((Pls look at my baby on the cover. Also my other baby in the media.))

Michael glances in the mirror again and straightens his back. Something makes a loud cracking noise and a sharp twinge of pain flowers out from his spine, forcing a groan from the (now) blonde man. Slumping over again, he rubs his back and mutters, "Fuck, you're old," at his 25 year old reflection.

After straightening up again and making sure his spine isn't completely broken, Michael shakes himself out and stretches a bit, loosening up and making sure he's ready for the day. He smooths his hair down again, shoots himself finger guns, and struts his dress pant-covered ass into the kitchen.

Luke's at the table, looking disheveled and exhausted, with heavy bags under his eyes and a paler than usual saturation to his skin. He's only got on Spongebob boxers and a dark blue dress sock, while his hair is sticking up in every direction wildly. He looks rumpled, to say the least. As soon as Michael steps into the kitchen, Luke fixes him with a blank stare, mouth hanging open with a dumb look permanently planted on his face.

"Hey-" Michael starts, only to cut himself off when Luke abruptly holds up a finger. Slowly but surely, he turns his dumb look down to the table and firmly grasps the white mug (which says "World's Best Mom" across the front in red print) in his hands. He takes a large sip of his coffee, glances at Michael again, tsks in distaste, and downs the rest of the liquid.

Michael waits patiently. Luke sets the mug down again and stares at him with the same stupid look for a couple seconds, then shakes his head in blinks at Michael in surprise.

"Why do you look like an adult?" He asks bluntly.

"I'm 25," Michael reminds him. "I am an adult." Luke snorts in amusement and slides out of his chair to trip his way over to the coffee pot. "See, everyone's saying I'm not mature! I can be plenty mature if I want to!"

Luke fumbles around blindly for the coffee pot. "Sure, Mike." After he gets his coffee poured, he turns around and eyes Michael's dress shirt, pants, and shoes suspiciously. "Socks?" Michael pulls up the ankles of his pants and shows Luke his matching socks. The blonde looks impressed now.

Michael sighs heavily. "Ashton told me I wasn't mature and everyone seemed to agree-"

"Oh," Luke says abruptly. He waves his hand at Michael and sips at his coffee, hip pressed to the counter top. "Okay, everything makes sense now. This is about a boy. You should have just said so."

"This isn't about a boy," Michael replies, probably too defensively, judging by how Luke raises his eyebrows."This is about me and my success as an adult!"

"Right, and I'm the fucking Pope," Luke mutters. Michael scoffs, like he's never heard anything so absurd, but Luke just shuffles past him, still sleepy and sipping his coffee. It's useless to argue with him, so Michael lets him wander down the hallway and sets about making breakfast. For himself, maybe Calum if the brown man doesn't laugh at him, absolutely not Luke.

Halfway through making the eggs, Calum hops in, dressed in his typical short shorts and white shirt, whistle hanging around his neck. "Morning!" He says happily. Michael curses his early morning chirpiness. Calum has probably been up for twenty minutes and he's peppy, Michael probably won't be that happy all day. Not even during lunch, and that's his favorite time of the day, mainly because he gets to harass Calum and Luke in the same place, at the same time.

"Morning," Michael replies in a calmer tone. Calum's thighs and ass do look great in his miniscule shorts, Michael will give him that.

Calum glances over at him after he's got his coffee poured into a mug printed with tiny cats in sweaters. "Nice outfit. Who died?"

"No fucking eggs for you," Michael mutters, even though he's already got two eggs in the pan.

Calum hums, because they both know he's stupidly charming enough to get breakfast from Michael, anyway. He'll get his egg, no matter what Michael says. He clicks his fingers after a few seconds and says, "Is this about Ashton?"

"No!" Michael scoffs, even though Luke's voice yells "Yes!" down the hall. Calum smiles cheerily and Michael scowls at him. "Stop it. Whatever you're thinking, knock it off. I don't even like him."

"'Course not," Calum nods as he pushes two pieces of bread into the toaster. "No, you love him." Michael scowls again and threatens him with the spatula until their eggs burn.

☆☆☆☆

Michael's first hour class looks confused when he walks in, then glances at the door again like their actual teacher will be coming in next. Ryland snort out a laugh from the back of class, Michael ignores them.

