of him.

“Uh,” Michael says, flicking his eyes back and forth between Ashton and Luke uncertainly.

“We are,” Calum declares as he stands from the bed, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But Ash needs to talk to you.” He sends Ashton a pointed look before grabbing Michael by the arm and hauling him out of the room, calling out that they'll meet them in the lobby as the door slams shut.

And then it's just Ashton, slightly hyperventilating and definitely freaking out, and Luke, looking confused and too fucking gorgeous for his own good.

“What's up?” Luke finally asks after several minutes have passed and Ashton's basically just been staring at the boy the entire time.

“You look amazing,” he blurts, not giving himself time to think before he speaks.

Pink dots Luke's cheeks and he looks away. “You like it?” he says quietly, bashfully.

“God, yes,” he replies and he knows how desperately enthusiastic it sounds but he doesn't really care.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Yes. Yes.” He nods his head erratically, probably looking absolutely insane.

Luke laughs and his whole face lights up and Ashton – he can't handle this; he can't hold it in anymore.

“You always look amazing, though.”

Luke stops, smiles. “Thanks.”

“No, really, you literally always look great. Like, I think about it – I think about you – a lot.”

And it's there, not quite the confession he thought he'd make, hanging in the space between them.

“You think about me?” Luke says shyly and it's certainly not the reaction Ashton was expecting.

“Uh, yeah. Yes. More than is probably sane.”

Luke laughs again, but this time softer, and takes a couple steps towards him. “Really.”

“Yeah,” he says a little breathlessly because he's – he's going to do it. “Because I like you.”

“I like you too.” He steps a little closer.

Ashton swallows, hard. “No, I mean, like, I like you in a not-platonic way. Like, I think about kissing you sometimes and holding you and doing other stupid coupley things like taking you on dates and, uh, things like that.” He's normally so smooth, thinking out his words so carefully before he says them. He's the spokesperson for the band, and he's got a mean media face but this admittance is clumsy, bumbling, and he's so embarrassed he's waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“I get it, if you don't feel the same way, though. Like, no pressure. But, um, it's been – I've been feeling like this for awhile now, and it was... it was weird keeping it from you,” he finishes, staring at the toes of his shiny new dress shoes, too clean, too fresh, and not at all him.

He feels rather than sees Luke standing in front of him, looming a bit because he's got a couple inches on Ashton, much as he's loath to admit it. He places a hand on his shoulder and the motion feels so friendly and not at all romantic that Ashton feels his heart sink, braces himself for the let down. But then the hand slides to the base of his neck, fingers threading through his carefully styled hair. He looks up, and Luke's got this big, dopey grin on his face that quickly drops to a shy one once they make eye contact.

“I'm going to kiss you now, if that's okay,” he says softly, and it's so Luke, to ask for permission to kiss him after Ashton basically love-vomited all over him. He makes a needy sound in the back his throat, and Luke leans down to press his lips gently to his and it's sweet and almost chaste but wonderful and simultaneously everything and nothing like Ashton imagined. They pull apart for a brief pause before Ashton's hauling him back in again, deepening the kiss but still going slow, just enjoying all of it, all of Luke.

But then he's pulling back abruptly, an ugly thought banging around in his head.

“What about the girl – Jane. What about her?” he asks a little frantically.

Luke's eyebrows knit together, his palm still warm on the back his neck. “What about her?”

“Aren't you and her a... thing?” He cringes, sounding so high school it's painful.

Luke shakes his head, confused. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“You went on all those dates back in LA...”

“Ash, no, I wasn't lying when I said they weren't dates. She was, um,” he pauses, casting his eyes to the side, embarrassed, “we were talking about makeup. She was teaching me stuff.”

It's like a mountain just fell of his shoulders, the amount of instantaneous relief he feels at Luke's explanation.

“Oh,” he says, then more enthusiastically, “Oh! Oh, thank God.”

And then he's pulling Luke close again, peppering him with kisses because he's just so damn happy. Luke's laughing in between the quick kisses, and Ashton wants to bottle his laugh and drink it like pure sunshine. He's never been so happy in his entire life, he thinks.

