A/N: this picture of luke... who gave him the right

Michael sat in an empty corridor of the police station, his wrists bound by too-tight handcuffs. He sat perched on a bench that felt like he was sitting on rocks. There was dried blood caking his left arm, and he couldn't open his right eye. Every time he tasted his lips, he tasted blood.

They had left him alone in the hallway. Well, partially alone. They had put a young-looking police officer to guard him while the one who arrested him made some phone calls, since Michael had refused to call anyone. The officer looked uncomfortable being in the same presence of Michael. He couldn't quite make eye contact. Whenever the officer did look over, Michael set his jaw and gave him a nasty look that caused the officer to quickly avert his eyes.

Michael hadn't ever been to the state jail before. When he got arrested, they just stuck him in the local cells and he was bailed out before going any further. Michael thought this one looked grimier, a little rougher. Not that he regretted anything. Getting Ashton's dad's face bashed in was hands-down the best feeling he'd had in a while.

Michael lifted his handcuffs so he could touch his lips. He hadn't expected Ashton's dad to be such a good fighter, though. He had plenty of practice using Ashton as his punching bad for the past five or so years.

The officer that arrested him came back into the hallway. He jerked Michael up and began leading him further down the hallway. "Your parents called."

Michael grimaced. "I hope you hung up on them."

"They paid your bail. You'll be spending some time here while they fly in to get you," the officer said. Michael rolled his eyes back into his head. Great. He and his parents never had gotten along well.

"That's a good thing, you know," the officer said. "Would you rather spend your time here, instead?"

"Gladly," Michael said. "You don't know my parents."

The officer chose not to respond to this. He led Michael into another set of doors, which opened up to a bunch of cells and a gated outside area. He took off Michael's handcuffs and opened the door to outside. "Go mingle."

Michael rubbed his wrists, shooting a look at the officer, but stepped outside anyway. The officer slammed the door shut behind him and Michael heard the lock click. Michael surveyed his new terrain. Men in prison uniforms scattered across the area. There was a large concrete area with ramshackle basketball goals, where a couple men were playing a game. The others were busying themselves around, playing cards at tables, anything to keep their mind off the sun beating down on them. Michael stuck out like a sore thumb in his clothes.

This turned out not to be a problem, however, because as Michael walked deeper into the area, men took one look at him and warily looked the other way. Michael figured it was because of the blood all over him. They knew that he knew how to take a punch.

Michael propped himself against an empty picnic table and rested his elbows on his knees, picking at the dried blood on his arm. He flicked off pieces, letting them fall to the ground, before realizing picking it off was causing fresh blood to swell underneath. Michael halfheartedly dabbed at the wounds with the hem of his shirt.

"Michael?"

Michael lifted his head. Across the courtyard, Michael saw Ashton, of all people. Ashton removed himself from a group of other men, who watched him head straight toward Michael.

Michael's heart panged when he saw him, and it took a moment to figure out why. Ashton looked... different. He was always kind of scrawny, and he usually looked like how Michael does in the aspect of bruises. But now he looked even worse than usual. His cheeks seem sunken. His eyes had lost the color and brightness that they used to have. His mouth formed a straight line, even upon seeing Michael, like he had forgotten how to make his mouth form the shape of a smile.

Ashton stopped in front of Michael, blinking. "What are you doing here?" He leaned forward, brushing his fingers across Michael's cheek, just under his black eye. "And what happened to you?"

Michael averted the subject. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

Michael stayed silent for a moment, just looking at his friend. "You're not meant to be in jail, Ashton."

Ashton shuffled his feet. "I mean... who is?" Then he seemed to notice how everyone stood away from Michael with at least a six foot difference. "Okay, well, maybe some people belong more than others."

Michael looked around. "Is anyone giving you trouble here?"

Ashton became very interested in the ground. "Not really." Michael chewed his bottom lip, then winced. He forgot about his split lip. "What happened, Mike?"

Michael sighed. Ashton turned so he could sit beside Michael, bracing his arms on either side of him. Michael didn't look at him when he said, "I fought with your dad."

Ashton shot up. "What?"

"Don't get all moody with me, Ash. You know he deserved it. He deserves to be in this place, not you."

"I told you I didn't want you to fight with him. All I've ever done is try to keep my dad and you guys separate."

"Well, I can't sit around and let your dad beat the shit out of you everyday," Michael snapped. "I'm sorry that I'm the only one who won't let you show up to school wearing a fucking hoodie, because your dad gave you a shiner that morning. If ignoring that is respecting you, then I don't give a shit. I did what was right."

Ashton pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. "Look, I know what my dad did wasn't right. I know that, I'm not stupid. But that was something for me to deal with, not any of you. That was my life, not yours."

"You can't expect your friends, who very deeply care for you, to sit around and not do something when we see you getting hurt," Michael said. His voice softened. "You have no idea how much it pained me to see you hurting all the time. And knowing that I could do something about it."

"But," Ashton stopped, his eyes welling up with frustrated tears. He blinked them away hurriedly. "That wasn't your place to do that. I'm handling it fine."

