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“Aren’t you gonna get in trouble?” Michael asks as he climbs into the passenger seat of Ashton’s old beat up car, triple-checking that no one saw him sneak out of the school. The engine sputters in slightly worrying ways—Michael’s never been in this car but Ashton’s snuck Calum out before and neither of them died, so. It’s gonna have to do.
Ashton grins from behind the wheel as he goes to switch the music, “They were gonna fire me soon anyway, might as well give them a good reason!” Michael huffs, buckling his seatbelt and watching as Ashton hunches over and digs through the door’s inner compartment, the rattling sound of CDs muffling his voice when he asks, “Where d’you wanna go?”
Michael sighs, slumps down the car seat, “Anywhere, really. Just not here.”
Ashton hums, then lets out a triumphant sound and pulls out Green Day’s American Idiot, grinning at Michael. He asks distractedly as he pops it into the CD player, “Is your seatbelt on?” and then proceeds to enthusiastically air-guitar along the opening notes coming out of the speakers.
Michael blinks at him.
Ashton turns to him, still bopping along to the music, looks at him expectantly. His eyebrows quirk up as if to say, so?
“What—of course it is.”
Ashton just smiles and nods, eyes flicking down to where Michael’s seatbelt is obviously buckled in because why the fuck wouldn’t it be. Michael might be reckless sometimes but he’s not an idiot–well. Not to this level at least. He’s not desperate-to-fly-through-the-windshield dumb, just. Regular-dumb.
But he doesn’t really get to comment on it as Ashton steers them out and away from behind his highschool, humming, “Anywhere but here, hm. Are your parents gonna find out?”
“Oh, definitely, yeah,” Michael snorts. His parents are probably getting an email or a phone call in the following hour and his phone is going to be buzzing with message after message and he’ll ignore them all and get lectured when he gets home, maybe get one of his consoles confiscated and ‘hidden’ in that one drawer his father doesn’t lock on purpose, and it’ll all start over again next week. It’s just routine at this point.
“Well, if we’re getting caught anyways. Let’s make the most of it,” Ashton laughs.
And it’s not that bad, all in all, skipping with Ashton. It’s fun and chaotic and he’s sure his parents are gonna get a call from Mr Darby from the video store on top of the one from the school, but he can’t really find it in himself to care as he feels lighter and more free than he ever has, running and wheezing alongside Ashton and his joyous laughter.
⊱ ───── ⋅. ★ .⋅ ───── ⊰
The second time Ashton asks him, Michael frowns and brusquely says, “Do you think I’m stupid or something?”
Tact has never really been his forte, he tends to barge into conversations with the grace of a pumped-up hippo and always ends up putting his foot in his mouth—but Ashton’s never all too phased by it, only mildly annoyed in a way that doesn’t feel like he takes offense, just that he wishes Michael’s manners were better for his own sake. Kind of like his mom.
Michael knows he’s lucky his friends are both patient and just as annoying as him.
Ashton cocks a questioning eyebrow at Michael’s frown from where he’s clutching the wheel, “Why would I think you’re stupid?”
“Why are you asking if my seatbelt is on. Of course it’s fucking on. I’m not a dumbass.”
Ashton scoffs, rolls his eyes. “As the driver I’m responsible for anyone in the car with me, aka you, so your safety is important to me ‘cause if something happens to you, I’m the one going to jail. Never said you were a dumbass,” he pauses, grins, “you dumbass.”
Michael punches him in the arm and Ashton cackles and bats at him, yelling at him to refrain from any violence against the chauffeur, and then they’re off and Michael settles into his seat. He still thinks it’s weird—his parents drive him all the time and they’ve never asked about his seatbelt, at least not since he was like, a dumb baby or like maybe five years old or something. But Ashton is weird like that, so Michael lets it slide.
⊱ ───── ⋅. ★ .⋅ ───── ⊰
He brings it up to Calum and Luke and gets confirmation that Ashton’s used the line on them when he drove them around. So he really just is like that, kind of an overbearing weirdo—or, in Calum’s words as the ultimate suck-up, a kind and caring friend, you dickhead.
It becomes a thing anytime Ashton drives them around, he says it so automatically, like it’s ingrained in his brain and he barely registers that he’s doing it at all. When they’re all in the car together they make a game out of it at first, Luke, Calum and him calling out sir, yes sir! in unison and making Ashton scoff—or giggle, depending on the day.
After a while, though, it becomes automatic for them too, a new part of a routine that Luke and Calum describe as sweet and wholesome and that Michael tries not to think about too much. There’s a lot of things he tries not to think about too much when it comes to Ashton—and the things are piling up, actually, and he tries not to think about that either.
But he doesn’t fully understand where this seatbelt-checking habit even came from in the first place until one particular afternoon.
He’s in the car with Ashton, as has become customary, Ashton swooping in from his early shift at the video store—somehow, somehow Mr Darby took a liking to him—and Michael stumbling out and rushing to the passenger seat. They’re driving around idly, brainstorming for something to do, when Ashton informs him that he has to go pick up his siblings from school early today.
Michael’s never stuck around long enough to be in the car at the same time as Harry and Lauren, but he knows Ashton is usually tasked with taking them to school and back, so he shrugs and lets Ashton steer them towards the elementary school. He waits in the car as Ashton goes to fetch them, and the little seven and ten year olds barge into the car with a chorus of greetings and calls of his name.
