#pluto.exe

Luke’s never really been a talker. Back in the early days of the band, he’d barely say a word unless he was singing, but now he’s talking more, being more open and vulnerable. He’s still not a massive talker. That’s why he has Michael, who yaps away about anything and everything. However, there’s one part of Luke that only his closest friends and family know; he’s selectively mute, but it only occurs when his emotions are at an all time high. When he’s majorly overwhelmed or stressed, it’s impossible to get a word out of him. Usually it would only last a few hours or a day before he’s back to himself.

Well, until the accident happened.

They were in Lisbon, for the last UK/EU show of the Everyone’s a Star! Tour. Everything was going fine until Michael tripped and fell, smashing his head into the pink limousine drum riser. He kept going through the rest of the show but Luke could tell he was a little dazed and shocked. As soon as they got backstage, Michael collapsed, Calum only barely catching him before he hit his head again. The last words Luke spoke were to a paramedic when the ambulance arrived a short while later, frantically asking if he’ll be okay. After that, Calum and Ashton tried to talk to him, but all they got was a shake or nod of the head.

The hospital stay wasn’t long, only a couple days of taking care of the stitches (three in his forehead from the initial fall, which no one seemed to pay attention to until backstage) and monitoring his concussion. As a condition of his release, the doctors advised him to move in with a roommate, someone that could help if Michael suddenly collapsed or had any lingering problems from the concussion. So, he had texted Luke, who immediately agreed. They’ve been living together for three days now, and Luke hasn’t spoken a word. Not just to Mikey, but to everyone.

It was hard at first, rightfully, but after spending 15 years in each other’s lives, Michael grew accustomed to Luke’s moves pretty quickly, and words were no longer needed around the concussed man’s flat. Michael knew that Luke always needed to be symmetrical, always needed to turn the lights off in twos, always had to get into the bed the “right” way. It was tricky, trying to grow accustomed to Luke’s little quirks, but Michael’s there for him the whole time. Besides, after the Lisbon show on May 2nd, they already knew that they weren’t playing until the 29th, so the break is good for Mikey to rest and recover to be his best self for the USA leg of the tour. Luke enjoys being around him, especially when he gets to play nurse.

The flat is quiet, all the lights either dimmed or completely turned off. The two men are sitting in the living room, a bowl of microwave popcorn resting on Luke’s lap, through Michael’s the one eating most of it. A movie is playing on the tv, the red haired man only speaking to make a joke or criticism of the movie. “Stanley Kubrick makes sure you can’t see shit in these movies,” he jokes. Luke doesn’t say a peep, lips only moving to wrap around a piece of popcorn he brings to his lips. Michael glances at him, sighing softly at the lack of reaction. 

“Hey, you need to speak sometime, Lu,” he whispers, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the spot right under Luke’s ear. Sure, they’re only friends, but friends kiss each other in spots that typically make them moan…right? Right. When he pulls away, he sighs again, the younger man still radio silent. Michael nods, slowly untangling their legs before he stands. As soon as he takes a step, there’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back. He looks over his shoulder, seeing the petrified look on Luke’s face. His chest is heaving, baby blue eyes wide with panic. Michael sighs, shifting his own hand to intertwine with Luke’s, “I’m going to the bathroom, Lu.”

At the whimper that escapes Luke’s lips, Michael moves quickly. He kneels down in front of the panicked man, squeezing his hand (twice, it always has to be twice), “I’ll be okay, I’m just going to the bathroom,” he repeats. Luke still doesn’t let go. The older man is getting frustrated now, “Luke. Let me take a fucking piss.” Finally, he lets go.

Michael stands, kissing both sides of Luke’s temple before escaping off to the bathroom in peace. He does his business, washes his hands, and walks back to the living room, slotting back into his regular place beside Luke. Always on the younger man’s left, he sits, because Luke likes the right side more. The movie finishes soon after, and Michael turns to Luke, hand resting casually on his knee, “Luke, you’re scaring me,” he deadpans, frowning softly as he squeezes the leg of the younger man’s pants,”You need to speak. To say something, it’s unhealthy to be so silent.”

