Work Text:
It happens so gradually that Luke doesn’t notice. He’s been the scrawny kid his entire life, never once measured up to his brothers; he’s well accustomed to being skinny. To being the weakest in the room. It’s his birthright, basically.
When he starts going to the gym it’s not with the intention of beefing up. Honestly it’s out of fear that he doesn’t have the stamina to be a live performer. If the band tanks because Luke is out of shape, he’ll never forgive himself for it. It’s extremely intimidating to be surrounded by hordes of people with sharp lines of muscle doing pull-ups like they’re nothing while Luke is still struggling through five-kilo bicep curls, but Luke suffers through it, reminding himself it’s not for him, it’s for the band, it’s a noble cause, and surely no one is looking at him anyway. There’s nothing to look at here. Luke’s nothing to look at.
So the change is gradual. Also, Luke is unobservant. Or maybe he’s just grown so used to seeing himself one way that he entirely fails to see himself differently.
Whatever the case, there’s no denying that his shirt fits wrong.
It’s on his body, but it’s too tight. Luke hates tight shirts. He intentionally buys all his shirts loose. Maybe it’s someone else’s shirt? Not that there’s anyone smaller than him that it could belong to. It’s definitely his shirt, but the collar is stretched across his neck, sleeves taut on his shoulders.
Luke stares at himself in the mirror and tugs at the hem.
This solves nothing. Frustrated, Luke pulls the shirt off altogether and throws it on the floor. He likes that shirt, and now it doesn’t fit him. Probably shrunk in the wash. That’ll certainly teach Luke to start doing his own laundry.
As he’s going to get a new top from the dresser, Ashton stirs.
“Mm, morning,” he mumbles from somewhere beneath the nest of blankets and pillows in bed.
Luke casts a look at him. “Morning.”
“Nice view this morning,” Ashton says, peeking out from beneath the comforter to give Luke an appraising look.
Luke huffs a laugh. “Charming.”
“Yep, you know it.”
Satisfied with his new choice of shirt, Luke yanks it over his head. Once again, the fabric pulls tight over his torso. “What the fuck,” Luke says irritably. “Who shrunk all my fucking shirts?”
Ashton’s head pops up from the bed nest. “What now?”
“This is the second shirt I’ve tried that's suddenly too small for me,” Luke says. “If all my shirts got ruined in the wash I’m going to be pissed.”
Ashton laughs. Laughs. “Your shirt’s the same size,” he says genially. “It’s you that’s gotten bigger, babe.”
“I haven’t gotten bigger, I’m the same as always,” Luke grumbles. “I’m telling you, someone did something to my clothes.”
“Luke.” Ashton sits up. The laugh has gone, but his voice is curious now. “I’m not joking. You’re got more muscle, you’re bigger now. You haven’t noticed?”
Luke blinks. His frustration melts into pure astonishment, which must show on his face. “Okay,” Ashton says, “clearly not. Well, let me be the first to tell you: congrats, Luke, you’re fit now. All your working out has paid off.”
“I am not,” Luke says automatically, moving to the mirror as the words leave his mouth. He pulls the second shirt off and drops it on the floor with the first one. It’s him in the mirror, tall, pale, lanky. Zero muscle mass. The same body as always. Isn’t it?
“Flex,” Ashton says, and Luke immediately glares at him. Ashton laughs. “I’m not being cheeky, I’m trying to show you what I mean! Flex.”
“I am not going to flex.”
“ Lu-uke,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes. He kicks back the covers and traipses over to Luke, who feels suddenly self-conscious. It’s not a feeling he gets often, but in his defence, Ashton’s shirtless, and Ashton is fit. You can see his biceps from space. All the drumming has done that for him. His arms are fucking sculpted. That’s not even mentioning the washboard abs. He’s ridiculous.
And he’s now standing beside Luke, bending Luke’s arm up at the elbow. “What are you embarrassed about? This is how people who work out know if their work’s paying off. You never check?”
Luke shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not trying to get ripped, I’m just trying to not be the weakest person in the room.”
“And it’s working,” Ashton says emphatically. “Luke Hemmings flex your biceps right now or I’m going to start tickling you.”
“That’s not fair!” Luke complains. He looks at them both in the mirror and sighs. Bringing his gaze to the floor, he does what Ashton says.
