~Ava~

“Thanks,” I breathed to the cab driver, tossing him a twenty-dollar bill as I slid out of the car in front of the Plaza.

Rather than walking straight into the entrance to the hotel—which was surrounded by fans—I turned right and began trekking to the side of the building, knowing that there was underground parking.

I waited until I was walking down the familiar slope that led to the parking lot and pulled a tiny recording device from my pocket. I clipped it to the cup of my bra, brushing some hair away from my shoulder as I looked back up, willing myself to be confident.

I wore a pair of dark blue shorts, paired with a light pink flannel, a white camisole underneath the fabric. A pair of white Vans was on my feet, and a simple silver chain with an ‘A’ charm was hanging from my throat. My hair was curled, falling in locks down my back, clipped back with a few bobby pins.

“You can do this Ava,” I muttered to myself as I approached the elevator, pressing the ‘Up’ button. Within a few seconds, the elevator dinged and the doors parted, and I stepped inside. I pressed a button and waited as the elevator brought me up.

Soon enough, I was strolling inside the lobby.

I walked over nonchalantly to the main desk and leaned over, hoping that I didn’t look like one of the crazed fans outside. I opted to go for a casual look today, not wanting the band to have any reason to believe that I was still working at Beeline, but now I saw it could’ve been a mistake.

The clerk behind the desk eyed me skeptically—she had stringy brown hair and bright gray eyes, reminding me of Jay’s eyes.

I stared back at her evenly, not even fazed. “Hi. My name’s Ava Summers, and I’m with Beeline Industries.” I fished out a card containing my personal information and my contact information from the magazine company.

The woman took it and scrutinized it before finding it legitimate and handing it back to me, “Good afternoon Miss Summers. How may I be of service?”

“I have a meeting with 5 Seconds of Summer,” I informed her, “And I understand that you need a specific key card to get up to the suites?”

“Of course,” the woman said hastily. She pulled out a key and bend down, unlocking one of the drawers below the desk and rifling through it. Soon, she was sitting back up in a straight position, holding out a small key card that read ‘La Plaza’ in fancy cryptic writing. I took it and turned it over, noticing a black scanning code on the back.

“Slide this into the slot on the elevator,” the clerk explained, “Once you get up there, you’ll have to show the key and your identification to a security guard.”

“Thank you,” I told her before turning on my heel and making my way back to the elevator.

Soon enough, I was standing in the small space again, the doors closed, a Frank Sinatra song wafting softly through the speakers. I slid my card into a slot above all the buttons with the floor levels, and a light above it flashed green. I pressed the button labelled ‘Suites’ and the elevator began moving up.

I took a deep breath, clutching the card tightly in my hand, my knuckles turning white. I couldn’t believe I was really doing this. I felt as though I was dreaming, and I forced myself to be disciplined. I would be friendly—but I wouldn’t actually be their friend. I would care about them—but I wouldn’t get attached. I would pretend to feel for them—but I would have no feelings whatsoever.

“Professional,” I breathed to myself, repeating the word over and over, “Stay professional.”

I had to do so without them knowing though, and that would be a tough thing to accomplish.

The doors to the elevator opened in slow motion when I reached the correct floor. I stepped out, only to face a tall, muscular man with crossed arms. He looked at me and I handed him my key card along with my ID.

And then he was nodding, giving me directions to turn to the right and walk down. Their suite would be the last door on my right. I thanked him; my own voice sounding muffled in my head, and followed his directions, my head craning up to look at the flamboyant decorations along the walls as I passed.

And then I was at the suite: 701.

“My God,” I whimpered quietly before bringing my hand up. Stay calm, Ava. You can do this— you can. Don’t let them get to you.

And then, I noticed that my hand was knocking—three firm raps on the door that echoed throughout the silent hall. I held my breath, unable to believe that I’d just done that—I’d actually allowed that to happen.

There was some muffled shuffling and a loud yell that was muted by the door. I clenched my hands at my sides, and finally, I was able to hear footsteps—so close that I almost wanted to turn around and bolt.

“Pizza’s here!” the person yelled, and my breath hitched—Michael?

Sure enough, when the door swung open, I came face-to-face with a tall boy with bright fiery hair. He wore a white muscle tank top, letting me see the tattoos that circled around his left forearm. He was in dark skinny jeans and his feet were bare, his black eyebrow piercing setting everything off. I stared at the boy that used to be basically my brother—the boy I’d known for almost fifteen fucking years.

When he saw me, he froze, his eyes widening. I bit my lip, having to look up at him now—he’d sprouted in height.

“Ava,” he breathed, his lips parting.

I smiled the smallest smile possible at him and my right hand came up to wave once, “Hi Mikey.”

“Oh my fucking God,” he muttered, and I couldn’t help but to let my smile grow a bit wider, staring down at the ground and shaking my head.