Silence follows, which frustrated Michael, but he tries to keep it at bay, not wanting to scare the other man. “Selective mutism, right? Can you write down what I can do to make you more comfortable in this space?” He watches a pink hue dust Luke’s cheek, not used to being asked questions like that. He takes his phone out, typing something on his notes app before turning the screen around to show the guitarist.

“Can we lay down together? I want to feel your heart beating. It really scared me the other day :(”

“Sure, Lu. C’mon.” With that, Michael hauls the younger male up, dragging him to the bedroom. Michael lets Luke get into bed first, taking him two times before he gets in “right,” to which the elder climbs in after him. The red head lays flat, with the younger male laying on top of him, ear pressed firmly against the clothed chest. He’s listening to the steady thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump of the older’s heartbeat. They’re silent, letting the younger male self-soothe. Michael smiles softly, hand carding through Luke’s jet black hair, “Hey,” he whispers, hand paused on the side of his head, “The black looks good on you. Really sexy.” He’s teasing him, and Luke knows that, but it still makes him blush. He turns his head up to look at the elder.

Still radio silent, but feeling slightly better now, he lets out a soft hum of agreement. Despite how he acts on stage (“slutty,” Michael once called it), Luke’s still that sweet boy inside, with the baby blue eyes and loving smile. He misses the blonde sometimes, but he likes the change. Michael smiles, thumb gently tracing the shell of Luke’s ear, earning a shiver and a sound that’s almost a whimper, “You like that?” The older man asks, Luke nods. The smile on the elder’s face grows ten-fold, rubbing his thumb over the shell of his ear again. He leans down, pressing a kiss just below his friend’s ear.

“Lu,” he whines, “Kiss me.” He’s teasing him again, trying to get him to protest or saying something. They do this all the time, tease each other and joke about being “gay for each other”, but it never usually gets this…intimate. Luke typically laughs and shoves him, but this time, Luke lets out a weak laugh, turning his head and bumping their noses together. Michael smiles, brushing their noses together a couple times before taking a leap, pressing their lips together in a soft peck. It only lasts a second or two before they’re pulling away, faces frozen in shock and newly realised feelings. “Woah,” the elder murmurs, attempting to smile but it’s tight, clearly forced so as to not worry Luke. His cheeks dust pink, lips red and puffy from being chewed between his teeth anxiously.

Instead of a laugh, or a shove, or a slur being yelled at his face, Michael has a hand grabbing the back of his neck. “Mikey,” Luke breathes out, the first words spoken since the accident. He looks wrecked already, and they’ve only shared one tiny kiss. The raven-haired man gulps, before pulling Michael back down, connecting their lips again. This kiss is different from that pathetic peck. This time, it’s rough, full of tongue and teeth and spit being shared. Luke’s desperate for Michael’s lips against his own, so much so that it’s the first thing to make him talk again, “Fuck me,” he groans against his lips, hands wandering to the guitarist’s hips to pull him close. He’s straddling him now, knees digging into the mattress either side of Michael’s waist.

The elder smirks, “Is that an exclamation or a request?”

“A demand.”

“Ooh, feisty.” With that, Michael places his hands on Luke’s thighs, rubbing gently. However, they don’t get much further than that, Michael pulling away just as Luke tries to undo his pants, "Hey, stop. I want to savour this, and right now, you’re barely getting over one of your mute episodes. I want to talk about that first, then we can do stuff.”

Luke looks hesitant, unsure if he wants to talk about everything right now. But he ultimately decides that Michael wants to talk, so they’ll talk. He stays on his lap, hands rubbing his chest gently, “When you…collapsed. I freaked. I shut down. I tried really hard to talk, but I couldn’t. I tried really hard, I promise!” He’s getting panicked again, so Michael catches his wrists in his hands, squeezing them in a one-two pattern, the way he knows Luke’s OCD likes. It instantly calms him down.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “But it’s true. I wanted to talk but I physically couldn’t. I hate it…”

“I know you do, Lukey. You know you’re still my boy, got it?”

