The day had already been monumentally shitty. The worst of the worst days. An absolute steaming-pile-of-crap day. So, really, it was only natural to finish it with a perfect cherry on top - his call from Death-Cast.
He was alone when the unmistakabl...
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𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟷𝚜𝚝, 𝟷𝟸:𝟹𝟷𝚙𝚖
Michael felt somewhere within the range of puking and passing out. He was terrified, but also strangely craving the comfort of his mother's voice. He wanted that familiar reassurance from his father, the person who had supported his every little whim from the time he could walk. But, at the same time, he didn't think he could handle it. He feared he would break down right there in the Styles' driveway if he made his parents cry.
He thought about Ashton - about how he didn't have parents to call even if he wanted to - and he felt selfish. He had two loving parents that would miss him once he was gone. Wasn't saying goodbye the least he could do, even if it was the hardest thing he'd ever done?
He began to pace, taking deep, calming breaths. This whole day was giving him a migraine. It was like a whirlwind that never ended and he couldn't believe that half of it was real. Hell, he wasn't sure it was. He had half a mind to think that he'd imagined everything after getting the call. Or maybe this whole thing was one big dream because there was no way things had really played out the way he perceived them. He was not dying. He was not about to say goodbye to his parents for the last time. He was not falling for Ashton Irwin. There was simply no way, and, yet, no matter how much he pinched himself, the reality remained.
Michael tried desperately to psyche himself up, but it felt like taking a step off of a ledge. He was terrified and just couldn't bring himself to do it. Every time he would try, he just chickened out again and felt a thousand times worse because what kind of son was he? He couldn't even call to say goodbye?
"Having trouble?"
Michael startled back to reality, turning around to see Harry emerging from the garage, softly closing the door behind him. He smiled at Michael, that kind, winning smile that had made Michael want this job in the first place. (That and he'd always wanted to know whether the infamous recluse Harry Styles was hot or not (he was).)
Michael exhaled heavily, motioning vaguely with his cell phone to nothing in particular. "Never had this hard a time calling my mum before." He smiled humorlessly. "Never died before either, though, I guess."
Harry hummed sympathetically, taking a step closer to Michael but still keeping a good distance between them. Michael was grateful for it. He was already feeling claustrophobic as it was, even out in such a big, open space.
"I called my mum this morning. Hardest thing I've ever had to do."
Michael frowned, picturing the call with his own mother. She was already an emotional person by nature. The news would kill her. Michael couldn't do that. He couldn't kill his mum.
"Do you think she'll be okay?" Michael asked softly, not really asking about Harry's mother but not about his own either. He didn't know what he was asking. He was just trying to soothe the raging pit in his stomach, he supposed.
