It's Michael who finds the note. He walks in with a bag of takeout, ready to check on Ashton and maybe feed him, but there's no one in the room. The bathroom door is closed, so he raps on it twice with his knuckles, yelling, "hey, I got Chinese!" He doesn't wait for a response, just keeps walking to set it on the bed and hums, looking down at a sideways folded piece of paper.

By the third paragraph, he's worried. By the last, he's terrified. He drops the paper, tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom door. Luckily, it isn't locked and he bursts right in, scanning the room quickly. There's a clear bottle on the floor, spilling it's clear contents onto the floor, and an arm hanging out of the tub, soaking wet and dripping into the puddle below. There's water all over the floor anyway, crawling across it and reaching towards the door and toilet.

Ashton's in the tub, completely wet and pale, just slipping under the surface of the water so only his nose and the tips of his forehead, eyelashes, and lips are sticking out. One of his hands dangles limply out of the tub and the other floats at the top of the surface. He's still wearing his shirt and jeans from earlier, dark under the water, and his eyes are closed softly. There's pure white pills spotting the still water around his body.

Michael falls to his knees at the edge of the tub, water splashing up, can feel his throat going raw with screaming and his nose and cheeks flash hot with pain, but he doesn't care. He can't hear his voice anyway. He reaches into the water and grabs Ashton around the ribs and armpits, forcing at least his top half out of the water. Ashton's hair drips against his forehead, head falling limply to his chest. More water falls from his lips and Michael can feel himself yelling again. He drags Ashton from the tub all the way, kicking the bottle wildly, and lays him on the floor.

"Ashton?" He can finally hear his voice, but its distant and soft, and echoes wildly around his skull. "Ashton! Fuck, fuck!" He starts yelling for help, but no one comes. He presses his head against Ashton's chest, looking for any signs of life, tears running hot down his face. His eyes are burning and his throat kills, but he can't seem to do anything to help it, just grabs Ashton's face and with one hand, thumbing over his blue lips and pale skin quickly, then hits the center of his chest as hard as he can. Nothing happens and he yells some more.

Finally, Michael pulls out his phone, hands shaking and screen dotting with water where he touches it. He goes to call- fuck, fuck, FUCK, he doesn't know who. He doesn't know what city they're in, isn't even completely sure what country, and can't remember the emergency number for the life of him. The dial pad on the phone stares back at him menacingly and his eyes burn even more.

The hotel room door slams open and Calum's suddenly there, falling instantly and grabbing at Ashton's face and neck. He yells something too, demands Michael call an ambulance, do something, then yells some more when he can't remember the emergency number either. Calum doesn't know what to do and Michael just calls Luke and just cries dreadfully into the phone for a few seconds before Luke is suddenly in the room, dropping down between them. He pushes on Ashton's chest and yells more, breathing shuttering and shaking and eyes turning bright pink. Luke shakes every time he tries to inhale and coughs every time he tries to exhale, until Calum just pushes him away to slam his hands firmly into the center of Ashton's chest.

Nothing happens.

°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°

Michael's sitting in a chair, feeling too large for it, too large for the hallway, too large for the hospital. His legs stretch awkwardly in front of him, but he can't bear moving. Luke and Calum are on either side of him, holding envelopes with their names on them tightly and not daring to open them. Luke still can't breathe properly and Michael doesn't know what to do, because Ashton usually handles that. Calum keeps starting at the door across the hall, willing it to open, even though they all know it won't.

The EMTs called it at the hotel, but they brought him in just in case something happened. The nurse said it was so they could say goodbye, but Luke had fallen into a chair and Michael and Calum had followed, and none of them plan on moving. Luke's holding the original note in his hand the one that's folded awkwardly twice and now stained wet. Michael's still drying himself, pants and shirt completely soaked with water. Calum and Luke are a little better off, but they're still wet and miserable.

Louis, bless his soul, had offered to call Ashton's mother, and now stands next to the door staring at the three of them. Niall's on the other side, hand grabbing harshly at Harry's elbow and he's saying something so that they don't hear it. Michael doesn't mind, really, he can barely hear anything except rushing water and screams, anyway. Liam and Zayn are somewhere, Michael figures they're getting food for him, Luke, and Calum, but he really doubts any of them will eat. He feels sick to his stomach and light headed, all at once.

Michael's arms ache and he doesn't want to think about why. His throat is scratchy and raw, like he's swallowed glass and wood and anything rough enough to make him feel this awful. His eyes are still burning and his eyelashes stick together every time he blinks, which, albeit, isn't very often. He doesn't care about any of that though, because he doesn't know where Ashton is, and all he really wants to do is scream and cry some more and hope everyone is wrong. He expects a doctor to come out any minute and keeps looking around like one will magically appear.

Luke is on his right side. His breathing is uneven and his heart probably is, too, and he's making it worse by getting angry. He keeps taking a breath or two, and forgetting how to let it out, and ends up taking more short, breathy inhales. When he finally does exhale, it's all at once and louder than sighing. His jaw keeps clenching tightly, the skin over it pulsing, and his hands keep squeezing into tight fists, then flattening out against the fabric over his knees. He does it so many times, Michael's lost count and stopped watching it.

Calum just sits there like a puddle. He's done crying, apparently, but he looks like he might as well be. His eyes are so sad, they look millions of layers deep, and each layer wants to cry. His eyebrows are pulled down and he's frowning so hard, his face might break in half. He keeps staring at the door, wincing every time someone walks past or steps in front of it. His legs are stretched out and his arms are limp, and his head falls to the side once in a while, like he's fallen asleep with his eyes open. Michael doesn't know what to do with that, either.

Liam eventually comes out of the room and they all straighten up, dropping their stances and looking at him. He looks angry and confused and like he wants to cry all at the same time, his arms crossed over his chest so tight, they're turning white. He frowns at Louis, then at Niall, and very clearly doesn't look at the three in the chairs.

Luke clenches his fists again and sits back so hard the chair moves a little. Calum stretches his legs out further and his head wavers a little, like he can't even hold it himself. Michael looks at them and wants to cry and scream at them to do something, anything, normal, anything like they would usually do. But he knows they won't, so he doesn't even bother.

Its two am and raining when Calum says there's water in his chest and passes out when he can't breathe. Its four am and he's cooking when Luke says there's fire in his veins and passes out trying to scratch it free. Its six pm and he's getting another blanket when Michael says he's frozen and passes out from hypothermia.

It's midnight when they realize what's happening to them.

((Fuck I wrote this like two years ago it's so old but I decided to post it because why not ya feel

-Mel))