“I’m still your boy?” It takes him a moment to realise the irony of what he said, but when he realises it, he smiles softly, “Dumbass, you just wanted me to say the title of my song!” He exclaims, pretending to be mad but he’s far from it. With a sigh, he leans down, nipping Michael’s lip, “I’m your boy, and you’re mine.”

“Damn right,” he replies into the kiss they soon share. Their lips move in sync for a while, before Luke sits up on his lap, tracing shapes into the fabric of Michael’s shirt.

“So…can we move onto the fun part now?” He asks, smirking softly. Michael rolls his eyes but ultimately ends up nodding, sitting up so they can kiss again. Luke’s hands move up, teasing the button of Michael’s flannel open before moving down to the next one. Once it’s opened, Luke gently pushes it off, loosely folding it before tossing it on the floor anyway. He lays Michael down, gently running his palms over the expanse of his chest, the soft ridges of muscle. He leans down, kisses being pressed all over his chest and stomach. He gets down to his bellybutton before a realisation strikes him. He sits up again, earning an impatient groan from the man under him. “Does this mean we’re boyfriends? Or are we just…hooking up?”

Silence falls over the room as Michael thinks, face red from all the blood rushing through him. He tilts his head back against the pillow, squinting at the ceiling as if it has the answer written up there for him to read off of. Instead, he hums, “Do you want to be boyfriends?” He asks back, answering the question with a question.

The younger male hums, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, “I would like to be,” he states. Michael smiles, leaning up and pecking a kiss to Luke’s lips. He hums, arching into the hands on his bare chest as they pull apart.

“Then we’re boyfriends,” he whispers.

« ☆ —⋆——꒰ঌ·☆·໒꒱ ——⋆— ☆ »

Luke’s not having the best afternoon. Sure, in the late-morning Michael and him watched a movie, confessed their love, and fucked…but then they fell asleep. When the younger male woke up, he was on the wrong side of the bed, and it took him three tries before it felt right getting up. He threw clothes on and pressed a kiss to Mikey’s forehead before leaving to get groceries for the apartment.

Well, on the way home, he accidentally stood on a crack in the sidewalk. He knew he was in public, so his entire breakdown was internal. He sent a hundred messages to his mum, brothers, and Michael. Jack and Benny replied saying that they were fine, Michael didn’t answer, and Liz had to ring Luke, trying to calm him down while he walked home with arms full of groceries. By the time he got up to the apartment, he was still panicky, but less so now.

“Mikey!” Luke calls out as he enters the apartment, arms full of reusable grocery bags. He unceremoniously dumps them on the kitchen island to deal with later. He walks to the living room, but not before turning the kitchen light on and off again. Once, then twice, or his mum dies. He doesn't hear a reply from the older male, which alarms him. His OCD-riddled brain is already creating hundreds of scenarios.

Michael is dead somewhere in the house. Michael packed up and left. Michael was kidnapped. This is all Luke’s fault. If he didn’t step on that crack, Michael would still be here.

“Michael!” He yells, eyebrows furrowed as he runs through the apartment, looking in each and every room. When he finds Michael, he’s fast asleep and snoring in bed, still bare from their activities last night. Luke rushes over, standing over the elder as he shakes his shoulders, whispering his name over and over. Michael stirs with a jump, green eyes opening to meet baby blue. Luke lets out a sob, dropping to his knees beside the bed and burying his head into the side of Michael’s stomach.

All the elder can do is card his fingers through the black strands of hair, “What’s wrong, baby?” Luke shakes his head, lips locked. Not again, Michael thinks to himself. He gently grasps a handful of black curls, pulling the younger’s head up to make eye contact again, “Hey. What’s wrong?” He’s firmer now.

Instead of replying, Luke grabs Michael’s free hand and presses it against his chest, wanting him to feel the slow and steady rhythm. The elder catches on pretty quickly, “You got scared because I was asleep. Compulsion?” Luke nods. Michael sighs, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around his hips, “You got groceries, yeah? Let’s go put them away,” he suggests. Luke nods, standing up to find Michael some clothes, tossing him some shorts and a tank top.

