Blurry (on hold)

Introduction

@Betterofffdeadd 7:32 a.m.

Good morning world and all who inhabit it!!! xxx

@Anonymouss_ 6:54 a.m.

...
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"Mr. Clifford! Are the rumors true!"

"Michael! Is it true about you and Sophia?"

"Mikey! Mikey, I love you!"

"Die you fucking loser."

These were things Michael heard on a regular basis. These were things every celebrity heard in a regular basis. He was taught to ignore them; to keep his glasses on, his hood up, and his face down. Why they always made Michael always walk last, he didn't know, but it was hell for him (whether he ignored it or not).

As they entered the bus from the airport the lads all put in their earphones, blocking out the screaming and pounding from their wonderful fans. Michael's favorite part about tour was the food, and the different places, but that's another story for another time.

Michael felt alone. The darkest bottom bunk, walking last, talking last in interviews; it's like no one cares about Michael. As far as he knew, no one did.

This is how Michael's day was spent:

•Not being asked to play FIFA
•Not being asked if he wanted the last slice of pizza
•Not being asked to do anything. All. Day. Long.
•Listening to the same music on replay
•Dozing in and out of sleep

By the time it was 11:15 and the boys were told that they needed to go to bed because they had some 'big meeting with a new corporation and they didn't want them cranky and honorary', Michael was about to die of boredom.

He was so relieved to migrate from the couch to his a little less than comfortable bed under the one and only Lucas Hemmings.

Luke couldn't have the bottom bunk because his tall frame would hit the ceiling and his lanky legs would bend up abnormally when he sat on his bed, leaving him looking like a very disoriented frog. Michael didn't want him feeling uncomfortable.

-

"Fuck," Michael mumbled as he hit his head on the ceiling, waking up yet again from the reoccurring dream.

He climbed out of the cramped space as quiet as possible without waking he lads. As he put his foot down on Luke's bunk to steady himself, it creaked and he froze, afraid of making another sound.

When Michael though he was safe he very clumsily climbed the rest of the way down and into the dark hall. Turning on his phone flashlight, he shined it down for the light would wake the kiwi lad in the bottom bunk next to Luke.

Just as he had about cleared bunk area, he heard a groggy voice call from the dark. "Shit, Michael?"

The frightened lad shined his voice down the hall, spotlighting a messy-haired Luke. "Luke? Did I wake you?"

"What are you doing up? No, I couldn't sleep. Are you alright?" Luke asked when then we're in the kitchenette and out of the two sleeping lads earshot.

"Uh," Michael wasn't sure what to say. Did he say no, that he was being terrorized? Yes? He didn't want to trouble Luke. He didn't want the sympathy from the boy.

"Michael?" The blonde breadstick snapped his long fingers in front of Michael's face, waking him up from the daze he was in.

"Forget it. I'm fine, I promise. Get some rest Luke. Thanks for checking up, mate." The older lad clapped the boys back, before walking down the hall and climbing the bunk, mumbling a very colourful profanity as he hit his head on the ceiling.