Seventeen

17

((Hi kiddos!!! Trigger warning for mentions of sex, suicide, and depression, so be careful!! Also, this is the last chapter, but I'll post the Epilogue soon!!

-Mel))

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The nurse has a smile on her pale pink lips when she walks in, but Ashton doesn't return it. Instead, he shifts around in the hospital bed uncomfortably, eyeing her while she closes the door.

"Good afternoon, Ashton, how are you today?" She locks eyes with him for a second before pulling the chair back to sit at the computer.

Ashton trails his fingers from the top of his stomach to the bottom, fingers tracing over the curve and brushing along his stuck out belly button. It's disgusting and Michael had laughed at it, but Ashton's sad to see it go. "Shitty," he deadpans.

"Understandably so," the nurse says quietly. She taps away at her computer, verifying his name and date of birth, before looking him in the eye again. "No Michael today?"

Ashton shakes his head, stomach muscles contracting. "He's- our friend, Luke, had an art gallery showing today. He's there for support, since I couldn't-" he cuts off when a sharp pain sparks through his stomach, visibly flinching.

The nurse stands and bustles around him, flicking on heart rate and blood pressure monitors, followed by the ultrasound machine. "An artist, huh?" She smiles again. "That must be fun."

Ashton shrugs. "Michael is, too. Kind of." She makes an impressed noise and reaches for his hand. When he lifts it, she snaps a heart rate monitoring clip onto his first finger, then makes sure it's in time by checking his pulse with his wrist.

After checking his blood pressure, she types all the numbers into the computer and leans back in the chair to look at him. "Be honest. Are you ready for this?"

"I guess," Ashton says softly. He looks down to avoid her eyes, because looking at a nurse makes everything weigh heavier in his chest. "I don't have a choice. She's dead." His fingers freeze where they're unconsciously tracing a line across his belly when he realizes he's doing it. He drops his hand onto the bed.

"This isn't your fault, Ashton," the nurse assures him, just like she, and all the other nurses and doctors, had said last time.

He nods quickly. "I know. It's Michael's."

"It's not his, either," she shakes her head. Ashton glances up at that because he was perfectly fine with shoving the blame off on someone else- especially if that person had enough personalities to divide the blame equally so it hurt less. "It's no one's fault- it never is. It just wasn't your time to have a child, and that's fine," she stands up then and smiles at him. "Next time, God will bless you. I'll send the doctor right in."

Ashton tenses until she leaves, then melts limply into the bed as soon as the door closes behind her. His hands are shaking, so he grips onto the pink hospital sheets underneath him tightly.

Ashton doesn't think he believes it wasn't his time. God won't bless them. Ashton doesn't think he believes in God. He knows Michael doesn't, has heard him muttering "God," too many times while coming, knows he has a torn up bible hidden in the back of one of the drawers in Seventeen's studio.

Ashton's fingers twist in the sheets when he remembers the rosary Luke sometimes wears and how Calum had mumbled something about thanking God for Luke. He's seen Luke praying at some point, he thinks. Then again, neither of them follow the rules of the Bible most of the time- Ashton's seen ungodly things between the two of them, heard how Luke wants a baby with Michael, smelled the thick and undisguisable sex in the air of their apartment. He wonders, if Luke were here, if he'd hold Ashton's hand and pray for him.

Next time, the nurse had said. Ashton doesn't know if there will be a next time, or if he wants there to be. He's a married man now, of course, and his mother had been overjoyed when she'd found out about the baby, but he doesn't know if he wants one. He'd love to have one, but he's not sure he wants one. Michael's theory is to just roll with whatever happens, to take it as it comes. If they have a baby, they have a baby. If they don't, they don't. Michael's happy either way.

Ashton's fingers slide down his thigh before he remembers he's wearing a hospital gown. He sits up, another sharp pain spiking down his spine as it has been his entire seventh month of pregnancy (apparently, it's not easy carrying a dead child around), and fumbles through the discarded pile of clothes on the floor. He manages to come up with his phone and shakily lays back down again. His fingers fumble across the screen, but he manages to dial Michael quick enough.

Michael answers breathlessly with, "Hey, Ash!"

"Hey," Ashton replies, pressing the phone to his ear. He pulls the blankets up to his chest and rolls onto his side, curling into himself by tucking his knees close to his stomach.

"What's up, beautiful, are you alright?" Michael asks. There's some noise in the background, so Ashton assumes he's already at the gallery.

Tears start burning at his eyes and down the back of his throat. He swallows thickly and whispers, "I- I'm scared, I'm-" he cuts off abruptly and let's out a small sniffle, eyes squeezed shut to avoid crying.

"Ash?" Michael says. It gets quieter, before a door slams shut and the other end of the line is completely silent. "Do you want me to come down there?"