"No you fucking don't, Ashton," Michael said, rather harshly. "All you do is let yourself be his punching bag and then you defend him when we bring something up. I know he's your dad, but Christ, Ashton! He's a shitty person. And all you do is defend him for beating you."

Ashton didn't make eye contact with Michael. He stood silent for a moment, and then he looked up. "I just need a minute. Just––" He held up a hand, halfheartedly, before letting it fall back to his side. He turned and walked to an isolated corner of the courtyard, leaving Michael alone on the bench.

Michael let out a deep breath. He watched Ashton walk alone, shoulders slumped, head down. Michael still didn't regret what he did, and he didn't regret telling Ashton so, either. He will never understand why he defended his father as though his dad was some great guy. He will also never understand why his friends don't seem to have the same yearning to set Ashton's father straight.

Michael and Ashton stay apart for a little while. Michael picks at his wounds that are beginning to scab and Ashton sinks into one of his moods on the other side of the courtyard, clad in that orange jumpsuit. This is how they stay until one of the guards opens the door and calls out, "Michael Clifford!"

Michael looks up. Everyone looks at Michael.

"You're out. Come on," the guard said. Michael lifted a finger.

"One minute, okay?" He headed over to where Ashton stood. His eyes were wide, and for the first time Michael considered how lonely he must be behind these walls.

Ashton didn't say anything as Michael stood in front of him. "I'm not sorry, okay? I'm not going to apologize. But your dad is an asshole and he deserved it. Whether you appreciated it or not, I did it for you."

Ashton looked at his feet, and nodded somberly. "I know," he said in a whisper.

Michael stood there for a moment before crushing Ashton to him, wrapping his arms around Ashton's thin shoulders and holding on tight. Ashton melted into Michael's embrace.

"Hang in there, okay?" Michael said, hurriedly. "We're going to get you out."

Ashton let out a breath. "I know I don't belong in here, but I don't think I really belong out there anymore, either, Mike."

Michael pulled Ashton away so he could look at him. "Yes, you do. You belong out there with us."

"Clifford. Now," the guard snapped.

Michael whipped his head around. "One fucking minute, okay?"

He turned back to Ashton. "Do me a favor while you're in here. Ask around about Calum. See if you can find anything out inside these walls, and we'll do our best to find out what we can outside of them. Understand?"

Ashton nodded. He held on to Michael's hand as long as he could before Michael had to go back inside.

They didn't handcuff him this time. The guard was silent, but obviously pissed off due to Michael keeping him waiting. Michael didn't care.

In the lobby, his parents were waiting. His father–– tall, broad shoulders, dark hair in a typical dad haircut. He wore a button-up and trousers, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His mother stood beside him, her lips pursed, brown hair falling in waves to her shoulders.

"Michael," his mother said, rushing over and immediately glancing over his wounds. "What did you do?"

"It's that temper, I'm telling you, honey," his father commented. "His grandfather had one."

Michael's mother smoothed down his hair. Michael fought the urge to slap her hand away. "Well, we'll fix that. Michael, honey, you're coming with us back to Stockholm. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here right now."

Michael's jaw loosened. "What?"

"Well, what with Calum dying a couple months ago, and your best friend being arrested," his mother said. "It's just not good for your... temperament. You need to come stay with us for a while."

Michael stepped away, laughing under his breath. "No, no, no. You guys don't get to swoop in the moment you decide you want to be parents. Okay, you've left me on my own my entire life. You gave up your parental authority then."

"Michael, don't be dramatic," his mother said. "You're coming with us. Say goodbye to your friend."

Michael was so thrown by seeing his parents that he didn't notice Luke and Calum standing behind them near the doors. Luke was messing with his lip ring. Calum looked very worried about the blood on Michael's face.

Luke stepped forward. "Hey."

"Hey," Michael said. Luke wrapped his arms around Michael's shoulders. Calum joined, hugging the other side so that Michael was squished in the middle.

"I already tried to talk your parents out of it," Luke said. "They said they'll empty your bank account."

Michael bit back a remark about how he would sooner sleep in a ditch than stay with his parents. But he also knew this was out of his control. He relinquished that the moment he punched Ashton's father.

"We're continuing the investigation, okay?" Luke said. "We're going to figure it out. Hopefully we will have solved it by the time you come back."

"When will that be?" Michael asked.

Luke said, "I don't know. A week or so, I think is what they said."

Michael nodded, mostly to himself. "Okay."

His parents stepped in, and his father put a hand on Michael's shoulder. They were leaving. "We'll see you soon, Luke. Sorry again about everything that has happened recently."

Luke slid his hand into Calum's. "It's alright. It's not all over yet." He made eye contact with Michael as they headed out the door. "I promise."

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A/N: i just wanna know why wattpad insists on telling me to read my own stories on my explore page

like i've already read them i wrote them

anyway CALM RELEASED what is your favorite songs so far????

I'm planning on writing a new dystopian story, so I'll start that after I finish Ghost and Half-Blood.

hope everyone is well! please remember to vote and comment!!  Love you all so much

bye