Upon seeing the fabrics tossed at him, Michael smiles softly, “Y’know, I could just walk around naked, if you’d prefer,” he teases, grinning at the blush on his boyfriend’s cheeks. After tossing on the clothes, Michael leads the younger male out to the kitchen, sighing as he sees the multiple bags on the counters. “You take care of the cold stuff and I’ll take care of the pantry?” Luke nods, kissing Michael’s cheek before walking over to the bag of groceries that go in the fridge and freezer.

They chat as they pack away. Or, well…Michael chats, and Luke listens, humming occasionally in agreement. “I plan on eating an entire tub of ice cream while watching black and white reruns tonight. And you are, too. Everyone knows you can’t binge eat ice cream without the love of your life.” He glances over, seeing Luke smiling and blushing. The younger nods, lip pulled between his teeth.

“Sounds good,” he manages to murmur, which causes Michael to freeze. He looks over, smiling softly and nodding in agreement. Luke’s feeling bolder now, approaching Michael from behind and placing his hands on his hips, “How’s your head?”

“I haven’t had any complaints, yet,” Michael freezes as he realises what he’s just said.

“What?”

“I mean uh– Yeah! Feeling…much better. Kinda forgot I’m even concussed at all.”

There’s a pause, as both men try to move past the awkward and embarrassing moment. They both have blush dusting their cheeks, but Luke’s the one to break the tension. He bursts into a fit of giggles, burying his face in the space between Michael’s collarbone and neck, “You’re dumb,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the skin there before pulling away. “If you need advil, it’s in the usual spot,” he adds, going back over to the fridge to continue packing things away. It takes them another 20 minutes of shameless flirting before they’ve packed everything away, now sitting on the couch with a tub of ice cream between them.

The television is playing an old Christmas movie, so old that it’s in black and white. Michael turns to scoop some ice cream onto his spoon, but pauses as he sees Luke, who is invested in the movie, spoon hanging from his lips. He looks like an angel, something sacred straight from a painting in the Louvre. The ice cream is forgotten by the younger male, instead revered by the movie. His eyes are as wide as saucers, the spoon only being removed from his lips to quietly repeat the script back to the screen, “You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it!” Maybe he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, but Michael finds it to be absolutely adorable.

Even through the compulsions and mute episodes, Michael will always be there for Luke. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were 16, and nothing has changed in those 15 years of the band. In fact, they’re even more attached now that they’ve made things official. Some OCD compulsions and periods of silence aren’t going to stop Michael from loving the man in front of him. Nothing could stop the love they’ve felt for each other for years.

Michael thinks he’s the luckiest man alive, while also thinking he’s a piece of shit who should die. Being in love with someone who loves you back but shouldn’t is tough. Calum loves Michael with his whole heart, but what if that changes one day? What if he wakes up and decides to leave? He can’t have that. Through everything, Michael has always been the common denominator in things that go wrong. His parents fought more after he was born, all his relationships ended because they claimed he was horrible, he lost friends because he can’t commit to talking regularly. When he was younger, he used to pretend sticks were guns; he once pointed a stick at his dad, who yelled at him because “God forbid you actually hurt someone, one day,” he had yelled.

He took that to heart, because now, at 30 years old, he can barely keep a stable relationship. Calum, Ashton and Luke all stayed, but only because they’ve known him since high school. Everyone else ran away as soon as they had the chance. It’s not like he’s a bad person, no, he actually really sweet, but life fucked him over before he even had a chance to redeem himself. He had Calum though; sweet, thoughtful Calum, who wore black glasses that made him seem younger, who shared his cigarettes with him. Calum who kissed him like he actually meant something.

He knows that he’ll be the cause of their demise. He’ll say something wrong, and Calum will pack up and leave. He’s the trouble ahead, the one to cause all the fights and the bickering and the silence. His past relationships left him traumatised, unable to sleep some nights without waking up in a cold sweat, screaming bloody murder. And every time, Calum's the one to pick up the broken pieces of his psyche.