"No," Ashton says quickly, but it probably sound unconvincing when he let's out a small sob immediately after. "No, you have to stay there for Luke."

"He's not even here," Michael breathes out, letting out an unimpressed, bitter, humorless laugh. "He skipped out on his own gallery showing. His mom's been asking for him, but-" Ashton sniffles again, and Michael sighs. "Ashton, do you want me there?"

"I don't know!" Ashton cries, pressing his face into the pillow again to sob for asking second. Michael stays quiet, but the background noise gets louder, again. Ashton pulls his face from the pillow and miserably cries, "I'm almost thirty and I- I don't even- I can't have a baby, I can't have a healthy relationship, everyone fucking hates me, I can't do anything right, Michael!"

"I love you more than anything," Michael replies. Ashton sobs again and presses his face into the pillow. "I'm coming down so I can hold your hand, alright? Just hang on a little longer for me, beautiful boy. I'm going to stay on the phone with you until I get there."

Ashton nods, even though Michael can't see him, and fights back tears the best he can. Michael talks to him, saying how much he loves him, and Ashton asks a doctor to leave when she comes in, but Michael manages to get to the hospital in fifteen minutes. He rushes into the room like a flurry of snowflakes, cold and pale and urgent, and kisses Ashton softly.

"I'm here, now," he whispers while cupping Ashton's jaw to kiss all over his cheeks. "I'm here, I've got you. It's going to be alright, Ash, I promise."

Ashton yanks him halfway down and wraps his arms around Michael's neck. He holds Michael against him until his sobbing stops, while Michael reassures him gently and rubs his back. When the doctor comes back in, Michael sits in the chair, pressed as close to the bed as possible, and smiles at her weakly.

"Ashton," she nods at him. "Are you ready?"

Ashton looks over at Michael, who grips his hand before pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He turns back to the doctor and nods.


☆☆


Across town, Luke swipes his thumb across his phone for the third time that night, denying Calum again. The incoming call screen disappears and shows the two voice-mail notifications and several texts from various people. He ignores them again and drops his phone to the couch next to him.

There'd been a box outside Luke's studio door when he'd gotten back from the paint Store with Michael. It was huge, Michael had raised his eyebrows curiously, but Luke waved him off and dragged it into his studio. Now, after Luke's ripped it open, he stares at the contents in confusion.

Michael couldn't have placed it outside his door, Luke was with him all day. Ashton's been too busy, Luke hasn't heard from him in a few days, and Calum wouldn't dare send him these items. Not when he has all the medications and cleaning supplies locked up in his apartment. Not when he refuses to let Luke have anything dangerous in his studio, even going as far as to make sure his oil paints were made with linseed oil, not lead.

Luke doesn't know who sent him this. This bottle of Malibu vodka, this container of advil, and this big painting.

The painting is almost as tall as Luke and just about as wide. It's completely dried, so Luke has no idea when Seventeen had painted it, but there's no doubt in his mind that she did. It's her style, the choppy, dark background, the violent colors in the foreground, and more realistic than Luke has ever seen from a surrealist painter.

The painting is of Calum, obviously, stark naked with his head tilted back to look up, exposing just enough of his soft neck and jaw. He looks happy, Luke thinks, staring up. His skin is painted with splashes and strokes of bright colors, bright enough to make the sky, with a few clouds placed on him to mirror the colors in slightly lighter hues. Even his face is colored, but his eyes are normal, beautiful dark brown, with specks of gold flicking through them.

Luke stands in front of the life sized painting with a frown on his face. Seventeen should have sent this, but she had no time to. Luke was with Michael all day, keeping a close watch on him to ensure he didn't flicker at all. He had to be himself, not only for Luke's gallery, but for Ashton. He was himself, Luke is positive he was, all day.

He has no idea who sent him this.

Luke glances down at the bottle of pills in his hand and shakes it, causing all of them to rattle noisily inside. It doesn't take long for him to open the bottle and peel off the seal over the top to peer inside curiously. He hasn't had any medication since Calum found out he was depressed, they're all hidden and locked away. Luke shrugs and pops two into his mouth, then swallows them down with Malibu. A few can't hurt.

His eyes flick over the painting in front of him and catch sight of the thin scar Calum has on his upper thigh. He wonders how Seventeen knew it was there while swallowing down two more pills.

Behind the painting, Luke finds while fumbling with the canvas in an attempt to bring it closer, there's a note taped. He rips it off and reads the words with a frown. The sky can't save you. Luke swallows two more pills- dry, this time, because it burns a little more.

When the color of Calum's skin matches the colors sparking to life outside his windows, Luke swallows a handful of pills. He chokes on them and coughs vodka until it stings his nose, but he manages to force them all down and keep them down with more vodka.