“Ava,” he said again, like he wanted to keep trying the word out on his tongue. I shot him a sad smile, “It’s me, Michelangelo.”

I used the nickname I’d given him when we were eight, back when he’d been utterly obsessed with the Ninja Turtles—but then again, so had I.

And then Michael was there, enveloping me in a hug. I gasped lightly—I was expecting him to close the door in my face, maybe spit out a few curses at me, but he was so forgiving, so loving—I’d always held a soft spot in his heart. I was rigid for a moment before I hugged him back, inhaling deeply and trying to memorize the cinnamon scent he always occupied. I noticed that it hadn’t disappeared, and I was slightly grateful.

This isn’t real—these aren’t real feelings. You’re just playing a part, remember that.

There was no way I could forget. The only reason I was standing here, hugging Michael, was because it was what he expected me to do. And if I wanted to avoid all kinds of suspicion, I had to act the same way, pretend that I hadn’t changed, that nothing was going on, there were supposedly no ulterior motives—no secrets.

“Oh my fuck, Ava,” Michael said, pulling back and gripping my shoulders, observing me at arm’s length, “Shit, your hair got so long. And whoa, are you wearing makeup? Did you shrink, or did I just get taller?”

I couldn’t help but to giggle. “Hi,” I whispered, and then I cleared my throat, “Yeah, it would appear that we’ve both changed our hair quite a bit.”

Michael chuckled sheepishly, his hand coming up to ruffle the red hair at the back of his neck, “I told you I wanted to dye it. What do you think?”

“It’s pretty punk-rock,” I admitted, and he and I both grinned at each other. I swallowed heavily, looking away, “I’m sorry, Michelangelo. For everything.”

My throat suddenly felt dry, and my voice became thick.

Michael just hugged me again, and we stood there in the hall, our arms wrapped around each other, “We’ll talk about that later, Ava. Right now, I need to ask about what the hell happened to your voice.”

I let out a small laugh, pulling back and blinking rapidly in order to stop any tears before they came.

Why am I crying? Right, because I’m acting. I’m only acting and that’s it. There are no feelings here—I’m simply faking it. I have to be faking it—there’s no other possible explanation.

“Yeah, I kind of lost the accent,” I confessed, shrugging my shoulders. Michael looked at me with wide eyes, “Yeah, no shit.”

I laughed yet again and looked up at him seriously, “Not all of my welcomes are going to be as nice as this, are they?” I asked him sadly, fearing what would happen when I perceived Calum and Ashton—when I perceived Luke. I was always closest with Michael, and we were like family—you never give up on your family.

But I hadn’t known the other boys as long—granted, we were all family, but Michael was different, obviously. Plus, Calum was Luke’s absolute best friend—so I didn’t think that he would handle once again meeting the girl who’d broken his best friend’s heart, even though we had been best friends once-upon-a-time.

“It’s okay,” Michael told me, but he himself looked uncertain. He grabbed my hand and tugged me inside, shutting the door behind me and leading me down the hall. I stood behind him as I stopped in a doorway.

“You lost Calum!” I could hear Ashton laughed, “Just face it!”

“You cheated,” Cal pouted, and I smiled—he was such a sore loser.

“Um, guys?” Michael called out, and there was silence. From where I stood, I could see him stiffen a little bit, “We’ve got a visitor.”

He then moved out of the way, and I stepped into their lounge. There were black leather couches and a flat-screen mounted onto the wall. The walls were a dark forest-green and there was a glass coffee table.

Ashton was lying on the couch, a bowl of chips on his stomach. Calum was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, gripping a PS4 controller in his hands. They had both been staring at Michael, but as soon as I stepped forward, their eyes drew to me and bugged out of their heads. I noticed that Luke was nowhere to be seen and couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of disappointment.

No, I’m not disappointed. I’m completely fine with that. I promise.

“Ava,” Ashton stated, sitting up, grabbing the bowl of chips and setting it down onto the glass coffee table in front of him, “Holy shit.”

“Hey Flash,” I said weakly, shooting him a pathetic excuse for a smile. Maybe if I used their nicknames, it would soften them up a bit?

He clenched his jaw, and I could tell what he was doing—he was trying to decide whether to be happy to see me and come engulf me in a hug, or whether to begin screaming at me. I desperately hoped that he would abide by the first option.

Calum didn’t say anything—he just watched me with hard eyes, and I internally sighed.

Besides Luke, he would definitely be the hardest one to regain trust from.

“Holy shit,” Ashton grabbed my attention again, standing and walking over to me. I stared up at him.

Gone was the lanky Ash with a straight fringe and acne. He had morphed into some sort of god, with strong biceps and dirty-blonde curls. There was a flannel wrapped around his waist, and I bit my lip, hoping that he wouldn’t smack me across the face.

“Can—can I have a hug?” Ashton asked me timidly as he approached.