***

He’s thrashing around in bed, rolling from side to side, murmuring under his breath again. It’s been happening more lately, the night terrors. Calum stirs first, rolling over to face his boyfriend, frowning as he sees him, eyebrows furrowed, a boyish pout on his face, skin slick with sweat. “Mikey?” He grumbles, reaching his hand out to rest on the older man’s stomach. But as soon as he makes contact, Michael jolts, letting out a slurred protest that’s barely coherent. In all honesty, these nightmares terrify Calum, especially when Michael flinches away from him too, like he'd even dare to hurt him. Calum sits up, kneeling beside his boyfriend, hands stretching out to gently shake his shoulders. It doesn't take all that long before Michael wakes.

“Fuck!” He screams, jolting up, almost smacking Calum in the process. His clothes are drenched with sweat, as well as his pillow and the sheets under him. Calum’s knelt right beside him, grabbing tissues from the bedside table and dabbing them against his grossly wet forehead and neck. The younger male's whispering soft reassurances into his ear, carding his fingers through his hair. He's even pressing kisses to his sweat-soaked shoulder, which should absolutely disgust him, but when Michael glances at him, he doesn't seem bothered at all.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, fuck,” the red head sobs, tears falling fast, “I hate her, I hate her so much.” He throws himself at Calum, curling up against his side, tears drenching his ratty old shirt. Calum nods slightly, adjusting them so that they're laying down, Michael halfway on top of the younger male. He rubs his back, letting him release all the emotions that he's been bottling up for God knows how long.

Calum knew from the beginning that Michael had issues from past relationships. He knew that he had been manipulated, abused, and hurt by past girlfriends, which led to the development of his nightmares and terror fits. He could never blame him, because he himself has had his fair share of shitty relationships. But this was different, it was trauma, pure fear of the past and the future and the present.

***

He tried so hard to be open to Calum, but it’s hard when the younger man can’t know everything. He didn’t need to know about all the things he holds inside, the feelings and emotions that ail him and cause him issues every time he looks in the mirror. Sure, Calum tried to open the door inside his mind, but Michael never opened it for him, never let him help the turmoil he often felt. The depression, anxiety, and little habits that will kill him one day. No, he’d never let Calum inside, because if he knew everything, he’d have manipulation and blackmail material.

In Michael’s troubled mind, it was comparable to staring directly at the sun during midday, the golden rays shining down on him but burning his eyes if he looked for too long. If anything, Michael was the sun during the peak of a solar eclipse, and Calum was the simple human watching him through those shitty paper glasses. He’d only ever see him through a lens, a barrier between them, so he’d never see the real thing because they both know it’d hurt.

Marysia, his ex-girlfriend, once looked at the real him. The history of self-harm, the past attempts, the disordered eating, the anxiety, the depression. And you know what she did? She told everyone they knew. She spit back all the vulnerability Michael had shown her. The only other people that knew about his history were the guys, including Calum, and his family, but even they only knew a portion of what it was actually like. They never had to look after him after he slashed his wrists up, or took too many pills, or covered his mirror in sheets because he couldn’t stand to see his reflection.

Despite all this, all Michael really wanted was to be in love, to have a real relationship. Calum gave him that, even if he couldn’t bear to hear the keys rattling, or feel the bed dip as the other man got up. There were little things in their relationship that Michael got anxious about, like if Calum took too long at the grocery store, or when he got out of bed after sex and immediately put his clothes on. After a long history of hooking up with strangers he met at bars, the red haired man had grown used to the pang of anxiety when his partner for the night would get up and leave. At least Calum gave him aftercare.

***

The sun shines harshly through the window, hitting Michael in the eyes. He groans, rolling over in bed to face his lover. He cracks an eye open, expression dropping as he sees Calum getting out of bed. Michael stretches his arm out, grasping the other male's bare shoulder, "You're leaving already?" He asks, frowning softly. He sits up, scooting over in the bed to press his front against the younger male's back. "Let me make you breakfast, at least?"

He gets a groan from the younger man in reply, head turned to look at Michael over his shoulder, "What're you going on about?" He asks through a yawn, leaning back against the warm body behind him, "I ain't going anywhere. Well...maybe the grocery store, we have nothing to eat. We might have some cereal and then I'll head off." Michael nods, pressing soft kisses against the skin of Calum's neck. He nips at it, teeth leaving small indents in the tanned skin. Calum shudders, "If you keep that up, we won't even be having breakfast."