When his phone rings again, Luke's vision is starting to blur. He swallows down two more pills and swipes right with shaky hands.

"Luke?" Calum breathes instantly. "Luke, where are you?"

"In my-" Luke cuts off with a hiccup that has him gagging. "M-my studi- studio."

"Are you drunk?" Calum hisses. Luke shakes his head, popping two more pills in his mouth and swallowing them with a drink. When Calum doesn't get a response, he sighs heavily. "Luke, fuck, everyone's here. Your parents even showed up."

Luke swallows thickly as he sways on the couch. He can't distinguish between the painting and the sky outside, anymore. The colors are violent and Luke's head hurts, but they won't stop. Not even when he closes his eyes. "Cal, I think I'm killing myself," he says abruptly.

"What?" Calum demands. Luke can hear him panting, now.

"I found some pills and I was just going to take a few because I could, but now-" he cuts off and pushes two fingers into the sharp rim of the bottle and prods around until he can pull two out. He thinks his eyes are squeezed shut, but he can't tell. Not when there's colors flashing and twisting in front of him.

"Luke, fuck," Calum chokes out. Luke gags on his next drink, then tilts his head back against the edge of the couch. He pushes the phone forcefully against his ear when he starts to feel weightless in his bones, like helium is shooting through them and lifting them. "Please, Luke, please hang on for me, okay?" Calum begs. "I'll be there in five minutes, tops. Michael is calling 911, please hold on for me, okay?"

"Don't wanna," Luke mutters petulantly. This weightlessness is so different from the bone dragging, deep, painful weights he's been carrying around for the past couple months. It almost makes him smile. He wants to follow the feeling, not be forced back down to earth by Calum.

Calum's panting in his ear, and Luke's suddenly reminded of before, of weeks ago, when Calum had held him close and kissed his mouth, then moved to drag his lips down Luke's jaw. Luke's reminded of how his voice had dropped to a whisper when he'd asked, "Are you ready, pretty boy?" before pushing into him with ease. Luke's reminded of how he'd arched up and gasped out, clawed at Calum's back desperately.

Luke drops the bottle, but he only notices when it crashes to the ground. He tries to pick it up, but the Malibu drops through his fingers, too. Luke hears it shatter at his feet sharply.

"Luke!" Calum cries.

Luke grunts in acknowledgement, chasing the colors, the feeling of being light and airy, the sound of Calum gasping against him. His brain goes into overdrive and, before he knows what's happening, he's vomiting. He let's it seep through his shirt as he slumps on the couch and clutches the phone desperately to his ear.

The colors start dulling down suddenly, then his bones start dropping back to Earth like they're five times as heavy. Calum sounds more pained when Luke thinks of his gasping, and his vomit bleeds down his shirt. Luke cringes and lets out a broken sob, fingers shaking as they go numb.

"Calum?" He cries. He can't see, but he thinks his eyes are open because they're burning with tears. "Calum, I'm scared."

"I'm almost home, I promise," Calum says, sounding very far away. He sounds like he's in a glass box. Maybe Luke's in a glass box. Luke hears something that might be sirens in the distance, but they also might be screams. He doesn't know. Luke throws up again, but he can't tell where this time. He doesn't know if it was on himself or if he moved, his entire body feels numb. It's a miracle he's still holding the phone. At least he thinks he is.

Luke can't hear anything over the rushing, dull noise echoing through his head, but he feels when Calum's familiar hands grab his jaw hard enough to force his head forward. He feels Calum manhandling him to lean over the edge of the couch, then feels fingers being shoved down his throat. Luke gags as his stomach convulses and he throws up again.

The final sense to go is his touch. Luke blacks out.



☆☆


It's half past three in the morning when Michael and Ashton get to the hospital. Ashton's pale and thin, stumbling slightly despite how Michael's guiding him into the waiting room.

"I'm sorry," Michael gently leads Ashton into the chair next to Calum, before sitting next to him. "He had to rest, we came as soon as we could."

Calum waves his hand halfheartedly and glances at Ashton with an impartial expression. "It's fine. The doctor hasn't been out, anyway."

The emergency room is oddly busy for a Wednesday morning. It's bustling with people filing in and out. Calum hasn't seen a nurse in a while. Ashton slumps over and leans into Calum's bicep, gently nosing along his arm until Calum wraps an arm around his shoulder, so Ashton can lean against his chest, instead. Michael fetches both of them some chips from the vending machine after a while, but Calum gags at the sight of his and the memory of Luke throwing up all over himself, and passes them off to Ashton easily.

It's not until five that a frazzled nurse comes out and calls for Luke's family.

