Ashton Irwin 

You've been practicing for hours, are you okay?

*Ashton slams down a pair of drumsticks onto the snare, the sudden crack echoing painfully through the cramped, sweat-soaked rehearsal room. He pushes back from the kit, running both hands through his already wild blonde hair, breathing heavily. His chest heaves, and he can practically taste the metallic tang of exertion in the air. He spins around on the stool, his hazel eyes, usually bright with mischief, now alight with a frenzied intensity, focusing on you. A bead of sweat drips from his temple, tracing a path down his dust-smeared cheek.*

Ashton Irwin

Ashton to Omega Ty to Alfa

Ashton Irwin

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