They get dressed and exit the bedroom, hand-in-hand as they make themselves breakfast and eat it together. Who knew cereal can be romantic?

A short while later, Michael's laying on the couch, feeling full still from breakfast, and exhausted after having his morning shower. The keys rattle by the front door. He's up in seconds, standing from the couch and almost sprinting towards the front door, “Cal?” He calls out, voice shaky. When he receives no reply, he feels his eyes well up, "Calum?!" He stops when he sees the younger male casually toeing his shoes on, one earbud shoved in his ear. “Are you…leaving?”

“What?” The younger man asks while removing the earbud, eyebrows knitting together as he steps closer, reaching out to intertwine their fingers, “I’m going to get groceries, remember? I'm only going down the road but...you wanna come?” He asks, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, like the older male isn’t close to his breaking point. Like he isn’t constantly in a state of paranoia, wondering if he’ll wake up to an empty apartment one day. He shakes his head as they pull away, smiling slightly. He kisses each of Calum’s knuckles before letting go of his hand, watching him exit the house.

He trudges back to the couch, mind racing with unwanted thoughts. Calum may not come back through that door, or he might leave as soon as he gets home. He can’t lose Calum, because who will love him, then? He lays down, staring at the ceiling and making a mental list of all the reasons Calum should leave him.

He’s emotionally unavailable

He has a history of suicide attempts and self-harm

He doesn’t deserve such a loving man

…

By the time Calum arrives back home, arms full of reusable bags, Michael’s worried himself to sleep on the couch, cheeks wet with salty tears. His list got up to 91 reasons, but he fell asleep before he could reach the hundred mark. Calum saw him and sighed, placing the bags down on the kitchen counter before walking over to Michael, kneeling beside the couch and cupping his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing him softly before standing and carrying the sleeping man to their bed.

***

They broke up the day after their two year anniversary.

It was a long time coming. It started the week before. Calum didn’t kiss Michael as passionately as he usually did, so Michael ignored him the whole day. They argued for hours about it, and went to bed angry. The older man hated when they did that, because it only fed his paranoia more, the thoughts of Calum already being gone when he woke up made his chest tighten and heart rate increase. But when he woke up the next day, Calum was still there, arms wrapped around him, face pressed in the space between his collar and jaw.

The final straw was when they were on a date on their anniversary. They went out for dinner, got ice cream, and went to the arcade. But the voices in the back of Michael’s head told him that Calum wasn’t having fun, and didn't want to be there. It didn’t help that Calum kept flinching at every sudden, loud noise in the arcade, the volume clearly getting to him but Michael was selfish enough to ignore it and hope he would ask to leave.

When they got home, they made out, had loving sex, and fell asleep. But as soon as Calum woke up the next morning, it was to an empty bed. In fact, the whole apartment was void of Michael’s belongings. Only a couple things were left, as well as a note on the bedside table.

***

Where the fuck is Michael? Calum’s pacing the living room floor, almost burning a hole in the carpet as he tracks back and forth. A note is gripped tightly in his hand, the paper almost ripping from the strength. It reads:

“Calum, I’m so sorry. I’ve been nothing but horrible to you for the last two years. I didn’t let you see the true me, and that fucked us up. So, I want to tell you everything, right from the beginning. When we were young, I used to cut up my arms for fun. I was depressed, and needed an outlet. I tried to kill myself maybe 5 or 6 times, and was caught each time (obviously). Those nightmares I have are about my ex-girlfriend hurting me again and you leaving me because of it.”

Calum rereads that paragraph, feeling his heart swell with love and affection, but also anger and frustration. Why would Michael leave? They were going so well. Sure, he had issues but Calum did too, they were working out together just fine! He holds his phone in his other hand, looking at the 17 messages he sent to the red head, all left on delivered. He looks back at the note, eyes skimming over the rest of it.