"Shut up, I'm an adult today," he tells them all.

"But, sir!" The little shit that reminds him of Luke, James, waves his hand around wildly. Michael pretends not to see him, but the kid is relentless in his hand raising, so Michael eventually calls on him. "Sir, it's not Halloween, it's only September 28th!" The class giggles and Michael scowls at him.

He takes attendance, puts on the music, and forces them all to start working on their shit. While they're busy, Michael pulls out his phone and opens up his group chat with Calum and Luke, then quickly types out, "Luke, do you have a scrawny little blonde kid in your class named James????"

Luke texts back, "ye he's great why" Calum sends the laughing with tears emoji five times, which makes Luke get all defensive, so Michael turns off his phone and shoves it into his desk drawer. He spends the rest of class period watching videos on painting techniques to show his painting one students. The bell rings and his foundations students shuffle out of class.

Second period is free period for Michael, so he leans back in his chair and pulls out a package of coffee from his desk drawer, along with a bowl and spoon. He has cereal and a coffee machine in his office, which he makes great use of every morning. Before he can even move, the door creaks open again, so Michael fumbles everything back into his drawer frantically. Maybe coffee machines and mini refrigerators are against school policy, whatever.

Luckily, it's not the principal coming into the classroom. Unluckily, it's Ashton, with his dumb little bun and cute butt in dress pants. Michael glances up at him and forces an impartial look onto his face, instead of his natural scowl.

"Ashton, nice to see you," he says calmly.

Ashton had been fidgeting with his fingers earlier, but glances up, clearly startled, when he hears Michael. "Mi-" he cuts off abruptly, eyes flickering over Michael's blonde hair and dress shirt that he can see above the desk. Michael stands up to move in front of his desk, leaning against it, and Ashton finishes his choked off attempt at his name with a confused and high pitched, "-chael?"

Michael crosses his arms. Ashton looks startled, still, eyes wide and glasses falling down his nose slightly. He steps closer to Michael cautiously, until they're about a yard away from each other, and Ashton furrows his eyebrows. His mouth falls into a small pout and Michael hates him, honestly. "I'm- oh, god, you're wearing a dress shirt- I'm confused, are you going to a funeral?"

The scowl really threatens Michael's mouth, but he wipes it off and keeps his impartial look. "No, I'm at work. What's wrong with my shirt?"

Ashton swallows thickly, then drops his mouth open, looking down at Michael's chest with his big, cute eyes again. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong with it. Absolutely nothing. I like it. Um, just the shirt. You look," he pauses, but Michael waits because he knows it'll kill Ashton inside to compliment him. He slowly finishes with, "Um. Nice."

"Thanks," Michael replies. He decides he likes seeing Ashton this flustered, it's great to watch his calm and mature exterior crumble. "Anything I can help you with?" Ashton looks back up to his eyes and frowns in confusion. "You are in my room."

"Oh!" Ashton nods quickly. "Yeah, I- I was just going to apologize. For yesterday, I mean, I was probably extremely rude and- and I didn't want you to think there was anything wrong with you because of my... not very well thought out words."

"No, you were right," Michael tells him. God, he loves mind games, and Ashton is so easy. "I wasn't acting very mature, and it's sad you haven't gotten to see this side of me." Ashton stares at him.

"Oh," his eyes flick down to Michael's shoes. "Sorry for- misjudging you?" Michael nods and shifts to catch Ashton's attention again, but, this time, Ashton's eyes zero in on his lips.

Michael raises his eyebrows and smirks. No amount of maturity is ever going to fix Michael's bluntness, so he asks, "Did you want to kiss me, Ashton?"

"I think so," Ashton admits. "Though I don't know why." Michael grins anyway, reaching for Ashton's shoulder. He reels him in and presses their mouths together as soon as he possibly can.

After a few minutes, Michael drags him into his office, locks the door, places Ashton in his chair, and hurriedly falls to his knees.

"For the fucking record," he mutters around Ashton's cock. "You're too fucking mature. Too uptight. Get over yourself." He makes Ashton come and kisses him gently, to persuade him in his blessed out state.

"Okay, alright," Ashton mumbles, slightly slurred, eyelashes fluttering. "One date, that's it. Just one." Michael grins and kisses him again.