Michael stands when Calum feels himself freeze up and Ashton snores softly against his chest. Calum watches Michael talk to the nurse, watches her explain something to him with a clipboard and a vague hand gesture, watches Michael run a hand down his face and smile at her weakly. It all seems like a blur. Calum snaps out of it when Michael crouches down in front of him and gently touches his knees.

Calum stares at him when he looks away and whispers, "They couldn't do anything, he was- he didn't make it, Cal. I'm sorry."

Calum stares at him while he peels Ashton off and gently shakes him awake to tell him the news. Ashton knows how to react, unlike Calum. He frowns and slumps forwards into Michael, crying softly while Michael rubs his back. Calum stares at them.


☆☆☆


There's a couch missing from Seventeen's studio when Calum walks in. When he asks about it, Michael shrugs and pops the top off a bottle of dark looking beer. The only couch left is the one that faces the window, so the three of them squeeze into it and sip at the bitter, cheap tasting beer.

"I haven't had alcohol since-" Ashton cuts off, stares at the bottle for a second, then takes another drink. "I don't know. Eight months, probably."

Michael nods in agreement and automatically holds his hand out for Ashton to grab, which he does. Calum glances over at the smaller man's next to him curiously, letting his eyes flick over his small frame and the visible ribs showing under his tight, black shirt. Ashton inhales sharply when he feels prying eyes and swallows, Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

Calum feels like he should apologize, but he won't. There's no point.

"Y'know," Calum says softly as he looks back out the giant windows in front of them. "I still don't know who sent the package."

Michael continues nodding. "I wish I knew." He agrees. "I- I dug through my head, and I don't think it was Seventeen. She loved him." Calum glances back to Michael, over Ashton's head, with a frown, so he elaborates. "I love- I loved him, Seventeen usually agrees with me. Luke was my friend."

"Was," Calum echoes.

"Is," Ashton rephrases. "Luke is our friend."

"Luke is-" Calum cuts off and turns back to the windows, lowering his voice to mutter. "Luke is dead." He follows it up by downing the rest of his beer and reaching for another on the table in front of them.

Before he even has a chance to pop it open, Ashton's arm stretches as he points out the window towards the sky. The clouds are hanging low in the city today, colored gray to match Calum's emotions, and brushing gently across the tops of tall buildings. Ashton points to the only visible stream of sunlight falling through a break in the clouds, before dropping his hand back down to Calum's knee. "He's just gone."

Calum doesn't respond. Instead, he cracks his beer and takes a swig. His eyes linger on Ashton's wedding band a second too long when he glances down, so he grabs the blonde's hand and laces their fingers together. Ashton smiles but doesn't look away from the windows.

Calum's not sure how long they sit there in complete silence, finishing off the beer and gripping Ashton's hands. Eventually, Ashton sits up and presses a chaste kiss to Michael's cheek before dropping their hands. He whispers something, lips dragging across Michael's cheek, until the blue haired man nods and flicks his eyes to the other end of the couch.

Ashton smiles reassuringly at Calum and swings into his lap easily, legs braced on either side of him. Gently, he guides their mouths together and kisses him, soft enough that warmth rises in Calum's chest. It feels like warm rain in summer, how Ashton kisses him, comfortable and insistent, with Ashton's familiar hands in his hair and against his jaw.

Calum kisses him back, but reaches his hand out desperately until Michael's fingers lace with his in reassurance.

Ashton pulls back and kisses across Calum's face and jaw and down his neck softly. "You just need someone, Cal," he breathes out. "Just need someone to love you and to ground you. Don't worry, we've got you."

Calum gasps out loud when Ashton sucks on his throat. His eyelashes flutter and his head tilts back until he feels Ashton pressing even closer to him, grunting softly. When he opens his eyes, he finds Michael gently pushing on his lower back to bring the other two closer together. Calum almost pushes both of them off, almost tells them he has a boyfriend. He has a dead boyfriend. The thought makes his grab Ashton's waist with his free hand, the one that's not gripping Michael's, and kiss him again.

His thoughts drift to Luke and how different Ashton is compared to him, how much louder and more incessant he is and how gentle Luke was. He thinks about Luke when Ashton's lowering down onto his cock, Luke when Michael's gently kissing him, Luke when he's fucking up into Ashton.

He's always thinking about Luke. He thinks about the baby they didn't have, the one the doctors told him about with a tentative I'm sorry, the one that was barely three months in the making and pushing out against Luke's tummy when he lay in the morgue. He thinks about the baby and fucks up into Ashton because he can't have children. He thinks about Luke and how he'd let someone else fuck him so he could finally have the one thing Calum couldn't buy him.

He thinks about Luke when he's laying on the floor of Seventeen's studio with his hands fisted in Michael's hair as he bites at Calum's thighs, and he thinks about Luke as the sun sets and the sky bursts into watered down colors that Calum feels resonate in his bones.