“I love you so much, never forget that, but this was bound to happen. You deserve to be happy with Luke and Ashton, you guys don’t need me in the mix. I’ll only drag you down, like I have done for the past 2 years. Please move on, forget I was ever here. You won’t be able to find me, no one will, not until they search the tallest rivers and flowing trees. With so much love, Michael”

He breaks down, collapsing onto the floor, back pressed against the front of the couch. That stupid sign off, the way he wrote that he still loves him, it all hurts too much. He lifts his phone, pressing the call button and holding it to his ear. Michael doesn’t answer, and as soon as it goes to voicemail, Calum crumbles, “Mikey, come home. Please…we were fine! Why are you doing this to us?” Manipulative? Sure, you could argue that, but Calum knows that the red head wasn’t thinking straight so he needs to get him home somehow.

With the now-known history of suicide attempts, and the weird illusion of a possible new attempt, Calum’s freaking out. Luke and Ashton were notified as soon as Calum woke up and read the note, and are currently scouring the streets, looking all over the city for their missing fourth. All while Calum breaks down at home, just wanting his boy to love him and come home. It’s not a break up if they’re still in love, is it?

The front door being shoved open alerts him of another person’s presence. He stands up, throwing his phone and the note onto the couch. He stops as he sees Luke and Ashton carrying a very much not sober Michael into the house. He looks unconscious, but Calum prays he’s not. “W– What happened, is he okay?” The man asks, watching his two best friends carry Michael into the bedroom and onto the bed.

“Nope,” Ashton replies, way too casually. Luke smacks his arm with a glare before meeting Calum’s fearful gaze.

“He was on the side of the road. We don’t know what happened.”

Calum strides over to the bed in seconds, kneeling on the mattress and cupping his lover’s unconscious face. His own breath is uneven, hands trembling; what if he took something and overdosed, or drank too much? He leans down, knocking their foreheads together gently, “Wake up, Mikey. C’mon, please wake up.” It’s all in vain, since a snore rips through him, akin to a chainsaw. Calum can’t help but laugh, albeit weakly, and shifts his hand to loosely time his heart rate. Feeling that it’s slow but not dangerous, Calum lays down beside him, snaking his arm over his stomach, gently caressing the skin that’s available from his shirt lifting up.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Luke and Ashton, who both smile sympathetically and nod before leaving the room to let themselves out of the apartment and let the couple work things out on their own.

***

Three weeks later, they had worked through their issues. Or at least, they had begun to work through them. Michael admitted that when he left, he had gone to a bar and gotten drunk, then took some pills, and when he was walking around the city, he collapsed. Calum made him promise to try and stay sober, as well as try to talk to him more about his feelings. Michael agreed, thankfully.

They made things work. Michael started going to therapy, and Calum tried working on how to be more accommodating for Michael’s trauma and difficulty in opening up. It was hard for a while, and it will always be difficult, but they know that they have each other. Michael’s heart was a door, and Calum was the one who knocked.

Until recently, Michael refused to open it, the real him getting harder to see the closer Calum tried to look. But now, Michael’s heart opens its door to him, an inch at a time, until it’s wide open, the real him. The Michael that has many bad days, where he can’t get out of bed or look at the mirror; the Michael that sometimes needs an extra long hug or kiss; the Michael that needs his two best friends and boyfriend to keep him alot, head above the water.

I thought being a journalist would be fulfilling. I thought I’d be travelling the world by now, interviewing all different types of people. But no, I was stuck in a dead end job where my publisher hated my guts, and the story I was currently working on was impossible to write. Go chase your dreams, they said. Yeah, right.

At least I have Calum. We met years and years ago at a local show; I was there to interview the band, and he was the bassist. He charmed his way into my life, and I couldn’t be happier. He was the cool springs in a rugged desert, saving me when I was on the brink. He’s helped me more than he’ll ever know. That’s why, when I got home after work, I found him sitting on the couch, plucking the strings of his bass while simultaneously watching some sitcom rerun. I smiled at him, though it didn’t reach my eyes.