“Hi Michael!” Harry practically yells while Lauren loudly complains that Harry’s too loud.
Michael gives them high-fives and hides back into his seat.
He doesn’t have siblings of his own, and although he’s met all of his friends’ siblings before, he’s always a little hesitant around Ashton’s, feels a little awkward around them.
He’s always wanted a little brother.
Lauren is recounting a detailed play-by-play of her day when Ashton kindly interrupts, giggling slightly, “Alright alright, you’ll tell me more about what Katie did later okay? Is everyone’s seatbelts on?”
Michael smiles at the familiar line and Harry pipes up, proudly declaring “Yes!” while Lauren groans and complains that she’s not a baby anymore all the while trying to stealthily buckle her seatbelt.
“I’m gonna be eleven, Ash, I’m not seven anymore,” she says pointedly, nose upturned snootily, and Michael snorts as he exchanges a glance with Ashton.
Harry protests, “What’s wrong with being seven!”
“What’s not wrong with being seven?”
“What’s not wrong with you!”
“Hey, don’t talk to your sister like that you little gremlin,” Ashton scolds, turning in his seat to frown at Harry.
“I’m not a gremlin!”
“Yeah you are, you little monster,” Ashton grins, face scrunched up as he leans over and reaches his hand towards the backseat to mercilessly tickle Harry. “You little gremlin!! You ate food after midnight didn’t you?! I know you did!”
Harry squeals in delight, mouth wide open in his laughter showing off the gap where his baby tooth fell. Ashton keeps making ridiculous monster noises while Lauren rolls her eyes like she’s too good for elementary school shenanigans as a soon-to-be middle schooler, and Michael looks on and tries not to focus too much on the way his heart clenches at how cute the scene is.
At how cute Ashton is, his treacherous brain supplies, and he tenses his entire body in an effort to keep the thought at bay.
“Alright, seatbelt on, good,” Ashton confirms once he lets up and Harry’s gasping for air and batting Ashton’s hand away, pleading for mercy. “You too, good,” Ashton then says knowingly in Lauren’s direction, who pretends to be fascinated by the window crank. He sits back up and throws a look at Michael, the corners of his lips quirking up teasingly, “Is your seatbelt on, Mike?”
Michael rolls his eyes and makes a show of triple-checking, then salutes, “Affirmative, boss,” which makes Ashton grin as they drive off.
His heart is a little soft at the whole ordeal, Ashton’s caring nature shining through every word and action right before Michael’s eyes, and Michael clutches the strap tightly against his chest, bites down a goofy smile.
He tentatively asks Harry if he likes the Gremlins, which sets him off on a tirade as he pulls out his Gizmo plushy from his cute ass little backpack while Lauren tries not to show just how much she also loves the movies, until she finally cracks and the tirade becomes a heated argument between the two children about which movie truly is the best.
Michael tries to pretend that Ashton’s fond smile then coy proposal to stay over for snacks—and to help him babysit the ‘parasites’—don’t affect him as much as they do, because he doesn’t know how to live down the way his cheeks flush and the way his heart starts playing bongos with his ribcage.
⊱ ───── ⋅. ★ .⋅ ───── ⊰
“Look at you, with your fancy car!” Ashton laughs as Michael pops the trunk open to fit Ashton’s suitcase.
“Haha, real funny,” Michael deadpans. His car’s an old bulky thing that’s bound to be banned from the streets soon enough, inherited from his mom as his first car once he finally passed his driver's license while Ashton was finishing his very last college semester in London. Michael wanted to surprise him by picking him up at the airport all by his little self.
And surprised he was, as he was expecting not only Michael but Calum and Luke as well. Once Michael was done peppering his entire face and neck with kisses and both of them were satisfied with how much they’d crushed each other’s ribs in their tight embrace, Ashton had asked if their friends were waiting in the car, and the glee with which he’d exclaimed, “You finally did it!” and jumped back into Michael’s arms made the grueling, miserable, never-ending weeks of driving school totally worth it.
Michael opens the door for Ashton like the proper gentleman he is, holding his hand under the pretense of helping him into the passenger seat and, not being able to resist, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to the back of Ashton’s fingers. He’s missed him so fucking much.
He slides into the drivers’ seat and buckles in, tells Ashton he can pick the music from the CDs in the glove compartment because of course this old thing doesn’t have a fancy Bluetooth player. Before he comes out of park, he asks absently, “Is your seatbelt on?”
“Yep,” Ashton says, and Michael looks up and checks him over to confirm, nodding to himself. Then his eyes meet Ashton’s and they both freeze.
Ashton blinks at him, mouth slightly parted in a silent oh. Michael blinks back.
He clears his throat, face warming up as he turns away. “Well, um. Good.”
He sees Ashton bite down on a grin from the corner of his eyes as he starts to pull out of his parking spot, cheeks probably red at this point.
Ashton ends up fishing out American Idiot from the glove compartment and Michael doesn’t comment on how utterly not romantic the choice is, opting for sneaking a few way too fond glances at Ashton’s enthusiastic air-guitar instead.
He can’t wait to get home and kiss that man silly.