“Damn, son,” Ashton says, prodding Luke’s bicep. “See?” He pokes Luke’s shoulder and whistles. “See? This is why your shirts don’t fit, baby, you got too muscly for them.”
This does not compute. Luke lets his arms fall to his sides, but Ashton doesn’t let go. “Really?” he say sceptically. “I can’t have gotten that muscly, I’ve only been going to the gym a few months.”
“Regularly,” Ashton points out. “And you don’t exercise a lot of muscle groups, do you? Mostly just arms, chest, and shoulders.”
“I don’t know,” Luke says with a scowl. “I just do the normal exercises.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Ashton says. “It’s a good thing! You’re getting stronger!”
“Yeah, but…” Luke frowns. He rolls his shoulders, which feel tight all of a sudden. “I’m not strong.”
Ashton flattens his palm between Luke’s shoulder blades and presses into his skin. “As the one with more muscle knowledge and the more objective viewpoint here, I disagree.”
His hand is warm on Luke’s cold back. The imprint of his palm lingers after his hand leaves. Luke looks up at the pair of them in their reflection, trying to see whatever it is Ashton is seeing. It doesn’t work. It’s just him staring back, the same Luke that always lost wrestling matches with his brothers because he’d get slammed after mere seconds. The Luke who couldn’t climb the rope in P.E. even after everyone else managed it. The Luke who's never been able to do more than two press-ups. There’s nothing strong about him, not when it comes to muscle.
“Why the confused face?” Ashton asks. “Why so quiet?”
“I don’t know,” says Luke. “This is a lot to contend with at nine in the morning.”
“If it helps, you’re only now discovering what I’ve been seeing for weeks,” Ashton says. “You know that every time your muscles are sore it’s because they’re tearing so they can heal stronger than before? Think of how many times you’ve been sore the last few months. All that pain was just making you stronger.”
“Oh, God, now it’s a life lesson too,” Luke moans. Ashton laughs, this bright happy sound, and wraps Luke in a hug from behind. His lips brush against the slope of Luke’s shoulder.
“It doesn’t have to be a life lesson,” he offers. “It can just be you being like ‘wow, look at me. I’m so built. Well done me.’”
“I’m not built.”
“Your attitude is the problem! Look at yourself in the mirror right now and accept that you are fit and you are strong,” Ashton squeezes him tight, “and you are sexy. ”
“No way,” Luke says, but a smile starts to twist his lips upward. “My shirts don’t fit me anymore!”
“They still fit you,” Ashton says. “They’re just tighter.”
“Well, I don’t like tight shirts.”
“Fine, so borrow one of mine,” Ashton says. “But for the record, just because they’re tight doesn’t mean they’re unwearable. I think you’d look good in them anyway.”
“They’re not comfortable, Ashton, it’s not some insecurity thing.”
“Fine, fine.” Ashton hums. “You can borrow something of mine if you want.”
“Yes, please.”
“Hey, Luke.” Ashton rocks them side to side, forcing Luke to step with the movement or else fall. Their eyes meet in the mirror glass. “I love you.”
Luke blushes and smiles. “I love you too.”
“I love you as fit as you are,” Ashton adds, pressing his cheek against Luke’s, “but I loved you just as much when you were the scrawniest kid in the room, and I’ll still love you if you become a proper gym rat and beef up like The Rock.”
Luke laughs. “Not gonna happen, but thank you. And the same goes for you, of course."
"Thank you," Ashton says graciously. He reaches around for Luke's hand and uses it to twirl him, a one-eighty that puts them face to face, chest to chest. This close, Luke can see every colour in Ashton's kaleidoscope eyes.
"Love you," Luke murmurs.
The smile reaches Ashton's closing eyes. Both his hands cup Luke's face and he kisses him with his whole body, gentle but firm enough that the message is clear: stay.
Just that. Just stay. He doesn't have to hold tightly to Luke. It's strength to be delicate, to leave enough room for Luke to choose. Ashton is the strongest person Luke knows, and not because of his biceps.
And maybe Luke is still the weakest in the room, because he could live a thousand lifetimes and always choose to stay. Always choose Ashton, whatever the cost.
But if that's weakness, then Luke's not prepared to give it up. He's happy to be weak for Ashton forever. No amount of bicep curls will change that.