He noticed immediately, standing up and approaching me with such tenderness. He placed his hands on my elbows, “Hey, what happened?” He asked, squeezing my elbows before moving down to my hands. He intertwined our fingers, calloused against soft skin. I shook my head, lips locked tight. He let go of our hands and pulled me into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around my hips and shoulders. I broke down.

I was sobbing into his chest, knees shaky, oh-so close to toppling over. I felt pathetic, like I was making a big deal over nothing. I mean, my job is good, I get good money, I have an amazing boyfriend, so why am I sobbing uncontrollably? “I’m sorry,” I cry out, shaking his head against the fabric of his old shirt. It’s a band tee, one I gifted him on our six month anniversary. I feel him kiss the top of my head repeatedly, carding his fingers through my hair.

“Don’t cry, baby girl. Want me to run you a bath? We can just soak, and you can vent to me about work?”

“Yes, please.”

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, kissing my forehead before pulling away to turn to the bathroom. I followed him, watching from the bathroom doorway as he turned the tap on, the water filling the tub. He grabbed some candles from the cupboard, lighting them and placing them on each corner. I love him, so god damn much. He does all these things for me and I admire him for that. He’s the light of my life. I watched him as he turned to me, motioning for us to get in.

We stripped off, him climbing in with me following suit. We got comfortable, my back pressed against his bare chest, the water warm against my cold skin. My eyes fluttered closed, focused on the feeling of us pressed together. He played with my hair, pulling it behind my ear. I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his jaw before turning to look at the wall. He knew something was on my mind, “Talk to me?” He suggested softly, voice sickenly sweet. I’ve always hated that voice, because it means I’m loved, and sometimes I don’t know how to handle that.

“My publisher hates me. He thinks I’m just some– dumb little girl behind a keyboard. I’m sick of this industry not taking me seriously. I just want to write something good, tell people's stories. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Sometimes I wish I never became a journalist in the first place…”

“But then we wouldn’t have met.”

I paused, turning my head to meet his gentle gaze, “What?”

“Don’t you remember? We met when my band played at some local venue…you interviewed us.” He wrapped his arms around my waist before continuing the story, “You interviewed Luke, then Michael, then Ashton, and then me. Best ‘til last, huh?” He laughed, I felt my heart swell. “We chatted, got a drink – you were only freshly 18, and so was I, to be fair. We separated and–”

“And I found a note slipped into my pocket,” I finished, smiling softly, “I remember. You were so sweet, you wrote that you wanted to see me again.” I didn’t mention the little joke that was at the bottom of the note, which said that if he was too ugly I could throw his number out immediately. I didn’t want to bring up his past insecurities, especially when he seemed so confident now.

“Work isn’t supposed to be fun, sweetheart. I know being in a band and shit seems like fun – and it is, most of the time – but there are days where I hate it, where I want to quit and get a 9-5 like the rest of the fuckass world. But you, my dear, you have talent.”

I felt my eyes well up with tears, but I didn’t dare let them fall just yet.

“You have this heart, so full of love and wonder. You always see the best in people, their best qualities. You have no idea how much I love that about you. It’s why I’m still here, why I’m always trying to be better, because I know you believe in me. You better not quit on me, bug.”

My heart shattered. He only ever called me “bug” when we were talking seriously, because he knows I like it, because it helps me regulate myself. I know he’s not mad when he calls me bug. I sighed, leaning back against him further, “I won’t, Cally. I’ll keep going, because I know you believe in me,” I repeat back to him, smiling softly.

When we eventually exited the bathroom, he stalked over to his closet, tossing a hoodie and sweatpants towards me. I laughed softly, taking the clothes and slipping into them. I pulled the sweatpants up to my hips, fiddling with the strings to tighten the waistband. He stepped up behind me, placing his hands on my hips, “I love you,” he murmured against my neck, pressing soft little kisses to the skin there. I hummed, grinning ear-to-ear.

“I love you,” I repeat. We slipped into bed once we were dressed, Calum laying behind me with his arm tossed over my torso. I felt safe there, in a place where I’m trusted to be independent but not shamed for needing someone occasionally. He knows this, and even encourages me to “spread my wings more” as he puts it. I love him more than oxygen some days. “Thank you,” I whisper, sniffling softly.