Definition [ot4]

Thirty Four

((I have a 2,000+ words of Ashton experimentally fucking himself that's never going to be posted lmaooo))

Michael kind of wants to know when he became the official band dad. Ashton must have been ousted at some point and he was substituted in, except they forgot to take him back out.

Calum groans miserably from the couch, which prompts Luke into pathetic whining, which makes Ashton mutter under his breath and chuck a pillow in their general direction, which, of fucking course, makes Calum groan again. It's an endless loop they're stuck in and Michael's three seconds away from lighting himself on fire.

He snatches the box of tissues off the counter and marches into the living area of their temporary hotel suite, pushing up the sleeves of his flannel as he goes.

Luke's all sprawled out on the couch under three duvets and as many stuffed animals as Calum could round up. He's got his head hanging over the side, looking paler than usual and glimmering with sweat. Michael barely gets two steps into the room before Luke starts gagging. He leans over event more, shifting with the blankets, and hurls into the bucket on the ground next to him.

Calum scrunches up her nose and scrunches up, trying to squeeze between the wall and the chair Ashton's slumped in. She squishes and huffs until she's completely hidden, except for underneath, then sighs in content.

Ashton seems very upset by Calum hiding behind his chair and immediately jerks forward and squirms until he can reach Calum. He swats at her and hisses, "Out!"

Calum huffs, which makes Luke whine, which makes Ashton grit his teeth and pinch Calum's back.

"Death is upon me," Michael mumbles dramatically. He hands the box of tissues to Luke so he can wipe his nose and face and whatever else he's having problems with, before turning to the other two.

Luke's got the flu, which wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't the biggest baby in the world. He doesn't get sick often, but when he does, it hits him hard and leaves him struggling to even stand for days. He doesn't know how to take care of himself either, never really had to. Michael wouldn't mind taking care of Luke, if Calum hadn't gotten the sniffles and severe dysphoria, and Ashton hadn't been agitated all day.

Calum's easy to deal with, she just needs tissues, a garbage, and some attention every so often. Except, Luke needed the blanket off her bed, which rousted her from her room in search of body heat. Ashton had hissed at her, which just made everything ten times worse.

Ashton's easy to deal with, too. He just needs cuddles and reassuring. But he doesn't want to touch anyone except Michael, and Michael's been too busy to sit with him.

All in all, it's rough. They're all struggling, and dependent on Michael, and Michael can barely pay attention to one of them at a time.

Luke makes a gasping sort of groaning noise to capture Michael's attention again, and holds up his soggy tissue expectantly.

"Luke, I love you, but no," Michael makes a disgusted face. He snatches the garbage from what had previously been Calum's chair and holds it out for Luke to drop the tissue into. After setting it back down, he peers into Luke's bucket and frowns. "Christ, aren't you thirsty?"

"Yeah," Luke whines pathetically, dropping his bottom lip in a pout and whimpering.

Michael almost feels sympathetic, but Ashton's still smacking Calum and he knows he has to deal with that eventually. "Do you want me to get you some water?"