Eventually Luke pushes him back, although only marginally. “So you're okay with... all of this?” he asks tentatively, gesturing to his face.

“Yes. Yes, definitely. I'm more than okay with it. I love it. I –” And he almost says it, the L-word but the thinks that's probably too soon, knows it really, so he holds it back and just starts kissing him again, drinking in every moment like it's his last.

“Stop squirming.”

“You're jabbing a pencil at my eye, I'm allowed to squirm.”

“It's going to look like shit if you don't stop.”

“Lucas,” Ashton whines, tilting his head back to get away from the eyeliner. “No more.”

“You're the one who wanted to try this,” Luke reminds him indignantly.

“I didn't think it would take this long to make me pretty,” he pouts.

“You're always pretty,” Luke replies immediately, casually, as if it doesn't send Ashton's heart racing knowing that Luke, potentially the prettiest person he's ever met, thinks he's pretty.

“So are you,” he tells him and grabs the back of Luke's neck to pull him in, press a kiss to his lips.

He bats him away but there's a smile tugging at his mouth because despite his protests, Luke loves compliments and, luckily, Ashton loves giving them, especially to Luke.

“Come on, I'm almost done.” He gestures for Ashton to lean in again and he does, closing his eyes, letting Luke do his thing. He feels the drag of the pencil again and does his best to sit still. It presses against his lashline for a few moments before Luke is telling him to open his eyes. He licks his thumb and runs it along the outer corner of his eye before setting the eyeliner to the side.

“Done,” he announces. His voice sounds confident but his eyes look nervous. Ashton gives him a reassuring smile and starts to stand, rubbing his hands together.

“Alright, let's see the new and improved me.” He holds his hand out to Luke, who takes it, and Ashton hauls him up, lets him lead him to the bathroom. Luke flicks on the light and moves to the side but hesitantly.

“We can always take it off.”

“Don't be dumb, I'm sure I look great,” he tells Luke with a wink. He turns his head to look at his reflection and, well, he's not wrong. Luke didn't go all out, assuming he'd be uncomfortable with too much makeup, but Ashton grew up with a little sister who definitely wasn't afraid to be heavy-handed with the blush and lipstick so he wasn't scared. Ashton hadn't expected much, to be honest, but Luke had somehow made him look amazing. Don't get him wrong, he doesn't have confidence issues, knows he's a pretty good-looking guy. But with Luke's hand, he thinks he looks a bit more like art than a person. It's incredible.

“Do you like it?” Luke's voice comes from the corner, shy.

“I love it,” Ashton tells him, so certain. He takes a moment to examine his reflection more closely before letting out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “My eyes look crazy. Is it the eyeliner?”

“Yeah, it's the purple,” he says with a shrug. “It's supposed to really flatter hazel and brown eyes.”

“No shit, they look, like, unreal.” He laughs again and trails a hand along his jaw. “And my cheekbones! Man, they look like they could cut glass. How do you do that?”

This time Luke laughs and steps closer so that they're standing side by side, framed in the mirror. “It's called contouring. You put darker colour where there would be natural shadows on your face to make it look more sunken in.”

Ashton's letting himself be a bit of narcissist, staring at his reflection but nodding along to Luke's explanations, genuinely interested. He feels Luke wrap his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Ashton's shoulder and pressing them close together.

“I can teach you, if you'd like,” he says to their reflections.

“Yeah?” he says, twisting awkwardly to try to look at him. “That'd be awesome. I'll finally be hot enough for my boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” Luke huffs but he's smiling as he buries his face in the crook of Ashton's neck. Ashton smiles fondly at him even though he can't see it and presses a kiss on top of his head.

“I love you,” he says quietly. It just sort of unintentionally slips out, hanging there in the air. The words are muffled, absorbed into the mess of Luke's hair but they're certainly audible and Ashton just waits, half-hoping Luke doesn't hear it and half-hoping he does.

There's a moment of silence in which he's sure he's overstepped, always too eager, always moving too fast.

But then he hears it, barely louder than his own.

“I love you too.”