I willed my face not to split into a huge grin—rather I just smiled a tiny smile at him and held out my hands, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

I stood on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck, and he buried his face into my shoulder. “Why’d you leave us?” he mumbled.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Michael informed him, and Ashton just nodded into my shoulder. He pulled back, never failing to press a soft kiss to my cheek, and I chuckled at him. I missed his carefree personality.

No I didn’t.

No I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. What the hell was I saying?

Ashton stepped to the side and I looked hopefully at Calum. But that was where my luck had run out. Calum’s jaw was clenched, his eyes steely, observing me with distaste.

I sighed, “I’m sorry Cal.”

“You can’t fix this with a sorry,” he shook his head, looking down at the ground. His blonde streaks looked good, and I itched to tell him that, but I felt as though this was definitely not the time to do so.

“What?” Calum demanded, “You leave and we don’t hear from you in two years, and then you just show up and expect everything to be alright? What world are you living in, Ava?”

I pursed my lips, clearly seeing him grow angrier with every word, and I feared that he would be the one to ruin this whole plan.

“I’m sorry,” I merely repeated.

Calum inhaled sharply and set down his controller, climbing to his feet and staring at me evenly, his hands clenched into fists, “You know what I think?” he demanded, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Ashton and Michael simply looking down at the ground, not wanting to interject.

“I don’t think you’re really sorry,” Calum sneered, but I willed myself to tough it out—in good time, he’d forgive me…I hoped.

“I think you just want to get close to us again,” Cal continued, “Because we’re suddenly famous. You’re a lying gold-digger, an attention whore!”

“Cal, that’s enough,” Michael said, stepping in front of me protectively. I grabbed onto his bicep, comforting him and letting him know that it was alright. Granted, I wasn’t a gold-digger or an attention whore, but I was lying. Calum was spot-on with that accusation—I just couldn’t let him know that he was right.

“No it isn’t, Michael!” Cal scoffed, “She deserves this—she left us all, she broke Luke’s fucking heart.”

“Calum,” Ashton said quietly, looking serious for once. He was staring at his friend with a warning expression, “Let’s go into our room, okay? Let’s just go.”

“Fine,” Calum said shakily before glaring at me judgementally one more time. Ashton walked over to him and turned him around, wrapping an arm around his shoulder before leading them both out of the room and turning a corner. I exhaled wobbly breath and Mikey turned back around to look at me.

“I’m sorry about him,” he apologised. I just shrugged, “I get it, trust me. I think I should go. Before—before I cause any other trouble.”

“Okay,” Michael said slowly, not wanting to make me sadder than I already was. I forced myself to believe that Cal’s words didn’t bother me. All that mattered was that Mikey and Ash were practically already on my side—that could only lead to positive things, right?

Mikey walked me back to the door, and before opening it, he said, “You can come back, you know. Will you come back?”

His eyes were so sad that a twinge of pity flashed through me, and before I could even register what I was saying, the words tumbled from my lips, “What days are you free?”

Michael let the smallest hint of a smile curve his lips. “Well, we’re in the studio tomorrow and the day after that. So what about Sunday?”

“Perfect,” I told him and I smiled up at him before hugging him again.

“I missed you, Ava,” he murmured into my neck, and I sighed, “I know. I missed you guys too—so much.”

I’m lying. I know I’m lying. What I’m saying is the furthest thing from the truth, I swear.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Mikey told me, pulling back and reaching for the doorknob. I smiled up at him and nodded, and he opened the door. I turned to the doorway, ready to walk out, only to stop dead in my tracks.

“Luke!” Michael practically choked out, “Um—hey.”

But Luke didn’t acknowledge his friend’s greeting, his eyes only trained on me.
For a nanosecond, I let my gaze sweep up and down his body. He wore an AC-DC t-shirt and black skinny jeans, along with combat boots. His hair was swept up into a blonde quiff, and his lip ring was in. As soon as he saw me, his teeth latched down onto the small metallic object, playing with it, his electric-blue eyes wide.

My hands were fiddling with the hem of my pink flannel, but I was determined not to act so surprised. I pursed my lips and tried for a smile, but I don’t think it turned out that well.

“Hi, Blondie,” I told him quietly, hoping to lessen the awkward tension.

I looked up at Michael and nodded my head as a goodbye before turning sideways and slipping out of the doorway, brushing by Luke’s shoulder as I did. I gasped inaudibly as lightly tingles ran down my spine where our bodies touched—even if it was through our clothes.

“So,” I stated, looking back at them, “I’ll see you Sunday.”

I smiled at Michael and my gaze flickered over to Luke. His lips parted in shock and he had turned to face me, almost unable to comprehend that I was standing right in front of him. I shot him a warm, tiny smile before turning on my heel and walking quickly away, trying to keep my body from breaking into a full-out sprint.

I’m not going to look back. I’m not going to look back. I’ll be seeing them Sunday—I’m not going to look back.

Notes

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~Happy New Year~